On the eighteenth day of the Siege of Kharzh'ulla, a group of men and women in unmarked grey uniforms gathered in a half-lit room on the planet below. The room itself didn't appear on any map or architectural plan, and simply didn't exist as far as the planetary authorities, Starfleet, and the Federation were concerned. The men and women in the room were similarly…unimportant, at least outwardly, assuming they were even worth publicly knowing about to begin with. Otherwise, they also didn't exist.
"General," Howard Langley began while tracing a finger along a graph on a PADD sitting on a table before a desk. "Starfleet's losses have reached the point that even if we defeat the Imperial Expedition here at Kharzh'ulla, we will not be able to restore federal authority over breakaway states. Or, for that matter, to fend off opportunistic attacks from foreign powers, such as the Romulans or the Klingons, among others. The Federation…"
"Sloan's task force should render all the Empire's gains moot," General Cameron Garza, the true power behind Section 31, interrupted. "Indeed, the Empire will never have reached this galaxy to begin with."
"…General Garza…" Langley hesitantly began after taking a moment to lick his suddenly dry lips. "…Sloan's task force…"
"Sloan's task force no longer exists." Michel Auberjonois cut in. "Temporal sensors indicated that after repeated failures, the grand master led what remained of his forces in a final jump across time, only to be temporo-spatially displaced into Sagittarius A's event horizon approximately sixty million years ago."
There was a long moment of silence, and then reaching up with a shaky hand, Garza rubbed his chin. "The following men will remain in the room…" he began after a few moments. "…Langley…Auberjonois…Bishop…and Vaughn."
Except for those named, the rest of the people in the room silently filed out and left, leading the guardians and the elders' representative alone with the general. The four men composed themselves, as though for their impending deaths. To his credit, though, the general waited until everyone else had left and the door had closed before exploding.
"HOW DARE YOU?" he roared while slamming a fist onto his desk. "SLOAN FAILED? HE HAD THE RESPONSIBILITY OF RESTORING THE FEDERATION TO PEACE AND STABILITY, AND HE FAILED? WORTHLESS INCOMPETENTS, EACH AND EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!"
Even with the closed doors, the general's roaring could be heard outside, those closest to the doors recoiling with shock and fear. Further to the back, a young man only recently inducted began to sob, prompting an older woman to place a comforting hand on his back.
Inside, the general was on his feet, but was seemingly lost for words, only glaring and seething at the guardians standing silent before his desk. "How are we to achieve the perfect society," he finally ground out while pacing away from his desk, and past Jessie Vaughn by the back wall. "When the supposedly enlightened elite at its head prove themselves useless and disloyal liars?"
Words failed the general again, and returning to his desk, he slumped down into his chair. "Out…out, all of you…" he finally said, in a soft, almost whispering voice, all the while looking drained and defeated.
"Perhaps we should decentralize operations and disperse our operatives?" Vaughn asked softly, causing eyes to turn to her. "The Federation is clearly lost, and all attempts to reestablish contact with Uraei have failed. If so, why not simply start over from a clean slate?"
"…there is precedent." Auberjonois admitted after a long moment. "The Third World War undid a century's worth of our 21st Century predecessors' work, but they recovered in the end. Indeed, even the unexpected variable that was first contact and alien influence was something that was ultimately turned to our advantage. Why not do the same to the Empire?"
"We can't…that's unthinkable…!" Chris Bishop breathed in protest.
"The Empire has clearly won the war already." Auberjonois continued with missing a beat, while the general began to brighten up at the realization of the possibilities beyond the Federation. "If so, why fight the inevitable, when there are other options worth exploring?"
"We can't just abandon the Federation!" Bishop spluttered in outrage. "If we did…over two hundred years of work…millions of sacrifices…not just in this war, but all the previous wars as well…what will they have been for?"
"Don't be so sentimental." Garza immediately reproved. "You only dishonor your rank and office by doing so, especially when the Federation has proven itself a failed experiment. No, we will accept reality, and move on to greater things. Inform all rites that we are to execution Contingency 9066 immediately, with the amendment to await further instructions as per Protocol D57."
Any further orders were lost as alarms began to sound, as the battle in the skies above heated up once more.
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At eight points across the Imperial lines, squadrons of six Dreadnought Class Heavy Cruisers had arrived from the outer system. Each squadron towed a colossal asteroid behind them, their tractor beams invisible streams of energy between the Imperial ships and the gigantic rocks they drew across space.
Imperial jamming kept Starfleet from getting any detailed scans, but jamming had no effect on long-distance scopes. Asteroids were obviously, well, asteroids, and it didn't take long to discern the colossal metal beams crisscrossing each asteroid, meant to properly distribute force across its body and provide scaffolding to attach additional mechanisms onto.
In fact, weaponizing asteroids was deceptively simple. One simply needed engines, stabilizers, and a guidance system. What took time was installing all those, to say nothing of finding asteroids suitable for use as weapons.
That, and asteroids weren't regular in build the way starships were, and that had to be accounted for by the guidance system. And since most off-the-shelf guidance systems were never meant to be used for makeshift projectiles like weaponized asteroids, the Empire's electronic specialists needed to reprogram guidance systems for such a purpose, which took time.
That said, that wasn't why it took so long to bring Operation Catapult into play. No, that was because of how long it took to travel via sub-light from the outer system to Kharzh'ulla itself. Not without slapping hyperdrives onto the asteroids, and further complicating guidance issues, to say nothing of needing to add additional systems to switch from hyperdrive to sub-light drives when the time came to launch Operation Catapult.
It wasn't as if you could use hyperdrive to weaponize an asteroid, after all. That was just basic physics, the kind that children learned in high school.
Well, it had been done in bad science fiction, but that was just it: bad science fiction.
And the Imperial Navy – or just the Imperial Military Corps of Engineers – had to attend to reality.
"Admiral," Sara began. "Enemy ships are on approach. It seems that Starfleet has divined the thrust of Operation Catapult and are moving to intercept."
"So it would seem." I concurred. "Signal all fleets: open fire. That said, no need to be too aggressive. Simply destroy each and every enemy ship in range, while also keeping the asteroids' course clear of obstructions. We wouldn't to throw off our aim, would we now?"
"No, we wouldn't, admiral." Sara said with a nod before relaying my orders.
In the meantime, I turned to the hologram of the man in charge of bringing Operation Catapult to a successful conclusion. "General Cullan," I began. "You may begin."
"Yes, admiral." The man said with a salute before turning to address the bridge of his flagship, the Dreadnought Class Heavy Cruiser Warspite while keeping the channel open. "Catapult Force, come about!"
Across the battlefield, the Dreadnoughts of the Catapult Force came about in unison. "Catapult Force, maximum power to tractor beams and inertial dampeners." Cullan continued. "Breachers One through Eight, standby to engage thrusters at full power on my mark, Catapult Force, standby for maximum power, again on my…mark!"
Fusion torches affixed to the rear of every asteroid lit up white-hot with plasma as they went to maximum power, with the Catapult Force's Dreadnoughts simultaneously setting their engines to full power. Asteroids and cruisers alike trembled as the former's forward thrust was canceled out by the latter's forward thrust only in the opposite direction. Unlike the cruisers, though, the asteroids lacked inertial dampeners, meaning while they weren't their acceleration continued to build unlike the cruisers.
"Tractor beam generators overloading…!" an officer warned Cullan on the Warspite's bridge. "Forty-five seconds to collapse."
"Hold position." Cullan firmly said, eyes on holographic gauges measuring time and estimated acceleration alike. "Maintain thrust."
"Starfleet vessels now entering firing range!" another warning went up.
"Leave them to the rest of the fleet." Cullan replied. "Hold out for ten more seconds!"
"Twenty-two seconds before the tractor beam generators collapse!" the previous officer warned, and then the Warspite shook hard, enough to throw men to their feet. "Primary inertial dampeners are down, secondaries are up, but they won't last long!"
"…five…four…three…two…one…now!" Cullan barked. "Release the Breakers!"
As one, the Catapult Force disengaged their tractor beams. Even with inertial dampeners active, the cruisers still threw themselves several thousand kilometers forward with the loss of the asteroids' counter-thrust, and in so short a time to throw men off their feet.
As for the asteroids themselves, they crossed over two hundred thousand kilometers of space in just seven seconds, and simultaneously struck the orbital ring. Along the way, a number of Federation vessels had found themselves in the asteroids' course, with a few even deliberately having positioned themselves just so in a desperate suicide run to stop the asteroids.
For all their trouble, only bits and pieces of alloy and polymer compounds were lift adrift in space from the Federation starships getting pancaked by the asteroids.
As for the orbital ring itself, the force of impact alone destroyed all the orbital infrastructure built on the ancient megastructure. Federation vessels docked at the ring or located within a certain distance were also destroyed, explosions erupting across space as released antimatter reacted violently with the surrounding debris.
Had the Empire struck at the ring with one or two or even three asteroids, the ancient megastructure might have survived in relatively undamaged condition. Broken into large pieces certainly, and all the orbital infrastructure would still have been destroyed, but relatively intact for all that.
But the Empire had struck it with eight asteroids, all moving at relativistic speeds.
As such, the orbital ring simply shattered.
Then explosions began erupting across Kharzh'ulla's orbital space, as the ring's fragments reacted with all the antimatter from destroyed Federation vessels and storage facilities. Others were dragged in by the planet's gravity, burning up in the atmosphere in a deceptively-beautiful meteor shower that lit up the world's skies with thousands upon thousands of burning trails. In fact, the meteor shower would continue for decades after the war, as debris left over from the battle kept getting dragged into the atmosphere.
But that was still far in the future.
In the present, the final stages of the Siege of Kharzh'ulla were playing out.
"Mayday! Mayday! The captain's dead! Antimatter containment failing! Mayday!"
"This is Captain Elliot Holmes of the USS Philadelphia! We surrender, I repeat we surrender!"
"Cowards! Fight! Fight for your lives! For your families! For your homes! FIGHT!"
Countless other similar transmissions were being broadcast over open and encoded transmissions, Sara looking at me quizzically. "Your orders, admiral?" she asked.
"As planned," I began. "We will accept the surrender of any enemy vessels that do so. Those that refuse to surrender will be destroyed."
"Yes, admiral."
I nodded before frowning. "Signal Colonel Brecha." I said. "Once we have complete control of Kharzh'ulla's orbit, we will begin landing operations immediately. Prioritize the capture of the Federation President, Min Zife. We'll need him to unconditionally surrender."
"Driving home the unquestionable fact of the Federation's loss of this war." Torrhen rumbled, and I nodded again.
"Precisely." I said, before focusing on the tactical display, and Starfleet's last stand.
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"Sir," a man hurriedly said as he caught up to Bishop. "Starfleet has completely collapsed, and the Empire is beginning to land troops. They've already achieved air supremacy, and sensors have detected three Acclamator Class Transports in the first wave of Imperial landings. Furthermore, despite Imperial jamming, we suspect between six to nine more Acclamators being held back in the second wave."
"…I…see." Bishop said softly while continuing down the corridor.
"What now, sir?" his subordinate asked.
Bishop took a deep breath. "The general is of the opinion that not just the war, but the Federation itself is lost." He finally said. "A failed experiment, he called it…and the other guardians agree, as does Elder Vaughn."
"Then…"
Bishop took his time to answer. The general might have made his decision, and the other guardians had decided to follow his lead, but Bishop in good conscience couldn't. The Federation…
…they were so close. After thousands of years, the dream of a perfect, peaceful, and orderly society led by an enlightened intellectual elite was about to become reality. Class divisions had all but disappeared, the economy had been completely automated, even people's darker impulses were well on their way of being bred out of not just Humanity, but the various other species that made up the Federation…
…utopia had never been so close.
"Damn the Empire…they've ruined everything!" Bishop cursed. "And now the general and others want to give up on it all, and start over from scratch? Madness! How many times in the past millennia has the dream come so close to being lost forever? How many times have we found ourselves pushed to the brink of extinction? We're so close…even with the Empire's interference…we can still salvage something out of this…even if we're set back by our losses, at the very least, it won't be as much as if we have to start from a blank slate. But to go against the general…it's treason…mutiny most foul…but it's the right thing to do. And done right…he might be convinced of that fact, especially if the Inner Sanctum and the Council of Elders can be convinced as well…but it has to be framed right…done right…as with all things…"
"…the Federation is lost," Bishop said aloud, the words tasting like ashes in his mouth. "But that doesn't mean all our efforts for the past centuries have been for nought. In particular, we need to reinforce Grand Master Soriano, and provide him with additional resources. I don't know how the Empire did it, much less how they found out about Uraei in the first place, but we need to reestablish contact with Uraei."
"I'll have it done immediately, sir." Bishop's subordinate said with a nod.
"We also need to secure Section 31's assets, as well as those of other Majestic 12 branches, beyond those overlapping with the Order." Bishop continued. "Assign Commanders May and Butler to the task, and give them everything we need."
"Yes, sir."
"We'll also need to organize a proper resistance," Bishop added. "And not give the Empire an opportunity to consolidate their conquests, much less assimilate our citizens. If possible, we should also look into establishing a presence in their home galaxy, but it's probably best to leave that as a long-term goal."
"As you say, sir."
Bishop sighed. "First things first, though." He said. "All this would be meaningless if the Empire captures us all. We need to evacuate this planet, and without tipping off the Empire."
"Arrangements have already been made with regard to that issue, sir." Bishop's subordinate said.
"Very good."
The two men emerged from the corridor into a raised catwalk overlooking a hidden hangar, a large shuttle sitting in the middle facing a sealed pair of blast doors. Men and women in grey fatigues under dark body armor milled around below, Bishop sparing them only a quick glance before heading down through a flight of stairs.
They'd barely stepped foot on the hangar when the shuttle exploded, and Bishop's world turned into crimson pain.
"…it hurts…by God, it hurts…it hurts so much…" he thought to himself, his eyes wet and blurry, hearing only a high-pitched ringing as he struggled to move, only he could barely feel his arms and hands through the pain, and his legs not at all. "…who…who could have done this? It couldn't have been the Empire…it just couldn't…no…it can't be…that's not possible…"
Through the crimson haze of blood, sweat, tears, and pain, Bishop saw hooded figures prowling through the smoke and flames, looking for survivors and dispatching them with single shots from small, concealable pistols. His eyes, though, focused on the subtly-hidden symbolism of their buttons, brooches, and other such things that would easily slip the attention of the less attentive.
"…it just can't be them…" he silently revolted against what he was seeing. "…they're all dead…we killed them all…bred out the last of their kind during the Eugenics Wars…it's just not possible…"
That was the last thing Bishop thought, before a disruptor blast vaporized his head.
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The (provisional) Presidential Palace on Kharzh'ulla had fallen quickly. In fact, there had barely been any resistance at all, with the place already half-looted by the time the Imperial Stormtroopers had arrived. With Starfleet annihilated in the skies above, most would-be hostiles on the ground had either mutinied or deserted, with those that didn't surrendering either in sullenness or barely-restrained despair as the Empire landed its troops.
"Secure any cultural and scientific vaults the Federation secreted away!" a senior ISB agent ordered. "We must tie up as many loose ends as we can before they can even become problems to begin with."
"Sir!" the other ISB agents responded with salutes, before spreading out accompanied by Stormtrooper support.
The next couple of hours were spent securing what hadn't been carried away by the looters, with the palace's archives and databases thankfully untouched. Unfortunately, a great many artworks were simply lost in the near-anarchy, and uncontrolled fires had destroyed much of what hadn't been carried away.
Meanwhile, the First Battlegroup had descended to fly low over the planetary capital, accompanied by the flagships of several other battlegroups, Vice Admiral Torrhen leading several other flag officers to inspect the palace and what had been recovered thus far. Meanwhile, Admiral Targaryen and her adjutant, Lieutenant Sara, personally received the surrender of President Zife.
"Speaking freely, admiral," Sara began while walking beside Targaryen away from where the cuffed former president was being escorted off-world. "They might be our enemies, but I can't help but pity the Federation. Here and now, at their nadir…even after everything they've cost us to get to this point…they're just so pitiful…"
"It can't be helped, I suppose." Targaryen replied. "Their world might as well have ended, fallen to pieces around them, like ashes running through their hands."
Sara chuckled. "Very poetic, admiral." She said, before their conversation fell into a lull as they passed by several senior Federation officials, cuffed and being escorted away by Imperial Stormtroopers. None of them looked up at the Imperial admirals, and indeed, seemed to be consciously keeping from meeting their eyes.
Sara shook her head at the sight. "Pitiful…enemies or not, what a sad end for an interstellar state!" she concluded.
"Yes…" Targaryen said with a nod before giving a smile. "…their world…their time is over. And now, it's our turn."
Sara nodded her agreement, keeping pace with her superior as they continued on their way.
So ended the Siege of Kharzh'ulla, on AD 2376, Imperial Calendar 20.
Here, Starfleet was destroyed.
Here, the United Federation of Planets met its end.