"Did you know, lieutenant?" I asked as I stood with my adjutant on the Courageous' command deck, staring out into the star-filled darkness of interstellar space through the Star Destroyer's bridge windows. All around us the First Battlegroup hung in deep space, awaiting the signal from the advance guard.
"Admiral?" Sara asked.
"Shortly after the Battle of Earth," I continued. "I had the chance to look into the history of Humanity in this galaxy. While less advanced than we are, unsurprising considering they've only been spacefaring for about two hundred years or so while we've been spacefaring for about twenty-five thousand years, they are fairly advanced. Nowhere near our level, but not quite cavemen either. It made for quite interesting reading, especially that bit called the Eugenics Wars from about three hundred years ago."
"From the name I would infer it involved a confrontation over genetic engineering." Sara said.
I laughed. "Indeed!" she said. "A violent one too, but not especially so. Pre-spaceflight Earth had three…world wars, they called them, the last of which killed six hundred million people. It was from that conflict that United Earth emerged, and eventually, the Federation."
I paused and shrugged. "In comparison," I continued. "The Eugenics Wars killed what, five hundred thousand people? A relative trifle, I daresay."
"Speaking freely, admiral," Sara remarked. "That's only about as bloody as a single planetary theater from the Outer Rim Sieges towards the end of the Clone Wars. Nothing particularly special by our standards, at least in terms of the big picture."
"Quite," I agreed with a nod. "Still…it affected the Terrans profoundly. Did you know that genetically-modifying yourself or others in this galaxy is considered a crime against sentience by the Federation? And that any species that practices genetic engineering must reverse any and all modification before they can be considered for membership? At least one species even ended up going extinct trying to meet such a condition, with the Federation shrugging it off as just desserts. All because of the Eugenics Wars."
Sara narrowed her eyes. "I recall seeing a mention of this in the dossier of Section 31's political prisoners." She said. "Wasn't leading scientist placed in cryogenic stasis for refining the genetic engineering methods used to create the so-called Augments?"
"He was." I said with another nod. "I suppose the Terrans' caution is understandable. The genetic modifications of the Augments of their past left them…unstable, murderously so, and our own history has shown that Arkanian society occasionally prone to…similar, incidents. However, there is a fine line between caution and obstinacy. It'd be similar to us banning droids and ordering the destruction of all existing examples thereof simply because of the Separatists' use of droid soldiers in the Clone Wars, to say nothing of various droid rebellions throughout history."
I shook my head and leaned against the railing. "That said," she said. "There's opportunity there…"
"Admiral…?" Sara asked, and I favored her with a smile.
"Conquering the Federation isn't simply a case of defeating or even destroying Starfleet," I replied. "To say nothing of forcing the Federation's member worlds to submit before the Empire. No, to truly conquer the Federation, and turn the pages of history, we must kill its soul, and bury its ideals. And that's easier said than done."
"I've…heard a saying," Sara hesitantly said. "That ideals are bulletproof."
I laughed. "They are." I concurred. "And that's why the best way to bury them, is to convince those who believe in them to do so with their own hands."
Sara blinked and narrowed her eyes. "Section 31 has certainly helped in that regard." She said.
"They have." I agreed with a nod. "But I think we can help push it along even further."
"Is that what Operation Stapler is really meant to achieve, admiral?" Sara asked.
"In a way." I said before crossing my arms and looking out into the distance of space. "Well, I finish what I start, and while Operation Stapler as a whole will be a huge boon to the Empire's goals in this galaxy, they'll also help me achieve my own end."
I paused, and turned back to Sara. "I started this war against the Federation." I said firmly. "And I intend to end it, and see the Federation die not just in form but also in essence."
Sara was silent for a long moment, and then drawing herself up, saluted. "It will be an honor to accompany you to the end, admiral." She said.
"The honor is mine, lieutenant." I replied before looking back out to the stars.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Located in an out-of-the-way sector and system, the cultural and scientific archive known as Memory Alpha had thus far been untouched by the war. Mostly; on one hand, the Empire hadn't come calling (yet), and no battles had been fought there or nearby.
On the other hand, news, while increasingly-censored as the months passed, continued to flow to the planet. This, in turn, meant growing fears and worries among the men and women stationed there, over their families, as well as their own and the Federation's futures.
This meant that panic nearly erupted when a starship dropped out of warp unannounced not far from the planet.
Thankfully, Memory Alpha's officers kept their heads, and immediately tried making contact, while also having their sensors scan the ship.
"Ship identification confirmed," the sensor officer reported. "It's the USS Ronald Reagan, a Constellation Class Starship, formerly of the Seventh Fleet, under Captain Gaston Descombes. Sensors also show heavy damage to both the engine and saucer sections, with heavy radiation bleed from the former, while the ship's weapons also appear nonfunctional."
"We have contact with the Ronald Reagan." The communications officer piped up. "Primary and secondary communications systems are down, so they're using a makeshift analog communicator. They report half their crew dead from combat injuries and radiation poisoning, including the captain. Half of what's left of the crew is also in no condition to fight or perform their duties. They also report their medical bay has been destroyed, and ask to be allowed to evacuate all their injured crew before they proceed to the nearest starbase. However, with the radiation leaks across the ship, it's too risky to use the transporter."
"I concur, sir." The sensor officer told Commodore Arnaud de la Croix. "Our sensors detect radiation from all across the electromagnetic spectrum, as well as along plasma and antimatter frequencies. We wouldn't be able to keep pattern cohesion."
The commodore hummed in thought. "Who's in command with Captain Descombes dead?" he eventually asked.
"…Lieutenant Alvise Scianna is acting captain." The communications officer replied after a few moments. "He's requesting permission to personally report to the base commander."
"Granted," the commodore said with a nod, coming to a decision. "Also, tell them to start shuttling over their injured, and have our medical crews on standby."
"Yes, commodore." The communications officer said. "They acknowledge your response, and pass on their thanks. They're also sending us a list of the injured, along with what medical data they've gathered even without their medical bay."
"Understood." The commodore said with another nod. "Security, escort Lieutenant Scianna to my ready room once he arrives."
"Yes, sir." The security officer said with a nod. Meanwhile, the communications officer was busy receiving data from the Ronald Reagan, noting an unusually-large amount of junk and corrupted bits coming with it.
Then again, considering the amount of radiation leaking from the damaged starship, to say nothing of having to use a makeshift communications system, that shouldn't come as a surprise. As such, the man didn't think anything of letting the computer dump all the junk and corrupted bits into storage. They'd be brought up later, to see if they could be reconstituted and if anything important had been missed, otherwise they'd just be scrubbed.
A few minutes later, and a shuttle launched from the Ronald Reagan, before sensors sounded an alarm. "We've detected a radiation surge from the ship." The sensor officer barked. "If I had to guess, it's a plasma explosion, probably from a ruptured EPS relay."
"Confirmed," the communications officer said. "The evacuees will be delayed, but the lieutenant's on his way down with several others."
"I'll inform the commodore." The security officer said with a nod.
"…damn," the communications officer said after several moments. "Look at the state of that ship. It's all messed up."
"Yeah…fucking imps…" the security officer grouched, he and his fellow officers all staring at the Ronald Reagan struggling to limp along in high orbit, even as a shuttle descended down to the surface.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
It took about fifteen minutes for the shuttle to arrive, allowing Lieutenant Scianna to disembark, along with six other men. Almost immediately, he had the look of someone who'd been through hell, and not simply because of the bloody bandage around his forehead. There was…something, in his and his men's eyes, something that had most of the men who saw them shy away, but was all too familiar to the few veterans of the Dominion War present.
As such, there was no protest at the phasers holstered at the lieutenant and his men's waists, although it certainly helped that he provided security with clearance data on a battered PADD. "That bad, huh?" the man in charge at the security clearance center at the main landing area asked.
"Could have been worse." Scianna replied. "We saw ships get blown apart with single volleys, including some of our best ships, the Galaxy and Nebula Classes. Or we could have been melted by leaking plasma, like the captain was…sorry, it's just…fresh, right now."
"Yeah, I get that." The other man said, running through the data from the PADD. Strangely, there was a lot of junk and corrupted data with it, but aside from that, everything else checked out.
Besides, given the state of their ship, it was probably too much to expect even their simpler pieces of equipment to have gone unscathed. Programming the PADD was probably a pain, and it'd just be plain spiteful to ask men fresh out of battle and having just seen their fellow crewmen burned or blasted to death to keep up more than the bare minimum of appearances.
As such, the junk and corrupted data were put into storage, and the security man gave the PADD back.
"Checks out, he said." He said gesturing at a nondescript noncom nearby. "You can go right ahead, Petty Officer Allais here will escort you to the commodore."
The lieutenant nodded while letting Petty Officer Allais lead them away. Meanwhile the man manning the security station turned back to his console, noting the launch of a large number of shuttles from orbit. Quite a lot of them too, but then again, they were sending down about a third of the crew for medical help.
"Sorry bastards." He thought, even as he cleared most of them for approach, while redirecting a few towards secondary landing areas to avoid causing a bottleneck here. After receiving confirmation from the control room and other security stations, the man sat back, and pulled out a copy of a pornographic magazine from Betazed.
Technically contraband, but given how stressful things had become, the commodore had relaxed things somewhat.
The holodecks were still only for off-duty personnel, of course.
And he still had five hours to go on his shift, the man at security mused, before opening the magazine back to where he'd last left off.
Damn.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Lieutenant Alvise Scianna, reporting!" the lieutenant said with a salute as he stood before the commodore in his ready room.
"At ease." Commodore de la Croix said while returning the salute. "How are you holding up, lieutenant?"
The lieutenant sighed. "Could be better…" he said. "…really worried about my wife and daughter, they're both in the Altair Sector, and with the Klingons jumping in, well…"
"Ah…my sympathies…" the commodore immediately said.
The lieutenant took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together, and extended his PADD to the commodore. "Our security data, sir." He said. "Along with copies of the same data about our injured we sent earlier. Once we've finished dropping them off and finished what repairs we can, we'll head for the nearest starbase."
The commodore nodded. "Understood," he said. "I'll send along some of our engineering teams to help with repairs, and I must insist you see our doctor before you return to your ship. I understand you're down to first aid given the circumstances, and from one officer to another, I must insist."
"Of course, sir." The lieutenant said before giving another salute.
The commodore returned the salute, and with a gesture, allowed the men to leave. As they walked out of his ready room, the commodore sat down, and began to peruse the files on the PADD. Barely a few moments passed when alarms began to sound, causing the commodore to jolt and look up in surprise.
"What the…" he barely had time to say before the PADD exploded, turning his world into fire, light, and pain.
A moment later and the lieutenant rush back inside with two of his men, Petty Officer Allais' lying dead with a broken neck in the antechamber outside. The other four of the men from the Ronald Reagan were busy welding the door shut, the control panel next to it blown apart by a phaser shot.
Both the commodore and his adjutant were down, and covered with burns of various degrees. The former was also unconscious, but the latter was conscious, and glared at the lieutenant and his men as they restrained the two injured officers.
"W-why…?" the man gurgled out.
"…we're all sick and tired of fighting for a lost cause." The lieutenant answered after a moment as he worked the commodore's console. "And we sure as hell don't want to die for it. The Empire offered us ranks equal to what we already hold, and enough money for our families to live in comfort for the rest of their lives."
The other officer glared as he began to slip unconscious. "…t-traitors…" he spat before finally collapsing.
Lieutenant Scianna ignored the insult, instead plugging in a small Data Storage Device (DSD). It immediately dumped junk and corrupted data into the system, which together with two previous packages of supposed junk and corrupted data, formed a modular virus that bypassed Memory Alpha's security system. The virus locked down the central archive, before severing the physical connections between said archive and the rest of the base.
"…all that's left then…" the lieutenant murmured while looking at images of fighting elsewhere in Memory Alpha.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Memory Alpha's medical teams expected to find scores of injured helped by their fellow Starfleet officers. Instead, as the shuttle doors opened, they only had a bare second to take in scores of gas masked-men with spiked helmets and light combat armor over camouflaged fatigues.
A second later, and blue stun blasts lanced out, dropping medics and volunteers alike to the ground unconscious. Alarms began to sound as security personnel rushed in, but in that time the Targaryen troops switched from stun rounds to combat rounds. Red beams lashed out, and Starfleet security went down screaming, barring those managed to get behind cover. From there, they ducked in and out, firing off phaser blasts, the Targaryen troops scattering to get behind cover.
Then Z-6 rotary blasters were roaring, trapping the Starfleet personnel behind cover from a fusillade of automatic fire. This allowed other Targaryen troops to lope forward, and toss thermal detonators behind cover.
Explosions rang out, and corpses fell before Targaryen troops advanced. Across Memory Alpha, similar scenes broke out as Targaryen troops overran the landing areas, fighting their way towards the local security centers. Rooms were cleared out with gas grenades, Targaryen soldiers charging in and mercy-killing downed Starfleet security personnel, twitching and writhing on the ground as their skin speckled and their mouths foamed from airborne toxins.
"Security center secured," a platoon leader barked over the encrypted line. "Phase two complete, now commencing phase three."
Slicers got behind the consoles, and quickly plugging in DSDs, introduced more viruses into the Starfleet systems. One set of viruses shut down automated security systems across the base, another set overrode the central control system, a third set of viruses disabled the shields, while more sets of viruses shut down the subspace communication system and surface-to-orbit defenses.
Then in the skies above, the Imperial Expeditionary Force's First Battlegroup dropped out of hyperspace, interdictor cruisers quickly spreading out to form a blockade. Nothing less than an Acclamator Class also began to descend, the second echelon of the Imperial assault being formed by a full division of Imperial Stormtroopers.
"Second echelon inbound." The word came over the encrypted line. "Proceed to phase four, deploy destroyer droids."
"Acknowledged." The Targaryen platoon leaders responded. While some platoons stayed behind to hold the landing areas, others would press forward, to secure the central archive and control room. But the Starfleet complement was already responding quickly, men and women of several different species already rushing to arm themselves and attack.
And there were far more of them than the Targaryen troops.
But this had been foreseen, and the Targaryen troops prepared to make it so by the time the second echelon arrived, all they'd need to do was mop-up. Heavy crates were unloaded from the shuttles, and destroyer droids unpacked, since refurbished and repainted in black with silver trim from the old Confederacy's dun color scheme. Activation orders were sent, combat protocols updated, and then the destroyers were rolling away.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A team of Starfleet personnel rushed down a corridor, carrying a mix of type-1, type-2, and type-3 phasers. They were headed for the commodore's ready room, where traitors had barricaded themselves in. Fellow officers had already tried to retake the room, but had so far failed to achieve their goals.
"What's that noise?" an officer from operations spoke up, the team coming to a halt as metallic rumbling could be heard.
"Something's coming." Another operations officer spoke up, the Starfleet personnel scattering to take cover behind support beams.
The rumbling grew louder, moments before a trio of bulky wheels rolled around the corner several meters ahead. They came to a halt, before unfolding into insectoid robots that deployed personal shields before opening fire with heavy blasters.
The onslaught was fast and brutal, the Starfleet personnel pinned behind the support beams as fusillades of red beams burned past or struck sparks and acrid smoke from their cover. A few tried to get off quick shots before ducking back into, but most only ended up smoking corpses for their trouble. And even if they could get off a shot, it just bounced harmlessly off the robots' shields.
"…screw this!" A Rigelian said before breaking and running.
"NO!" an Andorian shouted after her, but it was too late. Heavy blaster beams literally blew her in two along the torso, causing the rest of the team to scream.
Consumed by rage, despair, and even defiance, they abandoned cover entirely, firing wildly in the robots' direction. Their shots either missed or splattered harmlessly against the robots' shields, the robots' return fire killing half of them in an instant.
The Starfleet personnel began falling back, opening fire as they went, others trying to drag their injured away, but this barely delayed the inevitable. A few more fusillades later, and the firing stopped, the robots disengaging their shields while marching down the corridor, heavy blasters ready to fire.
Most of the Starfleet personnel were dead, but two of them were still alive. One of them was a Human, a young man from Starfleet's command decision, blood pouring from his mouth and nose as he struggled to push his guts back inside him. He wasn't very successful at all, with every inch of intestine he managed to get inside seemingly only pushing five more out.
"…m-mommy…mommy, please…it h-h-hurts…" he gurgled deliriously. "…help m-me…mommy…mommy…"
The other survivor was the Rigellian, who was crawling away, dragging her upper body along the floor and leaving a trail of blood behind her.
The robots fired twice at each of them, and satisfied that all viable targets had been eliminated, moved on.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Green blood splattered the walls and floors as Captain Calanyon slit the Vulcan's throat and neck arteries, the Valyrian pushing the dying man away afterward. Wincing, the captain reached up, and pulled out the knife the Vulcan had managed to sink into his shoulder. It didn't get in particularly deep, but the fact it got through his chest armor at all, when said armor was good at blocking penetrating strikes, said volumes about a Vulcan's strength.
"Too bad he wasn't dealing with a baseline Human." Calanyon thought.
"Sir," one of his men spoke up, splattered with blood, Human this time, as he approached. "Are you alright?"
"I'll be fine." Calanyon said. "It's just a flesh wound. More importantly, where's our slicer?"
"Already working on it, sir." The young woman replied, already wearing her visor with wires plugged into a cybernetic attachment around her neck, and accessing Memory Alpha's central archive. "The viscountess' prize is heavily-encrypted…the feddies really wanted to make sure no one could get their hands on this."
"Too bad for them." Another Valyrian said next to her. "What the viscountess wants, the viscountess gets. Especially if she's planning on handing it over to the Emperor."
"Hey, knock it off." Calanyon snapped. "Or do you want to brick your mouth up for you?"
"Sorry, sir."
"…and…got it!" the slicer said after a couple of minutes. "Downloading data, checking for viruses…alright, two minutes and thirty-two seconds in all, almost a worthy opponent."
It took a few minutes to get all the data out, before the slicer pulled out the DSD. Then she introduced a virus into the central archive, which would delete the data and all references thereof, ensuring her, and thus, the viscountess' copy, was the only existing one.
Said copy was handed over to Calanyon, who placed the DSD into a hardened container which he then secreted in his kit. "Alright, prepare to move out." He ordered. "Once the second echelon relieves us, we're heading back to orbit. All sections report in."
"Section 1 clear." The report came. "Section 2 clear. Section 3 clear. Section 4 clear. Section 5 clear. Section 7 clear."
"This is Section 8," a platoon leader spoke up. "We have control of main engineering, but Starfleet's trying to take it back. Holding out for backup from the destroyers."
"This is Section 9," another platoon leader spoke up. "Just mopping up here at life support."
"Section 10 is…clear." Another platoon leader diffidently said. "We accidentally, uh, blew hydroponics out into vacuum. No casualties on our part, but…uh…Starfleet…it's not pretty."
"Better them than one of us." A Valyrian spoke up over the encrypted line.
"My thoughts exactly." Another Valyrian spoke up in agreement to a chorus of ayes.
"Alright, keep it professional." Calanyon, although he also sounded amused at the exchange. "Section 11?"
"We've got Starfleet pinned between us and the destroyers at the living areas." The platoon leader responded. "We're reaming their backsides here, and we are loving it."
"You sick bastard." Another officer said to a chorus of laughs, Calanyon himself giving a laugh and a shake of his head.
"Good work, everyone." He said, spotting Imperial Stormtroopers and ISB agents approaching. "Mission accomplished."
