Presidential Mansion
Lake Victoria, African Region, Earth
Sol System, Sector 001

The halls of the Presidential Mansion rung with the thousand frantic calls of what had happened across the Neutral Zone, the President insisting on status updates every fifteen minutes. He summoned the Defense Minister, Foreign Minister, and the Chief of Starfleet Operations. All the communiques which filtered out of from the Neutral Zone confirmed the same thing.

Romulus was no more.

President James Aquilina, elected as a reformer who would move the Federation out from the shadow of the Dominion War, with all its chaos and strife, and into a new age of prosperity and peace, could only thing of one thing. How much it would affect him on the polls. A refugee crisis? Destabilization of the Quadrant? The end of the Congress of Bajor? That all meant he would be confirmed to a single, terrible term. History would forget him, lost in a sea of Presidents, nameless to all except a few studious bookworms.

He, his ministers, the CSO, and the Klingon Ambassador - brought to the Mansion by the CSO’s insistence - gathered in the war room at his mansion overlooking the grand Lake Victoria. The view, which commanded a stunning view of the Alexandra Nile as it flowed into the illustrious lake, was Aquilina’s favorite, and he wondered how much longer he would be able to enjoy this sight.

“We must send some kind of force into the Romulan Star Empire, or what remains of it, before it falls into total and complete anarchy. That will not be good for anyone, not us, not the Klingon Empire, and certainly not the Romulan people. A whole stretch of space, fallen to piracy and warlords! We cannot allow that!” Grand Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, Chief of Starfleet Operations, declared. It had been eight years since the event on the Enterprise-E, deep in Romulan space, brought him from the captain’s chair to an admiral’s desk, “Ambassador Torak, surely the Klingon Empire agrees?”

“The Klingon Empire must not have chaos on her borders! If the Federation is willing to enforce order, then we likewise will send our own force into Romulan space,” Torak concurred with Picard’s view, even if they had a different outlook on what that intervention force would be doing, “Is Starfleet up to the challenge, Picard? To fight these Romulan petaQs as they are pushed against a wall? Is today a good day to die?”

“Ambassador, if the Federation does get involved, it will be for humanitarian aid and peacekeeping only,” Foreign Minister Ramadhani Shamasdin spoke up, after deliberating his words carefully, “the Federation will not take part in a campaign of retribution and conquest of what remains of the Romulan Empire.”

Ambassador Torak simply scoffed and sipped at his glass of water, turning his gaze towards the Lake and refusing to answer. Picard looked over and, seeing the President looking disinterestedly in the same direction, began to speak towards him, “Mr. President, I must ask you to forget your notions of retaining power. Right now, it is the time to act, a time to step up to what your office stands for. You represent the United Federation of Planets, the greatest force for good the Galaxy has ever seen, and you must not allow billions of lifeforms to be swept into civil war and chaos.”

“Admiral Picard, if I may interject….” Defense Minister Thuzok Rossah butted in, “I don’t believe we have the resources to commit to another full-scale conflict, which this will surely spiral into. Who knows what’s beyond Romulan space! Or what’s in it, for that matter! They’ve never let us know the true number of client races within their Empire. We have no reason to do anything except increase security along the Neutral Zone.”

“And if we do that, Mr. Rossah, we’ll only be delaying the inevitable flood of refugees. It will be like the Hunnic hordes storming across the Rhine and into Rome. Do you wish to be the one who causes that, Defense Minister?” Picard looked from the Defense Minister and turned his gaze towards the President, “Or you, Mr. President? If not, you must act decisively and you must act now.”

“Alright, Jean-Luc…” Aquilina murmured, after spending what seemed like an eternity in silent thought, “You always are a bully when it comes to getting what you want, but you always have a point…” He chuckled dryly, “you’ll get your task force, Picard. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me…” Aquilina gestured to his two ministers, “we have a press conference to prepare for. FBN is going to tear us to shreds…”

As the President and his ministers left, Picard walked over towards the large panoramic windows, admiring the still relatively untouched beauty of Africa. A flock of white-bellied storks flew in the distance, gliding over the waters of Lake Victoria, “Admiral Picard, you have great honor. Your reputation is well-known throughout the Empire,” Torak spoke from behind Picard, still nursing his glass of water, “it is a privilege to meet you.”

“As you, Ambassador,” Picard nodded, turning around to face the Klingon, “your fleet action at Ioya V during the War was astounding. I remember reading the after-action reports and…”

“Enough of my track record, Admiral,” Torak smiled, cutting off Picard with a wave of his hand, “We have a problem, that only men who have tasted combat will ever see…” He had Picard’s attention, “The Romulan space must be absorbed into our states. There is no other option. It is a simple fact, that no one wants to come out and say! Oh, how you Federation types love your word games. Whatever we do, peacekeeping and securing space, just delays when we must face up to that fact.”

“They will be admitted into the Federation if they so choose, Ambassador…” Picard spoke, but he knew the Klingon spoke wisdom.

“As your War Advisor pointed out, there is much out there that we do not know of.” Torak paused, and then turned his gaze towards the lake, “This view reminds me of my home. Except there, it is much more beautiful.”

CHAPTER ONE: DISINTEGRATION

Somewhere near the Neutral Zone
USS VIGILANCE
STARDATE 64607

"-Romulan refugee ships have begun to filter across the Neutral Zone. Starfleet ships have been dispatched to assist in aid operations, which is becoming the greatest humanitarian crisis of the Alpha Quadrant's history. Here with us is-"

"-Defense Minister Thuzok Rossah has announced that the joint Klingon-Federation task force has entered Romulan space and is proceeding to make contact with the Romulan Provisional Government in the Hasseleh system. The Romulan Provisional Government consists of former sen-"

"-in soccer , Vulcan has beat Earth 5-4 in the third round of the Federation Cup. They will proceed onto play the Sauria in the next match tomorrow. We'll now take it to T'Pra for the latest stock exchan-"

Captain Strenn switched off the newsreader. It was all too much. He sat in silence in his ready room, the stars streaming past the large window above the settee. A cup of herbal tea, made from leaves grown in the arid deserts of the Forge, was slowly losing its warmth on the table before him. The Vulcan Captain's mind was racing, far faster than he could handle with his nearly five decades of carefully constructed mental walls. His father would be utterly ashamed that his eldest son could not keep his emotions in check, but how could he? Strenn had been aboard the T'Kumbra, in fact had been her Executive Officer, when it was destroyed on that fateful day above Cardassia. Captain Solok, that brave officer, went down with the ship and with most of the crew. Strenn, for his bravery, was promoted to Captain and awarded the highest award the Federation can bestow. Strenn, however, considered it an insult, even contemplated on resigning his commission. But that would not logical, since Starfleet needed experienced officers now more than ever.

And so that's what brought him to this lofty position as a Commanding Officer of a cruiser, no matter how aged she might be. It was a high responsibility to be a starship captain, and he felt the pressure sit heavily upon his shoulders now that he was sitting in the central seat. But the question "What would Solok do?" raged in his mind every time he made a decision, even if it was 'Boats, ahead warp five.' Solok was a true Starfleet officer, and more, he was a true Vulcan. Strenn, on the other hand, was only a fair facsimile.

The door buzzed, breaking through the clouded thoughts of the Vulcan captain.

"Enter."

The Executive Officer of Vigilance, Commander Udrus Ahrume, a Bajoran, entered into his ready room. A capable, brave, and intelligent officer, Strenn recalled his service record as the Bajoran entered the room, although prone to emotional outbursts when confronted with Cardassians. Thankfully, on this mission they would be as far away from Cardassia as anyone could be. The Bajoran stopped just before the coffee table and stood at attention, his Service Uniform immaculate and inspection ready. The stars glimmered off of his well-polished shoes, "Sir, we've entered Romulan space."

"Good...." Strenn rose to his feet and without further discussion joined the Commander as they walked back onto the bridge. It was bustling with activity, as to be expected at such a critical mission hour.

"Attention on deck!" Lieutenant von Körner, the Officer of the Deck, shouted as the Captain entered the bridge.

"As you were." Strenn waved his hand and approached the OOD, "Any updates, Lieutenant?"

"USS Courageous is requesting all vessels attached to the Fleet connect to her channel. She is going to begin broadcasting soon." The Lieutenant made his watch report, still standing at attention before Captain Strenn, "other than that, there has been some odd readings from the Warp Core and from minor systems on Deck 6, but Engineering is dealing with it and it has not affected any operations."

"Very well." Strenn nodded, "I relieve you, sir."

"I stand relieved. Attention in the bridge, Captain Strenn has the deck!" Lieutenant von Körner shouted once more and the bridge, once more, leapt to attention.

"This is Captain Strenn, I have the bridge." And with those words, the bridge returned to work after the playthrough of centuries-old naval tradition. Captain Strenn, tugging down on his Service Uniform, took his seat at the captain's chair and turned towards the Communications Station, "Chief, put Courageous through."

"Aye aye, sir." Operations Specialist Chief Kernaghan obeyed the order and, with a slight move of hand, the viewscreen that once showed stars was replaced with the bridge of the Sovereign-class starship, the flagship of 12th Fleet. At the center of the screen was Commodore Doma, a grizzled Bolian and a veteran of the War. Strenn remembered that he had been the CO of a minesweeper, operating along the Breen Front. Vigilance must have been the last to connect, for shortly after he was put on the viewscreen the Commodore began his speech.

"All Starfleet and Federation vessels, we are about to undertake a mission unlike any other in the Alpha Quadrant's history. The eyes of thousands of species are upon you today, the hopes and dreams of billions of souls depending upon your adherence to duty. I expect every sailor in my task force to be model Starfleet servicemembers, and to act in accordance with the Starfleet Creed. We represent the Federation, and we cannot let these people down. Captains, you will receive a coded transmission detailing your specific operational goals." The Commodore paused, "I wish you all the best of luck. Godspeed!"

The screen was replaced by the eternal starscape of deep space, displaying a region of space that had not been traveled by Starfleet since the days of the Earth-Romulan War. "I'll be in my ready room. Commander, you have the bridge." Strenn rose, and without doing the formal trade-off of the Watch with the Executive Officer, disappeared into his ready room as quickly as he had come onto the bridge.

Deck 11, USS Vigilance

The marines of one seven stowed their gear in their rooms and cargo bays on deck eleven. An arms room was constructed in cargo bay ten. The Company’s two Argo Buggies and two TT4s were beamed aboard the ship into the newly acquired cargo bay. The marines enjoyed the access to the four holosuites on their deck, but knew the commander and first sergeant would probably use those for training purposes only.

“Excuse me, sir,” Gunnery Sergeant Washington addressed the unit commander. “I’ve installed a physical fitness routine into Holosuite five and a gunner range routine in suite six. I’ve been working on a training schedule for level one skills starting as soon as possible. I’ll need you to look it over. If you have any input on collective training ideas for you and your lieutentants, please share with me and I will get them set up in one of the holosuites.”

“Thanks, Gunny,” Major Watkins responded to his operations officer. “Do you happen to have the first sergeant’s personnel report?”

“Yes sir,” Gunny Washington, an African American NCO from the American city of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania said as he handed his datapad to his commander.

Major Watkins looked it over mumbling to himself, “authorized 219, 209 on hand. Shortages, nine carabiners and one rifleman.” He stopped when he saw the next line, then looked up at Gunny Washington, staring him eye to eye. “Five cases of Andorian clap?! Seriously!?”

“Ah, yes sir. Apparently some of the men went out for a night on the town before we left San Diego and bumped into some loose Andorian women and a little more fun than they expected.”

“Wonderful, I assume they have reported to sick bay?”

“Yes sir,” Gunny Washington responded with a smile. “The Andorians are acting up over Platoon Sergeant Skulvik.”

“Not this again!?” Major Watkins was annoyed at the racist contempt the Andorians displayed toward their one and only Vulcan in the company. “I know Platoon Sergeant Skulvik can take care of himself, but I’m going to ask the first sergeant to take care of this.”

“I need to head to the bridge. I’m sure the Captain will have something for us to do soon. I want to give him an update and tell him our training plan. Keep up the good work. Ask Captain Poggok for his hand to hand combat routine. I want the officers and senior NCOs to begin training in the Klingon style of combat as soon as possible.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“That means you too, Gunny!”

“No problem, sir. I look forward to it.”

Major Watkins turned away and headed for the turbolift and the bridge.

Command Master Chief Byn Ch'oviaval exited his quarters on deck six making his way toward the turbo lift to the bridge. A few steps behind him was the Commander of the Marine Detachment, Major Kurt Watkins.

“Good day Chief,” Major Watkins addressed the blue-skinned Andorian NCO who stood about the same height as he but only slightly thinner. Major Watkins was pretty excited about this trip. He had no clue what the marines of one seven were in for, but he knew whatever it was, they would do well.

“Good day, sir,” Command Master Chief Ch’oviaval responded. He did not know the marine, but could tell from his uniform that he was a marine, undoubtedly the commander of the Marines aboard ship. “Are your men settling in?”

“Aye, chief, they are. Have you met first sergeant Cue? I’m sure you will want to speak to him eventually.”

“Aye, sir. I will at that.”

“Master Chief, I have a situation I would like to ask you about. It is Andorian in nature and I don’t want to appear too insensitive, but I’m afraid it may affect the morale of my unit.”

The Master Chief was completely taken in by the Major’s proposition. “Tell me what is your situation?”

“We have thirty-seven Andorians in our company and one Vulcan. It has come to my attention that some of the Andorians have expressed racist attitudes towards our one Vulcan. I know the two peoples have a history of armed conflict, but those disputes were settled ages ago. What’s the deal?”

Chief Ch’oviaval smiled at the mention of this problem. “Well sir, For the Vulcans, that war ended two hundred years ago, but for some of the harder hit regions in Andorian space, the war ended yesterday. Parents have perpetuated the anger towards their Vulcan overlords for generations.” The master chief made quote signs in the air with his hands when he spoke of Vulcan overlords.

“I see. I sure hope they don’t give me a problem since the ship’s captain is also a Vulcan.”

“Sir, when I talk to your first sergeant, I can offer my assistance in talking to your Andorians. It might be easier coming from one of their own.”

“Thank you, Command Master Chief. I appreciate your assistance.”

The two rode the Turbo lift to the bridge and exited it to see the Bridge crew performing their duties. The Executive Officer, Commander Udrus, a Bajoran about ten years younger than the Chief sat in the Commander’s seat. The Chief took the chair to his left. “Is the old man in his ready room?”

Meanwhile, Major Watkins approached the Tactical Station. He knew nothing about the position or the station the tactics officer stood in front of, but commanding the naval infantry contingent aboard ship, it seemed like a logical place for him to await the ship’s captain and his orders.

---

---

Triss sat in her office looking over the crew medical files seeming oblivious to the fact that the ship had just closed range with the neutral zone and on the other side was a fracturing Empire; she understood futility.

She, unlike the other members of the crew knew almost as if she were hardwired into the power systems when the Vigilance changed speed, when the deflector dish altered it profile, when the shields were activated or the weapons fired. Because of her Mev Ra she was able to resist the worry of not knowing what was going on around her.

“Death is inevitable, to worry over the inevitable a waste of energy” said Tana the Long Spear ran the philosophy Triss followed as she noticed how jangled her staff was. She almost wanted to reassure them but knew that would only worry them more; if she acted as she always did then they’d hopefully assume at least an air of normality.

“Doctor I have the command staff files updated; all except yours” said Nurse Renquist a tall beautiful red headed human female her green eyes looking into Triss’s own blue eyes.

“Thank you Donna, if you like you can do mine now here at my desk I have to finish the Marines. Triss said answering her head nurse’s question with a smile.

“Sonna’s memory these Marines are like Jigsaw Puzzles most of them wounded at least twice, one of them has 7 wounds.” Triss said clicking her tongue “Let’s hope we don’t have to work too hard keeping them intact, you know how much I dislike working”

Donna looked at her CMO a smile and a shake of her head at the Doctor’s poor attempt at making a joke.

Speaking of work those; “Jarheads are they called?” I want you to see they receive counseling on the need to show more awareness in the responsibilities of personal health and how it affects their unit.

Donna sighed then said “Yes Doctor should they also be required regular screenings?”

“That sounds like a good idea; have their HM see to it” chuckled Triss before she turned back to her files.

---

---

Reva was dressed in her basic skin suit a black onesie made of a silky thermally insulated material and durable type of underwear that covered her throat to toes the exercise room empty except for her overalls, boots pack and a hip pouch med kit nearby in a corner.

She was careful to push only 20% of her total effort encase there was an alert knowing if she were called on she’d recover quickly to 100% in 3 minutes and even if she didn’t have the time to recover she could operate as expected in her duties.

Under her feet the holo treadmill scrolled slowly the local gravfield simulating the terrain of the track she sometimes ran at the Presidio. It was all a very accurate simulation but still couldn’t compare to the real thing of the Holodeck.

As she ran through her head the latest combat trauma procedures she’d read last night in her bunk Ensign Sito a human who was part of Engineering and 3 inches taller than herself. She and the other female had become friends drawn together by their diminutive height so she greeted her friend “Hi hi”

“Hi Mouse do you ever settle down and rest?” giggled Sito

“Only when I am scheduled to rest” Reva giggled

The ensign went to work do those maintenance routines expected to keep the ship in operational order laughing softly.

Reva switched to the bench setting it for 70 kilos and began a series of reps.

A grey furred finger tapped the display of the tactical console, starting the diagnostics program. It's owners left ear twitching as a dark skinned humanoid came to a stop nearby. The green eyes studied the reports as they filed across the screen.

Dar'Valah's mind was split between the data he was studying and the announcement that was just made. The mission would offer the feline the opportunity to do those things he truly enjoyed; He would see things that no Federation officer had seen since the neutral zone went up. Witness sites of beauty that can only be imagined at this point.

And there would surely be fights along the way. The opportunity to flex his claws and sink his teeth into threats to the Federation. Although probably not literally, the Ferasan/Caitian hybrids ears twitched in a smile even as he stilled his lips to prevent from showing a recognizable emotion.

Shifting, the feline cracked his neck. The ships weapons were in excellent shape, unsurprising given the importance of their task; Still Dar'Valah ordered the computer to run the diagnostics again, what's the old human saying. Better safe than sorry? The tactical officer thought.

From his position at the science station, Lt. Commander Clarke watched the scene in the bridge play out, one hand clasping his opposing wrist, fingers gently rapping against it as a look of faint contempt washed over his face. Peacekeeping. They keep using that word. I don't think it means what it think they means. Mark my words, by the end of the year, they'll have chopped up Romulan space between us and the Klingons faster than you can say "To hell with the Prime Directive!"

Clarke had spent most of his adult life studying what small peaks into the cultural, biological, and evolutionary history of Romulan Space the Star Empire had allowed the Federation to glimpse through his original team's expeditions back on Science Station D-4, near the trinary border and the former united colony effort between the Klingons, Romulans, and Federation at Nimbus III. His career had been modeled on the stories and reports of Starfleet's exploits prior to the Dominion Wars, when the organization was about exploration, learning, and growing peaceful coexistence.

But that was all in the past. The warhawks, arms dealers, and would-be generals had gotten their way, and now Starfleet had more in common with its history as the United Earth army and navy than it did in the days gone by. Violating the rights of foreign sentients in the name of "policing" and "security" is not what Starfleet should be about, and it went against the very fiber of everything Clarke had been taught and had done since his first day at Starfleet Academy. But yet here he was, hoping that in some twisted way he could bring that sense of peace and learning back by being at the forefront of this excursion. And so he grimly paid attention to the speech being made, and played out his duties as the ship prepared for its full departure with the rest of the fleet vessels crossing the Neutral Zone.