Star Trek: Defiant

"Stereotypes Broken" - Part 2G

Written by Valas Maerret


The battle rages fiercely down the corridor as Hardin, Maerret and a station crewmen approach the transporter scrambler in bunker D2. It sits on a balcony overlooking an ten story drop to the level below. They put down their weapons and begin to take apart the outer casing of the device.

The crewman hands Hardin an infuser. "Here, this might help a little."

Hardin takes the device, noticing a tattoo on the creman's inside wrist. He was about to thank the crewman, but was pushed backward fiercely, over the railing.

Maerret quickly turns around to see the crewman holding a disruptor aimed at his chest. The crewman fires. Maerret winced and held his breath, knowing that it would be his last. But instead of feeling the energy discharge through his body, he was simply knocked to the floor. He opened his eyes to see the outline of a personal shield around him, which had dissapated the blast. He looked down to the suit he was wearing, and thanked whatever god had just saved his life.

The crewman stormed away when Maerret went for his weapon. Maerret fired, and although it didn't hit the crewman, it made him dodge. In doing so, he went over the side of the balcony, screaming. That is, until he hit the floor. It was then that Maerret remembered the other person in the room.

Hardin was hanging from the balcony, holding on to the railing with all his strength. Maerret tried to reach him, but it was just too difficult from this angle. It was obvious Hardin was loosing his grip.

"Just knock out that scrambler, Maerret," Hardin states. "Don't worry about me."

Maerret looks to the device and then back to Hardin, considering his course of action.

"Come on, Maerret. Blair's team is probably all dead by now. There's gonna be a mess of soldiers running in here to stop us any second now. That's an order, Ensign."

Hardin saw Maerret's face disapear on top of the balcony. He knew he was going to loose his grip in a few seconds. He sets his thoughts to what he wants them to be as he dies. He was glad to have served in Starfleet, and that there could be no better ship than the Defiant. But above all, he would miss all of his friends.

And then Maerret's head popped back out from over the railing.

"Oh, hell with it," he states. "I never liked following orders anyway." And with that, he tosses a rope over the edge. Hardin grabs it, and Maerret relentlessly pulls until the Commander is safely atop the balcony. By the end of the ordeal, Maerret is breathing quite heavily.

"I think you need to loose a few pounds, Commander," he said between breaths.

They both get to their feet and continue their task.

* * *

"Come on, bub, we're not out of this yet," Mak urges Harvey as they put the finishing touches on the transporter scrambler. Harvey fires a phaser shot into it for good measure.

Suddenly, a group of soldiers storms into the room. Mak and Harvey duck behind a large machine as disruptor blasts fill the air around them. They were trapped behind the machine. This would be the end.

It was then that the room went alight with the glow of transporter beams. All of Goldswell was filled with thousands of materializing men and women - beaming in from New Boston, from the Utopia Orbital Station, from Starships, and from any other site within transporter range. There had never been such grand rescue in the history of rescues.

* * *

Colonel Graff pressed the button that would end it all. He would keep his promise. The destruct signal had been sent to the explosives, and he would die fulfulling his last mission. There was one thing that he was not aware of, however.

A few seconds ago, just as the Starfleet personnel were beaming in, all of Graff's men were being transported to the orbitting vessel that would take them away from Mars, the Diamos. What Graff didn't realize was that several minutes ago, the Defiant had located the cloaked vessel.

So as the Starfleet crew beamed into Goldswell, all of the explosives rigged to the antimatter containment units were beamed to the Diamos. And then, just as the that vessel recloaked and headed away from Mars, Graff pressed the button that would end it all. The Defiant was witness to a dazzling explosion.

* * *

Maerret walks into eight-foreward. Maerret didn't know why the crew called it that. It was technically 12-foreward, as it was in all Soverign class vessels. Maerret guessed that it had some traditional roots. He stopped to look out the large window. It was a beautiful view, as always.

Maerret notices Barak and K'larn sitting at a table togther, sharing a drink. He walks over. They look at him wearily.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Maerret asks, not sure what he wanted to accomplish by this, and definately not sure what the outcome would be.

K'larn looks to Barak and then back to Maerret.

"Sure," he states heartilly, "if you can stomach some Klingon War Nog."

They all share a laugh. Maerret takes a seat, and for the first time in as long as knew, smiled with sincere happiness. Indeed it was a beautiful view.

* * *

Admiral Schell stood with trepidation in the cold room, fidgeting with the new isignia on his uniform while awaiting the arrival of his associate. Waiting too long. Always it was like that, always a game with their kind. And the game today was particularly risky.

Schell had recently been promoted from Rear Admiral to Vice Admiral. It seems that Starfleet thought very highly of his decisions regarding the recent Goldswell incident. If only they knew the truth, he chuckled to himself.

Colonel Graff was murdered a few days ago, right before the interrogation. Schell knew he would not have received a fair trial, and that the Federation would have forced the information that they wanted out of him. Schell could not have allowed that to happen.

It was after another fifteen minutes that he finally entered, wearing a look that belittled the coldness of the room. Schell hated that stare. They both sat at the table where they had sat many times before. The other offered Schell a drink, and although he thought the taste rather disgusting, he accepted as always.

"The operation has failed," Schell finally spoke up, not able to hold his frustrations in any longer.

The other simply shook his head, "Not at all. Have faith, Admiral, the first part of our plan was quite successful."

"How do you call that a success? We gained nothing after having invested two years in preparation."

"We have gained much more than simple commodities, Admiral. We've gained valuable information. And even more importantly, the Federation is now looking for conspiracies in all the wrong places. We've set them off balance, and the second part of our plan will be ready for execution within the year."

Schell was actually able to crack a smile at the reference, "How are our little pets coming along?"

"Quite nicely, actually. I think you will be most pleased with the results."

"I have waited a long time for this. I hope what I am risking here is worth it."

"Fear not, Admiral," the Romulan said after taking a sip of his blue ale. "The destruction of the Federation is only a matter of time."


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