Google Groups no longer supports new Usenet posts or subscriptions. Historical content remains viewable.
Dismiss

FanFic - DP/UF - Crossroads [13]

1 view
Skip to first unread message

MegaZone

unread,
Mar 2, 1993, 1:33:10 PM3/2/93
to

--------------------------------------------------------------THIRTEEN

"Cry havoc--! And let slip the dogs of war!"
--General Chang

Gryphon stood in the turbolift, his fist clenched tight around
the orders assigning him command of his ship. Since he had first seen
and taken over the final stages of the construction of the WDF
Concordia, it had been a foregone conclusion that command of the
vessel would pass to him when the time came; but the time was now, and
the immediacy of the whole thing burned in his mind. After three
centuries as the Wayward Son's exec, he was finally receiving a ship
of his own, a ship almost as powerful as the SDF-17, and in many more
ways his own.
The Concordia was his design, pulled from the databanks of the
Utopia Planitia Naval Shipyard's Sperry/UNIVAC masterframe computer,
Bombsight, when Lord Fahrvergnugen began constructing the WDF's grand
fleet, several years before. He had sketched it out during the
Wayward Son's second repair and refit layover, after the destruction
of Neo-Worcester, and fleshed it out anytime he had access to a CAD or
VCAD terminal linked to Bombsight, keeping up with the technology
curve and updating the vessel five or six times before it was even
constructed. He had planned to have it built when the time was right
for the WDF to branch out and form a fleet. That time had never come
before the Breakup.
Gryphon had been delighted when he discovered that the
Concordia was actually slated for construction; he had been intending
to claim the captaincy of a Constitution-class cruiser, to replace his
lost and beloved USS Invincible, before learning that his own personal
brainchild was under construction. He had immediately assigned
himself as construction supervisor, replacing Lord Fahrvergnugen
himself.
The original Concordia design had been very sketchy, nothing
but a general hull design and some very preliminary power requirement
calculations. There had been a place in the keel design for a Class
Omega weapon, of which the WDF currently fielded three designs, and a
Class Omega powerplant and fold system. Originally, these had been
intended to be a Reflex furnace and cannon, and the appropriate drive.
Over time that had been updated, and in the year between Gryphon's
pardon and the commencement of actual construction, it was fleshed out
and finalized. That year had been a year of hard work indeed, and
here was the reward. The temperamental Reflex furnace had been
superseded as a power source for vessels of the Concordia's size;
instead, she had fusion-powered impulse engines, and main power was
provided by a bank of engines of Gryphon's own design, engines which
utilized a strange combination of conventional thermofusion and wave
motion dynamics. Very classified.
The Class Omega weapon had been upgraded, too, but what had
replaced the fabled Reflex cannon in this ship's design was one of the
WDF's best-kept secrets.
The turbolift stopped and the doors hissed open, and Gryphon
found himself in a drydock, similar to but much smaller than the
mammoth drydock where the Wayward Son had been constructed and
reconstructed so many times in its career. Here, the Concordia sat
patiently at moorings, waiting for her chance to take to the stars.
From the station balcony behind the ship, Gryphon could see her two
enormous banks of impulse thrusters, like giant fins on an ancient
motorcar; the aft quarter of the ship bulged with the vast engines
that powered the vessel. The bridge tower rose majestically,
terminating in the broad sweep of the v-antenna for the main sensor
suite just above the semicircle of crystalline windows that formed the
bridge outlook.
The Concordia was a naval-design ship of the old school, not a
modern-design Federation vessel with its separate engineering and
command hulls, and nacelle-mounted warp-drive engines. Concordia had
a single, solid hull, bristling with weapons, sensors, and shield
generators, with two huge operating decks for its fighter compliment;
she travelled between starsystems with instantaneous fold drive.
The last layer of green thermocoat had been applied hours ago,
and all final checks were complete. The WDF Concordia was ready for
launch, and just in time, too; the GENOM fleet, at last report, was a
mere fourteen parsecs out, and closing fast. Gryphon turned and went
back into the turbolift, keying it for Transporter Station A. Once
there, he ordered that he be beamed to the Concordia.
After the now-familiar disorientation of transportation
passed, he stepped off the Concordia's transporter platform and
presented his command papers. The ensign there approved them (looking
faintly awestruck at the thought of being in close quarters with the
legendary Gryphon himself), filed them, and issued Gryphon his ship's
insignia, which he affixed to the breast of his uniform tunic. This
device allowed him complete access to the vessel; as captain, he could
go anywhere he liked. This included through the doors to his left,
into the turbolift, and to the bridge.
The doors hissed open; Commander Saavik glanced up and
announced, "Captain on the bridge."
"As you were," Gryphon said before any of his command staff
could get up. He knew them all, as well as any commander knew his
crew, as well as MegaZone had known his own crew on the old SDF-17.
They had served together for thirty years, thirty of the happiest of
Gryphon's life without Kei, and while that wasn't as long as three
hundred, Gryphon figured it was good enough. In some cases, that was
longer. Saavik, for example, had been with him his entire Starfleet
career. He arrived on the Enterprise, under Jim Kirk, a lieutenant
commander and an engineer's mate; then-Lieutenant Saavik had been
assigned to assist him. Since that time, he could not remember a time
when she was not at his side. He smiled and took his place in the
center seat.
The viewer pinged; the VISION test pattern appeared, followed
by the AI's representation. She was depicted wearing a WDF uniform of
her own, holding the rank of lieutenant commander. "Oi, Captain," she
said.
"Hey, Vision. I'm glad the techs got you settled before the
fight. Like your new digs?"
"It's not bad," the AI replied, looking around and smiling.
"Lots of empty space, but I can fix that when I have the time."
"All shipboard systems operational?"
"Looks good," Vision replied. "Computer telemetry connected
on all stations. Not a gap in the net anywhere."
"Good." He addressed the entire crew present. "I'm sorry we
don't have time for a formal launching, but the enemy is within
fifteen parsecs of the system, and there's no time to waste. If we
aren't here to greet GENOM when they come out of hyperspace, there
won't be enough left of ReRob to scrape up. We're defending our home
turf here, and that gives us an advantage. I suggest we use it. Now
then. Status, Commander Saavik?"
"Aye, sir," Saavik replied, turning to her screens. "All
decks report systems ready and optimal. Everything is in preparation
for launch."
"Computer concurs," Vision confirmed. "Standing by." She
disappeared. "Lieutenant Leeds, contact Planitia Control and
request permission to depart at Gate Four. Mr. Hunter, viewer on,
ahead mag one."

<<< Queen: We Will Rock You >>>

"Viewer on, sir," Lt. Cmdr. Max Hunter, his helmsman, replied.
The front viewer hummed on; it was no longer considered safe for WDF
vessels to enter combat situations with the shields over the bridge
window retracted. Outside, the vessels of the Wedge Defense Force
were departing the Dyson sphere in an orderly manner, cruising out the
numerous gates on impulse power as the mighty super dreadnaught
fortress idled up her Reflex furnaces carefully. Furnaces were tricky
things; it wasn't good to just ram them up to full power. Gryphon
wondered if the engineering staff was having trouble without Rob to
guide them. For all his self-professed lack of skill as a commander,
none, not even oft-self-critical ReRob, could fault his engineering
prowess.
The WDF Pennsylvania, Captain John Trussell's command, cruised
past, flashing her running lights; the Concordia responded likewise.
Gryphon smiled as the Iowa class battlecruiser exited the sphere; the
Iowa was another design he had pushed for in the planning stages.
"Captain," Lt. Vanessa Leeds reported from the comm station,
"Planitia Control reports we are cleared to depart on Gate Four."
"Mr. Hunter, make it so. One-quarter impulse power."
"One-quarter impulse power, sir." The huge megacarrier began
to move, gracefully easing out of her slip before pivoting and, for
the first time in her life, entering the outside space. It felt
curiously like the Invincible's last trip out of Spacedock, before the
trip back across the dimensional barriers. Part of that might be
because the Concordia's bridge module was the very same as the one on
the Invincible, removed from the wrecked Constitution-class starship
and mated to the Concordia's flying bridge structure by the skilled
engineers of the Utopia Planitia Naval Shipyard.
Outside, the Wedge Defense Force fleet was arranged in
meticulous order. Carrier battlegroups, composed of a Bengal or
Exeter class carrier and its assorted escort ships, dotted the skies
in tight clusters, the fighters not yet launched. The mighty Alaska
class battlecruisers and Excelsior and Iowa class battleships stood
alone or in pairs. Captain Erik Swimm's Federation class dreadnaught,
WDF Indomitable, hovered near Gate Twelve, ready to escort the
Wandering Child out into battle when the time came. Groups of
Constitution class cruisers, the backbone of the WDF's Tactical Fleet,
traveled back and forth in covering patterns, escorting and patrolling
simultaneously. The Battlestars were arrayed at equidistant points
throughout the formation, strengthening perceived weak spots, each of
them equal in size and nearly equivalent in power to the old Wayward
Son.
They were already scrambling Vipers and Dragonflies to cover
themselves; just for a moment, Gryphon felt a pang of longing for the
cockpit, the smell of CVR-5 and the vibration of the engines behind
his back; then it passed. This was his calling now, his duty.

ReRob sat in his own conn, on the bridge of the Phoenix; his
fingers were dug into the arms of the chair, the knuckles of his
natural hand white, as he kept a watchful eye on the readouts of the
engineering panel in front of him. All warp tolerances were edging
uncomfortably close to the critical level, even with full transwarp
drive engaged. They were doing Warp 9.875, a good point two seven
five above the vessel's rated tolerance capabilities; the spaceframe
was vibrating so violently that the smaller readouts were illegible,
and her tortured wail made conversation without shouting impossible.
"Range!" he demanded.
"Eight point four seven and closing," Deedlit called from the
helm.
"Lead over GENOM?"
"One point seven six and holding."
"Utopia Planitia in sensor range," Meph injected.
"On viewer," Rob ordered. The main viewer shimmered into the
view of the Dyson sphere, so small it took up a fist-sized area of
viewer, dots of light shining around it. "Maximum magnification."
The screen shifted to a closer view, close enough that ReRob could see
the WDF fleet arrayed against the incoming enemy. All but her
flagship; she was waiting for her engineer to return.

The glimmering warp field of ReRob's incoming vessel became
apparent to the sensors of the WDF fleet at around the same time. Now
all the viewers on every vessel were showing the Phoenix coming in
like a bat out of hell, magnification stepping down every six seconds.
On the bridge of the SDF-23, MegaZone sat in his conn,
fidgeting nervously with the cuff of the new uniform tunic he had
grudgingly donned and glancing uneasily at the four-leafed admiral's
pin. "Come on, Rob," he muttered. This vast vessel, and all her
potential, sat idle beneath him, the familiar thrum of the Reflex
furnace under his boots very recognizable, very familiar. His command
staff around him, ready for action; the familiar keening cry of
adrenaline across his nerves; he could almost convince himself he was
back on the Wayward Son again.
Almost.

"Planitia Control reports ready to dock at Gate Seventeen,"
Cheryl reported.
"Negative," ReRob replied, getting up. "They're going to need
Phoenix and her guns in the fight, and there's no time for docking and
redeploying. Helm, bring us to station-keeping at quadrant four two
four bearing seven six mark three, at an altitude of 4000 meters.
I'll beam over. Meph, you have the conn. Do us proud."
"I'll do my best, sir," Meph replied as he took the captain's
chair.
Deedlit looked back as her husband stepped into the turbolift;
just before the door closed, he grinned and flashed her a thumbs-up,
which she returned. Then he was gone, and she returned,
professionally, to her duties. There would be time for all this, she
told herself resolutely, when they had won.

"They have halted, my lord," the Buma subcommander said from
the helm station on board Dreadnaught II.
"Is that a fact?" the man in the admiral's uniform replied,
his back to the bridge crew as he stood on the master catwalk looking
out at the passing starfield. "At Utopia Planitia, as we thought?"
"Yes, my lord. The Dyson sphere is there, just as our
intelligence informed us. And--sir! I have ship contacts, numerous
and varied. It'll take some time to sort out--I make at least a
hundred vessels, sir, probably more."
"So," the admiral said, his breath crystallizing on the
window. "They have a fleet, as well. So much the better. They
cannot defeat GENOM!" He whirled. Pink skin, slick brown hair,
glittering blue eye; a cybernetic cowl covered the left upper quarter
of his face. It was not Largo. In fact, except for the GENOM
admiral's uniform, the cybercowl, and the twisted, evil gleam in the
pit of the one remaining eye, it was an exact duplicate of Captain
Benjamin D. Hutchins of the Wedge Defense Force.
"Helm," this creature barked in a raw, hard-edged parody of
Gryphon's voice, "bring the fleet out of warp and transfer control to
the individual vessels. Scramble all fighters and prepare for a
full-scale star system assault! Hail Largo!"
"Hail Largo!" the bridge crew cried, and set to their duties
as red strobes began to flash.

On the bridge of the Concordia, Gryphon saw the GENOM fleet
drop out of hyperspace. Despite his expectations, despite his
familiarity with the intelligence data, he could not help but rise to
his feet as starship after starship dropped out of warp. Huge,
wedge-shaped vessels formed the backbone of the fleet; Imperial class
star destroyers, by Concordia's computer's reckoning. Scattered
through the fleet were a number of vast, black, hourglass-like vessels
which the tactical analysis computer indicated were primarily fighter
carriers. Ikazuchi battle carriers appeared, here and there,
apparently a new model that used warp propulsion instead of folding.
(Unknown to the WDF personnel, GENOM had abandoned fold drives decades
before, when it was revealed that the unstable fuel for Dreadnaught's
fold core was largely responsible for her utter annihilation.)
At the fleet's forefront was their flagship, an exact
duplicate of the vessel that had destroyed the Wayward Son utterly;
the Dreadnaught. It looked much like an Imperial destroyer, but huge;
so huge the Concordia could have sailed into its docking bay.
"Battle stations!" Gryphon ordered. "Red alert. Scramble all
fighters, Lieutenant Leeds."
"Fighters on their way out, sir," reported Vanessa. On the
forward viewer, the bridge crew could see the Concordia's crack
fighter squadrons deploying, racing one after another down the port
and starboard catapult ramps with precision timing; light Epees,
heavy Sabres, Broadsword bombers, and Gryphon's favorites, the
medium-weight, blisteringly fast, heavily armed Rapiers. Then, the
final squadron took wing, five brand new VF-2 Victory Veritech
fighters peeling down the ramps and forming up just meters off the
deck. The Victory was another of Gryphon's engineering triumphs, a
revitalization of the basic design that had made the VF-1 Valkyrie so
effective for so long. These five Super Victories were the successors
to the legend of Fighter Squadron VVF-261; the Eight-Ball Squadron,
under the command of Colonel Patricia Currier, formerly of the
original Eight-Ball. Gryphon knew his legend was in good hands.
"All fighters away, sir," Leeds reported presently.
"Shields up, Lt. Finney. Bring all weapons to full power.
Stand by PT Control."
"Shields are up," Lieutenant Commander Jaime Finney reported
from the Tactical station. "Weapons at full power. PT Control is
standing by."
"All combat sensors are optimal, Captain," added Saavik.
"All decks report ready for combat," Lt. Leeds reported.
"Helm, impulse power. All ahead full, set course two four
three mark one seven. Move to engage the enemy of your choice."
Gryphon smiled slightly as he felt the vessel surge beneath him.
"This is it."
Battle was joined.

0 new messages