"The data recovered from the Darwin and the information we've been able to obtain from the few prisoners we've taken indicates the presence of a major Son'a base roughly one parsec from the New Canada system," Tarik told Captain Wallace. "With your permission, I would like to reconnoiter that base and set up an operation plan to take it out." What Tarik didn't tell Wallace was that he already had several such plans worked out, depending upon the nature of the base.
Wallace reviewed the data. "Shutting down this base will definitely give the colony more breathing room and allow us more time to get more ships and troops into position. Take a runabout and a Class IV surveillance probe and gather as much data as you can without being detected."
'Sir, wouldn't the jamming capabilities of the Hawke armored personnel transport be more advantageous?" Tarik asked.
"Yes, but we'd be giving up a strategic advantage by revealing them so early. A runabout can be more easily explained than a vessel that's blatantly designed for combat. Save the Hawkes for the assault."
"Aye, sir. Is Lieutenant Deveraux available to monitor the probe?"
"I'll have him report to your office at 0600 tomorrow. Let me reiterate one point which I'm sure you do not need to be reminded of: do not engage the enemy base. Get the data, and get out. If we reveal our knowledge of the base too soon, the Son'a will be able to reinforce their position," Wallace directed.
"Aye, sir."
"Very good. I will expect your report by 1700 hours tomorrow afternoon. Dismissed."
Tarik left Wallace's office and proceeded to his own. Unlike his quarters, Tarik's office was decorated with the memorabilia of a fairly long and varied military career--captured Cardassian, Jem'Hadar, Breen, and Orion weaponry, plaques and commendations from various units, and (most prized of all) a letter of appreciation signed by one hundred and fifty beings Tarik had saved from an Orion slave ship. If any of this means anything at all, that one letter is it, Tarik thought every time he looked at the document.
He turned on his viewscreen and began reviewing his messages when he was interrupted by a door chime. "Enter," Tarik said, momentarily roused from his messages.
Gunnery Sergeant John Hartman strode in with a precise cadence, his campaign hat doffed as soon as he entered the door. "Sir, the readiness reports you've requested are here," he said, producing a PADD.
"You report the unit as operating at 93% efficiency. Where is the 7% shortfall coming in?" Tarik asked.
"We need further training with the heavy weaponry. Simulators only go so far. Having live-fire exercises is much more effective, as you know, sir. It's like--"
"Like actually going out and finding a fifty-credit whore as opposed to renting a holosuite?" Tarik replied. He knew his Staff NCO and drill instructor from prior experience at Utopia Planitia and could read the man like a book.
"Yes, sir!" Hartman grinned. Finally, an officer who knows what the hell is going on!
"In order to use any territory within the New Canada system we need to get the permission of the civilian authorities, which I doubt they'll withhold at this point. I will begin the necessary dialogue. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Gunny. There is one thing I want you to do in addition to these exercises."
"Yes, sir?"
"Contact Lieutenant Carter of Banshee Squadron; she should return from patrol at 1400 hours. With my compliments, inform her that I am ordering combined air-ground combat exercises, both simulated and live-fire. I want emphasis on close-air support for landing operations and fire missions. I will coordinate with Captain Wallace and the New Canada government as necessary. Also, have Corporals Chang and Gutierrez report to my office at 0630 tomorrow. I wish to include them in a recon."
"Sir, if I may ask--"
"I need you here, Hartman. In case I don't come back, you've got the MEF until Starfleet Command gets around to sending a replacement for me. We'll need to gear up for station defense in that event. Things are likely to get nastier than a constipated Nossican if this mission fails."
Hartman grinned a wicked grin. "Trust me, sir, if it comes to that, we'll be ready to give that Nossican a physic he'll never forget!"
Tarik returned the grin. "I see we understand one another. Dismissed."
Hartman left the office, donning his campaign hat as he passed through the portal. Tarik returned to his reading.
Tarik spent the next several hours engrossed in the mission logs of the USS Darwin, the Federation science vessel nearly destroyed by the Son'a and their allies. It was a fairly ill-kept secret that the Federation's science vessels were not strictly tools for scientific inquiry. In fact, their activities put Tarik in mind of the fishing vessels used by Earth's Soviet Union in the 20th century as intelligence-gathering assets. The ruse was even better in this case: whereas the old Soviet vessels had to carefully disguise the equipment on their trawlers and engage in fishing as a cover, the science vessels could openly carry and use all of the equipment needed for an intelligence mission under the guise of exploration and research.
Such appeared to be the case. Approximately 24 hours before the Darwin was attacked, the captain had ordered the launch of a probe to investigate an asteroid orbiting a dim Class M star one parsec from the New Canada system. Even to Tarik's comparatively untrained eyes the asteroid had nothing to commend it to a scientific expedition at first glance. As the probe closed in on the asteroid it noted a spike in energy output from the asteroid, and the few images retrieved from the probe showed a large complex on the asteroid surface. Then the probe was destroyed.
A sensible captain of a legitimate science vessel would have either launched another probe or moved on, judging the area too dangerous. The Darwin proceeded toward the asteroid, and was jumped by two Son'a fighters, followed up by a larger vessel.
Absolutely stupid. Such waste is inexcusable, Tarik thought. His thoughts were interrupted by the door chime.
"Enter," Tarik said in response.
In walked Kassia. "You're a hard man to track down," she said, smiling. "Weren't we supposed to get together tonight?"
Tarik checked the time. "I am so sorry! I've been busy. Workups, fitness reports, the whole bit," he replied, carefully shutting down his screen. As close as he had become to Kassia Tarik was not willing to risk operational security.
"Feeling a little paranoid tonight?"
"What? Oh--that! Just standard procedure. The information I was looking at was not cleared for general release," Tarik replied.
"Don't worry about me; I already know what you're up to anyway," Kassia smiled.
"Well, let's just keep that between us, shall we?"
"Of course!" Kassia laughed. Like I would do anything to jeopardize you or anyone else here...
"So, Harry's again? I've got a big day ahead tomorrow so I'd like to eat a little lighter than usual."
"Why not here?"
"Here? In the office?" Tarik replied. "It's hardly the nicest venue you could pick!"
"You've seen my place of business, why can't I see yours?" Kassia asked coyly.
"All right. Time to see if this replicator works, anyway...computer, turkey club sandwich with a side of vegetable soup. What'll you have?"
"Caesar salad, extra croutons, and a glass of club soda," Kassia ordered. The orders materialized as bidden.
Kassia strode over to the replicator and retrieved her meal. On the way back to her chair, she noticed the letter framed on the wall.
"What was this for?" she asked.
"Probably the best thing I've ever had the privilege to do. About five years ago I was part of an anti-piracy campaign in the Orion Syndicate's territory. The Orions are vicious people who will do anything to turn a profit. Even the Ferengi think their business practices are unethical. We thought the Orions were trafficking in the usual things--drugs, weapons, restricted technology, and so forth. It turned out that the first Orion privateer we seized was carrying a cargo of slaves! They were mostly children, a few families, refugees from a planet that had managed to blow itself to bits with homegrown fusion bombs. We took advantage of a universally-recognized provision of maritime law and executed every last one of the Orions, except for their captain. He's doing time at Starbase 207, yet another charming piece of real estate I've been assigned to. "
"What happened to the people you freed?"
"We were able to get them to the colony world their ship had been headed to before it was interdicted by the Orions. As it turned out, the colony world was in Klingon territory. A word with the Klingons and they agreed to let those poor people settle there. The Klingons aren't gentle rulers, but they're a damn sight better than the Orions or their clients would have been. The last I heard, the colony is doing quite well; more refugees have settled there and they've petitioned the Klingon Empire to become a full province with representation on the High Council," Tarik replied.
"Do you think they'll get it?" Kassia asked.
"Maybe. The Klingons are stretched too thin to deal with a rebellious colony world; lately they've been instituting reforms. More than likely they'll just give that colony its charter and be done with it," he replied. "I just wish the Son'a were as enlightened."
"Perhaps they are, and we just don't know it."
"I doubt it. The Klingons may be barbaric, but they do have their sense of honor. Klingons would never have massacred New Canada--killing unarmed civilians doesn't get you a place in Sto-vo-kor. The Son'a seem to delight in being as brutal and sadistic as they can manage," Tarik replied, with more than a little anger in his voice.
Kassia read his feelings, and saw the rage, the contempt with which a professional warrior looks upon those who participate in war merely for sport. She began to understand as she looked around the office at the trophies, the plaques, the pictures.
"Now it's my turn to be empathic," Tarik said. "I know what you're thinking: how a person can protest against the senselessness of the violence while seemingly celebrating it. Allow me to explain.
"I have these things to remind me of what I've done, and where I've been. I have no family of my own; the Corps has been my family since I was little more than a teenager. Each plaque represents a unit I've been with--like a family, for the time I've been there. The trophies I've collected remind me just how close I've come to buying a farm on various occasions. Every one of those weapons was pointed at me at some point. Now that they're here, they won't harm anyone else.
"It's not about taking lives, despite what we tell the young grunts. It's about protecting lives--our own lives, first and foremost, and the lives of civilians. That's why I do what I do."
"As long as you keep that in mind, Tarik, you'll be just fine," Kassia said as they embraced.
0500 came earlier than usual. Tarik ordered a raktajino from the replicator and jumped in the sonic shower. Donning a fresh uniform, he made it to his office just a few minutes ahead of Lieutenant Deveraux.
"Lieutenant Paul Deveraux reporteeng az ordaired, sair," the science officer responded.
"Very good. Here's our operation plan. Two of my Marines will be joining us shortly; I am told that the runabout Hudson has been equipped with an ECM pod and the specified Class IV probe."
"Yes, sair. Ze runabout ees ready for deployment!"
"Let's see what we can do, then," Tarik said, showing Deveraux his mission plan.