The Next Phase - Chapter #61

Free Enterprise  -  The Next Phase -   Chapter #61


Fleet Admiral HaxHis was having an in depth discussion with The Teleborian Pharaoh ( who's name was Ramma ) when her communicator sounded off.

“HaxHis here.” she said. Excusing herself from her esteemed company.

“Admiral, I believe you should come up to the Observation Deck and see this.” Skonn's voice intoned.

“What is it, Skonn?” HaxHis asked, as she loathed to be interrupted with something trivial.

“Words cannot properly describe this event.” Skonn said. If Skonn was rendered speechless, the event was certainly worth taking a look at.

“I'll be there shortly.” HaxHis replied.

“Your Majesty. You are welcome to come with me. I did promise to show you around the station, and what better place to start.” HaxHis stated. Ramma and her lackey followed the Katay out of the meeting room and up the corridor to the nearest lift.

On the lift they met up with Captain Miranda. As soon as the lift opened and they walked out on the deck, they knew something was up. HaxHis, Ramma, her lackey and hundreds of others gawked at the sight before them.

“Skonn. What are we looking at?” HaxHis asked.

“An estimated fleet of perhaps 2,000 Nietzschean warships.” Skonn replied, in bored tone.

“Two thousand! Jesus, Joseph and Mary!” Captain Miranda said, as he hastelly crossed himself.

“Most impressive!” Ramma said, to no one in particular as she admired the sleek lines of the Nietzschean vessels.

“And how is it that Deep Space Ten's state of the art sensors did not detect them, nor give us any advance warning?” HaxHis demanded.

“Because they arrived in twos and threes and used Nietzschean shielding which is yet undetectable to Starfleet's sensors.” Skonn replied.

"Wonderful! Thank the Divine the Nietzscheans are our allies!" HaxiHis thought.

“I think you should inform Admiral Anasazi that his fleet is here.” Ramma said in her heavily accented Standard.

“Something tells me, he already knows it's here.” HaxHis replied.


* * * * * * * * * * * * *


Tyr merely went back to his families quad to get properly prepared. He was glad no one was there which was going to make his exit much easier. He had just strapped on his bandolier when he heard the noise. He looked up and all three of his wives were standing in the door, and dressed to “kill”, so to speak.

“And where are you going, dressed thus?” he asked.

“With you of course.” Tamara replied.

“All three of you were present at the meeting and you well aware of the risks. Tamara and Amanda, you would not survive the poisoned gas even if you donned protective gear. Xena will survive but I do not wish to expose my unborn sons to poisoned gas. All three of you are members of Starfleet and HaxHis and I agreed that it would be best if Starfleet's name was not associated with this operation. Therefore I will not be leading this venture as a Starfleet Rear Admiral, but a Nietzschean General.” Tyr said.

“Wait one damned minute! I retired from Starfleet, remember?” Amanda asked, hotly.

“However, you are a Civilian Liaison employed by Starfleet. A cat with different colored stripes or spots, is still a cat.” Tyr replied.

No one is sure what happened but a horrendous four way argument broke out. The end result was Tamara and Xena in tears, and Amanda was hissing and spitting curses like a king cobra. Abruptly, Tyr decided he'd had enough and stormed out without so much of a bye your leave.

He almost ran down Khan who was standing outside of the quad's door. Of course those sensitive Katay ears had heard everything. However he was merely there to personally hand Tyr a disc recording of himself singing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”, or was he?

“You should really apologize to them, Tyr.” Khan said as he handed Tyr the disc. Tyr gave him a “Have you lost your damned mind?” look.

“No, I have not lost my mind. You should go back and apologize to them.” Khan insisted.

“Khan, in case you have not noticed, I have an important and dangerous mission to accomplish.” Tyr replied, as he turned to walk away.

“Once the mission and the excitement of battle is over, what are you going to come home to?” Khan asked, as Tyr walked away.

“A hard row to hoe. That's what.” Khan thought sadly.


* * * * * * * * * *


Tyr spent the next 45 minutes briefing his Squad leaders and outlining the attack plans. Satisfied that everything was in order. Leaders beamed back to their ships and made ready to get underway.

General Tyr's ship was a warship named “Drago's Hand” and like the Insurrection, it had only one central seat on it's bridge. He sat back in the seat, with a relaxed pose, steepled fingers and watched as his crew worked around him.

“Sir, we are ready to make way.” a young officer said.

“Excellent, take her out. One quarter impulse until we reach three light years from the station. Engage stealth and go to Warp five, following the given coordinates.” Tyr ordered.

“Aye, Sir.” the officer replied.

Drago's Hand was the first ship out followed by the rest of the fleet. While they were waiting to go to warp, Tyr thought of something which was most appropo, and began to recite aloud:

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!


* * * * * * * * * * *

Back on the station, the Observation Deck was clear. The excitement was over, and everyone had gone back to their duties. Only one man stood there and watched as the ships left.

“May the Divine bless and keep thee, Tyr.” Khan thought.


NOTE TO READERS The passage Tyr quoted is from “Shakespeare's King Henry the V” Tyr is quite the Renaissance Man or Polymath. A person whose expertise spans a significant number of different subject areas