“Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.”

Dylan Thomas, 1947

The USS Hikaru Sulu was a ship in a bottle.

Incongruous that a vessel that, in some ways, typified the pinnacle of ambitious grasp and embodiment of lofty ideals such as she, could be hemmed in so, made insignificant and impotent by a lack of knowledge and understanding. Her strength annexed by the unknown.

That was exactly what The Blackout had done.

The mighty Odyssey – class, for all of her sophistication, martial heft and technological prowess had been as neatly and effectively hobbled by the inexplicable phenomena that had divorced her from the subspace grid that underpinned the universe, leaving her as poignant as a housefly – buzzing angrily and thwarted against the unyielding surface of the window it could not hope to circumvent.

At first the phenomena had embodied exactly the type of curiosity that nestled at the core of Starfleet’s passion of exploration and the pursuit of the unknown. Jean Michelle Pasquier and the considerable contingent of scientists aboard ship had been fascinated and enthralled at encountering the unnatural barrier to subspace travel and communication that The Blackout had thrown up in their path.

The Academic quicky became the endemic when it was realized that this was not merely a local phenomena and somehow whole swathes of territory within the Alpha & Beta Quadrant began to go dark. Local volumes, subsectors, sector and regions all winking off like a candle suddenly snuffed out by a wandering wind.

As Captain Raveen Shavda and her crew attempted to circumvent and circumnavigate the confines of the strange subspace distortions, her mighty drives losing cohesion on the tractability of the subspace – grid, like an elephant failing to make purchase on the ice – it began to dawn on all aboard that this was no mere oddity, no harmless object of fascination.

They were cut off from the rest of the Galaxy.

Like a tiger pacing listlessly in the false freedom of its enclosure, the ferocious bulk of the USS Hikaru Sulu was forced to roam in the comparatively small reserve of space that fate had afforded it. A ship laid down with the purpose of command, coordination and congress suddenly without fleet assets to coordinate, star-systems to unite in communication or visitors to give rest to.

A ship without a purpose, utterly alone.

Then, a miracle within the miraculous. Against all hope and expectation, Starfleet Command (in its resilient ingenuity) managed to utilize a micro-singularity to bore a lifeline through the attendant subspace distortion. A one – way conduit to echo tidings from the rest of the Galaxy without.

The news that came was dire.

All throughout the Quadrants, The Blackout abounded – annexing not just the territories under the protection and control of the United Federation of Planets, but of all of the major ‘involved species. The once mighty Klingon Empire. The struggling remnants of the fall of Romulus. The shattered pride of the Cardassian Union. All corralled into subdivisions within their own territory or stranded further afield, their effective power neutered and divided as Subspace itself formed impassable boundaries on a territory that spanned countless light years.

And then, news that the terrifying Multicursal boundaries of The Labyrinth had opened once more and this time they heralded a new nightmare as from the seething boundaries of the anomalous rifts that tore through the fabric of space-time like the rough hew of the knife – from their event horizons spewed forth whole fleets of invasive starships.

From what they could glean from the tenuous link from Starfleet Command, these unknown invaders were streaming into the enclosures established by The Blackout  – capitalizing on the disarray and confusion of local forces and enacting savage, sudden and costly raids. Striking without warning, the invaders pursed these attacks with extreme prejudice – destroying what was tactically insignificant, sometimes bypassing tempting strategic targets altogether, invading some worlds, passing others by and then (just as they had so appeared), retreating into their subspace rifts back into Underspace and removing themselves from reaction and reprisal.

And they were winning.

All of these dire tidings arriving in snippets, impossible to respond to in order to clarify or solidify a unified strategy or response – the one – way communique’s from Starfleet did more to erode morale aboard ship than they did bolster resolve. Even here the invaders were able to strike at the heart of the ship without even firing a shot. On every lips a question. In every heart fear for loved ones stranded elsewhere in the Galaxy. No one really knew who the enemy was, what their strength was, why they had launched their attack or what their ultimate goals for this unprovoked, undeclared declaration of total – war was. Only their name, whispered in hushed tones by young officers gathered in nervous knots in public spaces.

The Vaduwaar Supremacy.

As for the rest, the crew of the USS Hikaru Sulu were profoundly in the dark. In the absence of a unified response, Captain Shavda had stood up the Strategic Operations Centre in the Flag Bridge and installed Lieutenant Commander Sulan therein. Figuring that one of the most talented Strategic minds Starfleet possessed might at least be able to glean some pattern of recognition from the crumbs of information afforded them, Captain Shavda has assigned the new Intelligence Officer, Lieutenant Savak, to assist the OIC – Strategic Operations.

Although the Romulan/Vulcan officer had only recently transferred aboard prior to the advent of The Blackout (with an intriguingly gnomish and oblique transfer order from the USS Valley Forge), the CO figured that at this stage, there was very little to lose and any gain was to be considered a positive under the circumstances.

Thus far, this pairing had yielded sparing results, as every system that the Hikaru Sulu had managed to reach during the emergency had so far proved to have been explicitly devastated by the scythe of destruction left in the wake of Vaadwaur forces. They had done what they could to aid and assist any survivors, but the invaders had been as intent of spreading shock and awe as they had been in conquering and securing strategic assets and the humanitarian cost of their attacks had been punishing – leaving few stunned and demoralized survivors in their wake.

There seemed to be no discernible pattern to their attacks over the last few weeks. Even the intelligence gathered during the advent of the events leading up to The Labyrinth, the year previously, served to arm them with little actionable information. Where the Subspace apertures had opened and been collapsed by the Cardassians & Turei during that crises, were not the same points in space where these new incursions were manifesting. Despite the best efforts of the S.O.C. team and the combined minds of the Science Division – there was no way of knowing where the next attack would take place.

All of these factors weighed heavily upon the furrowed brow of Captain Raveen Shavda, as the Commanding Officer of the USS Hikaru Sulu sat intently in the Captains Chair aboard the bridge, doing her best to project an aura of calm and unassailability to her already shaken crew as the young Helm – officer, Lieutenant (Jg) Lane Hanley reported.

“We’re coming up on Terminus Station now, Captain. Preparing to drop out of warp.” The slim, young blonde woman murmured as her practiced hands flowed over the controls on her console. You didn’t get to attain a position as prestigious as piloting a Capital ship such as an Odyssey at such a young age, unless supreme confidence was warranted.

Raveen Shavda, an seasoned Starfleet Captain and veteran of the Dominion War, knew the odds they faced and had supreme confidence in the crew that she and her XO, Commander Jensen Wing, had striven so hard to put together, since the original crew of the ill – fated Odyssey-class ship had been assimilated by the Borg Collective during the disastrous events of Frontier Day.

By comparison, it seemed at the time, that the unfortunate demise of their predecessors had been an isolated misfortune and that lightning was unlikely to strike twice.

But here they were, about to drop out of warp and into its destructive path again.

Three hours ago, they had received an urgent plea from help from the venerable old Watchtower – class station, perched precariously far from anywhere significant on the border of the former Demilitarized Zone as to be strategically – insignificant.

They were under attack from significant Vaadwaur forces.

“Thank you Helm.” Captain Shavda nodded her greying head as calmly as she could and ordered.

“Tactical take us to Red Alert. Shields up. Stand up all weapons systems.”

“Aye Captain.” Confirmed Lieutenant Kan Zh’Vharess, the Andorian Tactical officer’s antennae twitching with an anticipation that did not extend to his face or steady hands as he stood at the station immediately to her right, his blue face intent on the holographic display projected into the air in front of his console.

The lighting state on the bridge and across the whole ship shifted to a more muted level of illumination and red emergency lighting began to strobe as the alert klaxon sounded its urgent song.

“Ops. Set condition one throughout the ship. All hands to action stations.” The Captain indicated one brown hand to the operations station to her left where Lieutenant Juanita Alverez just nodded her head and tied her light hair back in a ponytail, as if that casual act would add to her already admirable sense of preparedness.

“Aye Ma’am. Making it so.” Alverez replied, already relaying the command and cross – checking that all departments were reporting compliance throughout the great – ship.

“Engineering.” Raveen swiveled the chair on its raised dais, to address the Chief Engineer – who was intent on the instrumentation at his station to the Starboard side of the bridge. “Chief, make ready damage control teams. We don’t know exactly what we’re getting into here, but let’s assume it’s going to sting.”

Lieutenant Commander Thomas Maynard had the look of a man who would rather be down in Main Engineering (or the Secondary Engineering space for that matter) amongst his Engineers and close to the ships vital systems, but he marshalled this regret well and confirmed.

“Damage control teams standing by. Emergency bulkhead enclosures primed and ready to activate if breached.”

Raveen allowed herself a smile at this (she was rightly proud of the crew they had put together) and then turned back to the viewscreen.

“Well, if you’re ‘lucky’ enough to catch lightning in a bottle, you put the lid on as fast as you can.”

She pointed her finger fore and ordered firmly.

“Take us out of Warp!”

The view of the streaming starfield ceased to elongate and the USS Hikaru Sulu slammed out of Warp, it’s impulse engines clawing at Realspace as the mighty vessel entered the operating area around Terminus Station.

Immediately the proximity alert began to clamor its frenetic warning.

Where the aging Watchtower-class station had once stood, providing re-fit and resupply services to smaller Starfleet vessels on border patrol along the Former DMZ and providing a place for commercial crews to unload both their cargo’s and credits – a ballet of destruction hung in its place.

“Helm! Evasive maneuvers!” The XO, Commander Wing barked instinctively, the young Helmsman already reacting and pitching the ship down and to port as vast, whirling chunks of debris began to impact upon the forward deflector shielding.

“Goddamn it!” Hanley swore as she strained to steer the ponderous bulk of the USS Hikaru Sulu out of the confusion of destruction that threatened their progress. All aboard the bridge were forced to reach for something to steady themselves, as the inertial dampeners whined and strained to keep gravity at a comfortable constant, due to the sudden and unexpected change of attitude and direction.

“Science, report!” The Captain commanded as she gripped the armrests of her own chair. Her voice steady, but the physical strain showing on her face.

Lieutenant Commander Jean – Marc Pasquier craned his bald – head to his instrumentation at the science station that occupied the portside of the command-and-control space and replied tersely.

“I’m reading strong residual signatures of Polaron radiation Captain, consistent with intelligence received conforming to that of Vaadwaur weapons systems.” The suave Frenchman reported as calmly as rock in a storm. Raveen envied his resolve.

“Maintenant – the sensors are also registering signs consistent with a massive – scale antimatter discharge release. Je suis désolé Captain, Terminus station c’est terminé.” He turned to regard her with a look of profound sadness. “She is gone.”

There was a sharp intake of breath as Lieutenant Alverez gasped involuntarily.

“Gone?” She breathed, “That was a station of 900 people, not counting civilians!” The Ops Chief shook her head in dismay. “It can’t just be gone?!”

The confusion of wreckage and devastation scraping along the conformal shields protecting the hull spoke a different truth.

“Steady people.” Captain Shavda remined her crew firmly. “Minds on Mission.”

“Aye Ma’am. Sorry Ma’am” Juanita apologized. “Scanning for emergency communications.”

“TAC – do we have tango’s in the AOE?” Commander Wing prompted; his prudent mind alive with the prospect of hostile action.

Kan slowly shook his snow – white hair as his antenna fairly writhed in frustration.

“Negative Commander – Sensors are showing no hostile contacts in the Area of Engagement.” The Andorian sounded disappointed. “Same MO as previous, lighting strike, hit hard and retreat.”

“Bridge to S.O.C.” Captain Shavda opened up a channel to the Flag Bridge, her careworn face serious. “Flight – launch the alert fighters.”

“Flight here.” Came the voice of the ships Chief Flight Control Officer from her rookery down in the Strategic Operations Centre. “Birds away.”

There was the imperceptible thump as the mag-rail generators aboard activated and slung the four Valkyrie – class fighercraft out of the vertical launch -tubes, where their pilots had patiently been waiting for the signal to launch since before the ship had arrived in-system.

“This is Wildcard leader.” Came the calm – voice of Lieutenant Nylah Burke (Callsign – “Nails”) , “Alpha – flight clear and on station.”

Ostensibly a woman of peace, Raveen had initially eschewed the necessity of fielding a Squadron from Starfleet Starfighter Corps aboard her ship. To her mind, the mere presence Lieutenant Silou’s ‘bright-young-things’ ran contrary to the ship’s stated mission of peace and diplomacy. Fighter pilots by nature had to be naturally – aggressive &  tended to run to behavior that was brash, unpredictable and tended to be a pain in the ass when off duty with nothing to hunt.

Today, however, she was eminently glad of their presence.

She turned back to the CSO and prompted with a sense of disquiet.

“Jean – Marc, are you reading any life signs?”

“Possible, Captain.” The Frenchman gave a non-committal gallic – shrug. “I cannot say definitively due to the residual background interference, but it is not invraisemblable that some may have survived.

He did not sound convinced.

“Flight, prep for SAR operations.” Captain Shavda commanded grimly over the comm. “Send up the CAP.”

“Flight here.” Came the response from the Hikaru Sulu’s Orion Chief of flight operations – herself a former fighter pilot. “SAR assets deploying.” She kept the channel open as she directed flight operations to her own operators on the Flag Bridge.

“Alpha to INCAP – Sweep and Designate.” Silou directed the Alert – fighters to assume a Combat Air Patrol (CAP) close in to the volume of space near the ship and to search the wreckage for promising signs of life.

“Wildcard Leader, Acknowledging. Deploying to INCAP.” came the Squadron Leader’s reply. Raveen doubted that the young pilot’s pulse – rate was even slightly above resting.

“Flight – Bravo Flight. You are cleared for Launch.” Silou directed the remaining starfighter assets awaiting a more conventional launch from the Shuttlebays. “Deploy to FORECAP and Escort SAR.” She cleared the Valkyries to fly close escort to the Runabouts and Shuttles dusting – off to hurriedly extend the search for anyone fortunate to have somehow survived the fall of Terminus Station.

“Bravo here. Acknowledged, Flight – on our way.” Came the thick Slavic tones of Lieutenant (Jg) Yehor Usenko, the big Ukrainian pilot flying the “Wildcard – 5” position.

“Sheepdog, not Lone-wolf, you read me “Cossack?” The CFCO warned the flight leader wryly, referring to his ‘callsign’.

“The very model of restraint, you know me flight.” Usenko returned cheerily as his flight took to the black.

“Ceta – you have the FARCAP.” The flight – controller launched the remaining flight of VA-307, sending them to establish a picket around the AOE and make sure that there were no lingering or hidden Supremacy craft or munitions secreted in the wreckage, ready to spring forth from the debris and launch any unwelcome surprises. “Establish a Racetrack and provide Overwatch. Sing out any contacts on your scope.”

“Ceta here, Flight.” Came the smooth tones of Flight – leader,  Lieutenant Zephan “Breaker” Moses. “Heading to outer marker. On the swivel.”

“Copy that Ceta, Blue Skies. Flight Out.” Lt Silou signed off and then killed the open comm-link.

Captain Raveen Shavda felt every one of her Fifty – years weigh heavily on her shoulders and tried to remember if this had all ever been easier when she was younger. She decided it had probably not, age and experience were one thing, but nostalgia was a fickle mirror at best.

On one hand, part of her was relieved that there was likely to be no further violence here today. This place had had its fill of destruction and she was glad to be able to focus on the retrieval of survivors, even if the chances of finding anyone spared by the Vaadwaur looked increasingly and dispiritingly slim.

On the other, a part of her that was familiar with violence (for all that being a practicing Hindu abhorred it) felt a flash of anger at the pointless slaughter of yet – again so many innocent souls. Raveen inwardly struggled to suppress the urge to give into that turmoil and rush to vengeance. Her responsibilities as the commander of a Capital ship and her duty to her crew necessitated a less impassioned response and a more level head.

There were clues here – valuable intelligence even in the destructive leavings of her foe, that could make all of the difference. She meant to piece that confused weave together and learn from it, what it portended.

She stood from her command chair on the dais and nodded to the Executive officer.

“Commander, you have the bridge.” Raveen smiled grimly, “I’m heading to the S.O.C. to see what can be salvaged from this tragedy.”

As Jensen Wing took the Captains chair and assumed the CONN, the XO raised an eyebrow and a grimace skewed his moustache slightly, he had served with Raveen for many years and knew that, despite her calm exterior, his friend was seething with anger and frustration inside.

“And then?”

Captain Raveen Shavada paused on her way to the Turbolift, only for a moment, and said quietly.

“And then we Unbottle the Lightning.”