Captain Rogen, a balding Andorian man in his late fifties, was in command of the frigate U.S.S. Xalat. With his ship on this day were the destroyers Montreal, Amirlade, and Vladivostok. It was thought that this retinue would be sufficient to deter the Bristol from further mischief. In the event the Bristol could be corralled somehow, the frigate held ten score of Starfleet's finest Marines to man her until she could be returned to her crew.
With the appearance of the Bristol on long range scan, the grizzled veteran of Starfleet put his small contingent on war alert status and maneuvered his ships to close with the renegade from multiple angles, thus forcing the Bristol to expend more energy in defending itself. They had also thought ahead and adjusted their prefix codes to prevent a repeat of what had happened to the space station. Any attempt by the Bristol to force the fleet's shields to drop by remote control would meet with failure.
"Hail the Bristol, Lieutenant," Rogen ordered of his tactical officer. When the hail was acknowledged and the image of the Bristol's Bridge appeared, an audible gasp echoed across the deck of the Xalat. The image of an elderly man appeared, a man with long gray braided hair and weathered, wrinkled skin which enhanced the irritation in his expression. What really caught the attention of the Xalat's Bridge crew though was that this old man, and the others with him, were strangely insubstantial. The crew could see them, and see through them, at the same time.
"You're not Human," said the old man, with a hint of surprise.
"True enough," Rogen replied simply. "I'm an Andorian. Would you care to tell me who you are?"
"My name is not important," the man replied in a voice as cracked with age as his skin.
"Perhaps," Rogen agreed, "but what is of import is the fact that you have unlawfully stolen that ship and have used it to kill people. You will surrender yourself and the ship immediately, or I will be forced to destroy you." Rogen was carefully ignoring the fact that these beings were physically insubstantial and unlike anything he'd ever seen before.
"That assessment is incorrect. This ship stole us," the old man said, raising his voice. "Now we will use it to return home and we will not bear anyone standing in our way. Stand aside or face the same punishment as your brethren on your space station," the old man threatened.
Rogen folded his arms in front of him as he stood in front of his command chair. "I cannot let you leave with that ship in your possession and your crimes unpunished," he informed the old man flatly.
"So be it then," the old man replied simply, without a trace of emotion. He and the others on the Bristol's Bridge shimmered briefly and became semi-transparent clouds of energy which then found their way into the ship's systems before the communication was severed and the viewscreen switched back to stars.
Rogen's face blanched at what he saw as he sat clumsily down in his chair. He had barely enough time to order the fleet to raise its shields before the Bristol fell upon them with a hail of weapons fire. The few minutes of conversation, though standard Federation procedure, had allowed others amongst the shadows on the Bristol to analyze the attack formation and see how they were about to be outflanked. Rogen had underestimated both their intelligence and their abilities and it would cost him.
The Bristol easily sidestepped the flanking maneuver by the Federation ships and focused its attacks on the Montreal as it quickly passed the through the ranks of the fleet and came about on their aft quarter. The Montreal shuddered as the weaponry, precisely pinpointed to wreak the most havoc possible, overwhelmed the shields in localized areas and rendered the ship's propulsion systems and major weapons arrays non-functional. Without propulsion, the ship was soon left behind to drift.
"Adjust our shields to compensate for this attack pattern," Rogen ordered the fleet once the damage report had come in. "Obviously these aliens know many things they shouldn't." He began to speculate privately about possible complicity between those of the Bristol crew that were still reported to be aboard and the aliens. "Return fire, all weapons," he ordered.
The Bristol took several phaser hits, but seemed amazingly agile as it avoided most of the torpedoes the three remaining ships threw its way. Rogen swore under his breath as his own ships came about to face the Bristol.
"Attack pattern Omega Five," he ordered the fleet. "Focus on the weapons arrays and engines of the Bristol." The fleet did as instructed and the two sides exchanged a particularly harsh volley of weapons fire.
"Shields down to sixty-three percent, Captain!" the crewman at the tactical station of the Xalat shouted. "Navigational sensors are off line and anti-matter containment is down to fifty-five percent."
"Steady as she goes," Rogen replied.
Then the Bristol did a curious thing; it travelled a distance from the skirmish then flipped back on itself as it re-engaged the fleet from an odd angle "above" the battle. At first glance it looked as though the Xalat would get an easy shot at the Bristol's warp nacelles as the renegade made its strafing run, but the latter had something far more devious in mind.
The Bristol's next phaser volley tore through the shields of the Vladivostok at the precise location of the ship's Bridge. The complete destruction of the Bridge, and the resulting deaths of everyone in control of the ship, left it momentarily adrift. Even as the Xalat and Amirlade took out the Bristol's forward torpedo launcher and four of its phaser arrays, the Bristol cunningly used its tractor beam on the drifting Vladivostok. The unexpected push was sufficient to throw the temporarily disabled craft inexorably into the path of the Amirlade. The Bristol then leapt away from the scene of the crime at warp speed as the two destroyers collided.
The ensuing explosion was predictably dramatic. The two destroyers were themselves utterly destroyed, while the hapless Xalat, caught up in part of the explosion, was heavily damaged.
Fires raged aboard the Xalat as the bleeding and barely conscious Captain Rogen staggered across his ransacked Bridge to the helm. He attempted to right his drifting vessel in lieu of the dead helmsman while he called out for a damage report.
"Main computer is off line," the tactical officer, now bleeding from several wounds, reported as he struggled himself to keep conscious. "Sensors are off line and shields are gone. Structural integrity field is pressed to the limit. We have no weapons or engines. Anti-matter containment is stable at twenty four percent."
"So in other words we're dead in space," the Andorian Captain replied as he looked once at the Bristol, which was returning to the combat area, and then back at his tactical officer. "Jettison the log buoy," Rogen ordered simply. He debated abandoning the ship, but decided that if the Bristol was going to be so ruthless as to destroy them in their crippled state, then it would just as likely to fire on the escape pods. He, for one, would rather die on the Bridge of his ship than in a cramped lifeboat. With that decision made, Captain Rogen folded his hands before him on the helm console and awaited his fate.
***
The shadows on the Bridge of the Bristol were very pleased with themselves at their success in the battle with the Federation ships; all that is, except for the elder shadow who held himself distant from the mirth. As the Bristol turned back to utterly destroy the crippled Montreal and Xalat, the female apparition, the one that had reproved the others after the assault on the space station, reemerged.
The female stood off to one side and angrily appraised the others until they began to take note of her presence and, one by one, fall silent. "You disgust me!" she began, half screaming at them. "Your thirst for blood has long since overshadowed your excuse of seeking justice; you are all as horrible as those that you claim hurt you!" She paused and glared at them threateningly. "And now you would go back and finish the job; destroy crippled ships and the helpless beings within."
"Their kind has done the same to us!" one of the shadows called out angrily from amongst the celebratory group. "They deserve their fate."
"Who? The Andorians? You told me it was some of the Humans that had hurt you," the female replied. "Or did you think you could ignore the killing of those you have no quarrel with?" Her challenge was greeted with silence so she continued, "Not to mention the fact that those Humans you meet today are hundreds of years removed from the crimes committed against you. Will you hate them and condemn them forever?"
The shadow of the older man disappeared briefly before returning. The Bristol slowed to a halt, finally stopping well out of range of either of the remaining Federation ships. "I am not strong enough to stop you," she continued, "or I would have done so by now. If you are half as noble as some amongst you claim you were when you were alive, then I know you'll stop this yourselves."
The silence that followed her speech was soon interrupted by the shadow of the old man. "My lady, you have shamed us," he began. "You are right in what you have said. Perhaps our desire for revenge after all this time got the better of us. We will not stoop to the level of those that wronged us so many years ago, and I promise you that this will not continue." Murmurs filtered through the other shadows for a moment until the old man signalled them to be quiet. "However, we will still use this ship for the means we originally intended, for we will be properly laid to rest." The remainder of the shadows whispered their approval as they filtered away into the ship's energy systems; eventually only the essences of the woman and the old man remained.
"Thank you," she told him honestly.
"It is I who should thank you, my child. If we had continued our vengeful ways, I doubt even a return to Earth and our own century could have given us any peace. Your bravery has saved us as well as those ships out there," he replied gravely. With that both the female and the old man dispersed back into the ship's systems and the Bristol resumed its course towards Earth at a rapid pace.
***
Captain Rogen watched the Bristol speed off on his static filled viewscreen and gave a sharp exhale of relief. "It would appear that today is not our day to die, Lieutenant," he commented to his tactical officer on the Bridge of the Xalat.
"No sir," the officer replied, also visibly relieved.
"Let me know when we have power to the communications relays. I have something interesting to report to Starfleet," Rogen ordered.
"That we were blasted into space debris sir?"
"That there's definitely someone on that ship, Lieutenant," Rogen responded. "And today they have thankfully learned something about compassion," he continued under his breath, shaking his head at the destruction around him.
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