DARK TERRITORY:

FALSE COLORS

PROLOGUE:

THE SEDUCTION OF EVE

“Convictions are more dangerous foes of truth than lies”-Friedrich Nietzsche

Starfleet Headquarters

Commander-in-Chief’s Office

Earth 2370

Admiral James Leyton pulled the young officer close to him, holding her tightly. She shivered as she tried to control her sobs. The woman leaned into him, her tears staining his uniform, but the admiral didn’t mind. “Commander Michaels was a good man,” he whispered. “They were all good soldiers.” He intoned solemnly, his voice cracking.

“Sir, we’ve got to do something about them, those butchers,” the younger, porcelain-skinned woman looked up at him, anger consuming her grief. “Where is the justice for my husband or anyone else on the Odyssey?”

The admiral looked at the woman gently for a few minutes, unwilling to feed her the kind of officious pabulum that came far too frequently from his lips since he had left the bridge of the Okinawa. “Lieutenant Michaels….Renee,” he said, getting angry at his awkwardness. “We don’t know much about the Dominion. It…it could just be a misunderstanding,” he said, though he didn’t believe his own words. He had read Commander Sisko’s report on the encounter with the Jem’Hadar in the Gamma Quadrant which had led to the destruction of the Starship Odyssey due to a Jem’Hadar kamikaze run. Thousands had died, including Captain Declan Keogh, an old friend, and Commander Jace Michaels, the ship’s Executive Officer. Rarely did his old protégé show concern, but worry was limned through each paragraph of the report.

Another new, mysterious and deadly foe…just like the Borg had once been. Leyton’s mind regretfully returned him the celestial graveyard of Wolf 359, the Federation’s first disastrous battle with the Borg Collective. He knew in his gut that the relentless cyborgs would make another grab for the Federation, and he could feel his guts twisting with foreboding that the Bajoran wormhole had now turned into the proverbial Gates of Hell. “We’ll do all that we can to ensure that such misunderstandings don’t arise in the future with them,” he finished weakly. Lt. Michaels looked at him skeptically. She pulled away, her gaze hardening into an accusatory stare.

“You don’t believe anything you just said,” her words sliced into him. “Were you lying at the funeral service too?”

“No,” Leyton said tightly, failing to keep the anger out of his voice. “I promise you that your husband, and the others, didn’t die in vain.”

The woman’s harsh laugh scraped his insides. “That’s cold comfort for me…” she paused, rubbing her flat stomach. “Or my son.”

Leyton’s breath hitched in his throat as he thought of all the grieving families he had seen at the funeral service for the Odyssey crew. He had spoken with many of them, their grief weighing him down. He had just walked the grieving grandmother of Tactical Officer Gonzalez to the transporter pad down the hall before returning to find a distraught Lt. Michaels waiting anxiously outside his office. Though it was past his normal office hours, his receptionist hadn’t had it in her to schedule another appointment for the shattered young woman. Leyton was appreciative his aide’s compassion. He had had always picked his staff well. “I promise you,” Leyton managed to say more forcefully, “I won’t allow the Dominion to strike against us again.” The woman’s expression had hardened. She wasn’t listening to him anymore, but Leyton pressed on regardless. “And if they do, they’ll suffer for it.”

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

Kedron Estate

Trill

Early 2371

“I can’t believe the president blocked the defense contract for the Inceptor class again,” Leyton seethed. “Can’t you do something about it Balen?” He implored the middle-aged Trill man sitting across from him. The graying Trill’s expression was impassive. He flicked an imaginary speck of dirt off his flowing white robes. “You’re the damn head of the Federation Council for Pete’s sake!” In response, the Trill merely glanced out at the stirring view of Bes Manev, the highest mountain on the planet. A cold wind rattled their plates and coffee cups. But Leyton’s growing anger repelled the cold.

“That’s technically the Deputy President,” Balen Kedron replied. “A posting I might have won…if you had lobbied the rest of the Council like I had asked you to.”

Leyton shrugged uncomfortably, “You know there are ethical concerns I had to take into account because of my position.”

“Yet, here you are now, attempting to sway me to get the President to reverse himself,” Kedron laughed, but there was no humor behind it. His nearly translucent gray eyes sized up the admiral. “It’s not going to happen this year James,” the man finally said.

“What about the other requests for increased spending that we submitted to the president’s Budget Office?” Leyton asked pointedly.

“Some will, some won’t make it,” Kedron replied soberly. “We’re still attempting to salvage much of the Fleet from the Borg incursion in addition to massive construction, research, and education projects spread across the Federation. Not to mention the special projects, aid to Gowron’s government, aid to the Bajorans, and so forth.”

Leyton snorted. “We’re helping everyone else, but where were they when the Borg attacked? And where were they after the Dominion made its presence felt, at our expense?”

“Good questions,” the Trill said. “But President Inyo won’t be deterred from spreading alms across the galaxy, seeking good favor among the unconvinced.” The councilor’s tone turned derisive. “Something had to be sacrificed to allow him to fulfill his campaign promises, and the ‘bloated’ military budget seemed the most succulent target. We’ve signed an armistice with the Cardassians, the Romulans are still embarrassed over their botched attempt to annex Vulcan, the Klingons remain our allies; the Tholians, Gorn, and Tzenkethi remain on the sidelines. Even the memory of the Borg invasion is starting to fade in the public consciousness. It’s quite understandable how Inyo can fool himself into thinking that we are secure.”

“That’s just what the Dominion wants us to think,” Leyton said. Since the attack on the Odyssey, Leyton had immersed himself in learning everything he could about the Dominion. He had green lighted Sisko’s gambit to bring the Starship Defiant out of mothballs to seek out the Founders and he had devoured Sisko’s reports on the second encounter, his blood curdling when he learned about the shapeshifters ruling the Dominion, and how easily they had captured the Defiant’s crew and manipulated their minds.

The Borg was a big, lumbering adversary that could be defeated with superior technology, and Leyton was confident that eventually the brains at Starfleet Tactical would discover the final chink in the Borg’s armor. But the Dominion was a different beast all together. At first Leyton had thought the fanatical Jem’Hadar shock troops were the Dominion’s greatest threat. After Sisko’s second encounter, Leyton had come to realize that it was the Changelings, with their ability to assume anyone’s identity, with their cunning and duplicitous natures that were the greatest threat the Federation had ever faced. He had made his concerns known to President Inyo, but the amiable Grazerite had chalked them up to a ‘mild case of well-intentioned paranoia’, an understandable, though misguided reaction to the tragedy wrought by the Odyssey’s destruction. But it was the president who was misguided. He just didn’t understand the invidious threat of shapeshifters that could be anyone or anything and whom were committed to enslaving humanoids or ‘solids’ as Ben had revealed was their slur for non-morphogenic beings. The Interceptor class and many of Leyton’s proposals had been designed to show the Dominion how lethal and prepared Starfleet was, in an attempt to be a deterrent, to make the Founders blink. But Inyo had blinked instead.

“My advice is to back off, let the issue simmer,” Kedron advised. “Even that milquetoast Santiago is in favor of the Interceptor. Of course he knows such a project will pour money into his home system. He has Inyo’s ear far more than I. I will talk to him and see what he can do.”

Leyton sighed. “Thank you Councilor.” He picked up his cup of coffee, and took a sip. He grimaced. The coffee had turned disgustingly lukewarm. Kedron smiled, and for the first time Leyton really felt the cold. “What is it?” He frowned.

“There is a matter where you can be a bit more direct expressing your views to the Council on a matter of gravest importance,” the Trill said. Leyton sighed.

“What is it?” He repeated. Kedron fulfilled his request.

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

Starfleet Headquarters

Earth

Late 2371

“Having second thoughts?”

Admiral James Leyton frowned at the question and the questioner, “Aren’t you? And if not, shouldn’t you be?”

The other man shook his head. “I’ve made peace with this decision. It’s the right thing to do James. The only thing, if the Federation is going to survive what’s coming.”

Leyton sighed, before stroking his salt and pepper beard. “I know, I know. It’s just….”

“Just what?” The other man prodded.

“It’s….treason,” the admiral whispered, even though he knew it was a secure line. Now the other man sighed.

“That’s one way to look at it,” he conceded, “but I don’t see it that way at all. The President has clearly not upheld his Oath of Office to defend the Federation. And if he won’t do anything about the Dominion, then it’s incumbent upon us to. I’m not worried about the judgment of history. If we don’t act soon there’ll be nobody around to write our history.”

“You’re right,” Leyton nodded. “But it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Just remind yourself of all those lives we’ll be saving,” the other replied.

“What about the lives that we might take in this endeavor?” Leyton challenged. “Innocent lives?” The other man shook his head. He didn’t have a response.

Eventually he muttered, “Necessary casualties,” he offered. “If anyone does perish, their sacrifice will be for the greater good.”

“That’s cold comfort,” Leyton remarked.

“It is what it is,” the other man replied, not backing down. “The plan must go forward.”

“With, or without me?” The admiral asked darkly.

The other man merely chuckled, “Of course with you, it’s your plan after all.”

Leyton grimaced, not liking to be reminded of how his dark imaginings had taken root and spread across the Fleet. He had been both shocked and gratified that so many others had shared his views about protecting the Federation. But he had also been dismayed that so many were as ready as he to upturn civilian rule, even temporarily.

“The only flaw with your plan is that I should be there, on Earth, or close by when it happens,” the other man said.

“We’ve been through this before,” the admiral replied, his voice gaining strength. “Martial law has to look incidental and temporary, an emergency response only. Everyone knows about you and the President’s clashes. If you swoop into the Palais de la Concorde immediately they’ll know that we have no intention of restoring Jaresh-Inyo to power. You’ll come in later, after I’ve convinced the President to resign and make him see the reasonableness of having you as his successor.”

“He’ll never agree to that,” the other replied. “Nor will Deputy President Phife.”

Leyton smiled, but it radiated no warmth. “Jaresh-Inyo will not be an obstacle,” he promised. “And Kedron will make sure that the Deputy President bows to the wisdom of your elevation to the top office.” The other man leaned back, regarding the admiral with a mix of skepticism and awe. “And we won’t speak of this again,” Leyton said. “The plan is set. Any deviations might ruin it for us. Plus, if things go south, at least you won’t be around to go down with the ship.” The man tensed at the phrase, remembering something from his past.

“Bad turn of phrase,” Leyton admitted.

“It’s all right,” the other man managed a smile. “What’s past…is past.”

“Yes, so we shouldn’t dwell on it,” Leyton remarked. “Right now the future is our main priority.”

“To the future,” the other said, raising an imaginary glass. Admiral Leyton followed suit.

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

PART ONE:

THE FALL OF MAN

USS Cuffe

Captain’s Quarters

Mid-2372

“I’ve been dreaming about this shore leave for a long time,” Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas said as he lounged on the captain’s honey colored Aaamazzarite couch. “Of course I had my hopes set on Lemuria Station. Any explanations why they redirected us to Deep Space Five?”

Captain Terrence Glover looked up from the pile of requisition orders he was trying to fill out before they reached DS5. “No, but I’m not complaining.” The starship had been pulled from the Portas System in the Demilitarized Zone for a more proper overhauling of its systems and to better patch up the scar running along its underside, the result of a risky game of chicken against a Breen privateer.

Pedro grinned. “I’m sure you’re not, since you’ll get to spend several days under the lovely Lt. Mendes.” Terrence chuckled, but he didn’t deny the engineer’s assertion. He hadn’t seen Jasmine in months and he missed her.

“What about Lt. Raeger, I remember the last time you was here you two hit it off pretty well?” Glover asked, referring to the station’s communications officer. Pedro merely sucked his teeth.

“Old news. You know I’m all about new worlds, new civilizations, and all that.”

“Yeah right,” Terrence rolled his eyes. “I’ll see how that act holds up when we beam down.”

The Chief Engineer shrugged. “Probably about five seconds,” he admitted.

“I’m giving it two.”

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

Deep Space Five

Main Transporter Room

Admiral Samson Glover grinned with pride. The tall, graying man grabbed his son by the shoulders and gave him a once over. “Son, it’s good to see you again. You know Amaya was just asking about you?”

Terrence raised an eyebrow at the mention of his father’s lovely former Executive Officer. “Really, didn’t know she was interested,” he joked. Samson chuckled.

“Believe me, she isn’t. Never has been. Hard to fathom, but Maya was one of the few women immune to your charms,” his father’s eyes gleamed with merriment.

“So, where is the good captain?” Terrence looked around the empty transporter room. “I didn’t see her ship docked.”

“Oh, that was a couple days ago,” Samson answered. “The Agamemnon was escorting an SCE ship here with spare parts for the subspace relay node down on Ivor Prime.”

“Hate that I missed her,” Terrence said. “Would love to see how she’s settling into command.”

“She likes it,” the admiral said, a bit regretfully. “It suits her very well; Far better than being rooted on a musty old space station.”

“Dad,” Terrence remarked, playfully punching the admiral’s arm. “You’ve got to get over that Empty Nest Syndrome thing of yours.”

“How can I do that?” The admiral asked, his expression turning somber. “When I’m afraid that the next time I see you will be in an infirmary or worse. You’ve been going pretty hard after the Maquis, Sabrina Diaz in particular.”

Captain Terrence Glover shrugged, trying to mollify the spike of anger prompted by the mention of his former commanding officer. Diaz had relinquished command of the Cuffe to him before she joined the Maquis. Coupled with the defection of his friend Calvin Hudson, the double betrayal felt like a wound that would never heal. “The Maquis want to fight, and I’m just giving them one.”

The captain was disappointed that Jasmine wasn’t there waiting with his father. They had been somewhat involved in a long distance, subspace relationship before the Maquis ramped up activities, and he was hoping that maybe she was as excited about his being reassigned here as she was. Then again, perhaps some engineering or mechanical problem had prevented her from being here. Jasmine was the station’s Chief of Operations, and he could respect that her duty came first. It did with him. He buried his disappointment and returned his attention to his father.

“I know how vicious guerilla wars are son, that’s why I wish we had never gotten involved in this one,” Samson shook his head, a somber expression on his face. “We don’t need to be fighting among ourselves; we’ve got enough enemies lying in wait as it is,” the admiral concluded.

“Listen Dad, you know I agree with you but the Maquis can’t be reasoned with. It’s gone far beyond that stage now that they’ve got damn near free reign over the Demilitarized Zone, thanks to the Klingons invading Cardassian space.” In another case of strange bedfellows the Federation and the Cardassian Union had been working closely together against the Maquis who were waging a campaign to overturn the armistice that had ceded several border worlds to the Union. Conversely, several Cardassian worlds had been ceded to the Federation. Gowron’s boneheaded move had shifted Cardassian resources to defend their planets and homeworld, dumping the totality of the Maquis problem on their shoulders, in addition to the concerns of the Cardassians now living on the Federation side of the line.

The admiral worked up a grin and threw an arm around his son’s shoulder. “You make a salient point. But let’s not talk about this right now. Really, I want to know how you’ve been.”

“Where’s Jasmine?” Glover didn’t see any need for artifice. His father had been a major booster of his relationship with the engineer. “I thought she would be here?”

Samson’s smile grew pained. “Sure, you aren’t hungry son? I know it’s been a long trip, and you can get some real food on a space station for a change, and not that replicated mess. That was one of the reasons I preferred station duty, the foods much better.”

“All right Dad, why are you avoiding my question? Where’s Jasmine? Has something happened to her?”

Samson’s smile slowly faded away, and he shrugged his shoulders as he tried to find the right words. “She’s seeing someone else, isn’t she?” Terrence figured out, though he hoped it wasn’t the case. Just saying the words was painful.

“Son, it’s not what you think?”

“Really? What’s going on?” The admiral sighed.

“Listen Terrence, I don’t think it’s anything serious. Once she sees you again, it’ll be just like old times.”

“Who?” Terrence said. “Is. It?”

The admiral reared back as if he had been struck. “Watch your tone son.” But Terrence didn’t back down. Fire flushed through his veins as his hurt was washed away by jealousy.

“Who Dad?”

“The station’s new science officer, Lt. Bhudevi,” the admiral admitted, “have been spending a lot of time together lately.”

“How could you let this happen?”

Samson glowered at him. “I didn’t let anything happen!” The older man snapped. “Jasmine is an adult, free to make her own decisions. And if you recall you wanted me to not interfere in your relationship.”

“Like you could ever not do that!” Glover charged.

“Calm down son,” the admiral reached out to him, but Terrence side stepped him.

“I’m going to Jasmine and find out what the hell is really going on,” the captain said. He moved past his father, stomping toward the door.

“I don’t think that would be wise, the admiral’s warning pulled him up short. Terrence turned around.

“She’s on a date with right now? Isn’t she?”

“Yes,” the admiral admitted after a few moments. “I thought that the date would be over by now. She had promised me that she would be here, so that she could talk to you about the new situation.”

“New situation? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means we’re through,” Jasmine said. Both men turned around to see a heavily breathing Jasmine standing in the room’s doorframe. Glover had no doubt that the person beside her was Lt. Bhudevi.
“Bhudevi’s a woman?” He asked, his shock nearly closing his throat.

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

Deep Space Five

The Hitching Post Lounge

Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas had just settled on his barstool, and wrapped his hand around a stein of Ktarian beer when his compin chirped. “Damnit,” he muttered before tapping the chevron-shaped communicator. “Rojas here.”

“Pedro,” the engineer immediately shook off his annoyance. It was Admiral Glover with an uncustomary strain in his voice. Something was wrong.

“What can I do for you sir?”

“Stop Terrence from killing my Science Officer for starters,” the admiral replied.

“Where?” The admiral told him. Pedro got up and moved away from the bar. The comely Boslic bartender turned to him, a look of disappointment creasing her face as he was about to cross the threshold.

“Didn’t like the drink sir?”

Pedro shook his head. “No, well actually, yes. Well…I didn’t have a chance to even try it. Duty calls,” he pointed at his communicator. She nodded in understanding.

“When your off duty again, please come back,” she smiled. Pedro winked.

“Wild Cardassian gettles couldn’t keep me away,” he promised. Turning toward the exit he almost ran into Commander Nandali Kojo, his First Officer. The Kriosian woman looked at him as if he grown a second head. Without thinking Pedro grabbed the woman by the elbow and turned her around.

“Lt. Commander Rojas, if you don’t remove your hand immediately, it will be my appetizer,” she said, and Pedro knew the fierce warrior meant every word. But he maintained his grip.

“Sorry Commander, but I think I’m going to need your help on this one.”

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

Deep Space Five

Main Transporter Room

Admiral Glover held on to his son’s arm. “Terrence, this is really conduct unbecoming. Stand down!”

“So, you’re a bigot on top of being self-absorbed?” Jasmine sneered. Terrence’s nostrils flared with anger and embarrassment.

“No, I’m…no, of course not! It’s just… Explain yourself!” He demanded.

Lt. Bhudevi stepped forward. The tall, leonine alien’s slitted eyes radiated golden fire. “She doesn’t have to explain herself to you…sir.” She wore a skin-tight black non-Starfleet uniform, though the familiar chevron compin was attached over her left breast.

Glover tried to bite his tongue, but couldn’t help it. “Shut the hell up Lieutenant, that’s an order!”

“Belay that,” Samson said. “Terrence, you need to cool down.”

“I’m perfectly fine for a man that’s just been stabbed in the back…or should I say the heart.” Jasmine stepped back in front of Bhudevi.

Glaring at the station’s Science Officer, he directed his words to Jasmine. “Why? Why did you do this to me? To us?”

“Terrence,” anger flashed through Jasmine’s caramel eyes, but it was quickly replaced by compassion. “This isn’t the place.”

“But it’s definitely the time,” he replied hotly. “Why didn’t you at least give me a head’s up about this?”

“I think you had more important things to be worried about,” the Ops Chief said. “Like staying alive.”

“You know…lately I’ve been fighting to get back to you,” Terrence admitted, his anger morphing into a low boiling simmer.

“Oh Terrence,” Jasmine bit her lip. “I…don’t know what to say.”

Terrence slumped his shoulders, feeling boneless as his anger spilled out of him. Samson slowly released him. “Jasmine, please can we just go somewhere and talk about this?” At that moment, Bhudevi stepped back around the wavering engineer.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Lt. Bhudevi sir,” she gingerly stuck her hand out. “Jasmine has told me a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Glover glared at the woman’s outstretched hand as if it were diseased. “I believe this is the appropriate Terran gesture of greeting, isn’t it?” The young scientist looked to Jasmine and the then the admiral. Terrence looked to his father as well. He wasn’t familiar with Bhudevi’s species.

“Terrence, Lt. Bhudevi is a Barzan. She is serving here as part of the recent Officer Exchange Prog