Space, the "Final Frontier"; What a joke. The Kin had proven that to be false. They had never imagined they would find an opponent more implacable than the Borg, none more insidious than the Romulans or more powerful than the Olympians of [url=http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Greek_god] Pollux IV.[/url]. They had come with glad tidings and promises of benevolent intent. The first clue had been when they encountered a Federation vessel confirmed destroyed three years prior, those aboard having no clue how they had survived. They'd simply ignored that clue and other signs. To explain away the returned ship they had clung to the idea of providence, temporal and spatial anomalies or Q-like intervention. How wrong they'd been. Then the president of the Federation himself began declaring a repurposing, a new focus on militaristic build-up to help our newfound friends and "kin" from their enemies, an enemy they claimed was much worse than the Borg. They'd lost the war without a single photon torpedo being fired.

Admiral Clancy dwelled upon this. All this and more. At least- At least in the end he had done something. He was not indolent nor craven. He had set events into motion, provided a slim chance, a desperate gamble. He'd been prepared for the price, steeled himself against the inevitable. They were coming, the Kith were taking the entire building that his residence resided within. He caressed the a hard covered book, "The Hero of Scotland", by Walter Scott and was reminded of William Wallace who had given over everything to his cause and died for his beliefs.

He couldn't let the Kith take him. They would tear apart his mind, steal the truth from his very neurons and punish his people as a result. No, in order for his government to disavow his actions he had to act. He lifted his phaser, planted it against his chest and fired, dissolving into a glowing plasmic blob of unbound molecules and then into nothing.

---

The U.S.S. Jonathon Archer floated inside a steel cavern the likes of which she'd never seen. It wasn't just voluminous. A Federation space dock was that. This was immense. The Archer was also just one of a hundred vessels, a motley collection of Klingon, Romulan, Federation, Gorn, Orion and all manner of vessels from every corner of the conquered Alpha Quadrant. Even the Dominion had been brought to heel despite the Gem'Hadar's attempts to blockade the wormhole. They had all fallen before the forces of the Tower.

"Easy now," Captain Eustace Harcourt ordered, "We're drifting. Maneuvering Thrusters to station keeping,"

"Two minutes to the recursive shift," the ops officer added as the navigations officer made the requested changes.

Only two minutes, two minutes until all hell broke loose and the Tower, like a firecracker would explode outwards with the force of what must have been dozens of fleets.

The Archer was a Nebula class frigate, a multi-role vessel only slightly smaller than the great Galaxy class explorer. Reminiscent of the Miranda class vessel that preceded it the Archer was more compact, almost squat, the engine nacelles hunkered down beneath the ship's saucer section and flanking the engineering section. What truly set her apart, however, was the support struts that supported a modular system capable of mounting additional weapons, more powerful sensors, cargo or in the Archer's case a legion of Star Fleet marines, their weapons, support vehicles and various equipment. She was a beautiful vessel, made more interesting by the simple fact that "U.S.S. Yorktown" was blazed upon the saucer section.

"Sir," the ops officer stated, "I'm getting a transmission from the Farragut. They're hailing the Yorktown."

"Which," Captain Harcourt mused, "is unfortunate since the real Yorktown is probably just getting underway after we disabled her engines and comm systems."

That had been two days ago. They had taken the Yorktown unawares upon the order of Admiral Clancy, taken it's place and name in the attack on the next recursion. Considering Admiral Clancy's part in the affair it had been nearly impossible for Captain Harcourt to refuse. They'd taken out the Yorktown's communications, then engines and assumed it's place and now that ruse was due to be discovered by a simple captain wanting to make small talk in dawn before the storm.

"Prefix code for the Farragut. Prepare to order her console to target torpedoes and phasers on allied vessels, engines and weapons systems only." Harcourt ordered, presenting two fingers from his fist, “On this signal.”

The bridge was uncharacteristically silent, as if those aboard were too frightened to breath. He’d have preferred a simple lie. Something about him being in the ready room or otherwise unavailable but what captain would step out to the head at such a moment? An entire minute passed, the captain silently counting the seconds. This was going to be difficult. He’d hoped to be clear of the Tower before anyone had realized what was happening.

“Thirty seconds to recursion,” the Ops officer informed him.

“Accept transmission.”

The viewscreen ahead resolved into the image of another captain, an Andorian with blue skin, white hair and two small antennae atop his head. His face beheld open astonishment for he had been expecting to see the captain of the Yorktown, presumably a long time friend. Instead he got Harcourt.

“What is going on here? Where is Captain Arneson?”

“I’m sorry. Captain Arneson is unable to come to the bridge at the moment. I would ask you to keep quiet about what you’ve discovered but believe me, the Kin wouldn’t understand. I apologize for this Captain.”

A moment’s thought and the Andorian captain turned towards his crew, already giving an order to protect his ship.

“Shields!”

Harcourt smiled, two fingers unfurling even as the captain called for his defenses to be brought up.

“Truly captain. I’m saving your life and the lives of your crew.”

Harcourt watched as one of the Andorian Captain’s tactical officer’s eyes suddenly opened wide. Her fingers danced across the arching terminal before her and confirmed what she was bearing witness to. It wasn’t possible. I simply couldn’t be.

“Sir! We are locking phasers and torpedoes on friendly vessels!” she called out at nearly the same moment as the Archer’s Ops officer called out, “Recursion!”

Then everything went to hell. The Farragut, one of the older Excelsior class vessels, commissioned a half century prior, didn't possess the power of the newer vessels but that was in their favour. They were looking for a distraction, not to eliminate their own comrades. That was going to be the most difficult part of this, the Kin didn't fight their own battles. They forced others to do so for them. Every blow against their empire was a blow against the innocents they oppressed.

Phasers and torpedoes lit the cavernous hangar even as the tremendous hatchway opened onto a brave new galaxy. They energy striking several other ships. Shields flared and, since the attacks were distributed amongst several ships, they absorbed nearly all of the assault. The radio chatter, however, was what Captain Harcourt was waiting for. Every captain was suddenly wheeling, delivering orders to trace the source of the assault or demanding answers of the Farragut. Communications were effectively jammed and Harcourt decided to see to it that they remained so.

"Release communications buoy," he ordered, listening to the Andorian captain attempting to shout over the numerous inquiries that it wasn't his fault, "Do not launch. Fill it with random noise from the music archives and take us out at maximum maneuvering thrusters until we're clear of the fray and then go to half impulse. This won't fool them for long."

The Archer moved outwards at speed, clearing the hangar. Already there was battle brewing. The first ships out of the tower firing upon the defense satellites and ships defending the iron clad world below. As they began to turn away from that world Harcourt bore witness to a vessel in the form of a bird of prey, its lines more harsh and angular than a Romulan’s. It fired, shuddering as the mass driver that was nearly the entire length of the ship launched a solid slug the size of a coffin with enough speed to flatten a small town which struck the defense satellite and reduced it nothing more than twisted scraps of metal. Another ship, what was called a Star Destroyer was firing upon its likeness and yet another, one reading USAF Prometheus was launching small craft with forward swept wings. There were so many different and interesting starships in every imaginable shape from pyramids to spheres and everything between.

“Sir,” the Tactical officer stated, “I am receiving communications. It is the Kith sir. They are demanding all ships fire upon this vessel with orders to pursue.”

“That’s it everyone. The ruse is over. Full impulse. Let’s get clear of this gravity well.”

The ship was rocked, energy beams and ballistic projectiles peppering the shields as it danced away. A dozen ships were in pursuit, some faster than others. Captain Harcourt called for evasive maneuvers but the more one evaded, the slower one was to escape. It was a delicate balance. The shields were going down fast, unable to deal with the pelting the pursuing ships were handing out. The fighters weren’t much of a concern against the starship’s shields but the other capitol ships were eating away at the structural integrity of the energy screens rapidly.

“We’re almost free and clear,” Harcourt stated, “Prepare the main deflect-“

The front half of the bridge sheared away and Captain Harcourt peered out into empty space. There was a rush of air, a snap of cold like someone stepping into a freezer for but a moment, and he was propelled off his feet, across the bridge and out into the vestiges of empty space. Tumbling erratically he looked upon his vessel, noting that it was odd, as if it were spinning around him instead of it being him that was spinning. Idly he noted he was not alone. Two or three other crewmen had been ejected along with him. 

Then came the pain. His blood began to boil, began seeping from his tear ducts and occluded his vision. The shock incurred by suddenly finding himself overboard had caused his to forget what he was facing. Luckily, he remembered, it would be quick. Bubbles in his blood were probably already heading towards his brain.

He was blacking out when he saw the hyperspace corridor open and his starship escape into it. It was a phenomenon they’d used sensors upon and managed to simulate after much testing. It had worked exactly as it was supposed to. He had that much at least. He’d succeeded in seeing his ship safe. It would be up to others to see the mission to its conclusion.

------

The Archer arrived in an outer orbit over Tatooine. It was almost derelict, a miracle that it had even managed to arrive at all. It tumbled aimlessly. Power was so low that self-repair systems were non-functional. Plasma leaked out of multiple scorched breeches in the hull and electricity arced across the ship’s surface. Inside crewmen and women struggled to even get from one portion of the ship to another.