Loyalty Earned

The USS Nexus, born from an alliance spanning lightyears, a beacon of hope, unity, and peace, found itself plunged into an unending nightmare of death and chaos.

In main engineering, where the warp core resided—the ship's beating heart—bloodied bodies of crew were scattered around, consoles flashed and sparked, and Fek'ihri, once believed to be creatures from Klingon horror stories meant to frighten little children into behaving, feasted on their victims.

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Sickbay, the Nexus' primary hospital and sanctuary of healing, stood fortified behind powerful force fields. A holographic brigade of security officers guarded its entrance, repelling any Fek'ihri intruders attempting to breach its sanctum. Those fortunate enough to survive Fek'ihri attacks sought refuge within Sickbay, where they received treatment or were teleported to one of the five holographic hospitals strategically placed throughout the ship. Entry to these facilities was tightly controlled, allowing teleportation only from the main Sickbay. Meanwhile, Holodeck 6 had been transformed into a makeshift morgue, with black bags containing fallen crewmates solemnly arranged on the chilled floor.

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The Melting Pot, Nexus' vibrant social hub designed for diplomatic gatherings, weddings, galas, and balls, now served as a makeshift barricade. Tables were upended, forming a desperate barrier against the relentless onslaught. Behind this improvised defense, families and loved ones huddled together, seeking safety as the combined forces of Jem'Hadar, Hirogen, and Klingons valiantly fought against the ferocious onslaught of the Fek'ihri.

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The science laboratories, once vibrant centers of knowledge and discovery, now lay dark and lifeless. The recreational areas, including the gymnasium, music lounge, concert hall, bars, and taverns, were all plunged into blackness, their power redirected to support the ship's emergency hospital holograms.

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The hallways of the Nexus, like veins and arteries transporting the crew to their destinations, were now shrouded in darkness, intermittently lit by flashing red alert signals. Hissing pipes and sputtering wall consoles filled the desolate corridors, while countless victims of the Fek'ihri were strewn on the ground, discarded as if their lives held no value.

---

"Grahh!..." cried a Fek'ihri warrior, its last breath escaping as a fist in a sparking, dented metal gauntlet cross-hooked its skull. The warrior fell lifeless, bones crushed.

Captain Anzyl Praxas, leader of the ship and its crews, felt these scenes bearing down on his soul. His combadge and intercom were an endless stream of orders, screams, cries of terror, and sounds of battle. Stood over his latest kill, the Captain's hair in shambles, face gashed, jacket and uniform torn to shreds, covered in Fek'ihri blood, he looked like he had taken a shower in purple sludge. Panting heavily, gasping for air, he fought his way back to the bridge. While he could have taken the teleporter, he lost count of how many crewmen's lives he had saved. In this hallway, the only corpses on the ground were Fek'ihri. Every muscle ached, every step harder than the last, his stamina spent, and his Mind Meld Device gauntlets about to break into pieces. He didn't know how much more he could take.

He also failed to notice the Fek'ihri crawling on the roof until it was too late. It roared as it fell upon him. The ravaging clawed beast had approached closer than any other; it slashed and clawed at his face, severing a few wires on his Mind Meld Device. The energy short-circuited, pulsing wildly with shocks. Anzyl fell to the ground, shaking and sputtering as the neural link of his cerebral cortex to the mycelial network was dangerously disconnected, not following the recommended "Log Off" procedure. Anzyl managed to rip the device off his face, severing the complete connection, just as he saw a gaping maw of salivating teeth and claws bear down on him.

"This was it, I'm done for," he thought. His weapon was broken and offline, with no firearms on him. His energy spent and stamina gone, he closed his eyes, waiting for the fangs to sink in.

Just as a flash of hot red energy engulfed the Fek'ihri, disintegrating it into embers.

A few feet back stood Veirik, his rifle sizzled and smoked. He was in full special ops gear and armor, armed to the teeth with every sort of blade, pistol, and survival tool he owned. A sight that would strike fear into any foe, but to Anzyl, he might as well have been an angel of radiant light. "Veirik to the Bridge, I got him."

The massive man rushed to the captain's side, worried and panicked. "Captain! Are you alright? Thank goodness you're safe!" The brutish man displayed concern and care unbecoming of his size and stature.

"Veirik…" the captain winced in pain, "good timing…"

Veirik helped Anzyl to his feet and gave him a hypospray to ease the pain he was in.

In the aftermath of the firefight, Anzyl, taken aback by Veirik's unexpected act of saving his life, remarks, "You saved me, Veirik."

Veirik, the typically grim and stoic warrior, pauses, his expression softening slightly. "You're the Captain," he grumbles, as if that explains everything.

But Anzyl, discerning the depth of the unspoken words, says, "You don't strike me as the type to save anyone."

Veirik, still wearing his characteristic scowl, looks at Anzyl with a hint of begrudging respect. "You're not just anyone, Captain," he says, his voice low and sincere. "You're a friend to the woman who saved my people, and you've proven time and again that you'd sacrifice yourself for your crew. You have well earned my loyalty and devotion. I owe you a debt, and I don't take debts lightly."

Touched by the unexpected declaration, Anzyl asks, "What are you saying, Veirik?"

The Illyrian's grimace softens into a rare display of vulnerability, "I'm saying that from now on, I've got your back, Captain. I swear on my honor to protect you, at all costs, no matter what. You will not come to harm while I am alive. Consider it a debt never paid and a vow made."

Anzyl slowly nodded, acknowledging the heartfelt vow. "Now," he said, attempting to stand on his own, "Let's get me to sick bay so we can take back our damn ship."

Veirik nodded, tapped his Combadge, and said, "Veirik to Sickbay, I've located the captain. He's alive, but we need emergency transport for two."

"Acknowledged," Two of Three replied.

---

Moments later, the Captain sat upright on a med bed, Two of Three busy cleaning the blood off him and healing his wounds with the devices on his Borg arm. Veirik, Neil, Nolan, Eroga, and the other chief of staff gathered around him, looking like they had been through hell.

"Status Report," Anzyl requested as Two of Three used a green laser to clean off the blood from his brows.

Neil started, "We were able to stop them from gaining any further ground, and it seems that Zide'Mok's team is at a stalemate at the main access points. We are losing Jem'Hadar and security by the second, but we also aren't getting any more Fek'ihri on board."

"Weapons are offline," Veirik stated, "It seems whatever happened in Engineering knocked off weapon systems and shields.

"How is Engineering?" Anzyl asked, but no one from that department was there. "Anzyl to Tey'un or Stitch, you guys alive?"

A flash of white, Tey'un stepped off the transporter pad, exuding an odd aura of calm and composure. "My apologies, captain. I fled Engineering when the Fek'ihri overran it. I know I should have stayed and…"

"If you stayed, you would be dead, boy," Veirik blurted out.

"There is only one lifesign in Engineering, not Fek'ihri, and it's…" Heluna started typing away at her data pad, "in the middle of the wall?"

"Stitch, they got away!" Tey'un smiled softly. His composure and manner were not his normal fidgety self.

"You okay, son?" Neil asked, noticing the change. "You're not your normal self."

"Ah yes, apologies again, captain. I was hiding in, well… my brother's… mouth… we were bound in Tsaheylu. We shared consciences, and he is lending me his wisdom and strength, while he is carrying my burden of fear and panic."

The crew looked at him strangely, this arcane ritual unknown to them.

"On my planet…" he started.

"It's okay, Tey'un," Anzyl smiled, "I understand what Tsaheylu means to you and all other inhabitants of your world. It's good that Kayuli is sharing this burden with you."

Tey'un smiled kindly and bowed in appreciation.

"So let's not squander Kayuli's gift and get Engineering back up and running before your Tsaheylu wears off," Anzyl eyed the 19-year-old. "Get Zide'Mok to send you an escort and detail until the ship is fully operational."

"Yes, sir, Absolutely! I'll get right on it." Tey'un bowed and ran off onto a pad.

Anzyl turned to the other members of the crew, "What's the status of the dreadnought?"

"It hasn't moved since it punctured us," Orega stated. "It's just sitting on our hull like…"

"Like a giant mosquito…" Neil scowled, "Sucking the lifeblood from us, one crewmate at a time."

"We need to sever that connection," Eroga stated, "As well as the claws digging into our hull, but the ship can't move and the shields are inactive."

Neil added in, "Once we are free from its grasp, we should be able to reactivate shields and Tey'un is getting weapons back online."

Then it hit Anzyl, "So if we can't shake it off, we just need a giant… flyswatter." Smiling ear to ear, tapping his combadge, "Captain to Alliant Crew, report to the main docking bay; we leave in 5."