Alexander Williams paced in the command well, refusing to sit in the Captain's chair.

"Are we ready?" he asked. From Tactical, Vanona Hawthorne looked grim.

"Standing by to execute General Order 24," she calmly replied, though she knew what the term meant. General Order 24. The destruction of all life on a planet. The complete and total sterilization from space. It would take millennia for anything to grow there ever again. And her crewmates, her captain, and her friends were down there even now they would leave not even ash. Even her Klingon heritage did not embrace this kind of wholesale destruction. But there was no honor saught here; there was only duty.

USS HAWKING SHUTTLE BAY: Inside the converted Shuttlecraft Rhinocrates:

Anthony Trann pounded on the forward viewscreen, the only method by which he could see the figures on the shuttle bay deck. All propulsion and drive technology had been stripped from the shuttle by Simon and his crew; the small craft was fit for nothing but quarrentine now. Even life support had been removed, for of what use was oxygen to those who did not breathe? Minimal air was being pumped in via a tube through the rear thruster. Yet Trann was alive still. Whatever contagion that he had contracted via zombie bite had yet to take his life entirely. There was still hope.

"It's hopeless," said Simon.

Zora considered nodding in agreement, but then her back stiffened. It was not hopeless. There was an answer somewhere. And if she couldn't find it, then Tatiana would. Or Jillian, or Camenze, or Captain Benjamin. She turned from the shuttle and moved over to the diagnostic computer she had had brought over from Sickbay. She wouldn't give up.


"T'Shaini!" called Pev. "Can you get a solid bead on them?"

The Vulcan counselor looked down the non-digital scope of her projectile weapon and adjusted the crosshairs. "I am attemping to compensate for the wind," she commented. "It would be helpful if I were actually rated on this weapon, but I will make do." Her mind went momentarily to Javier, somewhere on the surface, but she put the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. "I will run out of ammunition before I run out of targets," she added.

"I know," replied Pev. "We're working on that. Mr. Stryfe, hold our position."

"You know their missles are going to target us any minute, right, sir?" asked the Hawking's newest officer, attempting to steer the zeppelin.

"Yes," replied Pev. "I also know that unless we even the odds a bit there will be no one left but us for them to target anyway."

T'Shaini sighted again, and this time she pulled the trigger.


T'maekh Khev flew through the air, the jet pack strapped to his back roaring even above the wind in his ears. Below him the zombies moved, creeping ever closer to his crewmates. Inside the giant building that loomed before him, a digital clocked ticked, counting down the minutes until the remote controlled fleet of zombie-filled warships took to the skies. His mind wondered: what if the Hawking had never found this place? They would never have known about Starfleet, never known about any life off-planet. Never set this plan into motion to destroy all organic life, to turn everything into another cog in Halcyon's planetary machine, fueled by the memories and meat of those it killed and reanimated into the perfect servant. Khev shifted his angle of descent, picking up speed, hoping he was not too late.


"The mainframe's got some kind of failsafe," called Nolan from the operating panel. "I can't override. It must be Tennyson!"

"An organic redoubt?" asked Jack Zander, hefting the lead pipe in his hand. "So what if we just pull his plugs?"

Nolan shook his head. "If we do that, the whole systems launches. We need to outsmart him!"

Tatiana grimaced. "How are we supposed to outsmart a man who's jacked into a computer that's running an entire planet?" Jillian, standing nearby, ignoring her burned and bleeding hand, looked up from the dessicated remains of a headless zombie as Nolan replied:

"I don't know. But we need to do something, because those ships are going to launch soon, and when they do, they're going to make the Borg look like Tribbles in comparison!"

HALCYON, surface:

Nathan Benjamin, captain of the USS Hawking, applied the break hard and skidded his red, black and chrome motorcycle into a sideways-skidding stop. After rolling after the motorcycle a for a few seconds, and collecting some lovely abrasions on his forearms and knees, the young commander stood and took stock of the situation. Zombies to the left. Zombies to the right, and of course, zombies to the front.

The prognosis sucked.

"Regroup!" he shouted, not daring to activate his comm badge. "Don't let them surround you!" Nathan pulled a shotgun from the saddlebag on the side of the bike and pumped the mechanism, hearing the satisfying chuh-chucckk as the shot rounds were chambered. As if on cue, the zombies closest to him turned, zeroing in on the captain as if he were a homing beacon, which, in fact, he was.

Further before him, a score or more of mindless undead continued to lurch forward. In their path, Camenze Taray stood, clothes torn, sword in hand, a defiant expression on her dirt-smeared face. "Captain… I'm not sure how long we'll last here!" she yelled over the wind.

"We'll hold just fine Lieutenant." Master Chief Jackson added dryly, his southern drawl never more pronounced. "Just keep on cuttin' them heads off."

"Indeed," L'mek replied cooly, withdrawing his honor blade and adopting a crouched fighting position. "Doctor Munro informed me that seperating the brainstem has been successful." The Romulan doctor's eyes became slits as he considered his foes. It would be a difficult endeavor indeed to produce the required seperation with only his honor blade. But years of training under the watchful eye of his father's honor guard lent him the required skill. With calm focus that any Vulcan would be proud of, L'mek stood ready to do what his duty demanded of him.

Brushing the matted blonde hair from his eyes, Nathan scanned the area for some reprieve. Unfortunatley, there was none to be had. with the exception of a small cloud of dust coming up off the horizon, the dessert was bare. Except of course for the away team and the zombie hoards looking to rip them apart.


"Drive faster!" cried Javier.

"Hey, do you want to take the wheel?" yelled Harry Finn.

"Yes! I already told you yes!"

"Well you can't. I'm driving!" said Harry, trying to see through the dirt and haze. Everything that isn't metal is the color of rust, he observed. "Can you get a shot off?"

Javier slapped the dashboard. "No, I can't get a shot off, because we aren't close enough yet, and I'm not going to waste ammo! Just…drive…the car!"

There, in the distance, the pair could just make out dark shapes, moving like a slow tide.

"Harry," said Javier, pointing at the control panel, "What does 'E' mean, and why is the red arrow pointing at it?"

Here, where technology had been subsumed, where the entire Federation was contained in the battered crew of the USS Hawking, where energy was the threat and progress was the killer, the valiant crew made their stand…


Originally posted by Nathan Benjamin and Pev

Resurrection Imperfect

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