You Never See It Coming

The most disturbing, shocking, enlightening, pivotal time of his life.  For Paul Thunder, that's what previous months were – in all, life-changing: From Starfleet lieutenant, Humanist mole, to deserter, guest of Bartokians, victim of virtual interrogation, political prisoner... what Walter Heidler called a symbol of the Arcadian cause... to this.  Here, on one of the biggest, most powerful ships in the known galaxy... ironically named after the planet it was sent to decimate: The three-mile long Universe-class UFS Arcadia.

It was the most unusual, most precious, most unexpected gift anyone had ever given him.  It was too bad Heidler had to pay for it with his life... another martyr to the human cause.

Paul tried to warn him.  When the former, self-proclaimed captain told Paul Thunder they were returning to Earth to face trial, Paul stared at him, wondering if he had lost his mind.  "They'll crucify us."  When Paul said that, he wasn't kidding.  Heidler blathered his spiel about symbolism.  Paul shook his head.  "Have you taken leave of your senses, Captain, or have they taken leave of you?  You've taken over this ship and turned against the Federation.  They'll never let you get to Earth.  They'll stop you.  You won't get close."

"It'll be a show trial," Heidler said, counting on getting arrested.  "Sure.  But when people see it, and they know what happened—"

"Are you a fool?" Paul interrupted.  He wouldn't have talked like that, once.  He was a good little soldier... once.  The one who obeys orders, goes where he's sent; does what he's told and doesn't question or debate.  Respectable.  Like all the other respectable sheep.  But he had become a different man.  A changed man.  They had tortured it out of him.  "Don't you get it?  They don't want you to stand trial," he enlightened Heidler.  "They'll kill you first.  They want to kill us.  Why do you think they attacked my planet?  And like you didn't ask if you could share my biologs, you didn't ask if I want to go back and stand trial.  Fact, I don't.  This isn't what I signed up for.  I deserted Starfleet for a reason."

Heidler opened his mouth, but again Paul cut him to it: "Uh-uh; I'm not finished.  I'm grateful and I thank you for sending a team to my rescue.  We should all look out for each other.  But when I was captured, I was en route to Arcadia with some unexpected friends.  They helped me when I was down.  They might help Arcadia.  We can help them in return.  We may have struck an alliance – and I think we should try.  Instead of wasting our lives by sacrificing ourselves on the altar of public opinion... which isn't really the public's opinion anyway; just what people running the news want you to think... we should turn around and head to Bartok.  That's where I was going on the Tokyo when this all began."

Heidler insisted.  It was the honorable thing to do, he said.  He honestly believed that mattered, to someone, somewhere.  Honor.  Paul had met many people.  Not all were honorable.  Not even many humans would he have called honorable, though it didn't change the fact that he fought for them.  Heidler's problem was, this was all new to him: turning against the government, living a life of resistance.  Paul had been doing it for a long time.  Heidler still thought like a Starfleet officer, in the school of indoctrination that they beat into the brain of every Starfleet Academy graduate – preaching how great and noble all people were, no matter their color or race or gender.  All equals.  The great lie.  He needed to stop thinking like that.  All human beings were not equals, nor were aliens and humans.  People needed to stop believing the lies of political correctness.  It was all bullshit.

Paul told him.  "To be a rebel, you have to want to win.  To win, you have to do whatever it takes.  If you want change, you have to see things as they are... not how you'd like them to be, not what's all grand and lofty and 'honorable'.  Forget all that BS."

Heidler resented Paul's tone, but agreed to the sense in Paul's words.  "You're right, Mr. Thunder."  Heidler nodded, then dropped the bombshell: "I need a first officer.  Someone who isn't afraid to tell me when I'm wrong.  Will you be my XO, Mr. Thunder?"

Paul thought he'd really lost his marbles.  "I told you I quit Starfleet."

"I don't recognize that," Heidler said.  "You told me why you quit.  The circumstances were unfair.  But you're a Starfleet lieutenant.  Starfleet is our fleet.  You shouldn't have to quit.  None of us should.  You earned your commission.  I'll reinstate it if you'll accept my offer.  You'll also be promoted: Lieutenant Commander Paul Thunder.  Think of it as Arcadia's fleet.  The United Freedom Fleet."

United Freedom Fleet.  United Freedom Force, United Freedom Front... Paul wasn't sure who or what exactly comprised those societies.  It sounded like Heidler named them after his previous ship, the UFS Freedom.  Maybe he just liked the sound of it.  To Paul it sounded corny – like something out of a comic book.  Did he want to be associated with an organization, which probably had less than a snowball's chance in hell of making a difference?  Heidler believed in his cause.  An idealist.  Idealists, Paul thought, were dangerous – though was he any less idealistic, deep down?  Weren't most Arcadians idealists?  Did he still believe in his own cause?  Or had his interrogators beat that out of him too?

Paul wanted to be dangerous.

Heidler wouldn't take no for an answer.  His crew from the Freedom followed him and their late CO, William A. Prentiss, into this.  He would need a presence like Paul's, for balance, Paul reasoned – to keep him grounded, pragmatic, to keep it real.  And to be first officer... to be in a position to give shit back to the bastards who gave it to him, who put him through hell.... That was an opportunity Paul could not refuse, anytime.  Then, also, to have a ship, a fleet of ships at that, for Arcadia, whom Arcadia couldn't compromise... even better.  Paul saw: He might make a difference here, by helping to secure those ships and be part of it.  He could finally stop running, for a while.  Until Starfleet blew them all to hell, one way or another.

He accepted.  If Heidler wouldn't get off that high horse stuck between his legs, Paul could be there to catch him when he got knocked off.  It would happen.  Paul knew it would happen.

It happened.  The task force caught them near Gliese, 68 light years from Earth.  The Universe-class ship, for all its grandeur and power and capacity, was no match for an entire attack squadron... at least not under Heidler's command.  The cloaking field didn't help or stop them.  The Future, née Arcadia, was almost done for.  Heidler fell.  Others lost their lives.  It was the Tokyo disaster again... almost.  Paul saw it coming, and was prepared to die.  But he didn't foresee everything.

Heidler named him captain... his last words, his final act, before he died.  Paul wasn't ready for command, but emergencies had an effect on people.  He didn't know where it came from, but he rose to the occasion... pulled the crew together, said the right things at the right time, issued the right orders, and got them out of there.  There was no shame in running away.  They lived to fight again.

And now, here he was, in command.  Captain of the Arcadia.

About to go into battle again.  The ship had been repaired.  But this time, not for his people.  For their cause, yes... yet not for them, directly.

There had been no formal declaration yet, of alliance with other worlds, nations or powers.  Arcadia's leaders resisted such things.  Despite the earlier unprovoked attack by the Federation, bureaucracy, that one constant of the universe, was notoriously hampered by red tape.

Paul had no such qualms or restrictions.  "Give me a status report, Lucky," Paul called to the tactical officer, Lou Reynolds.  Lucky Lou, they called him.  The man had missed more narrow scrapes than anyone could count.

The crew had adopted a familiar atmosphere.  Starfleet no more, Paul refused to be called 'captain' or 'sir' in that context.  He made it explicitly clear to the crew, he wanted to be called, simply, Paul.  They could still respect him and call him that.  Paul Thunder was captain of this ship.  Thus, Paul was synonymous with captain, in these halls.

From the tactical console, three body-lengths away from Paul, Lucky Lou returned, voice amplified through the complug in Paul's ear, "Everything's running like it should."  The bridge was huge.  They needed complugs to be heard across the distance.  "We've got full weapons, and the cloaking enhancements are working."

"Better be sure, Lou."

"Oh, I am.  Absolutely."  He knew how important it was that they not be detected... at least until they wanted to be detected.  "They won't see us coming."

"And our target?"

"Still on course.  Bartokian ships are moving to intercept."

"Let's get to them first.  Lined and locked?"

"In the hairs."  Lou added with a bit of dramatic flourish, "Begging for someone to sock it to 'em."

"Okay.  Don't destroy 'em... just stop 'em in their tracks.  Tasha," Paul said to the cute blonde gal at the helm bank, "let's rock."

"Right."  Tasha tapped controls.  The massive ship banked through a warp turn.  "In position in five, four, three..."

"Ready, Lou..."

"...one."

"Fire."

In space, a Saber-class ship hurtled through the void.  Specially modulated phaser fire lanced out from nowhere, sweeping across its nacelles, sending a discharge through the engines... not enough to detonate them, but frying the systems.  A concentrated energy pulse knocked out the ship's weapons and shield emitters, rendering them defenseless and incapable of returning fire.  Disabled, the ship veered off course, out of control.

On the Arcadia's bridge, Paul congratulated his people.  "Good work."  This crew had developed a shared intuition in a short time.  The ship became an extension of that... a testament to human adaptability.  He ordered up tractor emitters.  The array this ship had dwarfed any smaller ship's ability to resist.  With the Universe-class ship matching the other's course and velocity, the Cutlass ground to a halt.  "Away team," Paul said.  "Secure that ship."