For Peter Lycetts this was a dream holiday, he simply loved old Earth history and everything about it; even though he’d never once actually stepped foot on planet which had given birth to the human race. He ate drank and slept history; it was why he’d got himself a holiday job at the Franklin Museum whilst at College.  Now at the age of 33 he was actually ploughing a field with a pair of Shire horses.  Until today he’d never seen a horse up close.  From where he came from, huge robotic machines did this job.  They could work day and night if they needed to; and would have done the amount of work it had taken him and the horses a good part of an hour to complete in just a couple of minutes.

This was Samson III, a holiday resort where you could become part of the history they were helping to recreate.  Peter was under the watchful eye of old Jack Timmins, the man who’s field and everything in it, belonged to and the other four holiday makers who would all at some point take a turn at guiding the two horses as they dragged the plough through the ground.

Peter felt rather pleased with is progress, keeping both Boxer and Tyson in a nice straight line; though he did wonder how much of it was down to him and how much was the simple fact these majestic animals had been doing this for years.

The two Shire horses came to an unexpected halt; they shuck their heads and rattled the chains on their harnesses as if something had spooked them. Then as Jack made a move to walk over to the horses and see what the matter was; there came a sound like thunder.

There was no thunder on Samson III; at least not until Friday.  Climate control monitored everything and saw to perfect weather for everyone to enjoy during their stay.  They just loved to put on a bit of a storm Friday nights for the guests.

Everyone instinctively looked up into the clear blue sky over to the east; only to witness a streak of shimmering blue cut across the heavens.  It struck the roof of the mock Tudor Mansion, which was their hotel for the duration of their stay; and burst through the first floor wall on the other side of the building, setting fire to the immaculately mown lawn below.

“My wife!” One of the other guys screamed. “She’s still in there.”

He started running across the field towards the hotel, which was now starting to burn; as a second bolt of energy struck another part of the building.  The chimney stack closest to the initial impact; toppled inwards and crashed through the roof; taking tiles and wooden timbers with it.

Peter stood there, frozen to the spot, mesmerised by the destruction unfolding before him; his hands still gripping the leather reins.  The man who was running in a seemingly futile attempt to save his wife from the hotel, which was almost entirely engulfed in flame; had reached the hedge at the far perimeter of the field.  He was frantically trying to claw and push his way through the dense foliage, when two small craft raced in, low across the fields.  One moment the man was there, the next, a section of the hedge was on fire and he was gone.

The horses bolted; ripping the reins from Peter’s hands.  Jack was knocked to the ground by a startled Boxer, and as the horses galloped off, they dragged the elderly man with them as the sharp curved plough blades struck him in several places and dug into his clothing and flesh.  Peter and the three other men ran over to the farmer’s body.  Despite the cuts and deep lacerations across his arms legs and chest, Jack was alive, but barely.  “Get to the woods and hide yourselves.” He spluttered coughing up blood. “Go quickly.”

Peter looked at his hands, covered in the now dead farmers’ blood and looked at the other men with him.  “Come on, we’ve got to do what he says.” Shouted one of them, but even as the men ran off, Peter still knelt there; the blood now soaking into his jeans.

**********

Above them standing on the Bridge of the Astika-class battlecruiser bombarding the planet below; its Commanding Officer studied the engagement as it unfolded.  Captain Gokla was a man who preferred to be on top of everything; it was why the Admiral had allowed him to lead this small detachment here, when bringing the whole fleet would have been unnecessary.  The Admiral felt Gokla could get the job done swiftly and efficiently. His eyes scanned multiple screens as well as the large holographic table before him.

“Have the batteries target the buildings in grids 104 and 105.”  An officer acknowledged the command and redirected the port side Polaron barrage emitters to fire on the new locations.  “Tell squad six, they are taking far too long to clear their sector.  Squad four need to head north at the road junction.”  He continued issuing his orders in quick succession.

“Is it necessary to use all this force just to deal with farmers?” It was Jeno one of his senior officers, a man Gokla didn’t really have much time for.  Jeno was not a real soldier in any sense of the word, not in the Captains eyes and not in the eyes of many of the other officers who served with him.  He’d gained rank by having an astute brain, not through hard combat experience.  Sadly not enough of those around the Captain had not fought in battle; not yet at least.

“I seem to remember you being a farm when we discovered your outpost.” Gokla replied sternly. “And if we ca mould you into a soldier of conquest, then they can be moulded into one of defiance and rebellion.”

“I’m not seeing much defiance from up here.” The Officer spoke with a somewhat mocking tone; that would not be tolerated.

“Why don’t to go down there and see for yourself, close up?” Gokla questioned. “You can take charge of Squad nine when they deploy.”

“I’m an Officer of the fleet.” Jeno replied indignantly.

“You are foremost a soldier and you are under my command.” Gokla barked. “So you will do as ordered.”

Jeno gave a crisp salute. “One other thing before I head down.  Why did you remove all those passengers from the liner just to execute them?”

“Because as long as that Federation vessel out there thinks there are people to be saved, they will come.”  Gokla smiled. “It is in their nature to try and save the lives of others.  A weakness I will exploit.”

Jeno nodded in understanding and turned to leave the Bridge.  Once he was gone the Captain turned to a Sargent acting as security for the Bridge. “Go with him; see that he leads from the front.”

The Sargent acknowledged his orders and left; with any luck Jeno would meet an unfortunate end and Gokla would not have to deal with his near insubordination again.

**********

On the Bridge of the Orion Raider, known by the name of Dagger One, Navaar Orci paced up and down.  Korda, her right hand man watched in silent amusement.  They were alongside the Toby Crackit a small cargo vessel, which was part of her smuggling fleet.

She’d sent a team over to discover what had happened.  Signs indicated that the five crewmembers had been killed; someone from Starfleet had removed their bodies.  The ships computer had been accessed twice, but there was nothing incriminating within the memory to worry her.

What did worry her was the fact the secret compartments had been discovered and opened.  “So you’re positive it wasn’t Starfleet that opened them?” Navaar asked across the coms.

“The residual energy signatures don’t match any of their standard equipment.” The reply came.

She was glad she’d sent Hasray her Chief Engineer over; at least he had the knowledge and understanding to make a proper scan of everything.  “And the device is gone?”

Hasray confirmed her fears, and she ordered him and the rest of the team to return.  Korda looked at her.  “Let us hope this Vaadwaur Supremacy don’t figure out what they’ve got their hands on!”

“We many need the Federations help getting it back.” Navaar announced, flopping back into her Captains chair.  “Or destroying it.”

“They won’t trust you.” Korda replied.

“It’s not about trust, it’s about survival!”