The combined armada of Starfleet and Vulcan starships surged through the Underspace corridor like a flood, their tight formation leaving little room between them. The yellow-brown swirling pattern of the tunnel seemed to pulse with what could have been interpreted as anticipation to those aboard the ships that had entered this alien web of subspace undercurrents. For many, this momentary peace and haunting beauty would be the last moment of respite they would have the chance to experience, though they were not cognizant of that fact.

In roughly the same location the Pulsar had reported it to be, the small corridor spilled out into a rather cavernous node within the Underspace network. Hanging in the supposed middle of the chamber was the massive station that was the cause of Vulcan’s isolation from the rest of the Universe and the Vaadwaur fleet that had brought with them nothing but death and destruction. The stage was now set, all of the major players for the grand finale of the cosmic dance with death were now arrayed upon it, silently waiting for the opening stanza to begin.

Whether or not the Vaadwaur had been caught unaware of the impeding retaliatory strike, the combined Federation forces didn’t waste what little surprise they still held when their ships invaded the station’s domain. The first salvo of fire came, unsurprisingly, from the USS Century, the intensity of which could be seen in the ripple of explosions at the forefront of the Vaadwaur formation. The fleet behind the Century let loose a wave of fire only half a dozen seconds behind, as if not to be outdone by the larger vessel, and lit up the amber hued space with brilliant white flashes as the smaller Vaadwaur craft flew apart from the hail of phaser discharges and torpedo clusters thrown their way.

The opening Federation strike left the Vaadwaur defenders momentarily stunned, their formations disjointedly breaking up, some ships rushing to counterattack while others seemed to stall out, as if unsure of what response they could mount against the sudden hostilities. Even with some of their vessels hesitating to act, the Vaadwaur still held the numerical advantage, even if it was diminished in comparison with their first attack on Vulcan. The smaller craft brought by the combined fleet were starting to bear the brunt of the death toll as their opponents took up arms to defend the facility that the Federation had come to destroy.

In the minutes following the first exchange of fire, the lines of both fleets became a blurred mess, the once orderly arrangements devolving into clusters of combat as both attacker and defender tried to wrest control of the battlefield from one another. The sight of sleek Vulcan craft almost dancing around the battlefield drew a sharp contrast to the more utilitarian Vaadwaur vessels that seemed to be moving through brute force and stubborn will, the Starfleet vessels nestled somewhere in the middle of the two extremes. The strengths and weaknesses in each of their designs were on full display in the middle of the chaotic melee that had become the norm as the battle stretched on.

While the Vaadwaur focused solely on attempting to stymie the Federation’s advance, many of the ships within the combined fleet took advantage of their narrow view of the battlefield to peel away and begin to pepper the station with phaser bursts and torpedo barrages. Even ships not intentionally targeting the station found their stray torpedoes slamming into its shields. Though no single lucky hit made a monumental difference, it all added up as the station began to slowly weaken under the increasing pressure.

The facility itself was not merely floating lifeless against the tide of invaders. The weapons batteries were alive with vengeful purpose, lashing out at the vessels that dared to get close enough, taking down or disabling many of the smaller craft that thought themselves brave enough to risk a run on it. The larger Federation vessels fared slightly better from their own attempts, though the damage compounded on what they’d already sustained while pushing through the defensive fleet around them. Several Starfleet and Vulcan ships were sporting visible breaches in their hulls. Plumes of smoking exhaust from various damaged systems trailed behind them as they continued to push themselves through the subspace void to avoid being overrun.

Time seemed to both stall and slip by in equal measure as the swarm of ships continued to dwindle on both sides. The losses of smaller vessels had reached a crescendo, with all but a few of them floating lifeless by the time thirty minutes had elapsed in the fighting. Midsized vessels were also finding themselves crippled or outright scuttled as hostilities stretched on, their agility finally being countered by the durability and strength of arms that the largest vessels possessed. Even the capital ships on both sides were beginning to show signs of failure, their barrages becoming fewer and less intense with every passing minute.

Forty minutes elapsed before the Vaadwaur station finally sustained enough damage to collapse the shields that had kept it dangerous and unscathed throughout the conflict. The sudden shift from impregnable fortress to vulnerable stationary target proved to be the turning point for the Federation. Though they were battered and many lives had been lost to get them to that point, the combined fleet spared no effort to avoid squandering the opportunity. The second wind that surged through the Starfleet and Vulcan ships resembled that of a sprinter suddenly picking up speed as the finish line came into view.

Aboard the USS Century, the crumbling of the station’s defenses was the clarion call that signaled a potential end to their long and costly offensive. Lieutenant Khar, standing at his station behind the tactical console, caught sight of it as it occurred and couldn’t help but feel the excitement surge through him.

“Captain!” the Klingon declared, “The station’s shields have just collapsed!”

Captain Gar’rath spun around to face the Klingon, “Focus all of our fire on the station. If you can punch an opening through their armor, relay the location to any ships nearby and have them concentrate on that spot as well.”

“Understood!” Khar said, his lips curling into a mixture of genuine approval and sadistic glee at the order.

Waves of torpedoes began to sail from the Century’s forward launchers, at first a flurry of quantum torpedoes careened toward the reinforced hull of the Vaadwaur construct. As the stores became depleted, the ship switched seamlessly back to lobbing photon torpedoes at the station. Large chunks of the armored installation began to tear away, drifting away from the structure as the rain of projectiles continued to rain down. The deluge was accompanied by the hot red streaks of phaser fire, the beams slashing at the superstructure like glowing scalpels seeking to surgically excise the plating from the outer hull.

Other vessels in the combined fleet began to take notice of the Century’s shift in tactical objectives, adding their own torpedoes and phasers to the onslaught. The Vaadwaur continued to pummel the ships, their efforts in that regard seeming more desperate now that they were no longer the focus of the Federation’s attention. The smallest of the Vaadwaur craft even took to kamikaze runs in an effort to cripple the capital ships that had shifted their entire arsenal to the station they were defending.

Desperate though their defense had become, it proved to be ineffective at halting the Federation’s determined assault. At the apex of an hour of fighting, the structure began to light up with secondary explosions in areas that had not endured any punishment from the attacking fleet. Shockwaves and ripples in the subspace node became evident as the station slowly tore itself apart under the weight of cascading power surges and systems overloading from the continuing barrage of Federation firepower.

The Vaadwaur defenders started to peel away from the Federation ships as the station began to implode inward, the ensuing outward burst of hull fragments slamming indiscriminately into every vessel not agile enough to clear the way for them. The combined Federation fleet fled from the decimated facility. Many of the ships were tethered to one another by tractor beams after succumbing to catastrophic damage during their concentrated effort to bring the facility down. Efforts were made, even during the retreat, to rescue as many of the life boat occupants as possible from the vessels that hadn’t survived the attack.

As the victors hurried toward the aperture that had brought them into Underspace, the corridor began to show obvious signs of destabilization. Wavering bands of darkness began to pulse through the corridors, blotting out the vibrant yellow-browns of the tunnel with increasing frequency. The race to destroy the station had shifted to a race to escape the confines of Underspace before their means of egress became cut off completely.

Aboard the shipyard control station, Rear Admiral T’Reln glanced between the large situation display sitting in the middle of the Operations Center and the viewscreen that was focused on the point in space that the combined forces had breached Underspace. Even with all of the discipline she possessed as both a Starfleet Officer and a Vulcan, even T’Reln couldn’t fully suppress the apprehension of being made to stand idly by without any word on what might have befallen her comrades. While she didn’t allow it to reflect in her facial features or her posture, emotions gnawed at the fringes of her mind as if waiting to exploit a second’s weakness.

Beside her, Captain Ivar Jasrek was not as rigidly composed. Compared to the Admiral’s subtle eye movements, the Zakdorn was moving his head pointedly from the PaDD in his hand to the large display, then up toward the viewscreen in what felt like a repetitive cycle of nervous energy. That same energy was being exhibited by most of the rest of the gathered staff in the compartment, many of whom had friends and even loved ones taking part in the armada that they had no way of contacting until they returned… if they returned.

A sudden burst of yellow-tinged light on the viewscreen pulled the focus of every hand on deck. Everyone watched in rapt alertness as they waited for the aperture to take shape, all of them hoping in their own ways that what came out was not another Vaadwaur fleet but the armada of vessels that had gone out to bring an end to the looming threat of continued invasion. More than a few officers found themselves forgetting how to breathe as they sat in the oppressive silence and waited.

Vulcan vessels were the first to breach the surface of the aperture, their sleek lines and smooth hulls now riddled with the scars of a hard-fought battle. Breath began to return to the lungs of the onlookers as they rushed to coordinate the return, relaying messages and instructions to repair and medical teams in anticipation for the grim task that no doubt lay ahead. As more vessels cleared the rift, the sight of ships so battered and broken that they needed to be towed along behind another brought into sharp focus just how costly the assault had been. And then, the Starfleet vessels finally emerged.

The damage seemed to be disproportionately higher on the Starfleet ships, even without magnifying the viewscreen display it was obvious that almost all of the ships were missing swathes of hull plating, with a few sporting cavernous wounds that likely penetrated half a dozen or more sections deep. The last vessel to escape the slowly collapsing maw in space was the USS Century, by far the worst for wear of all of the ships that had returned. Looking at the sheer scope of damage, it was nothing short of a miracle that it could still move under its own power.

“We’re being hailed, Admiral,” a man sitting at a communications console announced.

“On screen,” came the curt reply. What flashed onto the screen was a badly damaged bridge sitting behind the equally battered visage of the Gorn Captain that had led the combined fleet into battle. Thin rivulets of blue-green blood clung to the scales of Gar’rath’s face as he looked toward the viewscreen. The visible portions of his uniform were also stained with splotches that had dripped down from his wounds, proof that he had ignored his own injuries while trying to get his crew home.

“What is the status of the Vaadwaur fleet, Captain?” the Vulcan asked, eschewing any preamble to ask what was on everyone’s mind.

“They are routed,” the Gorn replied, satisfaction evident in his voice.

“As the station began to come apart, the Vaadwaur fleet made a hasty retreat deeper into the Underspace network. It appears that the complex was keeping the corridors in this part of space stable. Not long after it was destroyed, the tunnels began to collapse in on themselves. Had we pursued them, we most likely would have been lost,” Gar’rath followed up after allowing himself a moment to relish his report of victory.

“A logical tactical decision, Captain,” the Admiral said with a brief nod.

Captain Jasrek couldn’t keep the frown from his lips as he quipped, “I would have preferred it if they had all been destroyed along with their station.”

“I would have liked nothing more than to have done just that,” the Gorn commented bluntly, “But not at the expense of the lives we didn’t lose in achieving what victory we could.”

Ivar’s head reared back momentarily at the icy retort before realizing what he’d just insinuated, “Yes… yes, of course you are correct. I did not mean to imply that you had made some tactical error, Captain. Simply that I would have liked to see a greater amount of reciprocity in our response to their previous actions.”

“Captain,” T’Reln’s voice pierced through the tension that had formed between the two men, “Please assess the damage to your ship and relay that information to me no later than thirteen hundred tomorrow. It would be wise to attend to the injuries you have sustained from your encounter before then.”

Gar’rath took on a puzzled expression for just a moment as his clawed hand moved to his head. As he looked at the blood that had smeared from the gesture, a look of comprehension flashed across his features, “I see… I will do that, Admiral.”

The screen flickered back to the collection of vessels that were now floating in space at the outskirts of the Vulcan system. T’Reln allowed the silence to linger for a moment before she turned to her Executive Officer.

“While I agree that Vaadwaur vessels managing to escape is not tactically ideal, your comment was inappropriate in light of the circumstances. You would do well to reflect on this miscalculation in an effort to ensure such lapses do not recur,” the Admiral commented with a dispassionate tone.

Ivar ground his teeth in frustration, more so because he’d allowed an emotional outburst to interrupt what could be considered a moment of celebration. He nodded his head silently to acknowledge the Admiral’s words, while inwardly seething at having to be told such a thing at all. And given his already tenuous relationship with the party he’d inadvertently slighted, the chances of him seeking even token absolution were slim.

On the Century, Gar’rath half-crumpled back into his chair, the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins finally abating to allow the exhaustion to assert dominance over him. His body suddenly felt twice as heavy as it usually did, almost as if someone had doubled the ship’s artificial gravity as a joke.

“Lieutenant t’Veris, begin damage and casualty assessments,” the Gorn forced his voice to remain steady even as he continued to lose strength.

The Romulan nodded silently, her fingers beginning to dance over the console, damaged as it was, to carry out her Captain’s request. Lieutenant Khar moved out from behind his console and approached Gar’rath, coming to a stop just far enough to have to turn around to look at him.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to visit Sickbay, Captain,” the Klingon said, extending a hand in silent offer of aid. The Gorn looked at the outstretched hand, momentarily thinking to brush it aside out of sheer stubbornness. That emotion was quickly trampled beneath the crushing exhaustion that was gradually claiming victory over both his body and mind.

“Yes…” Gar’rath murmured as he reached out and took the offered hand, “I have confidence that the rest of the crew can carry out their duties without me for a while.”