Editing Marcius Flavius (section)

==Story 2==

"Brother-Captain, sensors are finally able to scan the ship. They indicate it is a corvette-sized minor ship, probably a scout of some kind."

"Design?" asked the captain, warily.

"Sensors indicate... it is approximately 3040 meters on all sides, with a cubic shape."

Picard nearly spilled his tea, though reacted quickly enough to avoid it. "The Borg!" He stood up immediately, after setting down the teacup. "Shield up, ready all weapons, red alert!"

Commander Flavius was impressed as he followed the orders. "So THIS is what it takes to motivate the Federation." He would have to research the Borg a little more later, to learn what made them different from the Romulans they DIDN'T destroy earlier. Honestly, a race had been in multiple wars with humanity over the centuries and Picard didn't immediately open fire?

"Keep us just outside their weapons range." Picard paced the bridge over to the science officer's station, placing a hand on Data's chair's head. He was visibly sweating.

"It is time to finally see how these faux-Naval officers react to battle." he thought. He had never met a true Imperial Naval officer, only Guardsmen, but he'd heard of them. The Federation seemed like some bizarre combination of them and extremely lenient Rogue Traders.

"What's the enemy cube doing?" Picard asked.

"They appear to be... hailing us, sir. Shall I respond with a torpedo?"

"I wonder what they're going to say. Maybe that we should resist them" Worf mused sarcastically. A smirk appeared on Troi's face; apparently there was some joke here Flavius wasn't in on. Only the emotionless Iron Man and Picard, too busy for humor, said nothing. "Put it on screen." he said, facing the viewscreen.

An albino alien with cybernetic enhancement flashed across the screen. A terrifying red artificial eye adorned its face, with the other side covered by metal. Flavius recognized the alien, actually.

"Sir, this is not a Borg! This is an--"

"WE ARE DA BORK. YER TECH... TEK... SCIENCY AND BIOWHATZIT DISTINCTIVENESS'LL BE SCAVENGED AND ADDED TA OUR OWN. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE, BUT FUN. DIS BORG SQUARE'S GOT ALL DA FIREPOWER OF A SPACE HULK, BUT MORE." A toothy smile adorned the Bork's face.

Brother-Captain Picard very quietly, very patiently walked back to his chair in the center of the bridge, all eyes on him. He took a sip of his tea, crossed his legs, straightened his shirt, and while still holding the teacup, responded with an uncharacteristically serious "Mr. Flavius. Fire all weapons."

For some reason, as he entered the commands into the computer to fire (with its atrociously childish sounds as the buttons were pressed), Flavius' mind flashed back to his first day on the Enterprise, a week ago.

He'd been in the galley, and despite these Federation values of "acceptance," no one sat at the table with him. Admittedly, no one else wore constant battle armor, was eight feet tall, and required three chairs and entire side of the table.

After a few minutes alone, looking over a PADD of Starfleet protocols the Brother-Captain had advised him to read, the dark-skinned Tech-Priest wandered over, and sat across the table.

"Hiya!" he said, extending his hand. "Name's La Forge."

"Greetings." Commander Flavius shook the hand. Fortunately, he'd had experiences with regular Guardsmen, and knew to use a fraction of his strength even when unarmored. As it was, in full armor, La Forge was lucky Crusher wasn't needed.

"May I ask you something, Tech-Priest?" the commander asked casually.

"Uh, sure."

"Why are you so... unaltered? I am aware cybernetic enhancements are considered standard and necessary amongst the Omnissiah's chosen, but while my own experiences with them have been limited, it was my impression that having nothing except artificial eyes is considered to be the barest of minimums."

"Uh... in the Federation, engineers don't normally have artificial body parts unless their real ones are destroyed somehow."

"Oh. I assume you lost your eyes in battle? Perhaps with the Klingons?"

"No, uh, I was born blind."

"Ah." The room fell silent as they did; apparently, everyone was listening to their conversation. Flavius poked at the "replicated meat" and "synthehol." He suspected it was a good thing that one of his chapter had been sent, and not a Space Wolf.

"So tell me, commander, what, uh, 'chapter' you're from?"

"I am Battle-Brother Marcius Flavius of the Imperial Fists."

"Oh, do you guys have your own ship?"

"Yes, our fortress-monastery Phalanx sails the stars, recruiting new hopeful marines from the various worlds we come across, both primitive and advanced. We are especially known for our self-flagellation." he said casually.

La Forge choked on his food. "Self... flagellation?"

"Yes. We punish ourselves for inadequacies. Our sergeants and captains do not even bother to punish failure; it is assumed that any failure by a marine will be dealt with by himself. Why, I am using a pain glove right now." He set the PADD down on the table and waved to La Forge with it; now that La Forge actually looked at it, it WAS a different glove than the heavy gauntlet on his other hand. "It stimulates the pain receptors all over the body. Every Imperial Fist owns at least one. I'm used to it enough by now that I can still function; otherwise these gloves wouldn't be usable in battle."

"What..." La Forge's disbelieving and disgusted eyes were luckily obscured by his VISOR. "What inadequacy are you punishing yourself for?"

"The Brother-Captain suggested I read this PADD of protocol." he said, picking it back up. "The implication is that I am not yet versed enough in Starfleet rules, so, I endeavor to please him."

"Oh." La Forge awkwardly finished, picked up his plate, and left.

That was the last time anyone ever ate with the commander.

Dozens of torpedoes flashed from the Enterprise, spreading out and impacting the Bork ship with incredible force, burning through bolted armor plates and exploding within, blowing weapons of all kinds out of the square.

“Evasive action,” Picard said calmly, “Pattern Delta-3. Circle them.” He turned briefly, eyeing Commander Flavius, who was holding down the firing buttons for all the Enterprise's weapons with one finger. “Continue firing. Target their weapons and shield emitters.”

“Yes, Brother-Captain!” the Marine shouted, quickly scanning the console for the appropriate options, remembering the memorized schematics from the central computer. Worf watched with approval as he selected the correct commands.

The Enterprise went to half-impulse, skirting the edge of the Bork square's engagement zone while pouring phaser fire into its flanks. Literally every surface of the rusting metallic vessel was covered with weapons, be they missile batteries, old-fashioned autocannons or guns so big they could swallow a Galaxy-class cruiser whole. One of Marcus Flavius's expertly targeted torpedoes sailed into the mouth of a big gun, detonating inside the firing chamber.

An answering storm of hot lead cascaded from the Bork square as the gun exploded, taking a three hundred-meter chunk out of the side, killing thousands of drones. The Enterprise, even maneuvering like a bee fed only with cocaine and promethium, was taking hits.

“Shield strength decreasing rapidly, sir!” Flavius yelled, happily blowing his enemy's guns to bits, “Seventy-five percent and falling!”

A random console exploded, blasting a random crewman halfway across the room.

“Medical team to the bridge,” Picard said, his voice tense, before he looked back at Flavius, steadying himself as the ship rocked to one side. “Suggestions, Commander?” he asked pointedly, testing Flavius's knowledge as much as looking for a brilliant tactical plan.

The Marine glanced at the displays before him, and nodded. “This foul ship we're fighting is tough, sir, but only on the outside. These scans indicate that the core is made of wood and iron. We still have the shield strength to break through.” Inside his helmet, he was smiling.

Picard blinked. “You're suggesting we ram it?”

Flavius nodded again. “I am, Brother-Captain.”

Picard turned to face the viewscreen as sparks flew from every available surface, blanketing the bridge in an ensign-burning glow. “Then by all means make it so, Commander. Take us in.”

“Aye, Brother-Captain!”

The Enterprise suddenly tilted to one side, going to full-impulse as hundreds of shells spattered off its forward shields. Firing a full spread of torpedoes directly ahead, the well-built Federation vessel routed all emergency power to the forward emitters and charged in.

For a moment, the battle ceased.

...and then the Enterprise came barreling out the other side of the Bork square, trailing plasma from both nacelles and with its saucer covered in wreckage and broken green bodies. Behind it, the enemy vessel vanished in a brilliant explosion as its primitive petroleum power plant lit. Picard took a moment to assess the damage to his ship before issuing his next orders.

“Contact Starfleet Command,” he said to the Commander, “Inform them of what transpired here and of our current position while we attempt emergency repairs.” He sighed. “And get those infernal things off my ship's hull.”

“Yes, Brother-Captain!” the Marine answered, quickly bringing up the communications screen and preparing a message. When he had finished, he would be the first out the airlock, scrubbing corpses off the Enterprise's saucer section and finishing off whatever might still be alive. It would be just like old times.