[Galaxy] 31 Jan, Fleet Plot log, "Good Intel"

[Robert]

[ Ghost of Jupiter ]

The Romulan admiral stood proudly as he stared out at the expanse of 
glowing gases stretching across his viewing window.  No matter how many 
nebulae he saw, he was always amazed.  No two were alike, but all were 
created from a maelstrom of violence.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" the ship's first officer, a fine young 
Subcommander, asked boldly.

"Such beauty," the admiral said absently.

The fist officer knew better than to interrupt his superior when he was 
waxing poetic, so he stepped alongside him at the window and took in the 
veiw as well.  He stood silently as his admiral continued.

"Tens of thousands of years ago, this was a normal star," the admiral 
said, more in the present.  "As it started running out of fuel, the core 
could no longer produce enough energy to support its outer layers.  It 
began to contract on itself, but in so doing began to heat up again. 
New reactions on different fuel caused the star to glow red and grow, 
throwing off the cloak of its outer layers into space as new energy 
surged through it.  But it was unstable.  Its power pulsed and grew 
until it became so violent in its death throws that it blew away it's 
remaining layers in one last, mighty act."  The admiral looked to his 
young first officer, pointing delicately to the streams of colors 
outside, still light years away.  "Somewhere in there, my young officer, 
is the bare core of that star.  Perhaps it is still dying; still pulsing 
weakly, trying to stay warm in the void.  Or perhaps it has pulled a new 
cloak around itself and become a small, new star."

The Subcommander nodded, taking in what his admiral was saying and 
trying not to yawn.  "Which is it?" he asked to prove he was at least 
paying attention.

The admiral smiled.  "That's the question, isn't it?  Our sensors can't 
penetrate the surrounding nebula, though the gases are only moving at a 
few kilometers per second.  So we can't tell from here, but we could 
brave the ion storms and see for ourselves."

"We're not explorers, Sir," the Romulan Subcommander said plainly and 
proudly.

"No," the Romulan admiral said.  There was a hint of longing in his 
voice, though it faded quickly.  "No we are not.  We are something much 
more important."

The first officer recognized the end of his admiral's reflections, and 
asked again, "You wanted to see me, Admiral?"

"What is the status of the battlefleet?" the Admiral said with all the 
command in his voice that came with long service.

"All Imperial forces are assembled," the young officer reported.  "The 
nucleus of the battlefleet is ready.  The Klingon forces are still 
arriving."

"They understand their role in our operation and formation?"

"The understand they are to be the spearhead, and seem quite pleased 
with the part they are to play."

Again the admiral smiled.  "Of course they are.  And what of the 
Naussicaan forces?"

"Delayed."

The admiral lost his mirth.  "Of course they are."

"Shall we proceed without them?"

The admiral shook his head with a sigh.  "They've already been paid for. 
   We'll wait.  We adjust our operational timetable or our superiors 
will consider the waste of resources an affront to their authority 
instead of a command decision."

"Politics, Sir?"

The admiral smiled at the first officer as a father would a curious 
child.  "Always."


[ Earth, Starfleet Headquarters ]

"How did we get this information, Sir?"

Captain Whittaker looked over the shoulder of the analyst. 
"Challenger," was the simple reply.

"Yes, Sir," the lieutenant said, "but how exactly did the Challenger-"

"The information came from the Challenger," Whittaker said definitively. 
  "The rest is above your clearance.  Now, what have you got for me?"

"Well," the analyst said as he shifted in his seat, "yesterday we caught 
a break reading the coordinates.  They weren't in standard notation, so 
we approached it as a cryptographic-"

"Lieutenant," Whittaker interrupted with an edge of agitation, "you 
better fast forward to my answer before I send you to a listening 
station on the fringe."

The lieutenant shifted again.  "Yessir.  Once we had a general set of 
coordinates, we identified several contextual clues in the accompanying 
report that helped us triangulate the most likely location."

"NGC 3242," Whittaker said glancing at a PADD he was holding.

"Aye, Sir.  A planetary nebula also known as the /Eye Nebula/ or the 
/Ghost of Jupiter/."

"And you gave this information to Commander Gallagher?"

"He sent a communique to Lankford," the analyst nodded.  "The report 
came back a few minutes ago."

Whittaker glanced at his PADD again and read, "'Forces amassing.  Mixed 
Romulan and Klingon.  Twenty-two ships total, more incoming.  Sample of 
heavily encrypted comm traffic to follow.'  Did we get that?"

"Aye, Sir.  Still deciphering."

Whittaker stood and rubbed his chin.  "We can't wait.  Prep a report 
package to send up, but note that we're still deciphering further 
critical data."

"To Admiral Palmer?" the analyst wanted to confirm.

"Yeah, but I already know what she'll say."

"Sir?"

"Send it to Admiral Garroway."

"But, Sir, he's on New Darwin.  It's a potential-"

"You'll figure it out, Lieutenant," Whittaker said plainly.  "Until he 
learns to ride a desk like a /real/ admiral, we ignore how hard he's 
making it for us and do our job."

"Aye, Sir.  I'll start preparing the necessary encryptions."

As the lieutenant turned to get to work, Whittaker looked at the 
analyst's data again.  He reflected on the beginning of the war -- the 
Romulans had made a fool of the entire idea of Starfleet Intelligence, 
and it had been a long road to regaining any measure of trust throughout 
the 'Fleet.  Thinking of the Romulans and Klingons gathering at the 
Ghost of Jupiter, however, rather sinister smile crossed his face. 
"Gotcha."


[ to be continued... ]