He had considered expanding his operations upon the discovery of the Bajoran wormhole. The Gamma Quadrant promised new possibilities. Then, the Dominion and the Empire came. Everything seemed to crash down around him. The Federation, as he knew it, ceased to exist, and even that slight, long-held dream of attending Starfleet Academy and becoming the commanding officer of a Galaxy-class starship was dealt its final blow.
But now he had new plans, new dreams. A small band of people, calling themselves the Free Federation, brought together by a common cause—the ridding and the defeat of the Empire—put out a call for freighters. Dorgon answered that call. Acting Free Federation Vice-President Zarkoff, put in charge of trade talks, fuel, and supplies, was surprised when Dorgon named his price for the journey. No money, no latinum. Just a chance to help those who could one day rekindle his torch and make his dream come true, plus any repairs his ship may need after any mission.
But his dream had to be put on hold for the foreseeable future. He now had other matters to attend to. From out of nowhere, a jump-point formed in front of his ship, and before Dorgon could even sound the red alert, a squadron of Imperial TIE fighters was upon him. He, along with the Free Federation military commanders, had considered this sector a safe area of space. So far, the Imperials hadn't even dared to attack anything this close to the Time of Legends before. It seemed that the longer they were in control of the Alpha Quadrant, the braver and more daring they were getting. To Dorgon's knowledge, this was their first attack on a Free Federation transport ship.
Dorgon knew his ship, with its most basic of weapons systems, would, in the long run, stand no chance against these fighters. With just one look, his communications officer knew what to do. A distress signal was soon on its way. And mere moments later, thanks to Istarian technology, the call was answered.
A cavourite field began to form in almost exactly the same spot the Imperial jump-point had formed. First, the Pegasus fighter squadron emerged, led by the more than capable Lieutenant-Colonel Archer Greenleaf, and following them, the first ship to ever use the cavourite drive: the U.S.S. Flying Scotsman, named by a Labrador and under the command of Captain Arthur Pendragon. Dorgon knew he was in good hands.
On the bridge of the Scotsman, Pendragon sprang into action.
"Sevrina! Signal the Tiberius to get out of here! Winthorn! Target one fighter at a time! Don't try to overstretch yourself! Let the elves have some fun as well!"
Then the ship rocked. Two fighters suddenly attacked. Archer was soon upon them. He took out one, but the other managed to slip through his fingers.
"Scotty!" Pendragon roared. "We need more power to the shields!"
In all of his long life, broken only by a few years in a transporter buffer, Montgomery Scott had only known one other Starfleet commander like Pendragon before. He began to wonder what James T. Kirk would make of this young "pretender."
Sevrina and Winthorn began to prove their worth; their years of experience in Enigma Force and aboard the Valkyrie showed. Winthorn showed why he was top of his flight class at the Academy as he pushed the small Oberth-class ship to its structural limits, chasing, twisting, and turning after its prey. Sevrina, with her keen eye, treated the weapons system as if it were an old friend. And down below, in the bowels of the engineering room, Scotty and Sonya kept everything from shaking apart.
But try as they might, the Free Federation forces were not able to defeat their Imperial adversaries. Losses were felt by both sides, but they seemed to reach a stalemate, even though the Free Federation had a small starship on their side. Then, from his Operations station, Plato looked on in what could be considered Socratic amazement.
"Captain! I am picking up a cavourite field forming, a thousand kilometers away from us!"
"That's not possible!" said Pendragon. "There were no more Federation ships meant to be here with us!"
"It's not Federation!" Plato replied. "It's Rebel!"
"Rebel Alliance? Are you sure?"
"Confirmed!" said Sevrina. "I'm picking up a squadron of Incom T-65 X-wing Fighters!"
"Well, I don't know where they came from, but we could use the help!"
"But Captain, how did they get cavourite technology this soon?" asked Plato.
"Who cares!" said Pendragon. "We need the help. Signal the squadron commander and..."
Pendragon didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. His jaw almost hit the deck as he watched in awe at the escapades of the squadron leader. With his squadron in nothing more than a support role, covering his or her back, the X-wing leader took out one TIE fighter after another, pushing his fighter to its limits. He hadn't seen anything like it before, except in an old 21st-century newsfilm about one of his all-time heroes, James Watt the Elder.
Then it hit him like a photon torpedo. Could the leader of this squadron be the elder James Watt? Had he been found in the Delta Quadrant and joined the Rebel Alliance? Surely the Rebels would have said something in their previous communications. While these thoughts raced through Pendragon's mind, the battle concluded, and Plato had to tap his shoulder to get his attention.
"Captain, we have completed our mission. The Tiberius is away safely, and the Imperial fighters have all been destroyed by the rebels."
"What... Oh. Signal the squadron commander, thanking him for his help. And ask him if he'd like to join me aboard for a drink."
"The squadron leader is initiating another cavourite field, Captain," Sevrina reported.
"They're gone!" Plato continued.
All Pendragon could do was look out into the blackness of space at the wreckage of the Imperial vessels before him. The Rebel fighters had gone.
"Give Colonel Greenleaf the signal to return to base," Pendragon ordered. "Hopefully we'll get some answers about the identity of those pilots at the talks."
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