Marcius Flavius

Commander Flavius and Brother-Captain Picard on the bridge.

Marcius Flavius, Battle-Brother of the Imperial Fists, was the first Space Marine assigned to a Federation starship in the historic Federation-Imperium officer exchange program. In his place went Commander Riker of the Enterprise to the Imperial Fists' fortress-ship, the Phalanx.

Marcius Flavius is remembered for his stern dedication to the basic values of the Space Marines, such as eternal battle readiness, and being willing to bend the rules to accommodate Captain Picard's odd preferences for not shooting xenos on sight, including Lieutenant Worf and Counselor Troi, and, most annoyingly, not destroying the heretical Iron Man Data.

Famous Quotes

"No, it is a question worthy of a Magos. There is no truth without the Emperor. There are only lies. Cunning lies. Subtle lies. Tempting lies. But they are all lies and they lead to heresy. There can be no heresy in truth."

The Writefaggotry

Story 1

Battle-broth... COMMANDER Marcius Flavius looked at the terminal in front of him in disgust. A thousand flashing touch-screen buttons, all of which had a different function, and apparently the same man was expected to deal with the ship's weaponry AND its communications. What nonsense was this? Admittedly, the lack of a chair for the weapons officer, to encourage constant attention, was an admirable detail, and he would bring it back as a suggestion when the transfer ended.

"Brother-Captain Picard!" Command Flavius shouted, his helmet-augmented voice shaking the bridge. "There is an unidentified ship dropped out of the warp! Shall I prepare a torpedo/phaser spread?"

"Good idea." commented Worf approvingly. Commander Flavius was uncertain of what to think about the xenos; while he was automatically condemned for his inhuman biology, he WAS the closest thing to a traditional space marine here. Still, his religion seemed suspiciously close to Khorne worshipping, he'd need a closer eye.

Captain Picard rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Why the Federation had agreed to Imperium-Federation officer transfers he could not guess, but he was doing his best to accommodate the commander, though secretly, he wished for Riker back, and wondered how he was performing aboard the Phalanx.

"No, Commander, not unless they're hostile." he said wearily.

Although he was wearing a helmet, and could go for a week in constant battle without tiring, Data thought he could hear a sigh from the space marine. "Commander," he started. "Perhaps you should--"

"I hear not the unholy cries of the Iron Men." he interrupted. Fortunately, he thought to himself, I outrank the creature. Unlike with Worf, who might have some redeeming qualities, Commander Flavius knew EXACTLY what he thought of Data.

His eyes dropped to the foul, though attractive, half-xenos Commander Troi. A psyker, that one, though a weak one. She might be forgiven for her heritage in death, but while alive, she was a constant link to the Warp. It was true that Flavius had fought alongside chapter librarians, but they had decades of training to control their heretical mindlinks to the realm of daemons. Troi, from his understanding, had had none of that. And Brother-Captain Picard would not fire on a potentially hostile ship at its weakest? And the doctor seemed to have FEELINGS for the Brother-Captain that were poorly disguised.

Only Tech-Priest La Forge seemed to be performing his duties adequately. This ship needed some reorganization, he thought.

"And if I can slay five hundred Slaaneshi cultists in two days," he thought. "With nothing but a nonfunctional chainsword, I can bring this ship to Imperial standards."

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.

Story 3

“Sister Apothecary.”

The great, booming voice shook a dozen small implements off the shelf by the door. Doctor Crusher sighed, and met the speaker where he stood, while an attendant cleaned up the mess.

“What seems to be the problem, Commander?” the Doctor asked, tricorder in hand.

The gigantic Marine squeezed through the doorway, bringing his enormous arms from behind him and setting a bloodied ensign on the nearest medical bed. Crusher immediately scanned him, frantically ordering everyone around to help her stabilize the patient. “What the hell happened to him?” she shouted at the Marine, carefully examining the poor man.

Flavius came to attention. “I was training in your holodeck when this man entered, improperly prepared for the simulation within. I disengaged the safeties and increased the power to eight hundred percent to provide myself with a challenge. The blast wave from an exploding tank shell threw him into the wall before I could pause the simulation.” The Marine looked at the man with an expression of pity, though no one could tell because of his helmet. “I am truly sorry. I will remember to lock the door next time.”

By this time Crusher was very busy trying to make sure the ensign would survive the next few minutes. “Yes! Make sure you do! Now leave, please. We have this under control.”

The Commander saluted and departed the infirmary, stooping as he walked out, scraping his pauldrons noisily on the wall. No longer in the mood for the holodeck's version of “battle”, he stopped by long enough to turn off the simulation and return the power levels to normal, then headed off to engineering, leaving deep footprints in the carpet.

LaForge looked up from his work, typed something into his PADD, grimaced, and glanced to the side, only to jump backwards as he found himself face-to-face with the towering hulk of metal that had replaced Commander Riker and his beard. Geordi adjusted his visor and set the PADD down.

“I thought you were still off-duty, Commander,” he said quietly, making a mental note to repair the doors Flavius had come through.

“I am, Brother Tech-Priest. I have found myself with considerable free time since my arrival. Your Federation work schedules are...” he paused, searching for the word, “Quaint. I have not been so underworked since boyhood.”

Geordi glanced around the room, noticing that all of his staff had mysteriously disappeared, probably behind secure blast doors.

Flavius straightened his posture. “Brother Tech-Priest, I have a personal request to make.”

“And what might that be?”

“I desire access to your main computer's design software,” he said matter-of factly.

The Chief Engineer resisted the urge to rub his useless eyes in exasperation. “...why?” he said finally, picking up his PADD again.

“The crew aboard this ship lack personal protection, Brother. You wear only flimsy fabric garments and minute technological items. I have personally injured a great many of you simply by colliding with you in hallways.”

LaForge winced.

“I wish to fashion armor for you, Brother. I will need your assistance, as I do not share your... expertise in such matters. I am fully prepared to submit a complex and detailed proposal to the Brother-Captain and any crew members who need be informed as well as-”

“Fine,” the Chief Engineer said, “That's fine. I'll have you set up by 0800 tomorrow.”

Flavius saluted. “Thank you, Brother Tech-Priest. I will arrive promptly. Excuse me, please.”

The immense Marine exited the room, scratching the paint off the door as he squeezed out into the hallway. Engineers began to emerge from a small storage closet off to the side.

“...is he gone?” one asked. LaForge let his head sink into his hands. What had he gotten himself into this time?

Ensign Danny's surgery was completed in an hour. Though he was confined to medical for several days, and the ringing in his ears never quite went away, he was no worse for wear after a close encounter with the computer's best approximation of a Leman Russ's main gun. When he first awoke after Crusher finished re-solidifying his rib cage, he found a rather large vase filled with an array of flowers beside his bed, with a note crudely attached to the outside.

“I hope you are well, Brother. Please allow me to express my profound gratitude that you live to fight again. At your next opportunity, please meet me in Ten-Forward.”

Ensign Danny was the first to join Flavius's armor project. Over the next few months, his injuries would become legendary.

“No. You must stand like this,” Flavius said, hunching over and putting his arms out in front of him. The timid young man in front of him tried to imitate his posture.

“Like this?” the ensign said, finding it hard to move in his bulky metal suit.

“Arms up. Brace your legs. Yes, that will do,” Flavius replied, standing and walking back over to the holodeck's arch. “Now prepare yourself.”

The ensign braced himself as best he could, and nodded. The Marine pressed a small, inconspicuous button.

A multi-ton tank roared out of the wall as the simulation re-engaged, filling the small room with the roar of a massive engine. The tank struck Ensign Danny squarely, plowing directly into his waiting arms. The poor man skidded over a hundred meters in his immensely heavy suit, straining against the tank as it continued to charge forward. Then, with a mighty yell, the crewman raised his arms, the suit's powerful, crushing hands biting through the tank's forward armor. The vehicle lifted off the ground and swung up, sailing over the ensign and crashing to the ground, tumbling into a low hill and exploding, pelting the heavy suit with shrapnel.

“Excellent!” Flavius called out, pausing the sim. “This is the most effective combination yet.” He rushed over to the sobbing ensign, pulling a specially-made, ridiculously rugged tricorder from his belt. “Are you alright, Brother?”

“My... arms...” Danny managed to say, before falling backwards into the dirt.

The Marine scanned him thoroughly, sighed, and hefted the ensign, suit and all, to his shoulder. “Tensile strength is still insufficient. I will have the computer address this.” With that, he carried his charge to the infirmary for the eight time that week, muttering litanies.

Crusher was livid. “You can't keep doing this!” she shouted, laying the unconscious patient on the familiar bed, calling for assistance. “There's a limit to how much we can repair, Commander!”

Flavius stood at attention. “Better here than on the battlefield, Sister Apothecary.”

“What battlefield?” the redhead replied angrily, running one of her instruments over the ensign's shattered arms, “What the hell do you think you're going to need this for? Why do you need to half-kill one of my people every hour just to test it?”

The Marine shook his head. “Sister Apothecary, I must be vigilant. The enemies of the Emperor persist even here. I cannot afford to let my Brothers seek them unprotected.”

The Doctor said nothing for a moment, consuming herself in her work. She didn't want to think about what the ensign was putting himself through, and, for the life of her, she didn't know why he did it.

“Commander,” she said finally, “Please return to your duties.”

Flavius bowed and departed, easily fitting through the enlarged and reinforced door. He made his way to the nearest turbolift, a new and improved heavy-duty model suited to his size and mass, and told the computer to take him to the bridge.

The Marine stomped out of the small, tubular craft as soon as it arrived, nodding to Worf, the almost-redeemable xeno, as he passed. Since the Brother-Captain was nowhere in sight, Flavius surmised that he must be inside his chapel, attending to the many less-glamorous facets of running a starship. He pressed the small button beside the door, noticing that it, too, had been reinforced, and barely deformed at all under the gentle pressure of his gauntlet.

“Enter,” said a voice from within. Flavius obeyed as the door opened, coming to stand at Picard's desk, upon which sat a steaming cup of his favorite tea.

“Ah, what can I do for you, Commander?” the balding man greeted the Marine, taking a sip of tea as he thanked the powers that be for keeping Flavius occupied and relatively out of trouble for the past few days.

“Brother-Captain, I have concerns about your crew,” the armored Marine stated simply, lamenting the lack of skulls in the small, conservative chapel.

“What sort of concerns?” Picard responded.

Flavius chose his words carefully, wary of speaking to one so glorious and exalted as the Brother-Captain about the failings of his mortal servants. “Brother-Captain, your crew are very poorly suited for the rigors of intense combat. They are physically weak and lack any sort of enhancement that would allow them to survive even the most mundane of inhospitable environments. A single deck being exposed to vacuum would kill over a hundred, for example.”

“And?” Picard said, urging the Commander to continue.

“Sir, I formally request permission to augment choice members of your crew.”

“Request denied.”

Flavius tilted his head to one side. “May I request an explanation, sir?”

Picard bit down an immediate retort, memories of his brief time with the Borg welling up like a tide of blades in the back of his mind. “Commander, I will not subject my people to such... modifications in the absence of a coherent justification for it. To date, you have presented no such justification.”

The Marine nodded, and saluted. “My apologies, Brother-Captain. I will make every attempt to ensure that those modifications will not be necessary.”

“See that you do,” said Picard, gesturing to the door. “Dismissed.”

A minute after Flavius had left, Picard began to wonder about the ramifications of the Marine's presence aboard his ship, and, for the first time in his life, actually considered allowing himself to prefer the presence of Q. He managed to cut that impulse off at the knees, and ordered another cup of tea from the replicator.

Meanwhile, Commander Riker was undergoing yet another round of training aboard the ship run by Flavius's Chapter, the Imperial Fists.

“FASTER! FASTER, BATTLE-BROTHER! YOU MUST RUN FASTER!” Shouted the Chapter Master, taking potshots at the Carapace-Armored human with a Heavy Bolter. For the past several months, he had taken it upon himself to train the man personally, and had noted a considerable and increasing improvement in his combat skills. But it still wasn't enough.

Riker's beard caught the wind as he bounded through the training course, doing his best to dodge the incoming fire. Never again would he complain about Captain Picard's insistence on playing opera in the background during those long, boring briefings. Never again.

Story 4

Commander Flavius pulled out the tiny chisel he'd taken to mark on his armor as of late and wrote down the newest order from the Brother-Captain.

'No Surprise Combat Exercises'

Try as he might, he couldn't seem to get the Brother-Captain to understand just how unprepared his crew was in case of attack. "Maybe I should concentrate on prevention..." Flavius thought "...although I doubt the Brother-Captain will allow any more 'experiments' with Tech-Priest LaForge after the melta incident."

Reaching his post, Flavius resumed his duties just as a hail from the planet below came in.

"...*Static*... We're under attack...*explosion*... there were Romulan pirates waiting at the drop loca...". The transmission cut off abruptly. Pounding the heavily reinforced comm devise on his chest, Commander Flavius hailed the captain and other chief officers as he'd been told to do.

"I heard" Brother-Captain Picard said as he stalked into the bridge, "Mr. Data, what's going on?"

"It appears as if the away team has been captured and transported to a secure location, I cannot lock onto them to transport them back to the ship captain. Judging by the energy readings from the attack, the Romulans appear to be well armed."

Picard turned to tell Worf to begin assembling a rescue team when he realized that Commander Flavius had left the bridge.

Rage burned beneath the Space Marine's power armor. "Not only are crew in danger, but I must trek deep into the bowels of this minuscule ship to retrieve my sacred armaments." Flavius stormed down the corridors and finally reached his room.

Grabbing his powersword, bolter and bolt pistol he hesitated. He set down his bolt pistol and examined the 'phazer' he had been assigned by Tech-Priest LaForge. Flavius attempted to set the weapon from 'stun', a most useless setting to 'kill' it's proper position. The weapon broke in his titanic grip.

He elected for his bolt pistol instead.

Once ready he hit his abused comm button again and commanded the poor ensign in the transporter room to get him as close to the Romulans as he could.

"At least this cultures teleportorium is reliable." He mused as specs of lights danced in front of his visor.

Brother Flavius appeared in the room the 'negotiations' were suppose to be in. He pulled out his auspex... or 'tricorder', also heavily reinforced, and began scanning the area. His keen eyes noticed footprints and drag marks going off in an eastern directions, so he began to track the xenos filth to recover the captured officers.

The tracks went up to a large abandoned building that his sensors said was the source of the transporter blockage. He was about to approach the building when a hail of phazer and disruptor fire erupted from the surrounding area and plinked off Flavius's armored body.

"This reminds me of that traitor legions lasgun fire... stupid flashlights" Flavius thought to himself as he leveled his bolter and started putting high caliber explosive rounds into nearby xenos.

"These xenos appear to be Eldar witches, but they are using primitive weapons and no psykers... the crew will have to be disciplined when we return."

Flavius continued to pump high explosive rounds into the Romulans as they continued to fail to even scratch his armor. Eventually the leader of the pirates came out and the firing stopped. He wanted to negotiate the safe release of the prisoners...

Flavius put up his bolter, cause a sigh of relief to ripple through the remaining Romulans. But before the leader could open his mouth to name their terms Flavius had sliced him in half with his power sword. As the green xenos blood sizzled on his glowing blade, Flavius said

"It seems negotiations have failed."

Story 5:

"Sir, the IKS Rachtar is coming out of warp." said Data, placing the Klingon ship on the viewscreen.

Commander Flavius had spent much of his free time reviewing the xenos species catalogued by the Enterprise's computers. Most of them were of little interest or, it seemed, were content to serve aboard the ship under the decidedly human captain. The Klingons, sans Worf, were not.

According to the computer, multiple wars had been waged with them. Their technology was roughly equal to the Federation's, with the Klingons having weapons advantages while the Federation had shield, speed, and miscellaneous advantages, but they were also a warrior culture.

Flavius swallowed his rage. If he was on the Phalanx, a xenos species that worshipped war would be exterminated immediately on suspicion of Khorne worship. But... the Klingons were ostensibly friendly. And, though it pained him to admit it, Brother Worf was nearly acceptable as a crewmate. He was that only member of the crew capable of providing any kind of challenge in the holodeck, albeit only in melee combat, and he feared battle less than anyone on the ship but Flavius himself.

So, though he would never admit it, Commander Flavius was rather looking forward to their rendezvous with the IKS Rachtar. A proper warship, even a xenos one, would be a welcome sight. Even the Bork Square didn't really qualify.

"Sir, I'm detecting strange additions to the Klingon vessel. Nonstandard spikes appear to be jutting out from random areas of the hull, and... well, non-euclidean geometry appears to have warped areas of the ship in ways our sensors can barely read." The Iron Man sounded perplexed.

"Open a hailing frequency." Picard stood up. He had personally spoken with Captain K'rell before, and hoped he'd be remembered.

The Klingon ship came on the viewscreen, but even Flavius, who'd never seen the interior of a Klingon ship before, could tell something was wrong. The same impossible geometry adorned the bridge, and a half-crazed Klingon came to the screen. By his insignia, he was K'rell.

"Federation!" he snarled, showing his teeth.

"Captain K'rell! This is Captain Jean-luc Pi--"

"I know why you've come!" he hissed. He pulled a knife from his belt, and waved it menacingly at the screen, despite their being several hundred kilometers away from each other. The attentive battle-brother noticed another Klingon, sitting at a weapons post in the background.

"Captain--" began Picard.

"You have come to be the BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" screamed K'rell, and at that mark the Klingon in the background punched a few buttons, attacking the Enterprise with the ship's disruptors. It was quick thinking by Flavius that raised the shields in time.

"It is as I suspected." he muttered sadly. "They've been corrupted.

"By what?!" demanded Worf, stepping to Flavius.

"Khorne." said Flavius grimly, as Picard turned around, shocked at the aggressiveness of the now-turned Klingons. "I suspect you may be the only Klingon not of his ilk, simply because you are among humans so much. Your species' warrior culture would leave them vulnerable to his influence." said the commander plainly. "The Rachna must be destroyed, Brother-Captain. It is too far gone."

Story 6

'Captain, there's... something....'

Councillor Troi was suddenly standing, clasped tight around her head, face screwed up in pain. As the bridge crew turned toward her, the air around her seemed somehow to ripple and then in an instant tear open, spilling a sickly multicoloured light around the room. Worf moved faster than anyone, but in the short seconds it took him to run towards her it was already over: a nightmare confusion of claws, tentacles, and feathers had wrapped itself around Deanna, pulling her back into the impossible hole in reality which then closed in on itself, leaving only the vanishing echoes of a scream which seemed to come from a galaxy away.

Picard lifted his cup of Earl Grey (hot) and regarded it for a moment before taking a deep sip.

'Well, it seems you were right, Commander Flavius- and I am of course a man of my word. Fifteen quatloos to you.'

Beneath his helmet, Flavius smiled with grim satisfaction. He hoped quatloos were something you could shoot.

Story 7:

"Commander Flavius?"

Flavius sighed heavily. THIS conversation again.

"Sir? Did you consider my request?"

"One does not REQUEST to be a space marine, boy." Flavius did not turn around to face the 'acting ensign.' "One is offered the chance to serve the Emperor, and you are not worthy."

"Why not?!" he whined in an adolescent voice so that even the battle-hardened warrior cringed. "I'm an expert engineer, I'm a scientist, I'm--"

"Useless in a fight. How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen? When I was sixteen I had already killed four orkz with an autogun and a machete and been in the Planetary Defense Forces for three years, and I was considered to be a weak recruit. And you consider yourself worthy?"

"But sir--"

"Not another word." he said flatly. "Now return your post as helmsman, and be glad this is not an Imperial ship. The helmsmen there need to interact with the navigators--"

"What's so bad about that?"

The child's endlessly inquisitive nature may have been acceptable to Brother-Captain Picard... but Flavius doubted it. "What's so bad about that is that the Navigators are psykers. Every moment they live is not just a slap in the face to the fabric of reality itself, but they are in constant danger of tearing a hole in reality and allowing a daemon to climb out of their corpse and consume the crew. Every navigator is exposed to the glory of the Emperor's true form for an instant, burning out his or her eyes forever, and instead forcing him or her to view the Warp, the endless sea of emotion itself, filled with bloodthirsty daemons it takes twenty normal men to kill the least of. They are forbidden to speak of what they see there, though, because merely the mention of it has been known to drive men mad and into the embrace of Chaos worship, wherein their souls will be damned eternally."

Flavius hadn't meant to, but he was now less than two inches from the ensign's face, bending down to head level. "Now back to your post." he whispered as much as a space marine could.

"Yes sir." he replied quickly, and sat down. He wouldn't be resubmitting his request to be an Imperial Fist.

Brother-Captain Picard punched a few buttons on his arm chair, and a message flashed on Flavius' console.

GOOD WORK

Flavius smiled, though no one could see it through his helmet.

Story 8

Meanwhile, on the Phalanx, Commander Riker sat in the captain's chair, while the Chapter Master strode on the bridge. Servitors, the presence of which Riker was still having difficulties with, staffed most of the positions, but a few augmented but mostly normal humans staffed the rest. He knew the Chapter-Master had given him command to gauge his ability. He didn't intend to disappoint.

"Sir," a servitor said in a dispassionate voice. "We are picking up an unidentified ship. The markings and design are unknown."

The Chapter-Master prepared to give the order to fire, before reigning himself in. "No," he thought. "The Phalanx can handle a mistake if Riker makes one. Let us see how this plays out."

"Hail them." commanded Riker. He was off to a bad start.

The screen flashed to a bridge with fat, short humanoids with odd markings on their faces. Their bridge appeared to be an odd mishmash of anything they could find, with nothing uniform.

"Hello." one said. "We are Pakleds. We are broke. Can you make us g--"

"FIRE ALL WEAPONS!" roared Riker, suddenly standing. The space marine in charge of the weapons are surprised by Riker's order, and took a moment to carry it out. A second later, the Pakled ship had been vaporized.

"Very good, Battle-Brother!" said an honestly impressed Chapter-Master. "I was beginning to wonder if you had it in you to destroy the xenos enemies of the Emperor."

"The Pakleds and I have a history, Chapter-Master Pugh." said Riker evenly, but whatever it was, Pugh would apparently not learn it from Riker.

"We'll make a proper Battle-Brother of him yet." he thought.

Story 9

The second officer meeting on board the Phalanx wasn't going well. The room itself was big enough to double as a football field, and yet the four hulking figures clad in power armor seemed to fill it all. The Fists have concluded their second battle training just half an hour earlier, there was no time, nor no need to take off armor. Riker discovered he was sweating. A lot.

"As I was trying to say, the Federation discovered that the stun setting enables us to keep the casualties on both sides to a minimum. Due to that we are able to forge treaties with many-"

"THAT IS ENOUGH, COMMANDER." Chapter Master Vladimir Pugh sounded like a death metal band fed to a wood chipper even without a helmet. The vox system on his Terminator armor wasn't helping. "YOU'VE TRAINED WITH US FOR OVER A WEEK NOW. THE EMPEROR HIMSELF NAMED US HIS ANGELS OF DEATH. THERE IS NO NEED FOR THE ANGELS OF STUNNING FOUL XENOS A BIT AND THEN TALKING WITH THEM WHILE HOLDING THEIR HANDS IN THE IMPERIUM OF MAN."

Story 10

"Dukat, what is the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry Aun, it seems I forgot to mention when we joined with you exactly whose Greater Good this Alliance would serve....."

"The Empire will not stand for this, Dukat! We do not fight for the good of a single man, or a hundred, or a thousand! We fight for the good of al-" Dukat cut off the Ethereal with a raised hand, his second Damar snickering and then coughing as he blew a portion of his glass of Kanar up his nose.

"Aun, I don't think you understand the situation. As you are well aware your, Kroot allies were MOST impressed with the Jem' Hadar they encountered when we first met. Indeed, I seriously doubt there is a single Kroot left in your force that has not fought with the Jem' Hadar." The Ethereal shifted slightly, noticing the slimy Vorta adviser gesture to Dukat.

"Perhaps I might put this in a more...congenial manner than Dukat. Cardassians can be so blunt when perhaps a more....diplomatic approach is called for."

"If you have upset the Founders in some way, we meant no offense. We all serve for the greater go.."

"EXACTLY! Which is why we are trying to help you. See, your Kroot absorb genetic traits from those they defeat in battle yes?"

"Indeed, but what does this have to do with these demands that the Tau Empire join the Dominion instead of remaining allies?' Damar laughed again.

"So your troops eat your enemies then absorb their traits? Oh this is rich..." he intoned while rolling his eyes and double spined neck.

The Vorta (Weyoun, if the Ethereal recalled correctly) glared at the Cardassian cutting him off. "I'm getting to that Damar, a fact you would notice if you could put down that bottle for once."

"Please, go on. Tell him, Vorta." The Aun was getting sick of all this artifice. "Tell me what? he demanded.

The Vorta opened his palms towards the Aun in a gesture of "peace" that conveyed anything but.

"You see Aun, the Jem'Hadar require a substance called Ketracel White to live. Apparently now, so do the Kroot. The Founders are willing to renegotiate the terms of our alliance in exchange for giving you a supply of this substance. "The foul creature smiled at the Aun before continuing. The Aun was shocked with alarm, stuttering something in his native language.

"Unless of course you wish us to negotiate with the Kroot directly without your involvement?"

Story 11

"Let me make sure I understand."

"Alright," said Picard, patiently. The ambassador's head was still on the floor, squished between it and Flavius' palm.

"There is a race of pointy-eared, superhumanly tough and strong humanoids who are powerful psykers and extremely attractive to humans and good at coming up with complex plans... who AREN'T the Eldar?"

Sarek was sweating. "Captain..." he breathed, barely. "If you could please restrain your first officer..."

"Actually, Commander, there are two, sort of. Continuity's never been good with how powerful psychics the Romulans are."

Story 12

Commander Marcius Flavius sat at the table across the Iron Man. To his sides sat Tech-Priest La Forge, the half-xenos psyker Troi, the xenos warrior Worf, and Sister-Apothecary Crusher. Brother-Captain Picard was on the bridge.

Why he had been selected for the Imperial-Federation officer exchange program, the Imperial Fist would never know.

"So let me make sure I understand this game," he started, staring across from the Iron Man, whom he didn't slay only on orders from the Brother-Captain. "We... gamble."

"That is correct, Commander." replied the white-skinned android. "To be more specific, if you think your opponent is 'bluffing,' you may react in a different way than if you think his hand is strong. Many people lose money on this game and find it addictive, though we use worthless chips instead."

"Wait." the wheels in the commander's head were turning, and everyone faced him, even Data stopping his shuffling. "Wait, this is a game about confusing your enemies with lies and planning, which you can counter by barging through their lies and being valorous, but that is addictive like a sickness, and since it's a game, people find it pleasurable?"

"I suppose so." replied the Tech-Priest, placing his arm on the table.

Commander Flavius immediately left the room without saying anything more. Truly, the effects of the Chaos gods could be felt even here.

Story 13

Picard sat in his ready room reviewing another report. According to the last message Riker had taken to the role of regimental commissar rather disturbingly well, Picard was somehow sure getting Riker to give up the gold encrusted hat, jacket and pistol when he got back was going to be almost as trying as dealing with their temporary commander. Almost.

There was a chime at the door followed a booming voice that could be heard quite clearly through the bulkhead. "You summoned me Brother-Captain?". Picard took several deep breaths and said "Enter".

The Marcus carefully negotiated his way through the door. It had taken six sternly worded lectures, LaForge first re-enforcing then ultimately applying a force field to the main bulkheads to prevent the commander from enlarging them with explosives.

"Commander Flavius... you enjoyed your recent shore leave?" He asked.

"I was able to make productive use of your lax and decadent grant of time for personal idleness, yes."

"Good. Good..." Picard paused "Only I've received some complaints."

"Sir?"

"Well first, the rest planet we booked for you had taken a lot of time and trouble to prepare suitable accommodations for you. So they were quite put out when you didn't show up. I would like you to send a formal apology to them."

Marcus grumbled "Yes sir."

"One other... minor, I'm sure trivial complaint... a federation colony world rose in rebellion, slaughtered all the non humans in its population and has declared its intent to subjugate the sector for the God-Emperor. Honestly, I'm not even mad about this one. I'm just curious how you managed it."

Story 14

Battle-Brother Riker stepped into the Adeptus Sororitas temple slowly and carefully. From what he'd been told, the Sisters took their oaths and loyalty to the Emperor VERY seriously, even more so than the average space marine.

And the average space marine, in his experience, was as likely to open fire on aliens without talking as he was to breathe.

"Greetings, Battle-Brother." A white-haired woman in black-and-red armor approached him, while many other women, whose hair was all dyed white but not in armor, prayed silently across the large opening hall.

"I am Sister Herelen, the caretaker for this temple." She gave a slight bow, to which Riker responded with a much more dramatic one. She seemed approving. "Forgive me, but the Phalanx's message on why you would be visiting us was... poorly-worded. I would appreciate some clarity."

Riker coughed awkwardly, and eventually forced out a "I would like to borrow some power armor." in as much a whisper as he could.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"I am merely an honorary battle-brother, Sister. I have not taken the gene-seed of a Primarch into me." Even though the Federation cared not at all about homosexuality, even Riker could tell how gay that sounded. "And as I am too old to do so in any case, I cannot. This leaves me in the awkward position of being unable to join the Imperial Fists in battle, as I cannot use space marine power armor, so..." he trailed off, rolling his head to finish his point.

"You are aware that we only adorn *women* in armor, are you not?"

"Yes, but, I was hoping maybe a Tech-Priest could iron out the--" Riker paused, pierced by a stare by the Sister, obviously unamused by the idea of altering holy armor. "Well, I--"

"Come with me."

She led him through the hallways of the temple, all adorned with gold, black, and red artwork of the Emperor, marble statues to the sides of the halls making it almost hard to walk. Multiple times, Riker had to duck his head beneath the crossed spears of marble Adeptus Custodes as a portrait of the Emperor looked at him, judging him for sins the artist had assumed he'd committed.

Eventually they came to a room that Riker easily identified as an armory. He'd seen bolters and powerswords before, they were standard armament for the Fists, but he was only just now exposed to flamers.

He did not like them.

"Here." she said, gesturing to dozens of suits of armor on the far wall, identical save for their sizes: some were obviously for petite women, while others were for... less petite women.

"What's--" was all Riker got out, before a heavy slap on his back sent him stumbling forward to the largest suit, made for a 5'10" or so heavyset woman. "What's this?"

"Your armor." she said simply. "It is the only thing you might fit in."

She forced him to undress and suit up in front of her, and by the time he was done, it now appeared to her that she stood before a standard Sister of Battle... save for the obviously male face and beard.

Her heart stopped for a moment as she looked at Riker's awkward, uncomfortable face as he tested out the armor's abilities.

Giving himself a once over an odd thought came over the commander spinning a full 360 giving the sister a chance to see the absurdity of sticking Riker of all people in one of their suits. 'If I'm going to be stuck in this might as well have fun with it.'

"So," he said in all seriousness, "How do I look?"

The sister started to snicker but couldn't say anything.

"Well," Riker continued on unfazed by his companion's silence; he motioned to his breast plate, "I think these are going to make me a little top heavy but that's something I can live with...But in all honesty I believe the colors need to be changed to those of the crew of the Phalanx." The commander clapped his hands together, "I also need a banner of the Imperial Fists with me wherever I go...after all they're the ones sponsoring me."

Her response was a squeak of, "Of course." Before the sister bolted out of the armory laughing as she went.

Onboard the Phalanx the Chapter Master stood waiting for their honorary Battle-Brother to return via Teleport along with several of his staff standing next to him. He had expected company to return with the Commander, more likely than not angry company, considering where he sent the man to be suited. However, what came on board wasn't what he expected.

Dressed in SoB's armor painted in Imperial Fist colors Commander Riker held a banner adorned with the Chapter's insignia. Many of the present Astartes didn't see the amused smile on the smaller man's face but they did hear his voice, "Sirs, I'm ready to fight on land, sea, or space in the suit you have provided to me."

"No...no, no, nononononon-"

The look of absolute horror and denial on all Astartes present would be a fond memory in the minds and lore of all Sisters for generations to come...

Story 15

Marcius Flavius had a sense of duty to rival any other space marine. A great warrior with a strong sense of honor who would never question an order, and always execute it with zeal. This was his toughest test yet.

Four months ago a large batch of mnemonics reached the Enterprise, and since then Marcius would spend at least ten hours a day on indoctrination sessions and meditation.

He was standing on the bridge in a Federation uniform as the acting Security Officer of the Enterprise. His muscles were bulging and veins were popping literally everywhere on his body. The elastic fabric gave up in a couple places. His left hand hand was holding the console.

'BROTHER FLAVIUS TO THE SECURITY TEAM' The console shattered - his fingers went right through it. There was a sizable stream of blood coming from his ear, his face was contorted in agony. 'SET PHASERS TO STUN.'

Story 16

"Battle-Brothers!" screamed Commander Marcius Flavius, at the top of his lungs, nearly knocking the rest of the away team off of their feet. For a brief moment, the Commander thought Tech-Priest La Forge looked annoyed at his having replaced Commander Riker in the Imperium-Federation officer exchange program. But that would be heresy. And regardless, he had more important things to do than wonder about the feelings of a Tech-Priest.

"We go now into GLOOOOORIOUS BATTLE!" he screamed, slightly less loud, but still enough to qualify as a sonic-based weapon. "The enemies of humanity, the foul xenos Romulans, have kidnapped an innocent human diplomat sent to negotiate the release of *another* hostage! Their treachery knows no bounds."

"I thought the diplomat was a Vulcan, not a human?" piped up Ensign Johnson. Though Commander Flavius wore a full helmet, as all space marines do, the Ensign could feel his eyes drilling into him. "Good thing I'm dressed properly for a mission like this, or he'd hate me even more." he thought, thankful he'd remembered to tuck in his red shirt.

"The plan is a frontal assault."

"What? The Romulans have a fortified position." interrupted La Forge.

"Exactly. Xenos as treacherous as them must expect a rescue attempt. Therefore, we must be as surprising as possible in our attempt, since they know it's coming. The logical approach is to launch the assault with a small team from the back of the building, since we can't just use the teleportarium due to the..." He looked at Geordi helplessly.

"Negative ionic interference."

"Yes, that. Since they must know what we know, we'll instead launch a frontal attack, since they won't expect that, because to do that we'll have to run in an open field for over a mile while they have the high ground."

"If that is so, won't they *expect* us to launch a frontal assault, since they know we know they know?" La Forge wondered.

"Ah, but they know we know they know, so they must know we'll know they'll position extra people in the back, leaving their front vulnerable."

Geordi froze for a moment, Commander Flavius continuing to talk in his baritone voice in the background. "Jesus Christ." he thought. "This must be how a space marine thinks, but *all the time*!"

Story 17

"Captain! Captain!" The Iron Man Data leapt from his chair at the foot of the bridge and knelt down. All eyes were on him. "Captain Picard is unconscious." He tapped the symbol on his chest. "Data to Crusher; we need a medical team on the bridge. Commander, I believe you're in command, now."

Marcius Flavius, first space marine in the Federation-Imperium Officer Exchange Program, stepped down from his position at tactical. "Understood. I shall endevour to do even better than Brother-Captain Picard."

Worf edges over to tactical, resuming his place. "Sir, what should we do? Should we fire on the Borg or the Klingons?"

Commander Flavius thought for a moment. The Bork were more immediately dangerous, *and* they kept flooding the subspace radio with RESISTANCE IZ FUTILE BUT FUN, but the Khornate Klingons would probably be more trouble in the long run.

"Target the Groch'tar and fire a full broadside!" He made a fist and stood up, just as Crusher and a medical team reached the bridge.

"... Do you mean a phaser or a photon torpedo?"

"... Just do both." He sat down, annoyed. "... Xenos." he whispered under his breath.

"What was that?!"

"Nothing." he lied.

Story 18

Command Marcius Flavius sighed. It was his tenth week as an exchange officer in the Federation-Imperium Officer Exchange Program, and secretly, he wondered if Battle-Brother Riker was having a better time than he was aboard the Phalanx, the Imperial Fists' massive battlebarge. What he wouldn't give to be among his brothers, among whom the inability to slay a tenscore of orkz would be laughed at. Here, he bet the average officer or enlisted man would lose a fight to a *guardsman.* The only two who wouldn't were a xenos and an iron man. He shook his head with disappointment. The Federation was a poor imitation of the glory of the Imperium. He'd barely even been able to convince them to let him wear his full battle armor at all times.

The iron man's console beeped one of the annoying toy noises that indicated something. "Captain, we appear to be in range of some kind of subspace anomoly." Data chirped.

"Put it on screen." Brother-Captain Picard ordered.

It was a white vortex of some kind, slowly rotating, crackling with some kind of reverse lightning. It looked vaguely like a warp storm.

"Recommend a full torpedo barrage, Brother-Captain." he said.

"Data, what are its effects?"

After a few moments of silence, Data replied. "It appears to be a reverse black hole, creating anti-gravity that propels the Enterprise away from it while pulling itself more and more into the universe. It's hard to see, but it is expanding. It is currently eight hundred miles in diameter, if it continues at the rate it is expanding, it will engulf the nearest Federation colony on Alphas-4 in eight hours."

"That must be why the planets in the system have started to get out of their alignment." Tech-Priest La Forge put in.

"Options?" demanded Picard.

Data thought for a moment. "I suggest we try Command Flavius' plan, sir. We don't have anything on board for this kind of situation."

Picard nodded to Flavius. "Make it so."

"Sensors indicate the torpedoes have increased the effect's size. It is now approximately twice as large." said the iron man.

"Damn!" cursed Picard.

"Sir," said the fifteen year-old boy who was inexplicably allowed to be an officer. "We're getting some kind of... reading, something is exiting the effect! It looks like a ship!"

Everyone on the bridge watched the screen with bated breathes as a tiny black figure exited the effect.

"Sensors indicate... it's an enormous ship, sir! It's kilometers long!"

Flavius had a button beep. "Sir, it is hailing us. Shall I respond with phasers?"

Picard sighed. "They might not be enemies, Commander. Open the channel."

Flavius hesitatingly did as he was commanded. The room flooded with noise.

"KILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILL FRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILL FRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFR" was all it got out before Flavius ended it on his own.

Picard was barking out orders, but Flavius knew what to do, now. He gripped his chainsword and bolter, comfortable knowing they were both with him. Regardless of what happened today, he would see the Federation's gall in the face of Chaos.

Story 19

For the first time in the two centuries spent as a Battle Brother Marcius Flavius felt depressed. His will and resolve were strong even when boarding the infamous Khornate cruiser Bronze Axe, when he fought the unending wave of greenskins on Armageddon, and even when he was ambushed by a Lictor with no other weapons than his ceramite-clad fists. This world was strange, alien, and only the intense hypnotic indoctrination held his mind together. Captain Picard was not happy. Far from it.

"Marcius, that WAS a Cardassian Ambassador and his troupe."

"I WAS INSTRUCTED THAT WE ARE NOW AT WAR WITH THE XENOS WITH RIDGES ON THEIR FACES."

"That's the Klingons Marcius, not the Cardassians!"

"THEY STILL HAVE RIDGES. I THOUGHT THEY WERE A BOARDING PARTY."

"For God's sake, people were shouting at you to stop!"

"FOR ALL I KNOW THEY COULD HAVE BEEN TAKEN HOSTAGE, MIND CONTROLLED OR STUPID. I ONLY LISTEN TO THE CAPTAIN'S ORDERS."

"*I* was shouting at you too!"

[COUGH]

"Is that how a Space Marine of your universe conducts himself? Imagine how your superiors would react if you shot an alien ambassador in the head, vaporising it, and then kicked the headless corpse into the wall so hard that it left a dent!"

Captain Picard recoiled in a mixture of terror and surprise. Nothing sounds like a giggle amplified by Astartes power armor.

5760 Faeous

Story 20

Commander Flavius was torn. The Iron Man Data was an abomination, a machine that mimicked a man. Every fiber of his being said that every second of Data's continued existence was an insulting mockery of Mankind and the Emperor.

But not only was Data a valued crewmember of the USS Enterprise, he was one of the few beings that seemed to understand Flavius and didn't treat him with a mixture of contempt and fear. Flavius had found few he could relate to aboard the Federation starship during his officer exchange from the Imperium. To his dismay that small number included both Data and the foul-xenos called Worf.

"And how would you address a Romulan ambassador?" Data asked.

"You are a treacherous xenos scum who thirsts for the blood of humanity," Flavius boomed. "I look forward to the day when our boot is on your neck."

Data paused for a moment, tilting his head as he considered the words.

"Once again you are technically correct Commander Flavius," the android said. "But this is a lesson on diplomacy. I suggest a rephrasing. I suggest you say the following. Greetings Ambassador, your culture is dynamic and rich with tradition and I look forward to our mutual enrichment?"

Flavius frowned beneath the helm of his powered armor.

"That is not what I said at all," he growled.

"Incorrect Commander," Data replied. "The expansionist intent of the Romulan Star Empire, or as you would put it, their thirst for the blood of humanity is more politely phrased as being dynamic. They are also in many ways a primitive society, placing tribalism and momentary advantage over long-term gain, or as you would put it, treacherous. That aspect of their culture can be described as rich with tradition without creating an interstellar incident."

"Brother Captain Picard has ordered me to attend these lessons with you Iron Man," Flavius growled, dropping the unearnable honorific of Brother Data that his Lord and Master Picard had commanded he use in mixed company. "But while I gain some knowledge of your diplomatic ways I will never wish for the enrichment of a murdering xenos, mutual or otherwise."

"Would you not Commander Flavius?" Data asked, almost appearing to smile. "As foul and unworthy as they are is it not better for alien species to adopt the ways of humanity and serve them? Assuming that your predilection for genocide could not be sated?"

"I.. suppose that would be...somewhat...acceptable," Flavius said, ever distrusting the quick retorts of this machine that walked like a man. Flavius suspected that Picard had deliberately chosen the Iron Man to deliver these lessons in diplomacy precisely for this reason. It was a strange art, more suited for an Inquisitor or a Rogue Trader and seemed to revolve around the delivery of insults and challenges that sounded like mere blather and pleasantry.

"Then that would be a better course for them than the one they have chosen, and humanity would benefit. Mutual enrichment, though they may not see it as such. That is how the Federation uses diplomacy. To neutralize outside threats and change them so that they strengthen the UFP. Though I would ask you not to repeat that outside this room. I am told that I lack tact and frequently say things that organic beings would prefer not to acknowledge."

Story 21

"Commander, get back!"

Commander Marcius Flavius of the USS Enterprise, formerly Battle-Brother of the Phalanx, and the first of the Federation-Imperium Officer Exchange Program (along with Battle-Brother Riker) ignored Worf's order and rushed to his side.

The xenos was bleeding through his uniform, a long gash allowing red or pink (it's kind of unclear) blood to flow from it. Worf would be fine, but he was temporarily disabled. Worf's bat'leth lay on the hallway's floor next to him, and Marcius noticed that his com badge was also slashed so as to prevent him from calling for help.

Worf lay in front of a door, breathing heavily, phaser pointed toward the door with his one good arm.

"Battle-Brother Worf, what has happened?" he asked, unholstering his bolter.

"In there, Cargo Bay D." Worf breathed through gritted teeth. "I was just doing a routine cargo check, I have no idea how they got in there. I tried to call for help, but..." Worf winced and his aim momentarily faltered. He finished by nodding to his comm badge.

"What's in there?"

"Do you remember when we fought the Bork?"

"Yes."

"They make the Bork look like nothing. They are the only -- the only -- enemy the Klingons have ever feared. They reproduce like nothing else, right now there are only a few thousand in there, but in an hour, tens of thousands."

Worf grabbed Marcius' shirt, almost ripping it off of his battle armor. "You need to go in there and finish this, before they escape and destroy the ship. They can exert some kind of mind control on most species, Klingons are immune, but a strong willed human might..." Worf winced again, unwilling to scream in pain, but finally collapsed.

Marcius tapped his comm badge. "Flavius to Sister-Apothecary Crusher. Battle-Brother Worf is wounded, deck A-21."

Crusher said something in response, but Flavius wasn't listening. He keyed the door to lock once he'd stepped through, and gingerly stepped forward. He could wait for back-up, but to be honest, Worf was the only back-up on the ship worth a damn, and he was already wounded.

Cargo Bay C was even more horrible than he'd expected. Worf's estimate of a thousand was far inaccurate, it was more like seven or eight thousand. Marcius identified them as some kind of Slaaneshi daemon immediately, though the Federation wouldn't know that, one that invoked the emotion of love to control others. Worf had been wise to call for him.

It was only after he had destroyed the entire deck in his crusade and thirty-five ensigns lay dead that Picard informed him that this type of daemon was called a "tribble." He would have to report this to the Phalanx once he had the chance.

Science

"Explain again your position on this vessel Brother," boomed Commander Marcius Flavius.

Swenson rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"For the third time Commander, I am the ships Science Officer. I am head of the Science Department and when required I advise the command staff on matters of a technical and or scientific nature by drawing on the expertise of my staff and Federation records," Swenson said.

"Does not Battle-Brother Data perform your function?" Flavius asked.

"He used to, but he's now Operations Officer, but Picard is such a raging queen that, oh never mind. Why are you even here again?" Swenson said, clearly annoyed.

"Brother-Captain Picard has sent me here to learn the ways of your Federation. I obey," Flavius said.

"The ways of our Federation? Like not blowing the shit out of everything you see? Yeah, that's called learning. You might want to look into it." Swenson said turning to a nearby console and entering data.

Flavius waited patiently. His time with Swenson had been commanded by Picard himself and he would do his duty as a loyal officer. Though during crises of faith he sometimes questioned the wisdom of the entire officer-exchange program. Such heretical thoughts were quickly abandoned as the many screens covering the walls of Brother Swenson's office lit up with maps, charts, diagrams, menus and text.

"This is the Romulan Empire. One hundred, sixty eight point one teraquads of information," Swenson said. "Everything we have ever learned about them. History, biology, sociology, economics, technology, philosophy, tactics, evolution, politics, cartography and cuisine."

"Right now you are looking at the top billionth of one billionth of one percent of everything we know about the Romulans." Swenson said. "You want to know anything about the Romulans that doesn't require a crystal ball? Me and my experts can deliver it to you in an accurate, succinct, and bulleted list suitable for your presentation software of choice."

Flavius made no response, his head slowly scanning across the dozens of screens, pausing a moment at each one to absorb its contents.

"Do you understand what I do now Commander Flavius?" Swenson asked, irritated at the silence.

Flavius said nothing, continuing his survey of the information present. When completed he took a moment before turning to Swenson.

"I begin to. Tell me more of this Science and the ways of your Federation," Flavius said.

"Warp signature detected, unknown race and class."

Captain Picard turned to Data, but before he could issue an order the booming voice of Commander Marcius Flavius filled the bridge.

"We must open a hailing frequency!"

Had the bridge of the Enterprise not been carpeted you could have heard a pin drop. The faint sound of jaws dropping could be faintly heard as the bridge crew turned to the exchange officer from the Imperium in astonishment.

"Please expand on that if you will Commander Flavius," Picard asked, who alone with Data was not staring goggle-eyed and slack-jawed at the armor-clad Space Marine.

"By opening a hailing frequency we will learn their ways and gain tactical advantage," Flavius said. "We will take what we learn and use Science to better understand our foe so we may crush them when they realize that their foul xeno trickery has failed and inevitably attack us. Such is the way of the Federation."

"Essentially correct Commander Flavius," said Data. "Shall I open a hailing frequency Captain?"

Picard glared at his android officer.

"Have I erred?" Data asked.

Picard took a moment to collect himself, staring daggers at his innocent looking Operations Officer and the beaming (could you beam under power-armor?) exchange officer.

"We will discuss tact later Mr. Data, but by all means hail them," Picard said.

As he heard the door to his office *shwish* open, Science Officer Swenson tensed.

"Magos Swenson! I beg your indulgence and in the name of the Emperor, the Federation and Brother-Captain Picard I beseech you to reveal the mysteries of Science so that I might better destroy the enemies of Mankind," Commander Marcius Flavius boomed.

"Flavius," Swenson said. "For the third time I am not a Magos. I am a Commander. Nor have I ever been a Tech-Priest like Commander LaForge. He is head of Engineering, which while related to science is not part of the Science Department. And science is... well it involves mysteries but it is not mysterious. Come in."

Flavius entered, perching his oversized armor on one of the two spindly chairs before Swenson's desk. Being the third time he had done so he no longer proclaimed it a miracle when it did not collapse under his weight.

"Brother Flavius I address you as such because I know what that means and I want to emphasize I am not a Magos," Swenson said. "I don't know what you are doing on the bridge but command is eating it up. I might even get a positive enough review that I can get off this boat and a research posting, so let's continue where we left off yesterday."

"I am an empty vessel Magos! Fill me with your wisdom!" Flavius said.

"No, because you expressed doubt about heresy yesterday," Swenson said. "What is heresy?"

"Heresy is turning from the Path of the Emperor!" Flavius shouted. It was deafening in the office and those passing through the science deck paused at the unnatural noise vibrating through the hallway.

"Yes, and we mentioned the volume thing," Swenson said making a mental note to check with Dr. Crusher for hearing loss. "Now in science we seek information so that we may find truth. Laws technically, but I'm not going to get into that, so truth. Can one turn from the Path of the Emperor and still follow truth?"

Flavius stood shock still while Swenson waited. And waited. Minutes passed.

"No," Flavius spoke, his voice for once no longer at deafening volume. "It is a question worthy of a Magos. There is no truth without the Emperor. There are only lies. Cunning lies. Subtle lies. Tempting lies. But they are all lies and they lead to heresy. There can be no heresy in truth."

"Congratulations Commander Flavius, you begin to understand science," Swenson said. "Hypothesis, experiment, peer review, skepticism. These are the tools we use to separate truth from heresy, or as we in the Federation call it... well we call it a lot of things so heresy works. Now, let's do some basic logic exercises with Newtonian physics."

My writefaggotry seems to have been well received so here's another effort.

"Magos Swenson," Commander Marcius Flavius intoned. "I understand your Federation Science."

Science Officer Swenson turned from the screen where he had been explaining Mendelian inheritance to look at the armor-clad Space Marine, an exchange officer from the Imperium to Starfleet.

"Brother Flavius, you have made great progress during these sessions," Swenson said "But as I explained to you earlier, science is not a thing you master, it is a tool used to understand the universe."

There was a pause and then Flavius, his voice slightly softer in this room after frequent admonitions, continued.

"I apologize Magos. Though you tell me differently I know that I will never comprehend more than the merest fraction of your wisdom," Flavius said. "I only tell you that at last I believe I understand the methods of the Federation Science."

Swenson hesitated, despite the all-consuming powered armor of his pupil he was almost sure that he was picking up an emotion. A quivering eagerness?

"Explain," Swenson asked.

"Tactics Magos!" Flavius boomed, his volume rising with his posture as he stood up. "Strategy!"

"One observes the disposition of enemy forces and in so doing you learn the mind of their commander," Flavius boomed. "The despicable Eldar flee from strength and seek weakness! So too does matter expand when heated and contract when cooled! The Federation Science is combat on a scale grander than anything I ever understood before. You seek to understand how the universe itself opposes you and therefore defeat it!"

"Uhhhh, yeah that is one way of putting it," Swenson ventured.

"THANK YOU MAGOS!" Flavius boomed, his voice reverberating on nearby decks, drawing puzzled glances from passing crewmembers. "YOUR GIFT OF SCIENCE WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN! AND WITH IT THE SERVANTS OF THE EMPEROR WILL DEFEAT NOT ONLY OUR ENEMIES BUT THE UNIVERSE ITSELF!"

Bork Explanation:

"Borg attempt to assimilate Orks for the unique biology. Orks attempt to loot the Borg for their flashy tech. The Borg find the Ork biology useless, the spores keep making the Ork ecology and they just end up as damn pests. An entire quarter of a world was sterilized of Orks by inducing an energy burst from the nearby sun. The Orks had a much better time looting Borg tech. Borg interest in Orks is now fresh drones with the spore making part of the biology shut off. Orks however rip apart Borg tech and bolt stuff to it and have a great time. When the Orks manage to take down a Borg ship or installation, disrupting the collective and "freeing" the Ork Borg Drones, they get Borks out of it and all Orks involved can become Borks.

Pretty much, attempt at looting/assimilating each other gone horribly wrong for one side, and horribly right for the other."

NEEDS MOAR DAKKA