Dark Territory: The Needs of the One (Redux)
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THE NEEDS OF THE ONE
PROLOGUE
Distant Memory
IRW Chula
(Federation-Romulan Border)
Year: 2310
(Dining Hall)
Ante-Centurion Ousanas Dar felt out of place. His blood ran cold instead of hot, and his heart shriveled instead of swelling. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to share in the joy of his comrades-in-arms. He couldn’t countenance what they had all done-what he had done.
What is wrong with me? He thought, but kept the seditious musing to himself. A large hand clapped his back, literally ripping through the cobwebs of his thoughts.
Dar automatically reached for the disruptor pistol clipped to his belt.
“Rest easy Ante-Centurion,” a rough voice proclaimed. Dar recognized it immediately. He turned around slowly. Standing right behind him was his immediate superior, Centurion Lorek. The husky, graying officer clutched a half-empty bottle of electric blue ale in one paw. The bruising smile plastered across his face was caused by more than inebriation.
Dar stood immediately at attention, but the swaying Centurion rapped hard against Dar’s golden helmet, the sound ringing painfully in his ears. Dar flinched, bringing on a hacking laugh from Lorek.
“Why are not partaking in our celebration?” Lorek asked, an edge underneath the slurred words. The veteran officer had always been vocal in his displeasure of having Dar serve on the Chula. Lorek had scrapped a worthy military career from a backwater origin in the Outmarches while Dar had come from the privileged environs of the Imperial Capitol.
Within two year’s time, Dar’s birthright would push him far beyond Lorek, despite his lifetime of service and hard work. That wasn’t anything particularly unique in Romulan society. Dar had been born into an elite family. His aunt Caithlin had served once as an ambassador to the Federation and was now a Senator. His father had given his life fighting the Klingons at Klach D’Kel Brakt. Dar’s mother was a noted author.
His perch had already been carved out for him long before he was born. But it was a destiny he didn’t want, and somehow Dar knew that Lorek could sense his doubt, and the older man despised him for it. And Dar really couldn’t blame him. It didn’t make sense that Dar wouldn’t want the gilded life he had been given. If he kept a steady course, and didn’t arouse the suspicions, or worse, of the Tal Shiar, his life course would more than likely lead to the Senate. Senate seats were often handed down by heredity, and his aunt had no children of her own. He was the oldest of his generation of cousins and he knew that Aunt Caithlin favored him.
All he had to do was remain silent and follow orders, but Dar wasn’t sure he could do that any longer, not after what he had taken part in today. His mind flashing back to the smoking craters and burning buildings, he flinched again at the memories of screams. His stomach turned as the alien stench of red blood returned to his nostrils.
“Why aren’t you enjoying yourself?” Lorek asked again, clumsily turning around, sweeping the bottle in front of him to take a measure of the revelry. Dar made to speak, but the words died in his parched mouth.
Despite his misgivings, Dar couldn’t help but feel a tinge of yearning as his fellow officers sang songs, clapped each other’s backs, and toasted innumerable times to their victory. There was something almost Klingon about their revelry, and for once such a description didn’t sound insulting to him.
The Commander ran a disciplined ship, and to see such unrestrained passion was almost dizzying. Dar was almost tempted to shelve his doubts and give in to the embers starting to flicker in his blood, but the image of the dead woman, clutching her crying child stayed him.
The child was in the hold of their ship now, along with the other prisoners. Conventional wisdom stated that Romulans didn’t take prisoners. From Dar’s experience, mostly that was true, except when the prisoners could be of some value to the Empire.
The experiments the humans were conducting at Norkan had been deemed very valuable to the Empire. The intelligence dossier on the colony had stated that it was formed by humans who wanted to continue the genetic enhancements outlawed on Earth since their Eugenics Wars almost three centuries ago. The Norkan outposts existed in a buffer zone between Federation and Romulan space, not subject to either jurisdiction.
The Tal Shiar believed, and the Admiralty concurred that the defiance of the Norkan colonists was merely a ruse to hide a bio-weapon; one that could be quickly unleashed against the Empire.
Dar hadn’t been so certain of that, even after reading the dossier. As a child he had accompanied his aunt to the Federation numerous times, and he had learned a great deal about Federation societies and cultures during his travels. Bio-warfare was not a tactic the Federation was known for using. It didn’t mesh with their exalted sense of themselves. However, his superiors failed to see that point. Federation arrogance would preclude them from using a weapon, no matter how successfully it might work, if it sullied their self-image, just as Romulan paranoia couldn’t accept that Starfleet wouldn’t act as dishonorably as many in the Admiralty and Tal Shiar would to secure victory at any cost.
Dar had voiced his concerns, first with his Commander and then with his Aunt. But the admirals and Tal Shiar had convinced the Praetor that the Federation was using Norkan as a staging area for an attack, and he had decided to strike first.
Despite the genetic augmentations of many of the colonists, they were no match for disruptors and Romulan tenacity, especially when they were taken by surprise.
As Dar had suspected, no bio-weapons had been discovered. But the augmented humans in the hold would help advance the Empire’s research into developing its own bio-weapon, and Sarpan, the Tal Shiar officer onboard, was already weaving a tale of how the Norkan Campaign would send a message to Starfleet to halt any aggression, already enjoined or merely being planned against the Empire.
Lorek poked Dar with the thick index finger his free hand. “Speak Ante-Centurion!” He bellowed.
“Leave young Dar alone,” a quiet voice sliced through the raucous air. Lorek’s eyes cleared immediately and the portly man attempted to stand at attention. Dar’s sigh of relief was mixed in with fear.
Commander Alidar Jarok stood behind both him and Lorek now. The man’s cheeks were flushed green with either exhilaration or drink, but he hadn’t allowed himself to be conquered by the ale like Lorek. Dar hadn’t expected him to. “Centurion Lorek, you are excused,” Jarok said sharply.
Lorek thumped his chest in salute, “Yes Commander.”
Jarok smiled. “Go back and tell the soldiers more war stories. They never seem to tire of your meeting with Kirk.”
Lorek grinned. “Ah yes, Kirk deceived me to gain entrance into engineering. He was disguised as a Romulan Centurion, the tricky veruul. It is fortunate that I wasn’t executed for being duped. But my Commander’s lapse was far greater I suppose…as was the humiliation…”
Jarok nodded. “As I’ve heard many times,” he said quietly. “Now, go regale the others…That is an order.”
“At once Commander,” Lorek saluted again before ambling off. Once Lorek had disappeared into the throng, Jarok studied Dar’s face long and hard. The young soldier knew it would be dangerous to blink or turn away from the scrutiny.
“You do not approve of what we have done here this day?” Jarok asked.
Dar shook his head slowly. “What would give you that impression Commander?”
Jarok laughed softly. “Because I know you, and I know your mother. We served together years ago. You are a lot like her, and you don’t belong here, though you allow others to tell you otherwise.”
Dar felt like he had been physically punched. How could the commander read him so well? “Why…why would you say that?”
“The reason I selected you to be part of my staff was your journalistic talent. Your powers of observation of both external events and what goes on inside the hearts of men is very impressive. It doesn’t serve me to surround myself with yes men or hatchet men entirely.”
“Thank you,” Dar said slowly, hoping that the Commander was giving him a compliment. Jarok dismissively flicked his hand.
“If you want to thank me, tell me what you really feel. I assure you that Sarpan is not within ear shot.” Jarok leaned forward, wrapping an arm around Dar’s shoulder. Whispering into the man’s ear, “The last I saw him he was creeping into Subcommander Aelel’s quarters.” The man chuckled, and Dar stiffened, shocked that the Commander would share such information with him.
Perhaps the partying had gotten to Jarok after all. Dar cleared his throat. “Well, sir, I just didn’t think Starfleet would place a bio-weapon so close to the Romulan border before we went to Norkan. And they didn’t.”
“Yes,” Jarok pulled back from Dar. “You are right. But it’s the big picture that you are missing.”
“I…don’t quite understand sir.”
“The information about bio-weapon research was specious to begin with,” Jarok admitted. “The old guard is still haunted by the ghosts of our countless humiliations at the hands of Earth and the Federation. The recent alliance of the Klingons and Federation is a threat to our expansion and survival. Norkan is a symbol that the Romulan Star Empire is still a force to be reckoned with. All that was needed was a plausible enough excuse.”
Dar stepped back, stunned. “So…you knew? You knew that there were no bio-weapons at the Norkan outposts?”
Jarok’s expression was graven. “So much like your mother. She eventually grew tired of the gamesmanship of politics and war and retreated to her tales of historical fiction. Perhaps you should do the same.” Dar wasn’t sure if it was a suggestion or a warning. “I can assure you that things will only get worse the further you travel down this path.”
Something sad flashed behind the man’s dark eyes and Dar’s heart started beating again. Jarok was trying to help him, warn him. But warn him about what?
“Commander I don’t understand,” Dar began. Jarok began to speak again when but his words were drowned out.
“All hail Commander Jarok, hero of the Norkan Campaigns!” Lorek was now standing shakily on a table, a sloshing goblet in his hands.
“All hail Jarok!” the room roared. “Hero of the Norkan Campaigns!” The soldiers swarmed around Jarok, pushing Dar against the wall. He waited until he was certain know would see him leave before he departed. He had a lot to think about.
****
PROLOGUE
Distant Memory
IRW Chula
(Federation-Romulan Border)
Year: 2310
(Dining Hall)
Ante-Centurion Ousanas Dar felt out of place. His blood ran cold instead of hot, and his heart shriveled instead of swelling. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to share in the joy of his comrades-in-arms. He couldn’t countenance what they had all done-what he had done.
What is wrong with me? He thought, but kept the seditious musing to himself. A large hand clapped his back, literally ripping through the cobwebs of his thoughts.
Dar automatically reached for the disruptor pistol clipped to his belt.
“Rest easy Ante-Centurion,” a rough voice proclaimed. Dar recognized it immediately. He turned around slowly. Standing right behind him was his immediate superior, Centurion Lorek. The husky, graying officer clutched a half-empty bottle of electric blue ale in one paw. The bruising smile plastered across his face was caused by more than inebriation.
Dar stood immediately at attention, but the swaying Centurion rapped hard against Dar’s golden helmet, the sound ringing painfully in his ears. Dar flinched, bringing on a hacking laugh from Lorek.
“Why are not partaking in our celebration?” Lorek asked, an edge underneath the slurred words. The veteran officer had always been vocal in his displeasure of having Dar serve on the Chula. Lorek had scrapped a worthy military career from a backwater origin in the Outmarches while Dar had come from the privileged environs of the Imperial Capitol.
Within two year’s time, Dar’s birthright would push him far beyond Lorek, despite his lifetime of service and hard work. That wasn’t anything particularly unique in Romulan society. Dar had been born into an elite family. His aunt Caithlin had served once as an ambassador to the Federation and was now a Senator. His father had given his life fighting the Klingons at Klach D’Kel Brakt. Dar’s mother was a noted author.
His perch had already been carved out for him long before he was born. But it was a destiny he didn’t want, and somehow Dar knew that Lorek could sense his doubt, and the older man despised him for it. And Dar really couldn’t blame him. It didn’t make sense that Dar wouldn’t want the gilded life he had been given. If he kept a steady course, and didn’t arouse the suspicions, or worse, of the Tal Shiar, his life course would more than likely lead to the Senate. Senate seats were often handed down by heredity, and his aunt had no children of her own. He was the oldest of his generation of cousins and he knew that Aunt Caithlin favored him.
All he had to do was remain silent and follow orders, but Dar wasn’t sure he could do that any longer, not after what he had taken part in today. His mind flashing back to the smoking craters and burning buildings, he flinched again at the memories of screams. His stomach turned as the alien stench of red blood returned to his nostrils.
“Why aren’t you enjoying yourself?” Lorek asked again, clumsily turning around, sweeping the bottle in front of him to take a measure of the revelry. Dar made to speak, but the words died in his parched mouth.
Despite his misgivings, Dar couldn’t help but feel a tinge of yearning as his fellow officers sang songs, clapped each other’s backs, and toasted innumerable times to their victory. There was something almost Klingon about their revelry, and for once such a description didn’t sound insulting to him.
The Commander ran a disciplined ship, and to see such unrestrained passion was almost dizzying. Dar was almost tempted to shelve his doubts and give in to the embers starting to flicker in his blood, but the image of the dead woman, clutching her crying child stayed him.
The child was in the hold of their ship now, along with the other prisoners. Conventional wisdom stated that Romulans didn’t take prisoners. From Dar’s experience, mostly that was true, except when the prisoners could be of some value to the Empire.
The experiments the humans were conducting at Norkan had been deemed very valuable to the Empire. The intelligence dossier on the colony had stated that it was formed by humans who wanted to continue the genetic enhancements outlawed on Earth since their Eugenics Wars almost three centuries ago. The Norkan outposts existed in a buffer zone between Federation and Romulan space, not subject to either jurisdiction.
The Tal Shiar believed, and the Admiralty concurred that the defiance of the Norkan colonists was merely a ruse to hide a bio-weapon; one that could be quickly unleashed against the Empire.
Dar hadn’t been so certain of that, even after reading the dossier. As a child he had accompanied his aunt to the Federation numerous times, and he had learned a great deal about Federation societies and cultures during his travels. Bio-warfare was not a tactic the Federation was known for using. It didn’t mesh with their exalted sense of themselves. However, his superiors failed to see that point. Federation arrogance would preclude them from using a weapon, no matter how successfully it might work, if it sullied their self-image, just as Romulan paranoia couldn’t accept that Starfleet wouldn’t act as dishonorably as many in the Admiralty and Tal Shiar would to secure victory at any cost.
Dar had voiced his concerns, first with his Commander and then with his Aunt. But the admirals and Tal Shiar had convinced the Praetor that the Federation was using Norkan as a staging area for an attack, and he had decided to strike first.
Despite the genetic augmentations of many of the colonists, they were no match for disruptors and Romulan tenacity, especially when they were taken by surprise.
As Dar had suspected, no bio-weapons had been discovered. But the augmented humans in the hold would help advance the Empire’s research into developing its own bio-weapon, and Sarpan, the Tal Shiar officer onboard, was already weaving a tale of how the Norkan Campaign would send a message to Starfleet to halt any aggression, already enjoined or merely being planned against the Empire.
Lorek poked Dar with the thick index finger his free hand. “Speak Ante-Centurion!” He bellowed.
“Leave young Dar alone,” a quiet voice sliced through the raucous air. Lorek’s eyes cleared immediately and the portly man attempted to stand at attention. Dar’s sigh of relief was mixed in with fear.
Commander Alidar Jarok stood behind both him and Lorek now. The man’s cheeks were flushed green with either exhilaration or drink, but he hadn’t allowed himself to be conquered by the ale like Lorek. Dar hadn’t expected him to. “Centurion Lorek, you are excused,” Jarok said sharply.
Lorek thumped his chest in salute, “Yes Commander.”
Jarok smiled. “Go back and tell the soldiers more war stories. They never seem to tire of your meeting with Kirk.”
Lorek grinned. “Ah yes, Kirk deceived me to gain entrance into engineering. He was disguised as a Romulan Centurion, the tricky veruul. It is fortunate that I wasn’t executed for being duped. But my Commander’s lapse was far greater I suppose…as was the humiliation…”
Jarok nodded. “As I’ve heard many times,” he said quietly. “Now, go regale the others…That is an order.”
“At once Commander,” Lorek saluted again before ambling off. Once Lorek had disappeared into the throng, Jarok studied Dar’s face long and hard. The young soldier knew it would be dangerous to blink or turn away from the scrutiny.
“You do not approve of what we have done here this day?” Jarok asked.
Dar shook his head slowly. “What would give you that impression Commander?”
Jarok laughed softly. “Because I know you, and I know your mother. We served together years ago. You are a lot like her, and you don’t belong here, though you allow others to tell you otherwise.”
Dar felt like he had been physically punched. How could the commander read him so well? “Why…why would you say that?”
“The reason I selected you to be part of my staff was your journalistic talent. Your powers of observation of both external events and what goes on inside the hearts of men is very impressive. It doesn’t serve me to surround myself with yes men or hatchet men entirely.”
“Thank you,” Dar said slowly, hoping that the Commander was giving him a compliment. Jarok dismissively flicked his hand.
“If you want to thank me, tell me what you really feel. I assure you that Sarpan is not within ear shot.” Jarok leaned forward, wrapping an arm around Dar’s shoulder. Whispering into the man’s ear, “The last I saw him he was creeping into Subcommander Aelel’s quarters.” The man chuckled, and Dar stiffened, shocked that the Commander would share such information with him.
Perhaps the partying had gotten to Jarok after all. Dar cleared his throat. “Well, sir, I just didn’t think Starfleet would place a bio-weapon so close to the Romulan border before we went to Norkan. And they didn’t.”
“Yes,” Jarok pulled back from Dar. “You are right. But it’s the big picture that you are missing.”
“I…don’t quite understand sir.”
“The information about bio-weapon research was specious to begin with,” Jarok admitted. “The old guard is still haunted by the ghosts of our countless humiliations at the hands of Earth and the Federation. The recent alliance of the Klingons and Federation is a threat to our expansion and survival. Norkan is a symbol that the Romulan Star Empire is still a force to be reckoned with. All that was needed was a plausible enough excuse.”
Dar stepped back, stunned. “So…you knew? You knew that there were no bio-weapons at the Norkan outposts?”
Jarok’s expression was graven. “So much like your mother. She eventually grew tired of the gamesmanship of politics and war and retreated to her tales of historical fiction. Perhaps you should do the same.” Dar wasn’t sure if it was a suggestion or a warning. “I can assure you that things will only get worse the further you travel down this path.”
Something sad flashed behind the man’s dark eyes and Dar’s heart started beating again. Jarok was trying to help him, warn him. But warn him about what?
“Commander I don’t understand,” Dar began. Jarok began to speak again when but his words were drowned out.
“All hail Commander Jarok, hero of the Norkan Campaigns!” Lorek was now standing shakily on a table, a sloshing goblet in his hands.
“All hail Jarok!” the room roared. “Hero of the Norkan Campaigns!” The soldiers swarmed around Jarok, pushing Dar against the wall. He waited until he was certain know would see him leave before he departed. He had a lot to think about.
****
****
Near Present
Iconia
Joint Federation-Romulan Archaeological Excavation
(Romulan Neutral Zone)
Year: 2368
Lt. So’Dan Leva dreaded the evening meal most. Both of the small contingents of Romulan and Federation archeologists shared a repast in the cramped mess hall. The lack of replicators on the dig forced everyone to journey to the commissary and the strict segregation between the two camps had dissolved more quickly than Leva had thought possible.
The Romulans had mixed in fairly well with their Federation counterparts. The din of conversation and laughter for each meal would only lessen when either Leva or Ousanas Dar, the V’Shar security attaché for the Vulcan Science Academy sought a seat among the throng.
Dar was a decades-long defector from the Star Empire and Leva was a half-breed, his father was human, and his mother was an Earth-based Romulan diplomat critical of the naked military dictatorship masquerading as an authoritarian republic.
Leva quickly glanced around and saw that Dar wasn’t in the mess. So he would be the party-pooper he realized. The lieutenant had avoided the commissary for days, holing himself in the quarters he shared with the two other Starfleet security guards assigned to this excavation. He had brushed off their entreaties to join them to eat, relying on his internal reserves to sustain him as he submitted weekly reports and surfed the security TacNet for hours. Eventually his body had betrayed him, his stomach rumbling like shifting tectonic plates.
As soon as he had entered the mess hall, Leva moved quickly to the serving line and palmed a few pieces of fruit. Leva planned to eat in his room, feigning the need to finish his reporting. Unfortunately, he hesitated at the beverage stand long enough to catch the attention of Dr. Zo’Kama Do’matar, the amiable Arkonian medic on loan from Vulcan Medical Command.
“So’Dan…Lt. Leva,” she called, “Over here!” The reptilian waved to get his attention. Leva tensed, his flight or fight syndrome warring within him. The coldness between him and the Romulans hadn’t been openly declared, but if ignored Dr. Zo’Kama’s entreaty it would be, and he would look like the perpetrator. Sighing, and slumping his shoulders, Leva turned around and ambled over to the Arkonian. She patted an empty spot beside her on the long bench.
“Finally decided to stop being a hermit huh?” Lt. Carrick, sitting on Leva’s other side, asked around a mouthful of a roast beef sandwich. Kirce Carrick piloted the Starfleet shuttle that jetted the archeologists around the planet and also made supply runs back into Federation space. Leva had caught the young woman staring at him from time to time, with a look in her eyes that had made him feel uncomfortable. He had sought to avoid her as well, afraid of where prolonged exposure to the woman and her gaze might lead. He realized it was probably Carrick behind Zo’Kama’s gesture.
He nodded stiffly at Carrick and then across the table. Sitting opposite Carrick was Sublieutenant Torin, Carrick’s counterpart. The distaste on the man’s face was barely concealed. Beside him sat the archeologist Raccina. Leva hadn’t spoken to the young woman, though he had thoroughly researched her file, seeking the Tal Shiar or Tal Arcani agents sprinkled among the Romulan contingent. Starfleet Intelligence and the Vulcan V’Shar had done the same, with Dar and the Deltan Jadda, the titular head of the Federation security force on Iconia.
Raccina smiled at him, and Leva’s throat constricted. Similar to him, her brow ridge was slight, not as prominent as many of the other Romulans in the group. The woman also had a fair complexion, reddish hair and a fine sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. She appeared to be a half-breed as well, though Leva wasn’t sure if she shared his human heritage or some other. “Lt. Leva it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said, “I thought you were urban legend.” She laughed, the sound musical to him.
Leva’s face flushed green. He was embarrassed by his reaction, but there was nothing to do about it. “A hermit Mr. Leva might be,” Carrick replied. “But he’s definitely flesh and blood.” She nudged him with an elbow. Leva swallowed hard, at a lost for words. So he quickly filled his mouth with a bite of fruit.
“It seems to me that Mister Leva perhaps doesn’t share the amity of his fellow Federation colleagues toward us, his own people,” Torin said, glaring at him. Leva chewed slowly on his Kalerian apple, locking eyes with the Romulan pilot.
“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Zo’Kama said.
“And if it was, that’s his business,” Carrick interjected, an edge to her voice. Now she felt the need to defend him, the gesture making Leva even more unsettled. He had taken the slings and arrows from full-bloodied Romulans for most of his youth on the Romulan colony Henaka. He had learned how to deal with bullies a long time ago and he didn’t like the idea that Carrick even thought she needed to speak up on his behalf, either because she felt he couldn’t, or wouldn’t do so himself, or if she was entertaining any notions that a relationship might be possible between them.
“Stop acting like a veruul Torin,” Raccina chided. “If Mr. Leva is uncomfortable around fellow Romulans, I’m sure there is a reason. We are not the most accommodating people after all.”
“I never said I had a prob-,” Leva began, but Torin cut him off. The pilot’s glare was now directed towards Raccina.
“Of course you would say that,” the Romulan said. “What is that human saying about fellow birds sticking together? I’m sure you’re mother taught it to you.”
“My mother is as loyal a citizen as yours,” Raccina shot back. “Don’t question her loyalty again.”
Torin sneered, turning his attention back to Leva. “Of course she is. She had the sense to leave the Federation behind, to seek the discipline and order of the Star Empire…unlike Ambassador Sonora.”
Leva jumped up, the apple crushed in his fist. Zo’Kama placed a strong, scaly hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down. But Leva wouldn’t budge. Carrick was on her feet seconds after him. The whole room grew silent.
“Take that back,” Carrick warned Torin. The burly Romulan stood up slowly, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.
“No,” he said evenly. “I am tired of this charade, of making nice with our enemies, especially traitors like you or Dar.”
“That’s enough Sublieutenant,” Professor Gnaeus, the head of the Romulan team, intoned from across the room. The wizened Romulan was slowly making his way toward the table. Leva trembled with the desire to knock the smug expression off the pilot’s face. He had made a promise to himself years ago that he would never be bullied again.
“I don’t take orders from you,” Torin retorted. “I’m the ranking officer on this mission.”
“Ranking idiot is more like it,” Ousanas Dar said as he swept into the mess hall. Almost in unison everyone turned toward the tall, striking Romulan. “Everyone was enjoying themselves, unwinding after a hard day until you had to ruin it. How about you sit down, finish your meal, and we can all let this incident be forgotten.”
“Just like you forgot your oath of loyalty to our Empire?” Torin challenged. He stepped over the bench, heading towards Dar. He only made it a couple of steps before Raccina leaped up, her hand shooting towards Torin’s neck. The man collapsed seconds later. Smiling, she nodded at Dar.
“I can’t believe that neck-pinch really works,” she said.
“Seeing is believing,” Dar replied. “There is much our people have forgotten when we left Vulcan. Hopefully joint ventures such as these will ease the way toward reconciliation.”
“I think most of us are in agreement with that,” Professor Gnaeus said, sitting back down slowly. Raccina glanced at Torin’s prone form.
“What do we do with him?”
“Let him sleep it off,” Dar said, stepping around the unconscious man and taking his place beside Torin. He began picking at the untouched portions on Torin’s plate. After Raccina sat back down, Leva finally allowed Zo’Kama to guide him back to sitting, even though he wanted more than ever to leave.
After the familiar din resumed, Raccina said, “So Mr. Leva, you are from Henaka?”
The mention of former home instantly brought back memories of the hazing he endured because of his mixed heritage and the brutal Klingon assault on the colony that had killed his grandparents. The few good memories about Henaka had been drowned out by the terrible ones that still gave him nightmares on occasion.
“My apologies,” he said tightly, “But I have to go.” Leva got up quickly, before anyone could protest and left the mess hall for the sanctuary of his quarters.
---
Security Quarters
(Minutes Later)
“You can’t run forever,” Ousanas Dar said, his voice as irritating and grating as the sands engulfing dead Iconia.
“You’re a fine one to talk,” Lt. Leva replied, not even looking up from his terminal. “I have a report to file.”
“You can do that anytime. It’s not like you’re going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Thanks to you,” Leva grumbled.
“You’re welcome,” Dar said. “Believe me, I know how hard this must be for you. Most of the Romulans here only consider you a half-breed, I’m a traitor…a far worse crime.”
Leva sighed loudly before turning around. “And yet you insisted on accompanying the expedition to Iconia knowing that we would be working with a Romulan archaeological team. Furthermore, you recommended to both Starfleet Command and the Vulcan High Command that I join you.”
“Did I?” One of Dar’s eyebrows lifted. Though a typical reaction for a Vulcan, the quizzical expression looked disconcerting on a Romulan face. “How can you be sure of that?”
“Believe it or not, when you work in security you often run across all types of information. Plus, these civilians from Daystrom aren’t too big on confidentiality.”
Dar nodded. “Then again, Federation citizens have never valued the need for secrecy and discretion that is bred into our kind from birth.”
Leva frowned. “I don’t have anything in common with you,” he sniffed, “or them.”
“I beg to differ,” Dar countered. “I also think that that attractive archeologist you brushed off in the mess hall thinks as I do. Isn’t she from Henaka Colony, your birthworld?”
“No, she had relatives there,” Leva began, before stopping himself. His face scrunched up in disgust. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from eavesdropping on me in the future.”
“Can’t help it,” Dar said, tapping the tapered point of one of his ears. Leva sighed again. “I see you’ve done your research on Doctor Raccina eh? She is quite the beauty.” When Leva didn’t answer, Dar pressed on.
“Doesn’t it feel good to be home,” Dar added.
“The Neutral Zone isn’t exactly Romulus,” Leva said dryly. “Or Henaka.”
“But its close enough,” Dar replied. “And you didn’t answer my question. Doesn’t it feel good?”
“I don’t feel anything,” Leva said. “This is just another assignment.”
“I hope you’re better at detecting lies than giving them,” Dar said.
Leva clamped down his anger. “I don’t have time for this. I have work to do.”
“You remember how we met Mr. Leva?” Dar said, ignoring the lieutenant’s not so subtle dismissal. The older Romulan stoically waited the younger man out.
“Yes,” Leva said after a few minutes. “The Borg Taskforce. SI bought me in for my knowledge about the Romulan frontier, where the Borg first struck.”
Dar nodded. “So?” Leva challenged. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“You didn’t like me at first,” Dar began.
“I don’t like you much right now,” Leva interjected, causing Dar to wince.
“Touche Mr. Leva,” the older Romulan said, “but whether you liked me then or now, you were professional enough to work with me. That’s something I don’t see you doing here.”
Leva pointed at his terminal. “That’s what I’ve been doing. As a matter of fact I was working before you showed up.”
“No,” Dar shook his head. “You were hiding.”
“I was doing no such thing!”
“Yes you were, and you’ve been doing it since we got here. Don’t you think you owe it to the Romulans and to yourself, not be seen as running from them. Not all Romulans are terrible people. If you take the time to remove yourself from your self-imposed prison you might learn quite a bit during this trip. I’m sure that’s one of the reasons your station commander agreed to your placement here.”
Leva smirked. “Guess again,” he said. “My commander doesn’t care for me, perhaps because of my Romulan blood.”
“All the more reason to seek out friendships among these scientists here,” Dar implored. “You can’t live as half a person. You need to be whole, and embrace both of your cultures, the good and the bad.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Leva remarked. “You made a choice to leave Romulus. I never had a chance. I was an outsider the day I was born.”
“I didn’t make a choice,” Dar said, his face darkening, “The choice was made for me by those in power. I had to choose right no matter how much of a personal sacrifice it cost me, and it has been very personal.” The cloud lifted from his face. “Though Vulcan women are quite beautiful, they lack Romulan passion, even in the throes of their mating rituals. Ironically enough Klingon women are fairly similar to our own, though I can’t get past the heavy foreheads or their bad teeth.”
Leva couldn’t help but chuckle. He hadn’t been prepared for the curveball. “So you can laugh,” Dar said. “For a moment I thought Starfleet had a second android in the Fleet. I know it will be hard for you Mr. Leva, but try. You might not get an opportunity like this again to be so close to Romulan space.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Leva said, “but I will consider what you said.” Dar nodded, and gave a short bow.
“Fair enough.” Dar conceded, before leaving Leva to his work and his thoughts.
---
Near Present
Iconia
Joint Federation-Romulan Archaeological Excavation
(Romulan Neutral Zone)
Year: 2368
Lt. So’Dan Leva dreaded the evening meal most. Both of the small contingents of Romulan and Federation archeologists shared a repast in the cramped mess hall. The lack of replicators on the dig forced everyone to journey to the commissary and the strict segregation between the two camps had dissolved more quickly than Leva had thought possible.
The Romulans had mixed in fairly well with their Federation counterparts. The din of conversation and laughter for each meal would only lessen when either Leva or Ousanas Dar, the V’Shar security attaché for the Vulcan Science Academy sought a seat among the throng.
Dar was a decades-long defector from the Star Empire and Leva was a half-breed, his father was human, and his mother was an Earth-based Romulan diplomat critical of the naked military dictatorship masquerading as an authoritarian republic.
Leva quickly glanced around and saw that Dar wasn’t in the mess. So he would be the party-pooper he realized. The lieutenant had avoided the commissary for days, holing himself in the quarters he shared with the two other Starfleet security guards assigned to this excavation. He had brushed off their entreaties to join them to eat, relying on his internal reserves to sustain him as he submitted weekly reports and surfed the security TacNet for hours. Eventually his body had betrayed him, his stomach rumbling like shifting tectonic plates.
As soon as he had entered the mess hall, Leva moved quickly to the serving line and palmed a few pieces of fruit. Leva planned to eat in his room, feigning the need to finish his reporting. Unfortunately, he hesitated at the beverage stand long enough to catch the attention of Dr. Zo’Kama Do’matar, the amiable Arkonian medic on loan from Vulcan Medical Command.
“So’Dan…Lt. Leva,” she called, “Over here!” The reptilian waved to get his attention. Leva tensed, his flight or fight syndrome warring within him. The coldness between him and the Romulans hadn’t been openly declared, but if ignored Dr. Zo’Kama’s entreaty it would be, and he would look like the perpetrator. Sighing, and slumping his shoulders, Leva turned around and ambled over to the Arkonian. She patted an empty spot beside her on the long bench.
“Finally decided to stop being a hermit huh?” Lt. Carrick, sitting on Leva’s other side, asked around a mouthful of a roast beef sandwich. Kirce Carrick piloted the Starfleet shuttle that jetted the archeologists around the planet and also made supply runs back into Federation space. Leva had caught the young woman staring at him from time to time, with a look in her eyes that had made him feel uncomfortable. He had sought to avoid her as well, afraid of where prolonged exposure to the woman and her gaze might lead. He realized it was probably Carrick behind Zo’Kama’s gesture.
He nodded stiffly at Carrick and then across the table. Sitting opposite Carrick was Sublieutenant Torin, Carrick’s counterpart. The distaste on the man’s face was barely concealed. Beside him sat the archeologist Raccina. Leva hadn’t spoken to the young woman, though he had thoroughly researched her file, seeking the Tal Shiar or Tal Arcani agents sprinkled among the Romulan contingent. Starfleet Intelligence and the Vulcan V’Shar had done the same, with Dar and the Deltan Jadda, the titular head of the Federation security force on Iconia.
Raccina smiled at him, and Leva’s throat constricted. Similar to him, her brow ridge was slight, not as prominent as many of the other Romulans in the group. The woman also had a fair complexion, reddish hair and a fine sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. She appeared to be a half-breed as well, though Leva wasn’t sure if she shared his human heritage or some other. “Lt. Leva it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said, “I thought you were urban legend.” She laughed, the sound musical to him.
Leva’s face flushed green. He was embarrassed by his reaction, but there was nothing to do about it. “A hermit Mr. Leva might be,” Carrick replied. “But he’s definitely flesh and blood.” She nudged him with an elbow. Leva swallowed hard, at a lost for words. So he quickly filled his mouth with a bite of fruit.
“It seems to me that Mister Leva perhaps doesn’t share the amity of his fellow Federation colleagues toward us, his own people,” Torin said, glaring at him. Leva chewed slowly on his Kalerian apple, locking eyes with the Romulan pilot.
“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Zo’Kama said.
“And if it was, that’s his business,” Carrick interjected, an edge to her voice. Now she felt the need to defend him, the gesture making Leva even more unsettled. He had taken the slings and arrows from full-bloodied Romulans for most of his youth on the Romulan colony Henaka. He had learned how to deal with bullies a long time ago and he didn’t like the idea that Carrick even thought she needed to speak up on his behalf, either because she felt he couldn’t, or wouldn’t do so himself, or if she was entertaining any notions that a relationship might be possible between them.
“Stop acting like a veruul Torin,” Raccina chided. “If Mr. Leva is uncomfortable around fellow Romulans, I’m sure there is a reason. We are not the most accommodating people after all.”
“I never said I had a prob-,” Leva began, but Torin cut him off. The pilot’s glare was now directed towards Raccina.
“Of course you would say that,” the Romulan said. “What is that human saying about fellow birds sticking together? I’m sure you’re mother taught it to you.”
“My mother is as loyal a citizen as yours,” Raccina shot back. “Don’t question her loyalty again.”
Torin sneered, turning his attention back to Leva. “Of course she is. She had the sense to leave the Federation behind, to seek the discipline and order of the Star Empire…unlike Ambassador Sonora.”
Leva jumped up, the apple crushed in his fist. Zo’Kama placed a strong, scaly hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down. But Leva wouldn’t budge. Carrick was on her feet seconds after him. The whole room grew silent.
“Take that back,” Carrick warned Torin. The burly Romulan stood up slowly, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.
“No,” he said evenly. “I am tired of this charade, of making nice with our enemies, especially traitors like you or Dar.”
“That’s enough Sublieutenant,” Professor Gnaeus, the head of the Romulan team, intoned from across the room. The wizened Romulan was slowly making his way toward the table. Leva trembled with the desire to knock the smug expression off the pilot’s face. He had made a promise to himself years ago that he would never be bullied again.
“I don’t take orders from you,” Torin retorted. “I’m the ranking officer on this mission.”
“Ranking idiot is more like it,” Ousanas Dar said as he swept into the mess hall. Almost in unison everyone turned toward the tall, striking Romulan. “Everyone was enjoying themselves, unwinding after a hard day until you had to ruin it. How about you sit down, finish your meal, and we can all let this incident be forgotten.”
“Just like you forgot your oath of loyalty to our Empire?” Torin challenged. He stepped over the bench, heading towards Dar. He only made it a couple of steps before Raccina leaped up, her hand shooting towards Torin’s neck. The man collapsed seconds later. Smiling, she nodded at Dar.
“I can’t believe that neck-pinch really works,” she said.
“Seeing is believing,” Dar replied. “There is much our people have forgotten when we left Vulcan. Hopefully joint ventures such as these will ease the way toward reconciliation.”
“I think most of us are in agreement with that,” Professor Gnaeus said, sitting back down slowly. Raccina glanced at Torin’s prone form.
“What do we do with him?”
“Let him sleep it off,” Dar said, stepping around the unconscious man and taking his place beside Torin. He began picking at the untouched portions on Torin’s plate. After Raccina sat back down, Leva finally allowed Zo’Kama to guide him back to sitting, even though he wanted more than ever to leave.
After the familiar din resumed, Raccina said, “So Mr. Leva, you are from Henaka?”
The mention of former home instantly brought back memories of the hazing he endured because of his mixed heritage and the brutal Klingon assault on the colony that had killed his grandparents. The few good memories about Henaka had been drowned out by the terrible ones that still gave him nightmares on occasion.
“My apologies,” he said tightly, “But I have to go.” Leva got up quickly, before anyone could protest and left the mess hall for the sanctuary of his quarters.
---
Security Quarters
(Minutes Later)
“You can’t run forever,” Ousanas Dar said, his voice as irritating and grating as the sands engulfing dead Iconia.
“You’re a fine one to talk,” Lt. Leva replied, not even looking up from his terminal. “I have a report to file.”
“You can do that anytime. It’s not like you’re going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Thanks to you,” Leva grumbled.
“You’re welcome,” Dar said. “Believe me, I know how hard this must be for you. Most of the Romulans here only consider you a half-breed, I’m a traitor…a far worse crime.”
Leva sighed loudly before turning around. “And yet you insisted on accompanying the expedition to Iconia knowing that we would be working with a Romulan archaeological team. Furthermore, you recommended to both Starfleet Command and the Vulcan High Command that I join you.”
“Did I?” One of Dar’s eyebrows lifted. Though a typical reaction for a Vulcan, the quizzical expression looked disconcerting on a Romulan face. “How can you be sure of that?”
“Believe it or not, when you work in security you often run across all types of information. Plus, these civilians from Daystrom aren’t too big on confidentiality.”
Dar nodded. “Then again, Federation citizens have never valued the need for secrecy and discretion that is bred into our kind from birth.”
Leva frowned. “I don’t have anything in common with you,” he sniffed, “or them.”
“I beg to differ,” Dar countered. “I also think that that attractive archeologist you brushed off in the mess hall thinks as I do. Isn’t she from Henaka Colony, your birthworld?”
“No, she had relatives there,” Leva began, before stopping himself. His face scrunched up in disgust. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from eavesdropping on me in the future.”
“Can’t help it,” Dar said, tapping the tapered point of one of his ears. Leva sighed again. “I see you’ve done your research on Doctor Raccina eh? She is quite the beauty.” When Leva didn’t answer, Dar pressed on.
“Doesn’t it feel good to be home,” Dar added.
“The Neutral Zone isn’t exactly Romulus,” Leva said dryly. “Or Henaka.”
“But its close enough,” Dar replied. “And you didn’t answer my question. Doesn’t it feel good?”
“I don’t feel anything,” Leva said. “This is just another assignment.”
“I hope you’re better at detecting lies than giving them,” Dar said.
Leva clamped down his anger. “I don’t have time for this. I have work to do.”
“You remember how we met Mr. Leva?” Dar said, ignoring the lieutenant’s not so subtle dismissal. The older Romulan stoically waited the younger man out.
“Yes,” Leva said after a few minutes. “The Borg Taskforce. SI bought me in for my knowledge about the Romulan frontier, where the Borg first struck.”
Dar nodded. “So?” Leva challenged. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“You didn’t like me at first,” Dar began.
“I don’t like you much right now,” Leva interjected, causing Dar to wince.
“Touche Mr. Leva,” the older Romulan said, “but whether you liked me then or now, you were professional enough to work with me. That’s something I don’t see you doing here.”
Leva pointed at his terminal. “That’s what I’ve been doing. As a matter of fact I was working before you showed up.”
“No,” Dar shook his head. “You were hiding.”
“I was doing no such thing!”
“Yes you were, and you’ve been doing it since we got here. Don’t you think you owe it to the Romulans and to yourself, not be seen as running from them. Not all Romulans are terrible people. If you take the time to remove yourself from your self-imposed prison you might learn quite a bit during this trip. I’m sure that’s one of the reasons your station commander agreed to your placement here.”
Leva smirked. “Guess again,” he said. “My commander doesn’t care for me, perhaps because of my Romulan blood.”
“All the more reason to seek out friendships among these scientists here,” Dar implored. “You can’t live as half a person. You need to be whole, and embrace both of your cultures, the good and the bad.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Leva remarked. “You made a choice to leave Romulus. I never had a chance. I was an outsider the day I was born.”
“I didn’t make a choice,” Dar said, his face darkening, “The choice was made for me by those in power. I had to choose right no matter how much of a personal sacrifice it cost me, and it has been very personal.” The cloud lifted from his face. “Though Vulcan women are quite beautiful, they lack Romulan passion, even in the throes of their mating rituals. Ironically enough Klingon women are fairly similar to our own, though I can’t get past the heavy foreheads or their bad teeth.”
Leva couldn’t help but chuckle. He hadn’t been prepared for the curveball. “So you can laugh,” Dar said. “For a moment I thought Starfleet had a second android in the Fleet. I know it will be hard for you Mr. Leva, but try. You might not get an opportunity like this again to be so close to Romulan space.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Leva said, “but I will consider what you said.” Dar nodded, and gave a short bow.
“Fair enough.” Dar conceded, before leaving Leva to his work and his thoughts.
---
I like this.
I really liked Ousanas Dar from "The Valley of Peace." It will be interesting to read more about him.
Unfortunatly, I haven't read Star Eagle Adventures, so Leva is new to me.
It was nice to see Zo'Kama as well, thank you. (Her EU page has been updated)
I look forward to see how Dar's past will catch up to him.
I really liked Ousanas Dar from "The Valley of Peace." It will be interesting to read more about him.
Unfortunatly, I haven't read Star Eagle Adventures, so Leva is new to me.
It was nice to see Zo'Kama as well, thank you. (Her EU page has been updated)
I look forward to see how Dar's past will catch up to him.
Wow!
I really loved this. Your new scenes with Leva and his relationship with Dar are great. You have given the character an incredible amount of depth and that made it a very enjoyable read.
Zo'Kama was also handled very well I thought and so was Dar. In fact all your character work and dialogue is impressive.
I'm really looking forward revisiting this story. It was very good the first time around but judging from what I've read so far, you'll be able to make it even better.
I really loved this. Your new scenes with Leva and his relationship with Dar are great. You have given the character an incredible amount of depth and that made it a very enjoyable read.
Zo'Kama was also handled very well I thought and so was Dar. In fact all your character work and dialogue is impressive.
I'm really looking forward revisiting this story. It was very good the first time around but judging from what I've read so far, you'll be able to make it even better.
Dnoth and CeJay,
Thank you both for the use of your characters in this story. Also thank you for your comments. I'm glad I didn't mess up their portrayals.
Dnoth,
You'll see more Dar in this story, but it's not about him totally. But you'll see what I mean as the story progresses.
CeJay,
One of the things about the original story I didn't like was the lack of Dar/Leva scenes. During my long 'sabbatical' I thought it would've been cooler if Dar had known Leva previously and was something of a self-proclaimed mentor for the younger man. I can definitely see Dar feeling some type of kinship with Leva.
Thank you both for the use of your characters in this story. Also thank you for your comments. I'm glad I didn't mess up their portrayals.
Dnoth,
You'll see more Dar in this story, but it's not about him totally. But you'll see what I mean as the story progresses.
CeJay,
One of the things about the original story I didn't like was the lack of Dar/Leva scenes. During my long 'sabbatical' I thought it would've been cooler if Dar had known Leva previously and was something of a self-proclaimed mentor for the younger man. I can definitely see Dar feeling some type of kinship with Leva.
I enjoyed the comparison and contrast between Dar and Leva--in many ways they're both individuals who are trying to find their place and themselves. Also enjoyed the inclusion of Zo'Kama.
To echo CeJay, I'm also looking forward to revisiting this jewel.
To echo CeJay, I'm also looking forward to revisiting this jewel.
Re: Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
Present
USS Lacaille
Kazis Binary System
Stardate: 488320.1
Year: 2371
(Main Bridge)
“I’m not going to lose you too,” Commander Elaine Rosier promised the ship splintering apart around her. Painful memories of the destruction of the last ship she served on, the Ambassador-class Yamaguchi courtesy of the Borg, sought to drill through her concentration, but Elaine wouldn’t allow it.
“Stay focused and you stay alive,” she whispered to herself, clutching the armrests of her chair as searing sparks from another exploding console licked her back, hair, and the sides of her face.
Rosier purposely avoided looking at the gutted center seat. She had rerouted what control remained of the Lacaille’s systems to the terminal at her station. “Damage report!” She yelled.
“Commander,” someone called out a few seconds later. Rosier turned in her seat, trying to connect a face with the ragged voice. But her eyes were tearing from the wall smoke and plasma coolant fumes. She wiped at her eyes.
“Go on,” she said, before the smoke poured down her throat.
“We’ve…we’ve…got nothing.” The voice was hysterical. “Everything’s gone…shields, weapons…even life support.”
“Even the Kobayashi Maru wasn’t this rough”, Rosier quipped after she regained her voice. Captain Tsang had often valued her off beat, black humor. He probably would’ve gotten a kick out of that one, she thought, staving off her own hysteria. Before she could reply to the mystery crewmen, another voice sang out.
“We’ve still got communications sir, and we’re receiving a hail.”
“About time,” Rosier whispered. More loudly, she commanded. “On screen if we still have that. If not, speakers.” The commander was pleased when the main viewer crackled to life. I can’t believe I’m happy about offering to surrender Lacaille to the bastards that murdered the captain and half the crew, but Elaine also knew that part of her duty was to ensure the survival of as many of the people she was now ultimately responsible for as possible.
The Romulan on the view screen was smirking. Rosier smiled when she noticed the bright green slash running across the man’s ridged brow. At least we nicked the slime devil, she thought. Rosier stood up slowly.
“Commander Domna, as Commanding Officer of the Federation Starship Lacaille I formerly offer our surrender…”
“I don’t want your surrender,” the man said, the smirk evaporating. “This could’ve all been avoided if your Captain had handed over the criminal as I had originally requested.”
Son of a bitch, Rosier thought. She breathed deeply, composing herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Still the games, the deception,” Domna shook his head, an incredulous smile creeping across his face. “Are you willing to sacrifice the remaining lives left on your vessel just to protect one person? One misguided fool?” The Romulan’s eyes moved behind Rosier, peering into the smoky destruction his ship had caused, looking for his quarry.
Rosier prayed that the man would stick to the shadows. Tsang had ordered the man to the bridge in anticipation of the arrival of their package. But what had been waiting for them instead at the rendezvous was a cloaked Romulan warbird. The sharp-edged, predatory ship dwarfed the Excelsior-class Lacaille, and with superior firepower and surprise, the Lacaille had quickly succumbed. Too quickly, Rosier boiled, angry with herself for not being able to see the trap before it was sprung on them. She figured that Domna had already slagged the Barolian freighter they were supposed to intercept.
“This wasn’t quite the reunion I was hoping for.” Rosier cringed as a tall Romulan staggered into the command well, a greenish blossom spread over his chest. He stumbled and Rosier rushed over to prevent the man from collapsing on the deck.
Domna laughed. “So, what have you to say for yourself now Commander?”
Rosier bared her teeth, but remained silent. She concentrated her energy on propping up the man leaning against her, who was far heavier than his lanky frame would suggest.
“And what have you to say for yourself?” wheezed the Romulan at her side. “How could you murder women, children? I only wanted to see my family again.”
“You are a traitor,” Domna declared, a cold fire animating his features, enlivening his words. “What you want doesn’t matter. If you had not allowed yourself to be seduced by that mad Vulcan and the foolish M’ret you could be with your family now, on Romulus where you belong. But you chose to turn your back on your people, serving our Empire as you had done ably before. Now you and your corrupted bloodline must answer for your crimes.”
The man grimaced, tears running down his cheeks. He pulled away from Rosier to stand on his own wobbly power. “So be it,” he remarked. “But killing me won’t dampen the ardor for reunification between Romulus and Vulcan, and it won’t extinguish the flame to make our government more honest and transparent for our citizens.”
Domna regarded the Romulan and then Rosier for almost a minute. Elaine could sense something clicking behind the man’s cold black eyes. We might just get out of this alive after all, she hoped.
Domna finally spoke. “Flavius, you are correct. Killing you, destroying this vessel won’t put an end to the dissident movement.” He paused, a sigh escaping his lips as he sagged in his seat. Puffing up suddenly, the man smiled victoriously, “But it will be a start.”
****
CHAPTER ONE
Present
USS Lacaille
Kazis Binary System
Stardate: 488320.1
Year: 2371
(Main Bridge)
“I’m not going to lose you too,” Commander Elaine Rosier promised the ship splintering apart around her. Painful memories of the destruction of the last ship she served on, the Ambassador-class Yamaguchi courtesy of the Borg, sought to drill through her concentration, but Elaine wouldn’t allow it.
“Stay focused and you stay alive,” she whispered to herself, clutching the armrests of her chair as searing sparks from another exploding console licked her back, hair, and the sides of her face.
Rosier purposely avoided looking at the gutted center seat. She had rerouted what control remained of the Lacaille’s systems to the terminal at her station. “Damage report!” She yelled.
“Commander,” someone called out a few seconds later. Rosier turned in her seat, trying to connect a face with the ragged voice. But her eyes were tearing from the wall smoke and plasma coolant fumes. She wiped at her eyes.
“Go on,” she said, before the smoke poured down her throat.
“We’ve…we’ve…got nothing.” The voice was hysterical. “Everything’s gone…shields, weapons…even life support.”
“Even the Kobayashi Maru wasn’t this rough”, Rosier quipped after she regained her voice. Captain Tsang had often valued her off beat, black humor. He probably would’ve gotten a kick out of that one, she thought, staving off her own hysteria. Before she could reply to the mystery crewmen, another voice sang out.
“We’ve still got communications sir, and we’re receiving a hail.”
“About time,” Rosier whispered. More loudly, she commanded. “On screen if we still have that. If not, speakers.” The commander was pleased when the main viewer crackled to life. I can’t believe I’m happy about offering to surrender Lacaille to the bastards that murdered the captain and half the crew, but Elaine also knew that part of her duty was to ensure the survival of as many of the people she was now ultimately responsible for as possible.
The Romulan on the view screen was smirking. Rosier smiled when she noticed the bright green slash running across the man’s ridged brow. At least we nicked the slime devil, she thought. Rosier stood up slowly.
“Commander Domna, as Commanding Officer of the Federation Starship Lacaille I formerly offer our surrender…”
“I don’t want your surrender,” the man said, the smirk evaporating. “This could’ve all been avoided if your Captain had handed over the criminal as I had originally requested.”
Son of a bitch, Rosier thought. She breathed deeply, composing herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Still the games, the deception,” Domna shook his head, an incredulous smile creeping across his face. “Are you willing to sacrifice the remaining lives left on your vessel just to protect one person? One misguided fool?” The Romulan’s eyes moved behind Rosier, peering into the smoky destruction his ship had caused, looking for his quarry.
Rosier prayed that the man would stick to the shadows. Tsang had ordered the man to the bridge in anticipation of the arrival of their package. But what had been waiting for them instead at the rendezvous was a cloaked Romulan warbird. The sharp-edged, predatory ship dwarfed the Excelsior-class Lacaille, and with superior firepower and surprise, the Lacaille had quickly succumbed. Too quickly, Rosier boiled, angry with herself for not being able to see the trap before it was sprung on them. She figured that Domna had already slagged the Barolian freighter they were supposed to intercept.
“This wasn’t quite the reunion I was hoping for.” Rosier cringed as a tall Romulan staggered into the command well, a greenish blossom spread over his chest. He stumbled and Rosier rushed over to prevent the man from collapsing on the deck.
Domna laughed. “So, what have you to say for yourself now Commander?”
Rosier bared her teeth, but remained silent. She concentrated her energy on propping up the man leaning against her, who was far heavier than his lanky frame would suggest.
“And what have you to say for yourself?” wheezed the Romulan at her side. “How could you murder women, children? I only wanted to see my family again.”
“You are a traitor,” Domna declared, a cold fire animating his features, enlivening his words. “What you want doesn’t matter. If you had not allowed yourself to be seduced by that mad Vulcan and the foolish M’ret you could be with your family now, on Romulus where you belong. But you chose to turn your back on your people, serving our Empire as you had done ably before. Now you and your corrupted bloodline must answer for your crimes.”
The man grimaced, tears running down his cheeks. He pulled away from Rosier to stand on his own wobbly power. “So be it,” he remarked. “But killing me won’t dampen the ardor for reunification between Romulus and Vulcan, and it won’t extinguish the flame to make our government more honest and transparent for our citizens.”
Domna regarded the Romulan and then Rosier for almost a minute. Elaine could sense something clicking behind the man’s cold black eyes. We might just get out of this alive after all, she hoped.
Domna finally spoke. “Flavius, you are correct. Killing you, destroying this vessel won’t put an end to the dissident movement.” He paused, a sigh escaping his lips as he sagged in his seat. Puffing up suddenly, the man smiled victoriously, “But it will be a start.”
****
Re: Chapter One
****
Deep Space Five
(Near Ivor Prime)
Stardate: 488326.6
(Commanding Officer’s Office)
“I really think you’re worrying too much about this,” Admiral Samson Glover leaned close to the monitor on his desk. He winked at the attractive blonde woman on the screen. “This isn’t a popularity contest you know. You’ve done great work on the Malcolm Reed, and you handled that nasty situation on Mizar as well as it could be handled--from what I've read from the classified reports, there weren't any easy solutions to that snake pit and your solution probably was the only one that would have saved lives and kept the peace there--you did damned good and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Besides..." He grinned, "It’s time for an upgrade. I'll bet you dinner at Siskos' that you're going to get another ship--a Nebula class, at least.”
Captain Elizabeth Shelby sighed. “You think so?” She asked, but Glover knew that while the woman was genuinely concerned about the repercussions of her actions at Mizar, she wasn’t as doubtful as she appeared to be. Elizabeth knew she was capable and ready to take on command of a Nebula or even Galaxy-class vessel. And Samson knew it as well.
Samson felt that the young woman wished to tap dance around was the enmity she had incurred among some in the Admiralty with the power to block her reassignment, chief among them Admirals Paris and Shanthi.
Samson had personally lobbied Shanthi in an attempt to get his old friend to change her mind, but he knew that Thuosana could be as obstinate as a Horta when she felt she was right about something, and Shanthi felt that Shelby was not the type of officer that she be receiving promotion, despite the woman’s instrumental role in saving the Federation from the Borg, not to mention Starfleet Command, and the Federation Council’s support of her handling of the Mizar crisis.
Paris, Shanthi, and a gaggle of other admirals felt that Shelby’s off duty lifestyle was an embarrassment to the Fleet, and her sometimes relaxed style invited insubordination and a lack of discipline. The service records of the Malcolm Reed’s personnel countered Shanthi’s argument, but something personal had happened between Thuosana and Shelby that turned the woman dead against the young captain.
Whenever he asked, Shanthi deflected the question with one of her own, “Why don’t you ask your golden girl?”
To which he would always reply, “She’s Hanson’s fantasy, not mine.”
But Samson had to admit that he was quite fond of Shelby. She reminded him a lot of his late wife Deitra, with the same fire and zest for life though Elizabeth seemed to have found a balance between duty and a personal life that Deitra never had, or more sadly, never really wanted. The woman had always been on the go, always running. Samson really couldn’t blame her. He might’ve been the same if he had lived her life…
“Admiral, Admiral is everything all right?” Shelby asked, a concerned expression on her face.
Glover shook his head. “Just woolgathering. Old people tend to do that sometime.”
Shelby smiled. “You’re far from old.”
“And you’re too kind.”
“No, you’ve been very kind to me. Thank you for the support, and for being an ear when I need one.”
“Anytime,” Samson paused, unable to stop himself, “So, in your travels have you found anyone special yet?”
“I’ve found quite a few persons of interest,” Shelby chuckled. “But please don’t tell me you’ve got somebody in mind. You already paired off Terrence so now it’s my turn?”
Samson laughed. “If Jasmine wasn’t so right for him, I might’ve ordered the Malcolm Reed to rendezvous with the Cuffe on Risa.”
“Well, I still look forward to meeting your son even if he’s already spoken for.” Shelby said.
“It’s not official yet, but I’m working on it.”
“You’re too much Admiral.”
His door chime cut through the cheerful mood. “Well, back to work I suppose.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “Yes, for the both of us.”
“Make sure to bring your new ship to DS5 so I can take a look at her.”
“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself sir,” Shelby cautioned.
“Admiral’s prerogative.” The old man stated, frowning as the door chimed again. “See you soon Elizabeth.” The woman said her good bye and Samson deactivated his monitor. He stood up and slid on his red and black long duty uniform. “Enter” he commanded, propping his arms on his desk, his knuckles bracing against the smooth baakonite finish.
Commander Amaya Donners, his adjunct, plowed through the doors. Samson immediately stood up to full height, his chest constricting. Donners was a cool customer, an engineer by trade she was a problem solver that didn’t allow her emotions to get the best of her. He had never seen the young woman so distraught.
“What happened?” Samson asked, clearing his throat to keep it from closing up.
“The Lacaille sir,” Donners began, pausing to take a gulp of air, “It’s been destroyed.”
“Oh my,” Samson’s legs buckled slightly. A million questions raced through the man’s mind, but all he could muster was “How?”
“Romulans sir,” Donners said, her caramel hued face darkening.
“Damn,” Glover whispered. “How did they find us out? Were there any survivors?”
Donners shook her head. “Sir, communications from the Lacaille’s log buoy has just entered our space. We can’t be certain, but the fact that only a buoy made it back without any indications of lifepods…” the woman let the admiral make his own conclusion.
“Well, that’s not good enough.” Samson barked. He sank back into his seat, anger and grief robbing him of strength.
“I don’t understand sir,” Donners ventured.
“Yes you do. If you just accepted things the way they were I would’ve never taken you on as my aide.” He reactivated his console while continuing to talk to Donners. “I’m not just going to abandon any potential survivors without verifying the log buoy’s information with my own eyes.”
“I take it you're going on a trip?” Donners said with a nervous smile.
“You got it.”
****
****
Deep Space Five
(Near Ivor Prime)
Stardate: 488326.6
(Commanding Officer’s Office)
“I really think you’re worrying too much about this,” Admiral Samson Glover leaned close to the monitor on his desk. He winked at the attractive blonde woman on the screen. “This isn’t a popularity contest you know. You’ve done great work on the Malcolm Reed, and you handled that nasty situation on Mizar as well as it could be handled--from what I've read from the classified reports, there weren't any easy solutions to that snake pit and your solution probably was the only one that would have saved lives and kept the peace there--you did damned good and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Besides..." He grinned, "It’s time for an upgrade. I'll bet you dinner at Siskos' that you're going to get another ship--a Nebula class, at least.”
Captain Elizabeth Shelby sighed. “You think so?” She asked, but Glover knew that while the woman was genuinely concerned about the repercussions of her actions at Mizar, she wasn’t as doubtful as she appeared to be. Elizabeth knew she was capable and ready to take on command of a Nebula or even Galaxy-class vessel. And Samson knew it as well.
Samson felt that the young woman wished to tap dance around was the enmity she had incurred among some in the Admiralty with the power to block her reassignment, chief among them Admirals Paris and Shanthi.
Samson had personally lobbied Shanthi in an attempt to get his old friend to change her mind, but he knew that Thuosana could be as obstinate as a Horta when she felt she was right about something, and Shanthi felt that Shelby was not the type of officer that she be receiving promotion, despite the woman’s instrumental role in saving the Federation from the Borg, not to mention Starfleet Command, and the Federation Council’s support of her handling of the Mizar crisis.
Paris, Shanthi, and a gaggle of other admirals felt that Shelby’s off duty lifestyle was an embarrassment to the Fleet, and her sometimes relaxed style invited insubordination and a lack of discipline. The service records of the Malcolm Reed’s personnel countered Shanthi’s argument, but something personal had happened between Thuosana and Shelby that turned the woman dead against the young captain.
Whenever he asked, Shanthi deflected the question with one of her own, “Why don’t you ask your golden girl?”
To which he would always reply, “She’s Hanson’s fantasy, not mine.”
But Samson had to admit that he was quite fond of Shelby. She reminded him a lot of his late wife Deitra, with the same fire and zest for life though Elizabeth seemed to have found a balance between duty and a personal life that Deitra never had, or more sadly, never really wanted. The woman had always been on the go, always running. Samson really couldn’t blame her. He might’ve been the same if he had lived her life…
“Admiral, Admiral is everything all right?” Shelby asked, a concerned expression on her face.
Glover shook his head. “Just woolgathering. Old people tend to do that sometime.”
Shelby smiled. “You’re far from old.”
“And you’re too kind.”
“No, you’ve been very kind to me. Thank you for the support, and for being an ear when I need one.”
“Anytime,” Samson paused, unable to stop himself, “So, in your travels have you found anyone special yet?”
“I’ve found quite a few persons of interest,” Shelby chuckled. “But please don’t tell me you’ve got somebody in mind. You already paired off Terrence so now it’s my turn?”
Samson laughed. “If Jasmine wasn’t so right for him, I might’ve ordered the Malcolm Reed to rendezvous with the Cuffe on Risa.”
“Well, I still look forward to meeting your son even if he’s already spoken for.” Shelby said.
“It’s not official yet, but I’m working on it.”
“You’re too much Admiral.”
His door chime cut through the cheerful mood. “Well, back to work I suppose.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “Yes, for the both of us.”
“Make sure to bring your new ship to DS5 so I can take a look at her.”
“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself sir,” Shelby cautioned.
“Admiral’s prerogative.” The old man stated, frowning as the door chimed again. “See you soon Elizabeth.” The woman said her good bye and Samson deactivated his monitor. He stood up and slid on his red and black long duty uniform. “Enter” he commanded, propping his arms on his desk, his knuckles bracing against the smooth baakonite finish.
Commander Amaya Donners, his adjunct, plowed through the doors. Samson immediately stood up to full height, his chest constricting. Donners was a cool customer, an engineer by trade she was a problem solver that didn’t allow her emotions to get the best of her. He had never seen the young woman so distraught.
“What happened?” Samson asked, clearing his throat to keep it from closing up.
“The Lacaille sir,” Donners began, pausing to take a gulp of air, “It’s been destroyed.”
“Oh my,” Samson’s legs buckled slightly. A million questions raced through the man’s mind, but all he could muster was “How?”
“Romulans sir,” Donners said, her caramel hued face darkening.
“Damn,” Glover whispered. “How did they find us out? Were there any survivors?”
Donners shook her head. “Sir, communications from the Lacaille’s log buoy has just entered our space. We can’t be certain, but the fact that only a buoy made it back without any indications of lifepods…” the woman let the admiral make his own conclusion.
“Well, that’s not good enough.” Samson barked. He sank back into his seat, anger and grief robbing him of strength.
“I don’t understand sir,” Donners ventured.
“Yes you do. If you just accepted things the way they were I would’ve never taken you on as my aide.” He reactivated his console while continuing to talk to Donners. “I’m not just going to abandon any potential survivors without verifying the log buoy’s information with my own eyes.”
“I take it you're going on a trip?” Donners said with a nervous smile.
“You got it.”
****
Re: Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
*****
Captain’s Personal Log, Supplemental: I can’t believe I actually missed working with the Cardassians. Though I can’t fault HQ for taking Cuffe off of patrol duty in the Demilitarized Zone. The crew certainly enjoyed the relative reprieve, mapping the rim of the Norma Arm in the Beta Quadrant, but I’m glad to be back in more familiar territory.
*****
Umoth VIII
(Federation-Cardassian DMZ)
“Still glad to be back?” Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas yelped as he dipped behind a crate, a sizzling barrage puncturing the air where his head had been seconds earlier.
“Aren’t you?” Captain Terrence Glover quipped. His back against an adjacent stack of crates, the captain increased the power setting on his phaser before taking a shot.
“I’m enjoying myself sir,” Lt. Nyota Dryer replied. The young security officer was crouched beside the captain, a phaser rifle clutched in her hands.
“Two out of three ain’t bad,” Glover remarked.
“It is if we don’t come out of this alive,” Rojas rejoined.
“Enough with the repartee,” a familiar voice rasped. “I thought this was supposed to be a gunfight.”
“It doesn’t have to be Captain Diaz, if you surrender.” Glover said, poking his head slightly around the edge of the box. The woman and the rest of her Maquis cohorts were swallowed in the warehouse’s thick shadows. His Security Chief had suggested that Glover’s away team take night-vision goggles, but Terrence had nixed the idea.
He didn’t think corralling the Maquis rebels would take so long that his team needed to be weighted down with equipment he felt was unnecessary. He had wanted them to go in light and fast. Now Glover realized it was a mistake, and he hoped it would be the only one he would rake himself over the coals with by the end of the day.
“You know that’s not going to happen Terrence,” Diaz said from somewhere in the murk. “And I’m also walking out of here with these medical supplies.”
“And you know I can’t allow that Captain.”
“I’m not your Captain anymore. I gave up on Starfleet a long time ago. Maybe you should do the same.”
“Fighting for the Maquis is a hopeless cause. The best way to ensure peace along the border is to support the treaty with the Cardassians.”
“I can’t believe I heard that from you, I guess the fourth pip really does change a person.”
“Are you two going to jawbone each other to death?” Another voice, followed by a blast that singed the edge of the crate by Terrence’s head, interrupted his reunion with his former commanding officer.
“My thoughts exactly,” Dryer whispered through gritted teeth. “Let’s bag these Maquis and call it a day.”
“She’s more than Maquis,” Glover admonished. “She’s our former captain. And don’t worry, she’ll be in custody shortly.” One of the network of informants Starfleet Intelligence had spread among the Maquis had tipped Starfleet Command off that a Maquis cell would be raiding a medical supply station on Umoth VII.
Glover knew that Diaz’s cell operated mainly in the Umoth zone and he lobbied hard to be part of the team that would apprehend her. He didn’t totally disagree with Maquis assertions that the Cardassians couldn’t be trusted, or that Federation citizens living on worlds ceded to the Cardassian Union by treaty weren’t in more precarious straits, but Glover couldn’t abide the idea of taking up arms against the Federation.
Sabrina Diaz, his former captain, and the woman who had nominated him to replace her at the helm of the Cuffe, thought differently. Glover felt it was only right that he be the one to bring her in. And after her, Calvin, Glover thought grimly. Cal Hudson, one of his closest friends, had also joined the Maquis. Terrence considered it a personal mission to also apprehend his friend. He was afraid that the Cardassians or less sympathetic Starfleet authorities might get to him first.
Unfortunately, in the spirit of détente, Glover had been forced to include a Cardassian liaison on this mission. Glinn Vennor had disappeared during the firefight. Terrence was assuming the wiry Cardassian was attempting to outflank the Maquis. Good luck with that, the captain thought. Diaz wasn’t born yesterday.
Except for Vennor, so far things were going according to plan. Glover had allowed Diaz and her team of five to enter the medical warehouse, and then ‘surprised’ them. But the real surprise should be creeping up behind them, in the form of Security Chief Meldin, a Cuffe security detachment, and a cordon of local authorities.
“All we want are a few medical supplies,” Diaz said after a few moments of silence. “We’ve got sick and wounded people. Unfortunately we don’t have access to replicators and other nifty Federation technology.”
“By choice,” Glover said. “But you can choose a different way.”
“It’s too late for that now,” Diaz replied, and Terrence was certain he heard something wistful in the woman’s voice. “Besides, I would rather go back to the Stone Age than live under Cardassian rule.”
Before Glover could reply, he hurt a grunt and then the sounds of scuffling. “We got him!” Another voice called out. Terrence’s eyes exploded with pain as the warehouse was flooded with light.
“We’ve got your Cardassian,” Diaz said. “Surrender or we’ll treat him like his kind treat the Bajorans.” Glover maintained his position. He motioned for Dryer and Rojas to do the same.
“I don’t believe you,” he called out. Diaz sighed loudly. “Rof, a demonstration please.” Glover winced as an ear-splitting scream reverberated off the warehouse’s walls.
Terrence couldn’t help but take a look to see what had just happened, and to who. A fleshly, wet nub smacked his cheek before hitting the floor. He picked up the warm, scaly gray mass. It was a thumb. Vennor’s thumb.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Glover remarked, his anger and gorge rising. Diaz had been an abrasive captain that sometimes played loosely with regulation and protocol, but she had never been a torturer…well, except for that one time with Laurent. He deserved it after the havoc he unleashed aboard the Cuffe, Glover thought. But did Vennor?
“You can step from behind the crates now Captain. I promise that you or this spoon head won’t be hurt again…unless you try something first.” Shielding his eyes against the glare, Glover made to move.
Dryer clutched his bicep. “I don’t trust her sir.”
“I don’t either,” Glover replied. Though Terrence had originally been assigned to the Cuffe to spy on Diaz, whom some in Command thought was part of the Brigade, a precursor to the Maquis, the woman had completely duped him. But still, he couldn’t say he didn’t trust her or anticipate her next move, until this very moment. And now he didn’t feel as bad about bringing her to heel.
The captain stepped from behind the crate. Diaz was ringed by four of her cadre. A large, muscular Alshain held the still struggling Vennor. Glover spied the thick boot soles of the fifth man. “The rest of your team as well,” Diaz waved the Klingon disruptor she held side to side, at the crates both Rojas and Dryer were hiding behind.
“Come on out,” Glover said with a calculated burst of frustration. Any second now, Meldin should be leading the charge into the building. Pedro and Nyota flanked him, their weapons pointed downward.
“Is he alive?” Glover gestured with the emitter node of his phaser, immediately causing the Maquis to tense up. Diaz ordered them to lower their weapons.
“He’ll live,” she glanced back at the injured man. “Granted you allow us to take these medical supplies.” Diaz’s face was more lined than it had been a year ago, and there were streaks of gray in her once lustrous black hair. But she was leaner, more wiry, and there was a fire in her eyes that Terrence had never seen before.
“I’m not in the driver’s seat here,” Glover said, a wolfish smile on his face. If I can just string her along a little while longer…
“You think you are,” Diaz’s smile was a hungry as his own. “But you’re cavalry isn’t coming. We have informants too.”
“What?” Dryer got out the question before Glover did.
“Your Security Chief…Meldin isn’t it? He and the rest of your away team are taking a nap right about now, somewhere outside the facility, courtesy of a neurozine canister placed in the air filtration system of constabulary. Some of the constables are sympathizers, but good luck figuring out whom.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rojas whistled. “You’re good.”
Diaz gave a curt nod. “Why thank you. Your weapons please.” Three of the Maquis quickly disarmed the Feds.
The former captain of the Cuffe slid her disruptor back into its holster. She palmed Glover’s phaser, twirling it around. “Haven’t had held one of these for quite a while now.”
“Consider it a gift,” Terrence said through clenched teeth. He could feel an apoplectic rage building within him. Diaz had bested him again, and Glover wasn’t a man who dealt well with being outfoxed repeatedly.
“Thank you,” Diaz said cheerfully. “By the way, I like the new duty uniforms. The colored stripe across the shoulder, and all that black is quite slimming.”
“Glad you approve,” Glover said, his muscles beginning to tremble with anger.
“I see you’re on the verge of berserker fury,” Diaz frowned. “Like that time on the Ekuva…Nyota, remember the stories you told me? About Terrence and that mob of cannibals?” Dryer merely glared at Diaz. “Well, I guess you don’t have to talk to me now if you don’t want to,” the woman continued, nonplussed. “Anyway, I promised you that I wouldn’t hurt you Terrence, but I lied.”
“That’s a shock,” he retorted. Diaz aimed the phaser at him. The other Maquis did likewise. Vennor tried again to escape the steel grip of the Alshain, before the man cuffed him with a boulder-like fist, knocking the Cardassian to the ground.
The phaser whined as its emitter cone lit up. Glover stared at Diaz, prepared to meet his end with as much dignity as possible.
“This is really going to hurt your pride,” Diaz remarked. Terrence rode the bright flash all the way to the bottom of the well.
****
CHAPTER TWO
*****
Captain’s Personal Log, Supplemental: I can’t believe I actually missed working with the Cardassians. Though I can’t fault HQ for taking Cuffe off of patrol duty in the Demilitarized Zone. The crew certainly enjoyed the relative reprieve, mapping the rim of the Norma Arm in the Beta Quadrant, but I’m glad to be back in more familiar territory.
*****
Umoth VIII
(Federation-Cardassian DMZ)
“Still glad to be back?” Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas yelped as he dipped behind a crate, a sizzling barrage puncturing the air where his head had been seconds earlier.
“Aren’t you?” Captain Terrence Glover quipped. His back against an adjacent stack of crates, the captain increased the power setting on his phaser before taking a shot.
“I’m enjoying myself sir,” Lt. Nyota Dryer replied. The young security officer was crouched beside the captain, a phaser rifle clutched in her hands.
“Two out of three ain’t bad,” Glover remarked.
“It is if we don’t come out of this alive,” Rojas rejoined.
“Enough with the repartee,” a familiar voice rasped. “I thought this was supposed to be a gunfight.”
“It doesn’t have to be Captain Diaz, if you surrender.” Glover said, poking his head slightly around the edge of the box. The woman and the rest of her Maquis cohorts were swallowed in the warehouse’s thick shadows. His Security Chief had suggested that Glover’s away team take night-vision goggles, but Terrence had nixed the idea.
He didn’t think corralling the Maquis rebels would take so long that his team needed to be weighted down with equipment he felt was unnecessary. He had wanted them to go in light and fast. Now Glover realized it was a mistake, and he hoped it would be the only one he would rake himself over the coals with by the end of the day.
“You know that’s not going to happen Terrence,” Diaz said from somewhere in the murk. “And I’m also walking out of here with these medical supplies.”
“And you know I can’t allow that Captain.”
“I’m not your Captain anymore. I gave up on Starfleet a long time ago. Maybe you should do the same.”
“Fighting for the Maquis is a hopeless cause. The best way to ensure peace along the border is to support the treaty with the Cardassians.”
“I can’t believe I heard that from you, I guess the fourth pip really does change a person.”
“Are you two going to jawbone each other to death?” Another voice, followed by a blast that singed the edge of the crate by Terrence’s head, interrupted his reunion with his former commanding officer.
“My thoughts exactly,” Dryer whispered through gritted teeth. “Let’s bag these Maquis and call it a day.”
“She’s more than Maquis,” Glover admonished. “She’s our former captain. And don’t worry, she’ll be in custody shortly.” One of the network of informants Starfleet Intelligence had spread among the Maquis had tipped Starfleet Command off that a Maquis cell would be raiding a medical supply station on Umoth VII.
Glover knew that Diaz’s cell operated mainly in the Umoth zone and he lobbied hard to be part of the team that would apprehend her. He didn’t totally disagree with Maquis assertions that the Cardassians couldn’t be trusted, or that Federation citizens living on worlds ceded to the Cardassian Union by treaty weren’t in more precarious straits, but Glover couldn’t abide the idea of taking up arms against the Federation.
Sabrina Diaz, his former captain, and the woman who had nominated him to replace her at the helm of the Cuffe, thought differently. Glover felt it was only right that he be the one to bring her in. And after her, Calvin, Glover thought grimly. Cal Hudson, one of his closest friends, had also joined the Maquis. Terrence considered it a personal mission to also apprehend his friend. He was afraid that the Cardassians or less sympathetic Starfleet authorities might get to him first.
Unfortunately, in the spirit of détente, Glover had been forced to include a Cardassian liaison on this mission. Glinn Vennor had disappeared during the firefight. Terrence was assuming the wiry Cardassian was attempting to outflank the Maquis. Good luck with that, the captain thought. Diaz wasn’t born yesterday.
Except for Vennor, so far things were going according to plan. Glover had allowed Diaz and her team of five to enter the medical warehouse, and then ‘surprised’ them. But the real surprise should be creeping up behind them, in the form of Security Chief Meldin, a Cuffe security detachment, and a cordon of local authorities.
“All we want are a few medical supplies,” Diaz said after a few moments of silence. “We’ve got sick and wounded people. Unfortunately we don’t have access to replicators and other nifty Federation technology.”
“By choice,” Glover said. “But you can choose a different way.”
“It’s too late for that now,” Diaz replied, and Terrence was certain he heard something wistful in the woman’s voice. “Besides, I would rather go back to the Stone Age than live under Cardassian rule.”
Before Glover could reply, he hurt a grunt and then the sounds of scuffling. “We got him!” Another voice called out. Terrence’s eyes exploded with pain as the warehouse was flooded with light.
“We’ve got your Cardassian,” Diaz said. “Surrender or we’ll treat him like his kind treat the Bajorans.” Glover maintained his position. He motioned for Dryer and Rojas to do the same.
“I don’t believe you,” he called out. Diaz sighed loudly. “Rof, a demonstration please.” Glover winced as an ear-splitting scream reverberated off the warehouse’s walls.
Terrence couldn’t help but take a look to see what had just happened, and to who. A fleshly, wet nub smacked his cheek before hitting the floor. He picked up the warm, scaly gray mass. It was a thumb. Vennor’s thumb.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Glover remarked, his anger and gorge rising. Diaz had been an abrasive captain that sometimes played loosely with regulation and protocol, but she had never been a torturer…well, except for that one time with Laurent. He deserved it after the havoc he unleashed aboard the Cuffe, Glover thought. But did Vennor?
“You can step from behind the crates now Captain. I promise that you or this spoon head won’t be hurt again…unless you try something first.” Shielding his eyes against the glare, Glover made to move.
Dryer clutched his bicep. “I don’t trust her sir.”
“I don’t either,” Glover replied. Though Terrence had originally been assigned to the Cuffe to spy on Diaz, whom some in Command thought was part of the Brigade, a precursor to the Maquis, the woman had completely duped him. But still, he couldn’t say he didn’t trust her or anticipate her next move, until this very moment. And now he didn’t feel as bad about bringing her to heel.
The captain stepped from behind the crate. Diaz was ringed by four of her cadre. A large, muscular Alshain held the still struggling Vennor. Glover spied the thick boot soles of the fifth man. “The rest of your team as well,” Diaz waved the Klingon disruptor she held side to side, at the crates both Rojas and Dryer were hiding behind.
“Come on out,” Glover said with a calculated burst of frustration. Any second now, Meldin should be leading the charge into the building. Pedro and Nyota flanked him, their weapons pointed downward.
“Is he alive?” Glover gestured with the emitter node of his phaser, immediately causing the Maquis to tense up. Diaz ordered them to lower their weapons.
“He’ll live,” she glanced back at the injured man. “Granted you allow us to take these medical supplies.” Diaz’s face was more lined than it had been a year ago, and there were streaks of gray in her once lustrous black hair. But she was leaner, more wiry, and there was a fire in her eyes that Terrence had never seen before.
“I’m not in the driver’s seat here,” Glover said, a wolfish smile on his face. If I can just string her along a little while longer…
“You think you are,” Diaz’s smile was a hungry as his own. “But you’re cavalry isn’t coming. We have informants too.”
“What?” Dryer got out the question before Glover did.
“Your Security Chief…Meldin isn’t it? He and the rest of your away team are taking a nap right about now, somewhere outside the facility, courtesy of a neurozine canister placed in the air filtration system of constabulary. Some of the constables are sympathizers, but good luck figuring out whom.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rojas whistled. “You’re good.”
Diaz gave a curt nod. “Why thank you. Your weapons please.” Three of the Maquis quickly disarmed the Feds.
The former captain of the Cuffe slid her disruptor back into its holster. She palmed Glover’s phaser, twirling it around. “Haven’t had held one of these for quite a while now.”
“Consider it a gift,” Terrence said through clenched teeth. He could feel an apoplectic rage building within him. Diaz had bested him again, and Glover wasn’t a man who dealt well with being outfoxed repeatedly.
“Thank you,” Diaz said cheerfully. “By the way, I like the new duty uniforms. The colored stripe across the shoulder, and all that black is quite slimming.”
“Glad you approve,” Glover said, his muscles beginning to tremble with anger.
“I see you’re on the verge of berserker fury,” Diaz frowned. “Like that time on the Ekuva…Nyota, remember the stories you told me? About Terrence and that mob of cannibals?” Dryer merely glared at Diaz. “Well, I guess you don’t have to talk to me now if you don’t want to,” the woman continued, nonplussed. “Anyway, I promised you that I wouldn’t hurt you Terrence, but I lied.”
“That’s a shock,” he retorted. Diaz aimed the phaser at him. The other Maquis did likewise. Vennor tried again to escape the steel grip of the Alshain, before the man cuffed him with a boulder-like fist, knocking the Cardassian to the ground.
The phaser whined as its emitter cone lit up. Glover stared at Diaz, prepared to meet his end with as much dignity as possible.
“This is really going to hurt your pride,” Diaz remarked. Terrence rode the bright flash all the way to the bottom of the well.
****
Re: Chapter Two
I'm enjoying your revision, DarKush! From the Lacaille's painful death to Liz's scene with Admiral Glover to Terrence, Nyota, and Pedro's confrontation with their former captain, you've put together a really nice rollercoaster ride.
I wonder if Terrence will ever get his payback on Diaz though or did she die with all the other Maquis?
I'm enjoying your revision, DarKush! From the Lacaille's painful death to Liz's scene with Admiral Glover to Terrence, Nyota, and Pedro's confrontation with their former captain, you've put together a really nice rollercoaster ride.
I wonder if Terrence will ever get his payback on Diaz though or did she die with all the other Maquis?
Re: Chapter Two
Very cool. The story was great the first time around but coming back to it now is a lot of fun.
I think the Donners in your story is much more the all-business type then she is in Cry Havoc. But that's allright. She might have learned to relax more after getting her own command ... or she might be the Donners of the alternative time-line in Tempus Fugit.
Continuing to looking forward to explore what else you have revised in this story.
Very cool. The story was great the first time around but coming back to it now is a lot of fun.
I think the Donners in your story is much more the all-business type then she is in Cry Havoc. But that's allright. She might have learned to relax more after getting her own command ... or she might be the Donners of the alternative time-line in Tempus Fugit.
Continuing to looking forward to explore what else you have revised in this story.
Re: Chapter Two
Dave and CeJay,
Thank you both for your comments.
Regarding your observation, Donners is informing Adm. Glover about a tragic event as well so I don't think she'd be too cheerful.
I do like your idea of the Tempus Fugit timeline though. I might be able to play with later.
Dave and CeJay,
Thank you both for your comments.
Regarding your observation, Donners is informing Adm. Glover about a tragic event as well so I don't think she'd be too cheerful.
I do like your idea of the Tempus Fugit timeline though. I might be able to play with later.
Re: Chapter Two
****
USS Cuffe
(Seven Hours Later…)
The Nuvian concubine did her best to knead the tension of out Glover, her combined twenty-four fingers massaging his back muscles with programmed skill, but Terrence couldn’t be mollified. The captain sat up on his table.
Lt. Commander Rojas, lying on the adjacent table, shooed away the olive-skinned Deltan attending him. He sat up as well. The hairless woman pouted with displeasure. “Is everything all right Captain?” Glover knew that Pedro knew him well enough to know it wasn’t. “If you don’t care for this one I’ve got quite a few holo-programs.”
Glover smirked, “I’m sure you do. But you know I’m not much for fantasy.” Terrence had never cared for the regulated dangers and pleasures of the holodeck. Even with the safety protocols off, there was no comparison for the thrill of orbital diving, Titan’s Turn, or Terrence’s other pastimes. Though he had to admit that recently he had warmed to a Klingon calisthenics program that had been a parting gift from the crew of the Klingon ship Dorna, that Glover had served on before being assigned to the Cuffe.
Pedro rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly. “I know, I know. Thank goodness Captain Gorik usually always found us a good port of call.”
Glover chuckled, the mention of their old captain, and their times aboard the Kitty Hawk resurfacing in his mind. “Yeah, the captain knew we deserved a break from him every once and a while.”
“You’re right about that,” Rojas laughed. “You remember that time on Vega Colony?”
“Please, don’t bring that up,” Glover clutched his stomach, the laughter shaking his insides, “Commander Awokou had us cleaning plasma injectors with toothbrushes for two months.”
“The first speck on your spotless record,” Rojas thumped his bare chest, “and you have me to thank for it.”
“Yes, I do,” Glover said, his mood turning sour again. “And today’s events certainly merit entrance into my Hall of Shame.”
“Damn, I was trying to steer you away from self-pity,” Rojas said. “But I led you right back into it.”
“No you didn’t,” Glover replied. “Right now there’s nothing you could do to take my mind off of today. I don’t know how she did it, but she got me again. And I’m not pleased.” When Terrence had awoken in the Cuffe’s Sickbay an hour later, his first officer, Nandali Kojo had been waiting for him.
The lithe Kriosian had informed him, with disapproval evident in her bearing and voice that Diaz and the rest of the Maquis had escaped. No ships had left orbit in the last several hours, and scans of the nearby area of the medical center had not revealed any clues regarding Diaz’s whereabouts.
“Well, let me try another tack,” Rojas pushed ahead. He pushed up from the table, and Glover did the same. Despite himself, he was curious about what was swirling around his friend’s mind. “Computer end program.” Almost instantly the massage parlor reverted back to the true black and yellow grid appearance of the holodeck. Rojas cinched the towel around his hips and walked over to the neatly folded uniforms by the arch leading into the room. He put his own, self-consciously patting his curved middle.
“I think you need to start hitting the gym.” Glover chided playfully. “I don’t want you getting stuck in a warp nacelle.”
“Ha, good one,” Pedro remarked. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”
“Really?” Glover zipped up the jacket of his uniform. He had to admit that Diaz was right about the new uniforms: the black did make you look svelte, even though he didn’t need to worry about such things. “So, what’s next? A Vulcan love slave program?”
“Not quite,” Rojas said. He tapped a command into the communication panel beside the door. The panel’s small screen flashed with the golden leaf symbol of the Federation followed by the face of a very tired young woman.
“Pedro?” She asked softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Time for you to wake up cadet,” the engineer said. “And that’s Lt. Commander Pedro to you.”
The woman stifled a yawn. “Really, is there something wrong?”
“No, just felt the need to talk to you.” The woman frowned.
“I’ve got an exam tomorrow,” she replied. “We’ll talk later.”
“Juanita,” Rojas pleaded. “I’ve got somewhere here who would like to say hi.” The woman’s eyes shifted away from Pedro, looking from side to side.
“I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now. That exam is going to be brutal.” Glover nudged Pedro away from the screen, and stepped fully into Juanita’s view.
“Hello Juanita, it’s been a long time.” The young woman reared back, mortified. She quickly tensed up, patting down her unruly hair as she did so.
“Sir…I apologize for being so disheveled.”
“Please,” Glover smiled. “At ease. I’ve known your brother for a long time, and I know Pedro has a penchant for putting people on the spot. Half the engineering department wants to keel haul him.” He glanced at the engineer, who merely shrugged.
“I can relate,” Juanita muttered.
“So, you have an exam tomorrow? What class?”
Juanita groaned. “Temporal Mechanics.” The captain winced.
“So I see you’ve experienced the joy.”
“Yes, and it’s not something I want to ever have to go through again. Is Professor Oshodi still teaching that?”
“Wow,” Juanita gasped. “She was here when you were?”
Glover frowned. “I’m not that old Juanita.”
“Sorry sir.”
Terrence chuckled. “Apology accepted. Yes, Oshodi was there. If I recall she had a mad-on for the Temporal Cold War and pre-Federation United Earth. Has he taken the class to the Delphic Expanse for a field trip yet?”
“Yes, I can’t imagine it being any more than the unremarkable stretch of space that it is now. Or that the Xindi had ever tried to destroy Earth. Our class had a great time on New Xindus.”
“It better not have been too great a time,” Rojas waded back into the conversation. “I don’t want to have to send a report to Mama or Papa.”
Juanita glared at Pedro. “Whatever,” she smiled again. “Captain I can’t thank you enough for sponsoring my application. I didn’t think they were going to let me in after I failed the entrance exam the first time.”
“Believe me, it was nothing. You being successful is the only thanks I need. And don’t worry about that exam. Oshodi’s bark is worse than her bite. But I do think we should let you get back to sleeping.”
“I would appreciate that sir,” Juanita replied.
“Don’t worry about that test lil’ hija,” Rojas said. “You’re a Rojas, and if I got through the Academy I know you will.”
“Truer words have never been spoken,” Glover chimed in.
“Amen Sir,” the cadet paused. “Sirs.” After the three said their farewells, Pedro switched off the screen.
“Made you feel better?” He turned toward Glover.
“Yeah, it did.” Terrence actually did feel a little better after talking to Juanita. It was a nice reminder of one good thing he had been able to do after suffering another humiliation at the hands of Captain Diaz. The sting wasn’t as bad as it had been before. “Thanks Pedro,” he clapped the shorter man’s back.
“Anything for Mon Capitan,” Rojas sang. “You know Juanita idolizes you. She’s already hectoring me about being assigned on Cuffe as soon as she graduates.”
“I would be happy to have her,” Glover remarked. “You know how much I like being idolized.”
“Yeah, I do.” The engineer smirked. He pressed a button on the panel and the arch opened. Both men stepped out into the hallway, “So, care for a night cap at the After Burner?”
“Sounds good,” the captain said. “We’ve received orders to hold orbit over Umoth so I’ve got a little more time to kill.”
“Great.” The engineer said. “And Lt. T’Shanir has Engineering practically humming along. You really didn’t need me on this boat.”
“I can always send you back to the Carolina,” Glover said.
“On second thought…”
Pedro never finished the statement. Glover’s combadge chirped, and the captain tapped it quickly.
“Captain Glover.” It was Commander Kojo.
“Is there a problem Commander?”
“Sir, you have a priority message from Admiral Glover.” Pedro’s eyes widened and Glover’s brow furrowed.
“I’ll be on the bridge shortly.” Glover nodded at Pedro. “We’ll have to get that night cap later.” He strode down the hallway without waiting for a response.
****
****
USS Cuffe
(Seven Hours Later…)
The Nuvian concubine did her best to knead the tension of out Glover, her combined twenty-four fingers massaging his back muscles with programmed skill, but Terrence couldn’t be mollified. The captain sat up on his table.
Lt. Commander Rojas, lying on the adjacent table, shooed away the olive-skinned Deltan attending him. He sat up as well. The hairless woman pouted with displeasure. “Is everything all right Captain?” Glover knew that Pedro knew him well enough to know it wasn’t. “If you don’t care for this one I’ve got quite a few holo-programs.”
Glover smirked, “I’m sure you do. But you know I’m not much for fantasy.” Terrence had never cared for the regulated dangers and pleasures of the holodeck. Even with the safety protocols off, there was no comparison for the thrill of orbital diving, Titan’s Turn, or Terrence’s other pastimes. Though he had to admit that recently he had warmed to a Klingon calisthenics program that had been a parting gift from the crew of the Klingon ship Dorna, that Glover had served on before being assigned to the Cuffe.
Pedro rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly. “I know, I know. Thank goodness Captain Gorik usually always found us a good port of call.”
Glover chuckled, the mention of their old captain, and their times aboard the Kitty Hawk resurfacing in his mind. “Yeah, the captain knew we deserved a break from him every once and a while.”
“You’re right about that,” Rojas laughed. “You remember that time on Vega Colony?”
“Please, don’t bring that up,” Glover clutched his stomach, the laughter shaking his insides, “Commander Awokou had us cleaning plasma injectors with toothbrushes for two months.”
“The first speck on your spotless record,” Rojas thumped his bare chest, “and you have me to thank for it.”
“Yes, I do,” Glover said, his mood turning sour again. “And today’s events certainly merit entrance into my Hall of Shame.”
“Damn, I was trying to steer you away from self-pity,” Rojas said. “But I led you right back into it.”
“No you didn’t,” Glover replied. “Right now there’s nothing you could do to take my mind off of today. I don’t know how she did it, but she got me again. And I’m not pleased.” When Terrence had awoken in the Cuffe’s Sickbay an hour later, his first officer, Nandali Kojo had been waiting for him.
The lithe Kriosian had informed him, with disapproval evident in her bearing and voice that Diaz and the rest of the Maquis had escaped. No ships had left orbit in the last several hours, and scans of the nearby area of the medical center had not revealed any clues regarding Diaz’s whereabouts.
“Well, let me try another tack,” Rojas pushed ahead. He pushed up from the table, and Glover did the same. Despite himself, he was curious about what was swirling around his friend’s mind. “Computer end program.” Almost instantly the massage parlor reverted back to the true black and yellow grid appearance of the holodeck. Rojas cinched the towel around his hips and walked over to the neatly folded uniforms by the arch leading into the room. He put his own, self-consciously patting his curved middle.
“I think you need to start hitting the gym.” Glover chided playfully. “I don’t want you getting stuck in a warp nacelle.”
“Ha, good one,” Pedro remarked. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”
“Really?” Glover zipped up the jacket of his uniform. He had to admit that Diaz was right about the new uniforms: the black did make you look svelte, even though he didn’t need to worry about such things. “So, what’s next? A Vulcan love slave program?”
“Not quite,” Rojas said. He tapped a command into the communication panel beside the door. The panel’s small screen flashed with the golden leaf symbol of the Federation followed by the face of a very tired young woman.
“Pedro?” She asked softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Time for you to wake up cadet,” the engineer said. “And that’s Lt. Commander Pedro to you.”
The woman stifled a yawn. “Really, is there something wrong?”
“No, just felt the need to talk to you.” The woman frowned.
“I’ve got an exam tomorrow,” she replied. “We’ll talk later.”
“Juanita,” Rojas pleaded. “I’ve got somewhere here who would like to say hi.” The woman’s eyes shifted away from Pedro, looking from side to side.
“I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now. That exam is going to be brutal.” Glover nudged Pedro away from the screen, and stepped fully into Juanita’s view.
“Hello Juanita, it’s been a long time.” The young woman reared back, mortified. She quickly tensed up, patting down her unruly hair as she did so.
“Sir…I apologize for being so disheveled.”
“Please,” Glover smiled. “At ease. I’ve known your brother for a long time, and I know Pedro has a penchant for putting people on the spot. Half the engineering department wants to keel haul him.” He glanced at the engineer, who merely shrugged.
“I can relate,” Juanita muttered.
“So, you have an exam tomorrow? What class?”
Juanita groaned. “Temporal Mechanics.” The captain winced.
“So I see you’ve experienced the joy.”
“Yes, and it’s not something I want to ever have to go through again. Is Professor Oshodi still teaching that?”
“Wow,” Juanita gasped. “She was here when you were?”
Glover frowned. “I’m not that old Juanita.”
“Sorry sir.”
Terrence chuckled. “Apology accepted. Yes, Oshodi was there. If I recall she had a mad-on for the Temporal Cold War and pre-Federation United Earth. Has he taken the class to the Delphic Expanse for a field trip yet?”
“Yes, I can’t imagine it being any more than the unremarkable stretch of space that it is now. Or that the Xindi had ever tried to destroy Earth. Our class had a great time on New Xindus.”
“It better not have been too great a time,” Rojas waded back into the conversation. “I don’t want to have to send a report to Mama or Papa.”
Juanita glared at Pedro. “Whatever,” she smiled again. “Captain I can’t thank you enough for sponsoring my application. I didn’t think they were going to let me in after I failed the entrance exam the first time.”
“Believe me, it was nothing. You being successful is the only thanks I need. And don’t worry about that exam. Oshodi’s bark is worse than her bite. But I do think we should let you get back to sleeping.”
“I would appreciate that sir,” Juanita replied.
“Don’t worry about that test lil’ hija,” Rojas said. “You’re a Rojas, and if I got through the Academy I know you will.”
“Truer words have never been spoken,” Glover chimed in.
“Amen Sir,” the cadet paused. “Sirs.” After the three said their farewells, Pedro switched off the screen.
“Made you feel better?” He turned toward Glover.
“Yeah, it did.” Terrence actually did feel a little better after talking to Juanita. It was a nice reminder of one good thing he had been able to do after suffering another humiliation at the hands of Captain Diaz. The sting wasn’t as bad as it had been before. “Thanks Pedro,” he clapped the shorter man’s back.
“Anything for Mon Capitan,” Rojas sang. “You know Juanita idolizes you. She’s already hectoring me about being assigned on Cuffe as soon as she graduates.”
“I would be happy to have her,” Glover remarked. “You know how much I like being idolized.”
“Yeah, I do.” The engineer smirked. He pressed a button on the panel and the arch opened. Both men stepped out into the hallway, “So, care for a night cap at the After Burner?”
“Sounds good,” the captain said. “We’ve received orders to hold orbit over Umoth so I’ve got a little more time to kill.”
“Great.” The engineer said. “And Lt. T’Shanir has Engineering practically humming along. You really didn’t need me on this boat.”
“I can always send you back to the Carolina,” Glover said.
“On second thought…”
Pedro never finished the statement. Glover’s combadge chirped, and the captain tapped it quickly.
“Captain Glover.” It was Commander Kojo.
“Is there a problem Commander?”
“Sir, you have a priority message from Admiral Glover.” Pedro’s eyes widened and Glover’s brow furrowed.
“I’ll be on the bridge shortly.” Glover nodded at Pedro. “We’ll have to get that night cap later.” He strode down the hallway without waiting for a response.
****
Re: Chapter Two
****
IRW Invidious
(Commander’s State Room)
Commander Prius Domna poked at the sealed gash on his forehead. Each scar was a new toy for him, another story for him to share with his equals. He held the dermal regenerator in his other hand. “Care for a touch-up?” He asked the woman standing in front of his desk, her arms crossed.
“Commander, General Volok is a very dangerous enemy to make,” she replied, her eyes flashing and a frustrated expression on her face. A flap of tanned skin flapped down from her cheek. Domna could see hints of green blood and tissue each time the woman spoke.
“I’m more concerned with repairing our damage. We don’t want to be caught as unawares as that Starfleet vessel,” Domna said. “We failed to destroy the Lacaille’s log buoy. You can be certain that Starfleet will be sending another ship to investigate as soon as it is recovered.”
“Sir, the concern I voice isn’t irrelevant.”
“It is if I choose it to be Subcommander. I still command this vessel, until Volok or some other desk rider says otherwise.”
The subcommander stepped back. She nodded. “Of course you are. I was merely hoping to emphasize the consequences of disobeying Volok’s orders again. It could be very bad…for all of us.”
“It’s really too late for that. We passed the point of no-return when you placed our Tal Shiar officer in the refuse disposal, per Volok’s orders. He knows that I am one of the most capable commanders in the Imperial Fleet, and this is one of the best crews. Who else is he going to turn to? Sela? Toreth? Most of the other commanders are still too fearful of the Tal Shiar to defy them. Sela and Toreth have been burned by the Tal Shiar, but both also have notable marks on their records. Volok came to me, and he will have to give me the required maneuverability. It is as simple as that.”
“Not to him,” the subcommander retorted.
“He’s not out here Talveth, in the void, like we are. For all I know he has forgotten what the pressures of command under fire are all about.”
“I wouldn’t be so dismissive of him sir. I’ve read his service record.” Talveth countered.
“And so have I,” Domna shot back. “It is very impressive…if this was the 2350s, the last time Volok fought for the Empire.”
“He was the mastermind of both the Khitomer and Narendra III attacks,” Talveth said with relish. “He’s a legend.”
“In time, some children might say the same of us if they aren’t all corrupted by this reunification nonsense.”
“And if we had captured Flavius, with additional Starfleet prisoners, their trials could’ve shown the permissive elements among us that our way of life is superior.”
“Perhaps,” Domna admitted. “But Flavius was insignificant in the larger scheme and Volok knows it. The trap has been set for his real target, and when they blunder into it I will be there to close it.”
****
****
IRW Invidious
(Commander’s State Room)
Commander Prius Domna poked at the sealed gash on his forehead. Each scar was a new toy for him, another story for him to share with his equals. He held the dermal regenerator in his other hand. “Care for a touch-up?” He asked the woman standing in front of his desk, her arms crossed.
“Commander, General Volok is a very dangerous enemy to make,” she replied, her eyes flashing and a frustrated expression on her face. A flap of tanned skin flapped down from her cheek. Domna could see hints of green blood and tissue each time the woman spoke.
“I’m more concerned with repairing our damage. We don’t want to be caught as unawares as that Starfleet vessel,” Domna said. “We failed to destroy the Lacaille’s log buoy. You can be certain that Starfleet will be sending another ship to investigate as soon as it is recovered.”
“Sir, the concern I voice isn’t irrelevant.”
“It is if I choose it to be Subcommander. I still command this vessel, until Volok or some other desk rider says otherwise.”
The subcommander stepped back. She nodded. “Of course you are. I was merely hoping to emphasize the consequences of disobeying Volok’s orders again. It could be very bad…for all of us.”
“It’s really too late for that. We passed the point of no-return when you placed our Tal Shiar officer in the refuse disposal, per Volok’s orders. He knows that I am one of the most capable commanders in the Imperial Fleet, and this is one of the best crews. Who else is he going to turn to? Sela? Toreth? Most of the other commanders are still too fearful of the Tal Shiar to defy them. Sela and Toreth have been burned by the Tal Shiar, but both also have notable marks on their records. Volok came to me, and he will have to give me the required maneuverability. It is as simple as that.”
“Not to him,” the subcommander retorted.
“He’s not out here Talveth, in the void, like we are. For all I know he has forgotten what the pressures of command under fire are all about.”
“I wouldn’t be so dismissive of him sir. I’ve read his service record.” Talveth countered.
“And so have I,” Domna shot back. “It is very impressive…if this was the 2350s, the last time Volok fought for the Empire.”
“He was the mastermind of both the Khitomer and Narendra III attacks,” Talveth said with relish. “He’s a legend.”
“In time, some children might say the same of us if they aren’t all corrupted by this reunification nonsense.”
“And if we had captured Flavius, with additional Starfleet prisoners, their trials could’ve shown the permissive elements among us that our way of life is superior.”
“Perhaps,” Domna admitted. “But Flavius was insignificant in the larger scheme and Volok knows it. The trap has been set for his real target, and when they blunder into it I will be there to close it.”
****
Re: Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Memory
Nullus Mining Concern
(Romulan Space)
Year: 2327
Lieutenant Samson Glover hit metal floor-plates, his breath gushing from his lungs. A sharp elbow jutted into his throat. “Who…are…you?” The voice rasped. Glover tried to see who or what had attacked him, but he could only make out a fuzzy shape, the lack of oxygen dimming his vision.
“Who?” The voice demanded again, before sighing heavily. A heavy weight fell on top of him, knotted hair brushing against his nostrils. He turned, and the body slid off him. A hand clamped on his shoulder, and Glover jumped.
“Lieutenant, it’s me, T’Prell.” Gasping for air, Glover looked up into the hooded eyes of his Vulcan compatriot. Even in stealth fatigues the woman looked stunning, but Glover had been very careful not to tell her that.
“Who? What?” He asked instead, pointing at the dark mass now resting beside him.
“Why don’t you find out?” T’Prell suggested. Glover gingerly turned his attacker over, his breath leaving his lungs again: this time from shock.
Despite her smudged, bruised face, she was the most beautiful woman Sam had ever seen, present company excepted. “She’s human,” he said, surprised.
“So, it appears that Dar wasn’t a liar after all.” T’Prell had been skeptical of Dar’s accounts that there had been survivors from the Norkan Massacre. Sam had recently met T’Prell while doing graduate work at the Vulcan Institute of Defensive Arts. Sam had harbored a passion for Romulan history since his father had told him about the Earth-Romulan War, and the integral role one of their ancestors, Lt. Sheldon Palmer of the Mendi, had played in it.
Samson had angled for a planet bound posting on Vulcan after leaving the Academy in part to continue pursuing his interest in Romulan culture. Understanding the nuances of Vulcan’s more violent past, which formed the basis of proto-Romulan society, could best be done on Vulcan itself, instead from halfway across the quadrant.
T’Prell, intent on obtaining a position with the V’Shar, Vulcan’s intelligence agency, also was seeking to make herself a more attractive applicant and pursue her own interest in the Romulans by attending the Pre-Time of Awakening seminars at the Institute.
Glover had been surprised to learn that T’Prell wasn’t like most of the Vulcans he had met or attended the Academy with. T’Prell had been part of a sect of Vulcans she had told him were called “V’tosh ka’tur”, or “Vulcans without Logic.”
Similar to the Romulans they had rejected the austere philosophy of Surak, but the V’tosh ka’tur Vulcans hadn’t left their home planet like the Romulans, nor had they continued to practice the militarism that had led to Surak’s radical approach to save the Vulcans from themselves.
“Did you do the neck-pinch thing?” He checked the unconscious woman’s vital signs. T’Prell nodded. “Help me pick her up,” Glover grabbed the woman’s arms. He bent down, attempting to sling the woman over his shoulders. “Anytime you want to help would be nice,” He grunted.
“She was coming from the direction of the base commander’s quarters,” T’Prell said, her voice rife with accusation.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Glover said, adjusting the woman’s weight as he prepared to stand.
“Perhaps we should leave her,” T’Prell said.
“What?” Samson asked, exasperated, but his voice didn’t rise above a whisper.
“I’m sure you are familiar with the concept of comfort women,” T’Prell glanced at the unconscious woman. It took Sam a few moments to grasp her meaning. He shook his head in disbelief.
“You can’t be serious.”
“And we shouldn’t take a chance on this one,” T’Prell said.
“Our mission was to rescue the survivors from Norkan. I’ve got a pretty good inkling that this is one of them. At the very least, it would be logical to revive her for whatever intel she might provide, and to tell us where the other survivors are.”
“Very cute,” T’Prell said, with a half-smile. “But she just might as easily alert the Romulans of our presence here. We don’t know what type of arrangements she might’ve have made to survive.”
“We don’t know if she’s made any ‘arrangements’ at all.”
“Please place the woman back on the floor so that I can revive her.” The Vulcan said tersely. Samson grunted as he put the woman back on the ground.
“Why did you make me tire myself out to begin with?” Glover huffed.
“I like watching the sweat drip down your brow. The hairless look is agreeable on you.”
“Very funny. A Vulcan comedienne and V’Shar agent all rolled into one, who would’ve thought?”
T’Prell bent down on one knee, and placed two fingers over the woman’s carotid artery as if she were checking for a pulse. Glover didn’t know how she did it, but seconds later the human was stirring. T’Prell had un-holstered her weapon.
“I don’t think there’s a need for that,” Sam protested.
“We’ll see.” The woman’s eyes fluttered open, and she started to spring up, but T’Prell placed the barrel of her phaser hard against the woman’s collarbone. With her free hand, the Vulcan placed a finger against her own lips.
The human woman’s face twisted in anger, her eyes darting from T’Prell to Samson. “Who are you?” She said, in defiance of T’Prell, but her voice was a whisper.
“We’re here to rescue you,” Glover said. T’Prell nodded.
“With a phaser at my throat,” the woman countered.
“You did attack me after all,” Sam said. The woman regarded him silently for a few seconds before nodding in agreement.
“At least remove this weapon from my face?”
“No.” T’Prell said. “Are there any other humans here?”
“Shouldn’t you already know that?” The woman snarled. “Why don’t you ask one of your people?”
“I am not a Romulan. I’m a Vulcan,” T’Prell said. The woman’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care,” T’Prell shot back.
“Ladies, we’re a little pressed for time here.”
Both women flashed icy glares at him. Glover held his ground. “Dar and Stark should be finishing up and expecting a signal from us any moment now.”
“Are you going to help us or not?” T’Prell asked the woman, waving her gun again.
“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” the woman asked.
“Not really.” T’Prell answered. “Now, get up slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them at all times.”
“You don’t have to be so cold,” Samson chided. He reached out a hand to assist the woman. After a few seconds, she reluctantly took it. “My name is Sam. What’s yours?”
“Deitra,” she said.
“That’s a pretty name,” Samson said. He repeated it, the sound of it feeling right coming from his lips.
“Now that introductions are done, let’s get on with this.” T’Prell brushed past the humans. She glanced back, “Sam, she’s your responsibility.” Sam shrugged his shoulders when the woman gave him an incredulous look.
T’Prell pulled a tricorder from the satchel slung over her shoulder. She held it up to a systems display along the wall. “Can you read Romulan script Deitra?” She asked, the name sounding frigid coming from the Vulcan. Samson didn’t quite get why T’Prell was acting so chilly towards the woman. It wasn’t like she was the one the woman attacked, and it was obvious by her bruised face and bedraggled appearance that she was one of the victims they were trying to help.
“I…I read a little,” the woman said slowly. “What are you trying to do?” She walked up beside T’Prell.
“I want to gain control of the door lock system, so I can control who can go where,” T’Prell said.
“I…I might be able to help you in that regard,” Deitra admitted. “But what you want isn’t mounted on that wall.”
“Really,” Samson ventured. “Where is it?”
Deitra pointed in the direction that she had just come. “Down that corridor. In his room.” The woman shook with such disgust and fear that Samson’s stomach knotted. T’Prell wasn’t as susceptible.
“Let’s go.” She said, grabbing Deitra by the arm. “You lead the way.”
****
CHAPTER THREE
Memory
Nullus Mining Concern
(Romulan Space)
Year: 2327
Lieutenant Samson Glover hit metal floor-plates, his breath gushing from his lungs. A sharp elbow jutted into his throat. “Who…are…you?” The voice rasped. Glover tried to see who or what had attacked him, but he could only make out a fuzzy shape, the lack of oxygen dimming his vision.
“Who?” The voice demanded again, before sighing heavily. A heavy weight fell on top of him, knotted hair brushing against his nostrils. He turned, and the body slid off him. A hand clamped on his shoulder, and Glover jumped.
“Lieutenant, it’s me, T’Prell.” Gasping for air, Glover looked up into the hooded eyes of his Vulcan compatriot. Even in stealth fatigues the woman looked stunning, but Glover had been very careful not to tell her that.
“Who? What?” He asked instead, pointing at the dark mass now resting beside him.
“Why don’t you find out?” T’Prell suggested. Glover gingerly turned his attacker over, his breath leaving his lungs again: this time from shock.
Despite her smudged, bruised face, she was the most beautiful woman Sam had ever seen, present company excepted. “She’s human,” he said, surprised.
“So, it appears that Dar wasn’t a liar after all.” T’Prell had been skeptical of Dar’s accounts that there had been survivors from the Norkan Massacre. Sam had recently met T’Prell while doing graduate work at the Vulcan Institute of Defensive Arts. Sam had harbored a passion for Romulan history since his father had told him about the Earth-Romulan War, and the integral role one of their ancestors, Lt. Sheldon Palmer of the Mendi, had played in it.
Samson had angled for a planet bound posting on Vulcan after leaving the Academy in part to continue pursuing his interest in Romulan culture. Understanding the nuances of Vulcan’s more violent past, which formed the basis of proto-Romulan society, could best be done on Vulcan itself, instead from halfway across the quadrant.
T’Prell, intent on obtaining a position with the V’Shar, Vulcan’s intelligence agency, also was seeking to make herself a more attractive applicant and pursue her own interest in the Romulans by attending the Pre-Time of Awakening seminars at the Institute.
Glover had been surprised to learn that T’Prell wasn’t like most of the Vulcans he had met or attended the Academy with. T’Prell had been part of a sect of Vulcans she had told him were called “V’tosh ka’tur”, or “Vulcans without Logic.”
Similar to the Romulans they had rejected the austere philosophy of Surak, but the V’tosh ka’tur Vulcans hadn’t left their home planet like the Romulans, nor had they continued to practice the militarism that had led to Surak’s radical approach to save the Vulcans from themselves.
“Did you do the neck-pinch thing?” He checked the unconscious woman’s vital signs. T’Prell nodded. “Help me pick her up,” Glover grabbed the woman’s arms. He bent down, attempting to sling the woman over his shoulders. “Anytime you want to help would be nice,” He grunted.
“She was coming from the direction of the base commander’s quarters,” T’Prell said, her voice rife with accusation.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Glover said, adjusting the woman’s weight as he prepared to stand.
“Perhaps we should leave her,” T’Prell said.
“What?” Samson asked, exasperated, but his voice didn’t rise above a whisper.
“I’m sure you are familiar with the concept of comfort women,” T’Prell glanced at the unconscious woman. It took Sam a few moments to grasp her meaning. He shook his head in disbelief.
“You can’t be serious.”
“And we shouldn’t take a chance on this one,” T’Prell said.
“Our mission was to rescue the survivors from Norkan. I’ve got a pretty good inkling that this is one of them. At the very least, it would be logical to revive her for whatever intel she might provide, and to tell us where the other survivors are.”
“Very cute,” T’Prell said, with a half-smile. “But she just might as easily alert the Romulans of our presence here. We don’t know what type of arrangements she might’ve have made to survive.”
“We don’t know if she’s made any ‘arrangements’ at all.”
“Please place the woman back on the floor so that I can revive her.” The Vulcan said tersely. Samson grunted as he put the woman back on the ground.
“Why did you make me tire myself out to begin with?” Glover huffed.
“I like watching the sweat drip down your brow. The hairless look is agreeable on you.”
“Very funny. A Vulcan comedienne and V’Shar agent all rolled into one, who would’ve thought?”
T’Prell bent down on one knee, and placed two fingers over the woman’s carotid artery as if she were checking for a pulse. Glover didn’t know how she did it, but seconds later the human was stirring. T’Prell had un-holstered her weapon.
“I don’t think there’s a need for that,” Sam protested.
“We’ll see.” The woman’s eyes fluttered open, and she started to spring up, but T’Prell placed the barrel of her phaser hard against the woman’s collarbone. With her free hand, the Vulcan placed a finger against her own lips.
The human woman’s face twisted in anger, her eyes darting from T’Prell to Samson. “Who are you?” She said, in defiance of T’Prell, but her voice was a whisper.
“We’re here to rescue you,” Glover said. T’Prell nodded.
“With a phaser at my throat,” the woman countered.
“You did attack me after all,” Sam said. The woman regarded him silently for a few seconds before nodding in agreement.
“At least remove this weapon from my face?”
“No.” T’Prell said. “Are there any other humans here?”
“Shouldn’t you already know that?” The woman snarled. “Why don’t you ask one of your people?”
“I am not a Romulan. I’m a Vulcan,” T’Prell said. The woman’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care,” T’Prell shot back.
“Ladies, we’re a little pressed for time here.”
Both women flashed icy glares at him. Glover held his ground. “Dar and Stark should be finishing up and expecting a signal from us any moment now.”
“Are you going to help us or not?” T’Prell asked the woman, waving her gun again.
“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” the woman asked.
“Not really.” T’Prell answered. “Now, get up slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them at all times.”
“You don’t have to be so cold,” Samson chided. He reached out a hand to assist the woman. After a few seconds, she reluctantly took it. “My name is Sam. What’s yours?”
“Deitra,” she said.
“That’s a pretty name,” Samson said. He repeated it, the sound of it feeling right coming from his lips.
“Now that introductions are done, let’s get on with this.” T’Prell brushed past the humans. She glanced back, “Sam, she’s your responsibility.” Sam shrugged his shoulders when the woman gave him an incredulous look.
T’Prell pulled a tricorder from the satchel slung over her shoulder. She held it up to a systems display along the wall. “Can you read Romulan script Deitra?” She asked, the name sounding frigid coming from the Vulcan. Samson didn’t quite get why T’Prell was acting so chilly towards the woman. It wasn’t like she was the one the woman attacked, and it was obvious by her bruised face and bedraggled appearance that she was one of the victims they were trying to help.
“I…I read a little,” the woman said slowly. “What are you trying to do?” She walked up beside T’Prell.
“I want to gain control of the door lock system, so I can control who can go where,” T’Prell said.
“I…I might be able to help you in that regard,” Deitra admitted. “But what you want isn’t mounted on that wall.”
“Really,” Samson ventured. “Where is it?”
Deitra pointed in the direction that she had just come. “Down that corridor. In his room.” The woman shook with such disgust and fear that Samson’s stomach knotted. T’Prell wasn’t as susceptible.
“Let’s go.” She said, grabbing Deitra by the arm. “You lead the way.”
****
Re: Chapter Three
Dnoth,
I hope you enjoy the rest. I didn't do as much alteration as I had thought would be necessary to be satisfied with this story. I did work on more character interaction scenes, introduced a new character, and fleshed out Commander Kojo more which you'll see in the coming chapters.
Dnoth,
I hope you enjoy the rest. I didn't do as much alteration as I had thought would be necessary to be satisfied with this story. I did work on more character interaction scenes, introduced a new character, and fleshed out Commander Kojo more which you'll see in the coming chapters.
Re: Chapter Three
****
(Security Control Center)
Ousanas Dar worked diligently to deactivate the mining colony’s defensive grid. He wasn’t a man that left much to chance and he was certain that something would go wrong that would make the extraction of the Norkan survivors less than perfect. The fake identification cards, tagging them as traders for the Orion Syndicate, had gotten them safely into Romulan space and into the mining complex but their good fortune was bound to run out.
Though he knew it was selfish and prideful to think only of himself, Dar was nonetheless determined to bring as many of the Norkan survivors back to the Federation as possible. He not only owed them that for his role in enslaving them, he owed it to his Aunt Caithlin and his entire bloodline. They had all been wiped out when he convinced his aunt to speak out about the atrocities committed during the Norkan Campaign.
Dar had barely escaped, and sometimes wished that he hadn’t. Federation authorities hadn’t been waiting with open arms for him. They had largely kept him at arm’s length, skeptical of his stories about Norkan and life inside the Empire. However, they had constantly pumped him for information, despite never believing anything that he said.
Even his cousins, the Vulcans, had been reluctant at first to let him seek asylum. He had lived in a limbo for over a decade after leaving the Empire, until a Starfleet Intelligence agent had appeared at the door of his domicile and offered him a chance at redemption.
Stark stood watch over the two Romulans-a Decurion and an Uhlan-they had caught coupling by surprise instead of watching their post. Dar chanced a glance in the couple’s direction. Stark had relented to Dar’s request and allowed the soldiers to put their uniforms back on. That small courtesy had done nothing to lessen the hate pouring from the young male Decurion. The female Uhlan had a stricken, mortified look on her face. Dar couldn’t be certain if she was more afraid that she was about to be killed or because she had been discovered and overtaken in such a comprising position.
“You won’t escape,” the Decurion spat. “The Administrator will hunt you down. Whatever you steal from us, the Romulan government will pay four-times as much to mount your heads outside the Imperial Senate.”
“You really think we’d get such star treatment?” Stark asked before he slammed the butt of his rifle against the Decurion’s face, pulverizing the man’s nose. The Uhlan began to whimper.
“That’s enough,” Dar commanded.
“You don’t give me orders Rommie,” Stark spat, rounding on the man. “I have operational authority here.”
“You’re not thieves,” the Decurion said, spitting as blood ran down his face and into his mouth. “You’re Starfleet.”
“And you’re dead,” Stark swung around, aiming his weapon. Dar moved quickly, but not fast enough. The weapon fired, sizzling through flesh.
The Decurion cried out. The Uhlan laid at his knees, a green-tinged crater in her chest. The young man cradled her head, whispering, “Turi, don’t die. Please, don’t die…”
“Patrin,” the woman gasped, blood pouring from her lips. Her eyelids fluttered, and then she sighed, her entire body trembling. The Decurion, Patrin, gently placed her back on the unforgiving floor. He glared at both men.
“Turi was my betrothed. We…were to be wed…as soon as we had left this hellish place.”
Dar held Stark in a firm embrace. The man struggled futilely. “My brother died at Norkan,” he said. “He didn’t believe in all that Eugenics crap. But the work the Soong Foundation was doing there was the only hope to save my sister-in-law from a disease that the best doctors in the Federation had no clue how to cure.”
“My name is Patrin Volok,” the Romulan said softly, a detached quality to his voice. “Remember the name because it will be the last one you hear before you die.”
“We’ll see about that,” Stark snarled before he found himself smashing into a wall. In one fluid motion, Dar had flung the human to get him out of the way so that he could incapacitate Volok with a neck-pinch.
Turning around to check on where Stark had landed, and hoping he hadn’t hurt the man too badly, Dar was felled by the butt of the man’s rifle.
****
(Administrator’s Private Chamber)
I can’t believe we’re doing this, Glover thought, resisting the urge to tip-toe as the trio crept into the largest room at the end of the corridor. The room was dominated by a bed that held the most corpulent Romulan Samson had ever seen. Beside the bed was a console with a tarnished key sticking out of it.
The woman pointed and whispered. “That’s what you are looking for. It’s some type of override control.” She paused as the sleeping Romulan turned over in his bed, expelling gas.
T’Prell wrinkled her nose. She moved forward quickly, grasping the key and turning it. It made a noticeable click, and the console lit up.
The Romulan rose groggily. “Deitra is that you? Come back for more eh?” He said, but the smile left his face when he turned around to see Samson standing by the woman. The Romulan’s jowls shook when he spied T’Prell at the console.
“What is the meaning of this?” He roared, reaching underneath his pile of pillows. Before either Glover or T’Prell could act, Deitra had snatched the phaser from Samson’s belt clip. She pulled the trigger, the red beam punching into the Romulan. He sank into the plush bed.
“I thought when you fired these things it was supposed to dissolve a person.” She handed the weapon back to a still-shocked Glover.
“Not when they are on stun setting,” he finally managed to say. T’Prell had returned to working on the console.
“How do I change the settings then?” Deitra held out her hand, wiggling her fingers to get the phaser back.
“I’m not going to tell you that,” Glover said. “And I’m not going to give you my weapon.”
“He deserves to die.”
“You don’t have the right to determine that.”
“But he has held the power of life and death over me…and the others for as long as I can remember. He has done things to us, made us do things to others…all for his amusement.”
Glover’s stomach turned, but he held firm. “That doesn’t give either of us the right to kill him.”
“How about we debate ethics back on the freighter?” T’Prell smirked, turning around, the large key twirling around her finger. “We’ve got some survivors to bring home.”
****
****
(Security Control Center)
Ousanas Dar worked diligently to deactivate the mining colony’s defensive grid. He wasn’t a man that left much to chance and he was certain that something would go wrong that would make the extraction of the Norkan survivors less than perfect. The fake identification cards, tagging them as traders for the Orion Syndicate, had gotten them safely into Romulan space and into the mining complex but their good fortune was bound to run out.
Though he knew it was selfish and prideful to think only of himself, Dar was nonetheless determined to bring as many of the Norkan survivors back to the Federation as possible. He not only owed them that for his role in enslaving them, he owed it to his Aunt Caithlin and his entire bloodline. They had all been wiped out when he convinced his aunt to speak out about the atrocities committed during the Norkan Campaign.
Dar had barely escaped, and sometimes wished that he hadn’t. Federation authorities hadn’t been waiting with open arms for him. They had largely kept him at arm’s length, skeptical of his stories about Norkan and life inside the Empire. However, they had constantly pumped him for information, despite never believing anything that he said.
Even his cousins, the Vulcans, had been reluctant at first to let him seek asylum. He had lived in a limbo for over a decade after leaving the Empire, until a Starfleet Intelligence agent had appeared at the door of his domicile and offered him a chance at redemption.
Stark stood watch over the two Romulans-a Decurion and an Uhlan-they had caught coupling by surprise instead of watching their post. Dar chanced a glance in the couple’s direction. Stark had relented to Dar’s request and allowed the soldiers to put their uniforms back on. That small courtesy had done nothing to lessen the hate pouring from the young male Decurion. The female Uhlan had a stricken, mortified look on her face. Dar couldn’t be certain if she was more afraid that she was about to be killed or because she had been discovered and overtaken in such a comprising position.
“You won’t escape,” the Decurion spat. “The Administrator will hunt you down. Whatever you steal from us, the Romulan government will pay four-times as much to mount your heads outside the Imperial Senate.”
“You really think we’d get such star treatment?” Stark asked before he slammed the butt of his rifle against the Decurion’s face, pulverizing the man’s nose. The Uhlan began to whimper.
“That’s enough,” Dar commanded.
“You don’t give me orders Rommie,” Stark spat, rounding on the man. “I have operational authority here.”
“You’re not thieves,” the Decurion said, spitting as blood ran down his face and into his mouth. “You’re Starfleet.”
“And you’re dead,” Stark swung around, aiming his weapon. Dar moved quickly, but not fast enough. The weapon fired, sizzling through flesh.
The Decurion cried out. The Uhlan laid at his knees, a green-tinged crater in her chest. The young man cradled her head, whispering, “Turi, don’t die. Please, don’t die…”
“Patrin,” the woman gasped, blood pouring from her lips. Her eyelids fluttered, and then she sighed, her entire body trembling. The Decurion, Patrin, gently placed her back on the unforgiving floor. He glared at both men.
“Turi was my betrothed. We…were to be wed…as soon as we had left this hellish place.”
Dar held Stark in a firm embrace. The man struggled futilely. “My brother died at Norkan,” he said. “He didn’t believe in all that Eugenics crap. But the work the Soong Foundation was doing there was the only hope to save my sister-in-law from a disease that the best doctors in the Federation had no clue how to cure.”
“My name is Patrin Volok,” the Romulan said softly, a detached quality to his voice. “Remember the name because it will be the last one you hear before you die.”
“We’ll see about that,” Stark snarled before he found himself smashing into a wall. In one fluid motion, Dar had flung the human to get him out of the way so that he could incapacitate Volok with a neck-pinch.
Turning around to check on where Stark had landed, and hoping he hadn’t hurt the man too badly, Dar was felled by the butt of the man’s rifle.
****
(Administrator’s Private Chamber)
I can’t believe we’re doing this, Glover thought, resisting the urge to tip-toe as the trio crept into the largest room at the end of the corridor. The room was dominated by a bed that held the most corpulent Romulan Samson had ever seen. Beside the bed was a console with a tarnished key sticking out of it.
The woman pointed and whispered. “That’s what you are looking for. It’s some type of override control.” She paused as the sleeping Romulan turned over in his bed, expelling gas.
T’Prell wrinkled her nose. She moved forward quickly, grasping the key and turning it. It made a noticeable click, and the console lit up.
The Romulan rose groggily. “Deitra is that you? Come back for more eh?” He said, but the smile left his face when he turned around to see Samson standing by the woman. The Romulan’s jowls shook when he spied T’Prell at the console.
“What is the meaning of this?” He roared, reaching underneath his pile of pillows. Before either Glover or T’Prell could act, Deitra had snatched the phaser from Samson’s belt clip. She pulled the trigger, the red beam punching into the Romulan. He sank into the plush bed.
“I thought when you fired these things it was supposed to dissolve a person.” She handed the weapon back to a still-shocked Glover.
“Not when they are on stun setting,” he finally managed to say. T’Prell had returned to working on the console.
“How do I change the settings then?” Deitra held out her hand, wiggling her fingers to get the phaser back.
“I’m not going to tell you that,” Glover said. “And I’m not going to give you my weapon.”
“He deserves to die.”
“You don’t have the right to determine that.”
“But he has held the power of life and death over me…and the others for as long as I can remember. He has done things to us, made us do things to others…all for his amusement.”
Glover’s stomach turned, but he held firm. “That doesn’t give either of us the right to kill him.”
“How about we debate ethics back on the freighter?” T’Prell smirked, turning around, the large key twirling around her finger. “We’ve got some survivors to bring home.”
****
