Chapter Eight

        Johnson watched as the Marines escorted the bound Romulans to the ship’s brig. It had been a great shock to see that his transporter net had caught Sela, an infamous thorn in Starfleet’s side. The battle’s outcome had been lucky. Lieutenant Thornton’s torpedo hits had weakened the shields. The cruiser didn’t react fast enough, so when the Freedom targeted the Romulan cruiser, that was it for the shields.
        The Courageous tractored the cruiser and beamed the bridge crew to put an end to the fighting before they could slip away or send a distress signal. It was fortunate he had Chief Fonda on the bridge, otherwise they wouldn’t be holding a half-dozen Romulans now. Unfortunately, the cruiser was too badly damaged. It collapsed under the tractor beam, and now the prisoners were the only survivors.
        Johnson sighed, reflecting on the battle’s outcome. He followed Ironsides and the Marines to the brig. Now perhaps he could get some answers.
        A cursory glance over the Romulans told the captain that none of the prisoners were seriously injured. “Brig to Sickbay, send down a med team. We have Romulan prisoners that need some minor medical attention.”
        “Sickbay to Brig. I’m sending down Thrusk and Dr. Michelanos,” Hartman replied.
        “Ed, you won’t believe who we’ve got here too,” Johnson grinned.
        “Uh, I give up. Who?”
        “Quitter,” Johnson shot back. “We have the honor of holding Sela prisoner.”
        “Sela?” Hartman surprised voice echoed though the comm system. “The one Captain Picard had trouble with?”
        “The one and the same,” Johnson answered.
        “Is she injured?”
        Johnson glanced at her. She only defiantly stared back. “No. There’s some dried green blood on her cheek, but it’s not hers. She seems fine.”
        “I see. Well, uh, I don’t know what to say. Congratulations?”
        Johnson chuckled. “I don’t think that’s the thing to say here. I’ll take it in any case, but it won’t matter unless we get some answers out of these prisoners. By the way, how’s Raven doing?”
        “He’s doing fine. I pulled him out of the probe. Garak also has survived, and both are resting. As soon as they wake up, I’ll contact you.”
        “Did Raven get any answers?”
        Hartman’s voice sighed. “Raven was groggy when he came out of it. He only said that he almost had the answer but didn’t get it. Perhaps he’ll remember more once he wakes up. But I advise against waking him up too soon. He should have at least a half hour’s worth of rest. Same goes for Garak.”
        “I’ll defer to your wisdom,” Johnson spoke back. “In the meantime, I’m gonna start interrogating some of the prisoners. Hopefully I’ll be able to get some answers. Brig out.” He glanced at the surly Romulans staring back at him from behind their forcefields. He walked up to the center cell, where Sela was being held along with two other Romulans.
        “Well, how about it? Anyone care to give me some answers?”

        Johnson leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, and a frustrated frown on his face. He watched as Ironsides paced back and forth in front of a bound young Romulan male.
        “What organization are you with? Tal Shiar, right?” Ironsides asked the prisoner.
        The Romulan maintained his silence.
        “How many other ships are out there? Where is your base?” Ironsides continued his questions. The reply was only silence. Ironsides shook his head and walked over to Johnson.
        “Sir, this method of interrogation is no good,” Ironsides said. “Permission to use force.”
        “Denied. I don’t want to cross that line just yet,” Johnson said. “We’re still Starfleet.
        Ironsides shook his head. “Fine then. Permission to use chemical means.”
        “Denied.”
        “How do you expect to get any answers out of these enemy agents?” Ironsides half shouted. “If these are Tal Shiar as we suspect, then conventional means won’t work at all.”
        Johnson looked down at the deck, and inspected his boots. As he rubbed his boot toe against his pants leg, he said, “If these are hardened Tal Shiar agents as you say, unconventional means probably wouldn’t work either. Hmm?”
        Ironsides nodded grudgingly. “You do have a point.”
        “In any case, I want to exhaust all possible conventional means before we resort to anything else. I am treading on a fine line here. Technically, these are prisoners of war, and should be declared. As you’ve noticed, no one except for you, me, and a few others know that we’re holding six Romulans here. I don’t want to cross any lines I don’t need to. Not now. Not just yet.”
        “Understood, sir.”
        “And understand this, I can’t give you permission to cross that line. I can only hope you use your best judgment when I’m not present.”
        Ironsides paused for a moment. “You won’t be present?”
        “I know you’re an effective interrogator. I don’t need to be around. I can’t, you understand?” Johnson raised an eyebrow knowingly.
        “I see,” Ironsides nodded slowly. “So you wish me to carry on the interrogation without your presence?”
        “I hope you’re successful.” Johnson nodded. “Carry on.” He turned to leave the interrogation room.
        As the door closed, Johnson heard a muffled noise--the sound of flesh slapping flesh. Johnson continued walking through the narrow passageway out to the main area of the brig. The sounds became less audible the further away he got.

        “Feeling better now, Garak?” Hartman asked, as he handed the Cardassian a small cup of juice.
        “Yes, much better,” Garak nodded, taking the juice. “Thank you for the beverage.”
        “No problem. How’s your memory?” Hartman asked.
        “I am fine, aside from the occasional unbidden flashbacks to my past.”
        “Those should subside soon, in a matter of days,” Hartman offered. “It’s understandable since Raven was rooting around in your memories.”
        “Where is Raven now?” Garak asked, looking around the empty Sickbay.
        “He went back to his quarters. He felt he’d recuperate better that way, in familiar surroundings.”
        “I am sorry he was unable to learn what the captain needed to know. And I am sorry that I cannot remember anything about my assailant,” Garak sighed.
        “Don’t worry about it,” Hartman shrugged. “Captain Johnson might be able to find out the same answers from the prisoners we have now.”
        “Prisoners?”
        “Yes. We beamed six of the bridge crew of the Romulan cruiser that had been spying on us. They’re in the brig right now, being interrogated.”
        Garak stopped sipping at his juice, struggling not to smile.
        “What’s so funny?” said Hartman.
        “Federation interrogation,” Garak explained. “Forgive me, but I don’t have quite an high opinion on Starfleet’s interrogation techniques.” He took a breath. “Perhaps I’m speaking from pride, but I believe Cardassian interrogation techniques would be best used here. These are Tal Shiar agents, most likely. Hardened against interrogation.”
        “Somehow, I think the captain would prefer prisoners that were alive.”
        Garak regarded the doctor with bemusement. “I see you have some misconceptions of Cardassian interrogation techniques. Pain transmitters, blades, toxins... True, a few of our methods might result in dead prisoners, but most of our other methods result in information and surviving prisoners.”
        “Is that so?” Hartman eyed his patient.
        “Very much so. Let me tell you about this one particularly stubborn prisoner I had been called in to interrogate. He was Romulan, by the way...”

        Ironsides walked out into the main brig area, rubbing his hands. Johnson looked at him expectantly. Ironsides could only sigh and shake his head.
        “I’m sorry, sir. This one didn’t have much usable knowledge either. Either that, or he’s been giving us preprogrammed answers. He did confirm that our prisoners are Tal Shiar.”
        “But are they acting on orders from their government, or on their own?” asked Johnson.
        “Unknown. Personally, I think that the only one here who can really give us answers is Sela.” Ironsides tilted his head towards her cell.
        Johnson nodded. “But conventional means won’t work on her.”
        “Nor others, I’m sure,” Ironsides added.
        “Damn it,” Johnson scratched his head. He sighed and looked at the ceiling.
        “Sir, should I continue interrogating the rest of the prisoners?” Ironsides asked.
        “Go ahead. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe one of them will crack.”
        “Fat chance of that,” Ironsides scoffed.
        Johnson could only shrug. Ironsides walked to the far right cell, and had the marine guard deactivate the forcefield. Another marine joined Ironsides to drag out a female Romulan. The forcefield went back up again.
        Johnson sighed and started pacing around the brig, with his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped upon hearing some yelling out in the front security office.
        “Get your damn hands off me!” Ambassador Favor burst into the main brig area, followed by a marine guard. The guard immediately saw Johnson. He stopped and saluted the captain.
        “I’m sorry, sir. He just ran in, I couldn’t block his way.”
        Johnson saluted back. “It’s allright. Go back out, and maintain guard.”
        “Yes, sir,” the guard saluted again, and walked back out.
        Favor glared at the guard, then spun around to look at Johnson. “Mind telling me why you haven’t been answering my comm hails?”
        Johnson simply said, “I’ve been busy.”
        Favor looked at the cells and at the Romulans. “Yeah, so I see. The rumors are true. You do have prisoners. Why haven’t you declared them yet?”
        “I’ve been busy asking them some questions,” Johnson said.
        “Uh-huh, I’ll bet,” Favor said. He pointed to a Romulan slumped on a bench inside a cell. “Look, he’s got a bruise. Recently made. You’re gonna tell me he got it in the battle?”
        “I don’t need to tell you anything,” Johnson said. “It’s my ship. I’m entitled to do what I think is the best to protect my ship and her crew.”
        “But you’re violating all sorts of conventions!” Favor shot back.
        Sela stood up and approached the forcefield barrier. “I’ve been telling him that for the last twenty minutes. But your captain seems bent on creating an interstellar incident here.”
        “Me?” Johnson shouted incredulously. “Me? What about you and your attacks on my ship, huh?”
        “As I’ve told you time and time again, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sela smiled condescendingly.
        “I’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise you,” Johnson stabbed a finger in her direction. She only smiled in return. She went back to her bunk and sat down.
        “She’s right,” Favor interjected. “This is gonna be one hell of a diplomatic disaster.”
        “Not if anyone knows about it,” Johnson whirled back to face Favor. “The Romulan delegates are in house arrest now, with several marine guards posted by their doors. They know nothing. And the only other people who know about this, I know will keep their mouths shut.”
        “I don’t appreciate being put in this position. I’m supposed to meet with the Romulan delegates now. They need to be told something.”
        “Make something up,” Johnson waved his hand. He paused, thinking. “On second thought, your meeting’s canceled. I don’t want you to have any contact with them.”
        Johnson turned to the marine lieutenant posted at the brig doorway. “Inform the guards at the delegates’ rooms that Ambassador Favor is now off the access list. He is to have no contact with them at all.”
        “What? Why?” Favor asked, shocked.
        “You talk too much...you always have, since the Academy. I can’t risk you letting something slip as you talk to the delegates. Especially Selari.”
        Favor stared at Johnson in surprise. “You...you don’t trust me now? Why? Because I like to talk? My God, is that how you still think of me? As the 18 year old kid in the Academy? I’m 40 years old now. I’ve grown up. I’ve spent the last five...no, ten years building up a good reputation for myself.”
        Favor walked away from Johnson, shaking his head. “I’m an ambassador for the Federation now! I present the whole damn Federation! It’s been a long time since I’ve been the irresponsible goofball in the Academy. I thought you knew that. Fine. Fine, if that’s how you want to handle things, go right ahead. Dig your own grave, see if I help you! Aye, aye, sir!”
        Favor whirled around angrily, and stomped out of the Brig area. He nearly collided with Hartman, who had been standing there. He paused to stare at Hartman. “And you? Is that how you think of me, huh?” Favor continued on his way out of the Brig, without waiting for an answer.
        Hartman watched as Favor departed, then turned to look at the captain, his friend. He opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head instead.
        Johnson frowned, clenching his teeth. Sela chuckled from within her cell. “Ahh...dissension within your ranks, Captain?”
        “Shut. Up.” Johnson growled at her. “Computer, mute.” The forcefield in front of her cell rippled slightly. Sela only continued laughing, though the sound did not escape her cell.
        Johnson turned to look at Hartman. “What do you want?!”
        “I wanted to offer some help.” Hartman looked around at the injured prisoners. “But it seems things are a little bit beyond that point. Tommy, you’ve messed things up.”
        “I know!” Johnson shouted. He sighed, and repeated more softly, “I know.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how things got to this point. I was so angry. I wanted to hurt them, just like they hurt me.”
        “How did the Romulans hurt you?” Hartman looked up at Johnson.
        “They killed my mother!”
        Hartman blinked at that comment. Then he looked back at the captain. “No they didn’t. It was the Breen.”
        “What? I know that. What did I say?” Johnson furrowed his eyebrows.
        “That the Romulans killed your mother.”
        Johnson shook his head, and rubbed his temples. “I knew that. Why did I say that?”
        Hartman shrugged. “Perhaps the telepathic spy here is affecting you. It would explain some of your erratic behavior.”
        “Yes...that could be it,” Johnson nodded. He looked at the doctor. “Any luck with finding out who it is?”
        “No, sorry. Garak remembers nothing, and Raven only has a faint impression. He’s in his quarters, mediating, hoping to clarify his memory.”
        “And meanwhile, something big is going to happen,” Johnson sighed. “I know it, in my gut. The only reason Sela was out here was to start some kind of big attack. Obviously we’ve disrupted their plans but I’m sure even without their leader, they’ll attack soon. It’s going to be a major attack. And only Sela knows how to stop it. And we can’t get anything out of her.”
        “That’s part of the reason I came down here. I was talking to Garak and he’s offered to help me interrogate Sela.”
        “You?”
        “Look, I hate these attacks as much as you do. I’ve seen the damage firsthand in Sickbay. If I can do anything to help stop them, I will.” Hartman looked at Johnson, with firm determination.

        Sela slowly opened her eyes and found herself in a dim room. She tried to move, but found that her arms and legs were bound to the table she laid on.
        “Looks like she’s awake now,” she heard a voice say. Footsteps came closer to her. She could see Doctor Hartman, and an Cardassian.
        “Hello,” Hartman said. “My name is Doctor Hartman, and I’m the Chief Medical Officer of the U.S.S. Courageous. This is Garak.”
        Garak smiled at Sela. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
        “So, the Feds have brought in their Cardassian lapdog to perform an interrogation, huh?” Sela smirked.
        Garak shook his head. “On the contrary. I’m merely here to observe the new Federation interrogation techniques.”
        Sela chuckled. “Federation interrogation techniques?”
        Garak smiled genially. “That was my reaction, until the good doctor informed me of several new things he learned. Apparently Starfleet has been relaxing some of their restrictions. In fact, Doctor Hartman here, was part of a special taskforce with Starfleet Medical on new interrogation techniques, wasn’t he?”
        “That’s correct,” Hartman nodded. He walked off to the side of the room, and returned, wearing a crisp white surgical gown. Hartman offered Garak a similar white gown.
        “Thank you, doctor,” said Garak as he took the gown.
        “Wouldn’t want you to get that outfit dirty,” Hartman shrugged in reply.        
        Sela shook her head. “Do you really think all this is supposed to intimidate me? The dark room, the scary doctors? Please. I’m trained to resist all forms of interrogation- Romulan, Cardassian, Klingon, and heh, Federation.”
        “We thought as much. But this is new, as Garak pointed out,” Hartman said.
        Soft moaning came from the corner of the room. Hartman turned to the sound. “Looks like my other patient is awake now,” he remarked to Garak. “Computer, lights on Biobed One.”
        Overhead lights brightened to reveal another Romulan prisoner bound to a biobed, just like Sela. She turned to look at the prisoner. She recognized it as the sub-commander.
        Garak and Hartman walked around to the other side of the biobed. Hartman saw Sela’s expression. “Oh, we wouldn’t want you to miss the show either. Front row seats.” He then bent to punch some keys on the biobed, raising the prisoner up a half-meter. The bed then tilted at a slight angle.
        Garak looked at Hartman questioningly. “Why did you tilt the bed?”
        “So the blood can flow down out of our way,” Hartman offered as explanation.
        “Ah. A sensible precaution.” Garak nodded approvingly.
        Sela chuckled again, but weakly. “I’m still not intimidated.”
        Hartman sighed. “Like I said before, we’re not looking to intimidate you.” He looked at a nearby table and opened a dark leather bag. Sela could see the glint of metal as Hartman drew out various instruments.
        Garak looked at Sela. “By the way, do you know how old Starfleet Medical’s latest medical records on Romulans are?”
        Sela shook her head.
        “A little over twelve years old, the good doctor just informed me,” Garak answered.
        “That’s correct,” Hartman added. “That’s why I’m happy for this opportunity to test out our new methods and update our database on the Romulans. And I must admit to being intrigued with your physiology. Half Romulan, half Human, aren’t you?”
        Sela’s mouth tightened in a frown.
        “But first things first,” Hartman declared. “The sub-commander here needs my attention.”
        The sub-commander now was fully awake and aware of his surroundings. “What are you doing? Who are you?” he asked.
        “You’ll find out soon enough,” Garak smiled at the sub-commander. Looking up at Hartman, Garak asked, “Shall I disrobe him?”
        “Please do,” Hartman said as he picked up a sharp looking instrument.
        Garak tugged off the Romulan’s boots and then pulled off the black trousers. Hartman took off the decorative tunic belt, and pulled off the grey checkerboard tunic. When they were done, the sub-commander was left naked on the biobed. He continued struggling against his restraints.
        Garak looked at the Romulan’s crotch. “Doctor, would you say he is average sized?”
        Hartman looked and shrugged. “I suppose so. I haven’t read much on Romulan genitalia.”
        “You should. Genitalia are important in interrogation techniques, I’ve found.”
        “Mmm,” Hartman merely shrugged.
        “It’s not that I’m interested in them for anything beyond professional needs.”
        “Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Hartman held his hands up.
        “Just so you know.” Garak looked at the array of metal instruments on the tray next to the biobed. “What are those?”
        “Ah, these were something I picked up recently,” said Hartman. “If you recall, I got these from on Earth. These are several hundred years old.”
        “Remarkably preserved for antiques. I see you have a primitive scalpel in your hand now.”
        Hartman showed it to Garak, who inspected the thin blade. “Nice.”
        “I’m going to start with a ventral Y-incision,” Hartman declared. He set the scalpel against the sub-commander’s bare chest. He drew it down across the skin to the stomach. Green blood spilled out of the seam. The Romulan groaned at the cut.
        Sela gasped, and blinked.
        Hartman continued on, making the V cut at the top of the incision. The subcommander groaned louder, his moans turning into screams. Green blood continued pouring out of the incisions.
        Hartman picked up another instrument. “Forceps,” he indicated to Garak. With the tongs, he peeled back the skin to expose the Romulan’s muscles.
        “May I ask him some questions?” Garak looked at Hartman.
        “Go ahead.”
        Garak moved to stand at the end of the biobed, looking down over the sub-commander’s head. “Who are you affiliated with?”
        The Romulan didn’t answer, at least, not articulately. All that came out of his mouth was gasping and screams.
        Hartman continued cutting into the muscle that covered the Romulan’s ribcage. Using his gloved hands, he peeled the cut muscles away, to inspect the internal organs within. “Garak,” Hartman said, interrupting the Cardassian in mid-question.
        “Yes, doctor?”
        “Thought you’d like to see a live, beating Romulan heart.”
        Garak nodded and moved to take a closer look. “Interesting.”
        Hartman smiled. “I don’t care what they say at Starfleet Medical. There’s no substitute for the real thing. I hated the holodeck cadavers. You need to be able to touch and handle the real living breathing thing.”
        “He won’t be breathing much longer, will he?” Garak asked.
        “I doubt it, unless he gives us some answers. Why don’t you ask him some more? Perhaps he’ll stop screaming long enough to give us something to go on.”
        “Of course, doctor,” Garak nodded. He started to walk around the biobed, then paused. “What’s that smell?”
        “Hmm?”
        “That foul smell?” Garak repeated.
        “Hmm...” Hartman sniffed at the air. Then he bent to look at the Romulan. “Ah yes. He’s evacuated his bowels and bladder.”
        “He could have had the decency to go before we took him out of the cell,” Garak shook his head. The Cardassian walked back to the sub-commander’s head. “Would you care to tell me anything now?”
        “N...no...ahhh! I don’t know...anything!”
        “Come now, surely you do know something? Just say the word and the good doctor here will stop and heal you.”
        The sub-commander only wept and screamed in reply.
        Garak looked up to Hartman. “Either he doesn’t know or won’t tell us anything.”
        “Just as well. The only one who really knows anything is our guest here, Sela.” Hartman folded the Romulan’s skin back down over his chest, and raised his bloody scalpel again. Sela could see that the crisp white gown Hartman put on recently now was stained with dark green splotches. She stared at the stains in disgust.
        Hartman noticed Sela’s stares. “Oh, yes. I’m a mess. So is the sub-commander here too. You know what, Garak?”
        “What, doctor?”
        “I just realized our white gowns look a lot alike to the outfits worn by butchers in old days on Earth.”
        Garak nodded at that information. “Interesting. Ironic, even.”
        “Yes...ironic. Well, I’m going to extend the incision to the Romulan’s neck.” Hartman sank the scalpel blade into the Romulan’s chest and sliced his way upwards. Green blood bubbled out of the sub-commander’s mouth and dripped down to his pillow rest. His screaming became more hoarse.
        “Ah, there’s the larynx,” Hartman pointed with the tip of his blade. Garak bent over to see the organ.
        “You know, I’m getting really tired of his screaming,” Hartman sighed. With his gloved hand, he grasped the larynx, and tugged it up, tearing it from the Romulan’s exposed throat. Sela winced at the loud hoarse scream and opened her eyes when the screams ended.
        “Funny, he’s still screaming, though he doesn’t have a voice box to scream with,” Garak pointed out. Sela saw that he was right. The sub-commander’s mouth continued opening and closing, his jaw continued moving.
        “I know it looks incongruous,” Hartman nodded. “But it’s good to have some quiet here now. I’m going to inspect the lungs now.” Hartman folded back the skin and muscles to expose his ribcage.
        “Ah, his heartbeat is slowing,” Garak remarked.
        “Doctor Hartman?” a voice called out. Garak, Hartman and Sela quickly looked at the door, seeing a young blonde walk in.
        “Ensign LeAnn?” Hartman called out. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”
        “I have a message for you from the captain,” LeAnn said. She stopped cold, seeing the blood puddles on the deck. Her eyes slowly went up to the Romulan’s mutilated body. “Oh my God!” she screamed. “Oh my God! Oh my God! What are you doing?! Oh my God!”
        “Quick, Garak, get her out of here! Now!”
        Garak nodded and ran to herd LeAnn out of the room. She started choking, then retched onto Garak’s gown. Garak winced, and guided the vomiting ensign out of the room. Sela could hear her crying and choking, then a door opened and shut.
        “Damn it!” Hartman muttered. Garak walked in, gingerly wiping away at the vomit on his gown.

        Johnson stood by the door to the head, listening to LeAnn vomit. “Are you okay? Do you need some help?”
        “No, I’m done, I think. I only had a small lunch today,” LeAnn replied. She walked out of the head, wiping at her mouth with her uniform sleeve. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You should have seen what the doctor was doing! It was horrible!”
        “I know... I know... I’m sorry you had to see that.”
        LeAnn paused. “Wait, I didn’t even give him your message. I’m sorry, sir.”
        “That’s allright, you did what I wanted you to do.”
        “But...aren’t you going to stop the doctor? He’s killing the Romulan! I’ll never forget the sight of it!” LeAnn looked up at Johnson with bleary eyes.
        “I know, I’m sorry,” the captain squeezed the ensign, as she cried onto his chest. She pulled away, looking up at him again.
        “Wait a minute, the doctor’s in..”
        “That’s right,” Johnson nodded.
        “Oh. Oh! Ohhh my God... I’m so embarrassed!”

        “He’s dead, Ed,” Garak noted. He looked down at the still greenish tinted heart, in between the dissected lungs. Hartman nodded.
        “Well, now he’s useless to me now. Let’s move on to Sela.”
        “Let’s,” Garak concurred. Hartman picked up the tray of instruments, now stained green with blood.
        As the two approached Sela, she could smell the coppery smell of Romulan blood on their gowns. She also smelled the acidy stench of vomit that still lingered on Garak’s gown.
        “Please pardon our appearances,” Garak said, upon seeing her recoil from the smell and sight. “We don’t have much time, otherwise we’d change into fresh gowns. We do have an attack that’s coming soon, correct?”
        Sela mustered a grin to the front. “I’ll tell you this much, yes.”
        “Ahhh, progress!” Garak raised his hands in a slight victorious stance.
        Hartman bent down close to Sela’s face. “Look, I regret doing this. I’m under orders to do this. But, you can put an end to this, by telling us what we want to know. So please, don’t make me do this.”
        Sela frowned and nodded. She drew in a breath and then spat into Hartman’s face. Hartman sighed and nodded. “Allright.” He stood up, and slapped her hard across the face. Sela could feel and taste a trickle of blood at her lips.
        Hartman frowned and picked up his scalpel and sank it into Sela’s trousers. “Ahhhh!” she screamed in response. Hartman drew it down to her knee, ripping apart her black trousers. He stopped and twisted the scalpel. More searing pain shot through her leg, making her scream more.
        “Careful!” Garak cautioned. “Don’t let her black out!”
        “I know!” Hartman shouted back. He hovered in close to Sela’s face. “Where is the attack going to come from?” he hissed.
        Sela only gasped at the brief respite from the pain. “Where?!” Hartman shouted, punctuating the question with another twist of the scalpel.
        Sela only groaned in agony in response.
        “Oh, does your knee hurt?” Hartman asked softly. “How about if we remove it?”
        “Wh..what?”
        Hartman stood up and went over to his tray. He retrieved a large saw, and positioned himself at Sela’s bleeding knee. Sela screamed loudly as Hartman began sawing at her leg. Garak merely stood to the side, watching the spectacle.
        Within minutes, Sela was looking at her detached leg. Hartman dropped the foot and looked at Garak. “She’s bleeding too much. Hand me that laser scalpel.”
        “Surely,” Garak nodded. He tossed the instrument to Hartman, who then bent at Sela’s bloody stump. She could smell the burning flesh as Hartman cauterized her knee. When he was done, Hartman stood up.
        “You have a foot remaining, and two arms. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, you’ll live out the rest of your life a cripple hidden within a Federation prison.”
        “Never...never...” Sela gasped. “You...wouldn’t.”
        “My dear lady, he just did,” Garak smiled.
        “If you’re concerned about evidence of mistreatment... well, I know how to disguise your amputations as battle wounds,” Hartman shrugged. “Now tell me!” He raised his bloody saw, and moved to Sela’s arm.
        She tightened her mouth and gritted her teeth.
        “Fine, then.” Searing pain shot up Sela’s arm as Hartman began sawing away at Sela’s elbow. She screamed, and clamped her mouth shut, accidentally biting into her tongue.
        “Halfway through,” Hartman announced.
        Sela struggled to understand what was going on. This flew into the face of everything she knew about the Federation and Starfleet. She wasn’t trained for this at all. And she couldn’t live life like this.
        She couldn’t bear more deformities. Bad enough the Romulans always looked down at her for her softened ear points, her unusual blonde hair, and faint brow ridges. Missing limbs would just make her more of a freak than ever. Weeping, Sela gasped, “Please...stop.”
        “Hmm?” Hartman looked at her.
        “I’ll...tell you what you need to know...you bastard.”
        “Thank you,” Hartman sighed. “I wasn’t enjoying this.”
        “Speak for yourself,” Garak shrugged.
        “Now then...who are you working for?” Hartman asked.
        
        A half hour later, an exhausted Sela finished. “Even if you stop this attack, the movement will continue. The Romulan Star Empire will not tolerate the Federation’s intrusion!”
        “My only concern is with the attack. I must protect my ship,” Hartman said. He stood up and spoke into his combadge. “You got all that?”
        Johnson’s voice came through. “Yes, we have it all. Good job, Doctor. Good job, Garak.”
        “Thanks, sir,” Hartman nodded.
        “My pleasure,” Garak added.
        “We’ll send some guards to move the prisoner back to the Brig. Johnson out.”
        Sela looked at her bloody stump, and glared at Hartman. “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you. I’ll get you for this.”
        “For what?” Hartman shrugged. “Computer, end program.”
        The darkened room faded into a gridwork of yellow and black. The dead sub-commander and his biobed vanished into thin air. The green bloodstains vanished from Hartman and Garak’s white gowns. The tray of bloody instruments vanished.
        Sela’s uniform vanished. She saw that she was clad only in a brassiere and underwear. A network of small electrical devices ran over her legs and arms. “What...what?” she looked up at Hartman in confusion.
        “Cardassian interrogation techniques combined with Federation technology,” Garak remarked, with bemusement.
        “Cardassian pain transmitters, courtesy of Garak’s Obsidian Order expertise. Sophisticated Federation holodeck programming,” Hartman smiled. “Don’t worry, you still have all your arms and legs. We just gave you the illusion of cutting your leg off, while the pain transmitters activated the appropriate nerve responses. In fact, the only real thing is the slap I gave you earlier.”
        “Let’s not forget the ensign’s lunch,” Garak pointed out. Sela looked up to see that Garak’s gown still had a brown stain from the ensign’s vomit.
        Sela gasped and moaned in confusion. She started crying when she realized how she had been fooled. Several guards walked through the holodeck doors to escort Sela back to the Brig. “It’s not real, it’s not real,” Sela mumbled in between sobs.
        Garak and Hartman followed the guards out into the corridors of the Courageous. Sela’s wailing could still be heard as she was moved into the turbolift.
        “She really believed in her goal,” Garak commented.
        “Hmm?” Hartman looked at Garak. “How do you know?”
        “That sound you hear, is the sound of someone who just betrayed their cause. I’ve heard it many times before. She really believes she’s a patriot.”
        “One man’s patriot is another man’s terrorist,” Hartman mused. “I’ll see you in the briefing room later.”
        “Of course. I’ll clean up first, if you don’t mind.”
        Hartman smiled and chuckled softly as Garak headed off to another turbolift. He drew in a shaky breath. “God, I hope I never have to do that again. I really need a drink.”

        The command staff took their seats quickly at the conference table. Garak entered the room and took the nearest empty seat, sliding in place quietly. The large computer monitor showed Kyle from her place on the Freedom’s bridge. Johnson turned his gaze from the windows to his crew. “Well, thanks to Doctor Hartman’s and Garak’s combined interrogation technique, we now know some answers. Apparently, the Tal Shiar has a rogue operative unit, complete with secret technology. The small enemy fighters that have been harrying us are called Raptors. The black Warbirds are called Black Birds. Their goal has been to wear us down, then mount an ambush to prevent our ever reaching Romulus.”
        “What about the spy that may be aboard the Courageous?” Kyle asked. “Has Raven made any headway?”
        Raven cleared his throat. “No, Lieutenant Kyle. I haven’t. I have not detected the presence of the telepath. He may be lying low now that we are aware of him.”
        “Sela was no help either,” Johnson added. “The spy was inserted aboard the Courageous without her knowing their identity. That way, she wouldn’t be able to compromise the spy’s cover.”
        “But we do know that the spy must be one of the three Romulans delegates?” Kyle posed.
        “That seems to be the consensus here,” Johnson nodded. “For now, the spy seems to be under control. Our biggest problem is this ambush waiting for us.”
        “Of course, we’re going to change course to avoid the ambush,” Ensign LeAnn nodded expectantly.
        “No,” Johnson shook his head. “We’re going to run right through their gauntlet,” he said with determination.

Chapter Nine

        The Romulan tactical officer, Tho’el checked his sensors again. “Commander, the other Fed ship, the Freedom, is breaking course. New heading is for Fed space.”
        The ship’s commander turned to look at his subordinate. “You’re sure?”
        “Yes, sir,” Tho’el nodded. “Warp Seven, sensors indicate.”
        “Good,” the commander nodded. “We shall easily take care of the Courageous by itself. We shall avenge Ent’sei’s death!”
        “Yes, sir! For the Ent’sei!” Tho’el shouted, patriotic fervor bubbling up from within his soul.
        “For the Ent’sei!” The shout went around the bridge crew.
        “Signal the Black Fleet to prepare for the Courageous’s arrival,” the commander indicated with a wave of his hand.
        Tho’el sent the communication signal to the dozen other Warbirds that laid in wait. He could imagine the Fed captain’s surprise when his ship was suddenly surrounded by the fearsome shapes of the black Warbirds. His only regret was that the Fed’s surprise would only be brief, since he and his ship would be utterly demolished in a matter of moments.
        “Black Fleet signaling readiness, Commander,” Tho’el announced.
        “Battle stations,” the commander declared to his bridge crew.

        “Battle stations,” Captain Johnson declared to his bridge crew.
        “Nearing ambush coordinates,” Ruiz announced. The whole bridge was tensed up, anticipating the looming battle. The red lights of the alert signal flashed on and off around the bridge.
        Ensign LeAnn looked back at the captain. He seemed so calm, infuriatingly so. Why isn’t he sweating? LeAnn thought to herself. Her own palms were already slick with sweat. Fortunately the console was designed not to be affected by sweat or any other bodily fluids she might expel.
        LeAnn winced, thinking of what she did to poor Garak. She drew in a breath and expelled it slowly. It’ll be allright, she told herself. If the captain is calm, it must be allright. LeAnn looked over at Ruiz. She also showed signs of tension, but was hiding it well. Of course, LeAnn thought to herself. Ruiz used to be a Marine. She knows what it’s like. It’ll be allright, LeAnn told herself again, and focused on the viewscreen.

        I hope it’ll be allright, Johnson thought to himself. Not for the first time, Johnson questioned his battle plan. But no matter how many times he went over it in his mind, it seemed the best way to handle things. Kyle didn’t want to leave the Courageous, though. She still was a good officer and followed her orders and departed with the Freedom.
        “ETA to ambush coordinates, one minute, twenty one seconds,” Ruiz declared.
        “Maintain speed and course. Let’s do it just like we planned,” Johnson said, as he clenched his fist. He leaned forward in his seat, peering intensely at the viewscreen. Adrenaline started pumping through his veins.
        “We’re here,” Ruiz announced.
        “I’m reading twelve bogeys,” Chief Bogarde called out.
        “Overlay on the screen,” Johnson ordered.
        The viewscreen showed twelve hazy figures parting to allow the Courageous through.
        “Possibly those Black Birds,” Bogarde ventured.
        “That would be logical,” Johnson said back.
        “Looks like they’re moving to completely outflank us,” Ironsides said, from his post at OPS.
        “Looks like,” Johnson murmured. “But then again, the best laid plans of Romulans and Terrans oft go a’gley.”
        Ironsides nodded, smiling.
        Johnson glanced back to the tactical station. “Bogarde, target Bogey One with the Phaser Cannon, and fire at will.”
        “Aye, aye, sir,” Bogarde grinned, his pearly white teeth showing through his thin slitted grin. Johnson was briefly struck with the impression of Alice’s Cheshire Cat. “Firing,” Bogarde declared.
        The bridge thrummed with energy, as the large weapon set on the belly of the saucer began firing. Johnson turned to see the viewscreen showing the thick stream of concentrated phaser energy streaming out towards its invisible target.

        Centurion Tho’el barely had the time to cry out, “They’re firing on us!”
        The commander barely had the time to wonder how the Courageous could have known they were there. The last thing going through his mind was a shard of the viewscreen.

        The Courageous’s viewscreen showed a brilliant explosion flaring up in space. Debris flew out from the explosion. “Target the others and fire torpedoes and all phasers!” Johnson shouted. “Helm, turn about!”
        The other bogeys recovered from the shock, and decloaked, now that they knew the sensor deflectors were useless. Quantum torpedoes spat out from the Courageous, flying out to crash against the newly raised shields of the other Black Birds. Streams of orange phaser energy sliced through the vacuum of space to strike several Black Birds.
        The large phaser cannon fired a heavy stream of energy that sliced through space as the Courageous spun in place. Several Black Birds were struck hard by the phaser cannon.
        Meanwhile, the twin mini-phaser cannons, set atop the saucer, spat out ribbons of orange phaser energy at a Black Bird. The Romulan ship’s shields started to buckle, flickering wildly.
        “Look!” Johnson called out, pointing towards that particular Black Bird.
        “I’m on it!” Bogarde shouted. He entered the commands to fire the phaser cannon. The Black Bird’ shields were in no shape to deflect the Courageous’s mighty phaser cannon. The shields dissipated, and the phaser beam tore a broad gash across the side of the Black Bird. Gas and plasma vented out of the wound.
        The Courageous started shuddering under the combined fire of the remaining Black Birds. Johnson pressed his armrest. “Fonda, you better keep those shields up!”
        “I know that!” Fonda snapped back through the comm system.
        Bogarde fired phasers again, finishing off the wounded Black Bird.
        “Two down, ten more to go,” LeAnn whispered to herself, as she concentrated on keeping the Courageous a moving target.
        “Shields down to 89%,” Bogarde called out.
        “Keep firing!” Johnson ordered, watching the battle situation unfold on the viewscreen. His eyes darted from ship to ship, hunting for weak prey. “Helm, turn about to Mark 124, half impulse! Bogarde, Bogey Seven!”
        The Courageous cut between two Black Birds, her shields crackling as green disruptor fire rained upon the ship. Bright blue quantum torpedoes flew out of the Federation ship’s aft torpedo bay, striking a Black Bird. The stunned ship momentarily stopped firing, giving the Courageous time to maneuver about, firing streams of phasers at the other Black Bird.
        “Sir, the other ships are moving back into formation,” Ironsides warned.
        “I can see that,” Johnson gritted his teeth. “Status of shields?”
        “74 percent strength,” Bogarde reported. The bridge shook violently yet again. “73 percent strength,” Bogarde said.
        “Keep firing at will, Chief,” said Johnson. The tactical chief did just that. Johnson watched on the viewscreen as the nearest Black Bird found itself on the receiving end of a mix of torpedoes and phasers.
        “Sir, we’re now completely outflanked,” Ironsides announced.
        “No problem,” Johnson said. He pressed his armrest console again, leaning in to say, “Bring it on.”
        
        “Sir, we have them outflanked,” Neferal announced. He looked at his ship’s commander, Commander Mihok. She stared at the viewscreen, angry at the Fed ship for its surprise offensive. She turned around to look at Neferal.
        “Signal the remaining ships. Concentrate our fire on the Fed ship!”
        Mihok smiled in smug satisfaction as she saw the Courageous now on the defensive. Green disruptor fire poured out of the surviving Black Birds, hammering away at the Fed ship’s shields.
        The Courageous twisted around in the hailstorm and started firing on Mihok. She stumbled from her standing position, and grabbed hold of her command seat. “All power to forward shields!” Commander Mihok called out.
        “All power to forward shields,” Neferal reported. His console started bleeping. He bent down to look at it, wiping sweat from his brow. “Commander? There’s another ship coming out of warp?”
        “Eh?” Mihok turned around to look at Neferal.
        “It’s the other Fed ship! The one they call the Freedom!” Neferal shouted. “It’s opening fire!”

        The Freedom swooped in directly behind the Black Bird that the Courageous was firing on. “Target aft shields,” Ryan said, knowing the Romulan commander would pour more power in the forward shields.
        Kyle, standing at the tactical station in the stead of the late tactical chief, complied with Ryan’s order.
        His assessment was correct, as seen in the quick explosion that ripped through the rear of the Black Bird. Suddenly, it was no more.
        The Freedom began attracting attention. “Evasive maneuvers!” Ryan called out. “Fire at will!” The ship sped up, avoiding several torpedoes, and answering back with several torpedoes and phaser shots of her own.

        The Courageous took advantage of the gap that the Freedom created, and shot out from the midst of the Black Birds. The large ship looped around, and strafed several Black Birds with shots from her phasers and mini-phaser cannons.
        The Freedom saw what the Courageous was doing, and looped around on a strafing run of her own. The two Federation ships headed for each other, firing phasers. The Black Birds caught in the middle of the double pronged strafing run sustained heavy fire. One Black Bird was literally cut into pieces, as the Courageous and Freedom passed each other.
        Finally, the remaining ships that were able to move, sped away from the battle zone. Several leapt into warp, and another just exploded from the attempt to go to warp.
        “Shall we pursue?” Ruiz asked, as the viewscreen showed the escaping Black Birds disappearing into white light.
        “No, Helm. We already know the locations of their secret bases. We’ll just inform the Romulan Government, and they can clean up their own mess,” Johnson sighed. He surveyed the damage to the bridge. One computer station was completely inoperative. Another station had a broken monitor. A dead crewman laid slumped beneath the broken monitor. “In the mean time, I want damage control on the bridge asap.”
        “Aye, sir,” Ironsides nodded, standing in front of the flickering lights of OPS. He looked down to his console, his fingers flying over the console, summoning medical teams and damage control teams.
        Ruiz sighed and leaned back in her seat. She looked over at LeAnn. “Let’s take a raincheck on that dinner tonight.”
        LeAnn wiped her sweaty brow, and brushed back several strands of wet blonde hairs. “Sure.”

Chapter Ten

        The Freedom and Courageous settled into orbit around the green hued planet of Romulus. Several other Warbirds were already in loose orbit. Just beyond the curve of the planet, Johnson could make out the large Romulan space station. Their equivalent of Starbase One, Johnson told himself.
        Favor sat in one of the seats next to Johnson, on the bridge. He nudged Johnson with an elbow. “See that Warbird with the symbol on it?”
        Johnson looked at the Warbird that Favor was pointing out. On the large “winged” nacelles was the large black symbol of the Empire. A red slash went down diagonally on the symbol. “Yeah, I see it.”
        “That’s the Emperor’s own Warbird. The red slash indicates royalty.”
        Johnson nodded, “Ah.”
        “Sir,” Bogarde said, “incoming hail from the surface.”
        “Onscreen,” Johnson waved towards the viewscreen. He watched as a grey haired Romulan appeared on the screen. He was wearing the standard grey checkered tunic, with a red and black sash.
        “Hello, Captain Johnson. I am Senator Velk,” the Romulan said.
        “I’ve heard much about you,” Johnson said, glancing at Favor. “Pleased to speak to you at last.”
        “I am pleased too as well,” Velk said. “All the preparations are done for the banquet. The Praetor is looking forward to meeting you and the ambassador in person.”
        “We are too,” Johnson smiled, mirthlessly.
        “However, we would like to speak to our representatives. We have been concerned because we have not received any reports from them in two days.”
        “Uh,” Favor leaned forward to speak, but Johnson cut him off.
        “We can explain that. Communications have been severely damaged due to our run-ins with the Tal Shiar.”
        “The Tal Shiar?” Velk’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
        “We’ll explain everything once we transport down to the surface,” Johnson sighed.
        “I see. Well, I will inform the others of this. We await your arrival,” Velk said. The viewscreen switched back to the planet.
        
        “I’m sorry, but I don’t trust any of you at this point,” Johnson said as several guards escorted the Romulans out of their quarters. Selenta, Selari, and T’yaanki were flanked by security officers. Ironsides and Johnson followed the group towards the transporter room.
        “We understand,” Selenta said, “Though we may not agree with your interpretation of events.”
        “I hope everything will be cleared up soon,” Johnson said. Raven walked down the corridor, and saw the group heading his way. He stepped back to let the guards and Romulans pass. He then fell in step behind Johnson and Ironsides.
        “Picking up anything yet, Raven?” Johnson whispered.
        “Nothing, sir,” answered Raven.
        The group entered the transporter room, and the security officers escorted the Romulans up on the transporter pad. Raven stepped forward, shouting, “Guard, watch out!”
        Suddenly, T’yaanki leapt for the phaser of the nearest security officer. She screamed, trying to wrest it out of the officer’s hands.
        The other officers trained their phasers onto the young Romulan, and fired. She went down, stunned.
        “I guess the mystery’s been solved for us,” Ironsides said, with slight surprise. “I guess it is true... it’s always the quiet ones you have to watch.” Ironsides looked at Johnson, smiling.
        Johnson turned to look askance at Ironsides. “Pardon me if I don’t laugh. I’m too tired.”
        
        “T’yaanki indeed was telepathic, albeit a low level one,” Velk explained. “She also has a criminal record. That’s how we found out that she was telepathic. She was arrested as a juvenile, and sentenced to ten years in a correctional facility. Apparently, she disappeared in the system.”
        “The Tal Shiar recruited her, huh?” Johnson sighed, as he continued looking at the main tapestry in the dining hall.
        Johnson and his command staff were in a huge hall within the Praetor’s House, in the middle of Capital City. Large tapestries draped the sides of the rectangular dining hall. Earlier, Favor told Johnson that the tapestries represented various scenes from Romulan history. Rows of servants stood by the walls, ready to attend to the diners’ needs. Around the table sat various high ranked officials in the Romulan government and military. Johnson could barely keep the names straight. Chairman Janetik, Consul Civial, Commander Ha’rel, and others. Not it was not yet time for the dinner, so several of the guests were standing around in small cliques, talking.
        Johnson stood with Favor, Selari and Selenta. Danek also stood with them. Johnson looked over at Chairman Danek, eyeing the man suspiciously.
        Johnson still couldn’t shake the feeling that Danek really did know what was going on within the Tal Shiar, no matter how much he protested his and his department’s innocence.
        Danek did not rise to take Johnson’s bait. He only smiled and shrugged. “I wonder, when will you be turning over Sela to our government?”
        “Hopefully not ever,” Johnson said tersely. “We’re going to fight your extradition request. Sela deserves to be tried for her crimes against Starfleet and the Federation.”
        “She has crimes of her own to answer for on Romulus,” Danek said. “She stole funds that would have been put towards better uses, and caused the deaths of many fine young Imperial soldiers, in her fool’s errand. Still, you have no right to hold her from her native government.”
        Favor glanced at Danek. “Sela is half human after all. Her mother was a Federation citizen, taken and raped by your people. Federation laws confer automatic citizenship to children of Federation citizens, so therefore Sela is a Federation citizen. As such, she can reap the benefits of Federation rights, as well as facing the consequences of breaking Federation law.”
        “We will see about that,” Danek said. “This is a matter for our legal advocates to determine, not for men like us.” Danek withdrew from the conversation, walking towards the table, where several of the other Romulans had already began sitting down.
        Johnson turned to Favor. “That was a pretty good argument.”
        “I used to be a paralegal on a small planet. The name escapes me for now,” Favor explained.
        “Ah. What do you think the chances are we’ll get to keep Sela?”
        “Slim to none. Sela’s father used to be a high ranking member of Romulan society. As such, whatever she does, reflects back onto the family, for good or ill. Right now, she’s a huge embarrassment. They’ll be wanting to take her back and hide her away, out of sight.”
        “Ah.”
        “You know, if you really wanted to punish Sela, it would be better to hand her over to the Romulans. In a Federation prison colony, she’d be given isolation and psychological help. We would embrace her, in spite of her Romulan side and what she has done.”
        Favor shrugged slightly. “However, the Romulans won’t be as kind. She’ll be an outcast, constantly reminded of her shortcomings and failures, as well as the ever present reminder that she’s not even really full blooded Romulan.”
        “But won’t they just put her back out there to make trouble for us? After all she had to have a lot of support, to become a leader in the Tal Shiar, and get all this money and manpower without questions being asked.”
        “Politics. If she had succeeded, those who supported her would have done so openly. But she failed, so her supporters have to step back in the shadows, and go with the flow. The political winds have shifted, and we’re gaining sympathy.”
        “I see,” Johnson nodded. “Well, I guess we’ll leave the matter up to the Federation council. Whatever they decide is fine by me.”
        “Hm,” Favor shrugged noncommittally. Favor said, “I’m going to go and sit down. With the Romulans.” Favor looked at Johnson. “If that’s okay with you?” Angry sarcasm edged Favor’s words.
        Johnson furrowed his brows in slight confusion. “Yeah. Sure.”
        Favor was already walking back to Selari when Johnson replied.
        Johnson shook his head and sighed. He knew he should say something, but he didn’t know where to begin. Seeing that most of the guests were seated, Johnson walked to the long dining table.
        Johnson took his preassigned seat near the middle of the long table. Raven sat down next to him. Major Ironsides sat down to Johnson’s other side a moment later.
        Johnson looked over at Favor, who was talking with Selenta and Selari, near the head of the table. Hartman, sitting on the other side of Favor, leaned in to listen to their conversations. The seat at the head of the table was bare, waiting for the Praetor.
        “Only a low level one...” Raven murmured to himself, near Johnson. The captain looked over at Raven.
        “What did you say?”
        “Nothing, sir. Just thinking about something,” Raven answered back.
        Senator Velk shrugged apologetically. “I suppose Chairman Danek has a hard job ahead of him, to clean up Tal Shiar.”
        “I’m sure,” Johnson smiled.
        “You can hardly claim the high ground here either,” Velk frowned. “After all, wasn’t it only ten years ago that a rogue agent from your Starfleet Intelligence was arrested and killed in this very city?”
        “Well, that was the end of the problem. Section 31 is no longer a threat,” Johnson pointed out.
        “That’s right,” Ironsides nodded, supporting Johnson.
        “If you say so,” Danek smiled from his seat. He looked at Ironsides, and gave the commander a slight bow.
        Johnson looked over at Ironsides and Raven, who sat to his right. “What a slimeball,” he said to Ironsides.
        “Hmm,” Ironsides grunted.
        Johnson looked around the table, at the empty chair. “When’s the Praetor ever going to show up?”
        “Big shots are the same all over. Always arriving fashionably late,” Ironsides remarked.
        A gong sounded and the large main doors of the hall opened. In walked a Romulan, wearing an typical Romulan uniform- grey checkered tunic and black trousers. His tunic belt had a red and black mark on the insignia. The Romulan was handsome, almost regal. His hair was jet-black, with traces of grey at the temples. He seemed to be around Johnson’s age. A loud boom sounded as the main doors closed and locked, to keep intruders out.
        Velk and the other Romulans stood up. Johnson and his men followed suit.
        “Good evening. I apologize for my lateness,” the Romulan said, waving to the dinner guests to sit. He sat down at the head of the table, and the others sat down.
        Senator Velk raised his voice. “It is our honor to wait for you, Praetor Hark’an.”
        “And it is my honor to dine with Captain Johnson and his crew,” Hark’an smiled at Johnson. “I should explain why I’m late. I was recently talking with the Emperor, about making some last minute changes to the treaty between the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire.”
        “Excuse me?” Favor said. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”
        “It was not necessary to inform you,” Hark’an waved his hand. “However I must inform you that as of a few minutes ago, the Emperor has agreed to the treaty.”
        “Hear, hear!” Velk and the other Romulans said.
        “I’d be more than happy to praise the Emperor, once I know what changes you made,” Favor frowned.
        “Oh, you’ll be happy to know that the Emperor and I have decided to give you all the concessions you requested. Everything from tariff rates to the construction of a emitter platform.”
        Favor opened his mouth in surprise, and Johnson blinked at the Praetor. This was too good to be true, Johnson thought to himself. Obviously Favor was thinking the same thing as well.
        The other Romulans were also surprised as well. Some senators weren’t happy with this recent news, as seen in the quick transition from surprised faces to scowls.
        “All that is left is for the Federation Council to approve of the treaty. Then the Romulan Star Empire and the Federation can usher in a new age of cooperation,” Hark’an smiled, oblivious to his unhappy subordinates.
        “Well, um, we appreciate that very much, obviously,” Favor nodded. “We need to look over the exact wording of the treaty, but if what you say is true, the Federation Council will gladly agree to the treaty.”
        “Of course,” Hark’an nodded. He looked to the head servant. With a whirl of his hand, he indicated “Pour wine for the guests.”
        Servants stepped forward to pour dark blue wine into the crystal wineglasses set in front of the guests. Hartman held out his hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t...” but the servant went ahead and poured the wine. “Thanks,” Hartman said.
        “A toast!” the Praetor said, raising his glass. All the others raised their glasses. Hartman raised his glass, only reluctantly. “A toast! To a new era of cooperation!”
        “A new era of cooperation,” the other guests echoed. Hark’an sipped at his glass, and the others did, except for Hartman.
        Favor noticed this, and hissed. “Drink! Or you risk insulting the Praetor!”
        “Okay,” Hartman nodded. He picked up the wine and swallowed.
        “A new era of cooperation,” the guests murmured, in response to the Praetor’s toast.
        Selenta stood up, holding out her glass. “I wish to propose another toast.”
        Hark’an looked up at her, waiting expectantly.
        “A toast. To the death of the traitors of the Romulan Star Empire,” Selenta said.
        “Uh...” Hark’an frowned in surprise.
        “Traitors such as this so-called Praetor!” Selenta threw her glass at Hark’an and went up to grasp his throat. Hark’an’s eyes suddenly rolled up, and his eyelids fluttered. She looked up at the surprised guests. “Back! I can kill him with a single thought!”
        “Damn it, there were actually two, not just one,” Johnson muttered. He wished he had a phaser. However, the guards outside of the hall took his weapons and everyone else’s. The only one here who had a lethal weapon was Selenta. And Raven.
        “Guards! Guards!” Velk shouted, hoping to attract the attention of the armed men standing outside the hall.
        “Save your breath, Senator. I’m sending a telepathic signal to them all that all is fine,” Selenta smirked.
        Raven was already standing, staring intensely at Selenta. “So, it was you who assaulted Garak,” he whispered through gritted teeth.
        “Yes. T’yaanki was only a genetically engineered telepath. She didn’t have the power to do that. Only I did,” Selenta growled.
        Johnson wished he could see what was going on between the two telepaths. Obviously it was a powerful battle, Raven was sweating and shaking. Johnson didn’t remember ever seeing Raven tremble like this before.
        Raven continued walking closer to Selenta. “Give...this...up,” he grunted at Selenta.
        “Never, not until the Praetor is made to see the errors of his ways! Then he shall die!”
        “N...no...it is you who will die,” Raven grunted, as he fell against the dining table. Hartman and Favor tried to prop him up, but Raven angrily shook them off.
        Hartman looked down at the tablecloth. Red droplets appeared on the cloth. He looked up to see that Raven’s nose was bleeding slightly. Then Hartman looked back down. His dinner knife was missing.
        “A knife?” Selenta frowned.
        In a fluid and quick motion, Raven spun and threw his arm out. A knife found itself lodged in Selenta’s throat. Selenta released her grip on the Praetor’s neck. Hark’an slumped down in his seat, semi-conscious.
        Selenta took a few trembling steps backward. She reached up to the knife handle, gurgling. Green blood tinged her mouth. She finally stumbled to the ground.
        Raven bent over, putting his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Drops of blood from Raven’s nose spattered onto the marbled tile of the hall. Some of the senators left their chairs and scrambled for the doors, calling for the guards.
        The Romulan guards poured into the hall, to take custody of Selenta. Hartman was already kneeling over her, checking her signs. “She’s not dangerous,” he said to the first guard that walked up to him. “She’s dead.”

        “Well, that was a nice dinner.”
        Ruiz smiled at LeAnn as she gathered the plates off the glass table. She walked to the replicator and deposited the dirty plates on the pad. “Computer, recycle.”
        The plates vanished in a shimmer. Ruiz turned around. “More wine?”
        LeAnn glanced at her nearly empty wineglass. “Sure. At least we know we won’t be interrupted by another attack.”
        Ruiz nodded appreciatively. “Computer, more wine, two.”
        Two fresh wineglasses, filled with dark red wine, appeared on the pad. Ruiz picked up the glasses and walked back to the bare table.
        “This is pretty good,” LeAnn remarked as she took the fresh glass from Ruiz’s hand.
        “An old girlfriend told me of this particular brand.”
        “Ah, I see,” LeAnn nodded. She took a sip. “Well, this is very nice. I’m glad you still agreed to making me dinner tonight, even after everything’s that happened.”
        “No problem. I did say we’d take a raincheck.”
        “I wonder how their dinner is going down below.”
        Ruiz shrugged, leaning forward on the table. “Probably just a lot of diplomatic posturing and bland food.”
        LeAnn laughed.
        “You know, you did very well in combat yesterday,” Ruiz said. “You’re a pretty good pilot. Not better than me, mind you.”
        LeAnn smirked. “Well, it was... very different. It also felt good to have a real plan, rather than just reacting to the attacks.”
        Ruiz nodded in agreement.
        “You were great too,” LeAnn remarked. “Everytime I looked over at you, you were totally focused and in control. Seeing that helped me a lot.”
        Ruiz smiled. “Years of training. You’ll get used to it too.” Ruiz stretched out her arm, reaching for LeAnn’s hand on the table. She patted LeAnn’s hand in reassurance.
        LeAnn took hold of Ruiz’s hand. “Thanks,” LeAnn said.
        Ruiz disengaged her hand from LeAnn’s grip and reached up to finger the faint ridges on LeAnn’s nose. “In this light, you can barely see them,” Ruiz explained. “I always thought it looked cute on you.”
        LeAnn chuckled lightly. “Well, it’s not something I just put on every morning before work. It’s just there.”
        Ruiz moved her hand down away from the ridges, and her fingers brushed past LeAnn’s cheek. “Yeah.”
        Ruiz stood up and leaned over the small table, and kissed LeAnn on the mouth.
        “Whoa!” LeAnn backed away from Ruiz’s kiss. “What are you doing?”
        “I’m sorry,” Ruiz frowned, wide eyed. “It’s my fault,” she rambled. “I’m too aggressive at times. I thought maybe you-”
        “No, you almost knocked over the wine. It would have splashed all over the carpet,” LeAnn said, pointing to the glasses.
        “Oh,” Ruiz nodded.
        “Let’s put this stuff away,” LeAnn nodded, smiling.

        Johnson and Hark’an walked along the parapet of the Praetor’s House, watching the hazy sunset in the distance. The two men carried glasses of water from the dinner. The Praetor had woke up with a slight headache after the telepathic assault, but insisted that the dinner go on as planned. Johnson was growing to admire this man.
        Hark’an indeed was the same age as Johnson, as the captain found out as they talked after dinner. They both had similar career achievements. However, their careers diverged at this point in their lives. Hark’an found himself trapped on Romulus, while Johnson had the freedom that the Courageous had to offer.
        “Well, thank you for a most enjoyable meal and talk,” Hark’an said.
        “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?” Johnson asked.
        “Well, I’m the one who barely survived, so it is I who should give thanks,” Hark’an smiled. “You do realize that this isn’t the first assassination attempt I’ve had?”
        “I thought as much. Probably won’t be the last,” Johnson pointed out. “Especially after your surprise announcement at the start of dinner.”
        “Yes. I’m not going to be very popular with the old regime,” Hark’an nodded. “They’re more used to having the Federation painted as untrustworthy adversaries.”
        “I could say the same of some people back home,” Johnson gulped at his water.
        “Yes. But I’m sure you have people on Earth, just as I have people on Romulus, who will embrace the other as a new ally.”
        “Yes, you’re right, Hark’an,” Johnson nodded.
        “And I, for one, sincerely hope that you will be my ally,” Hark’an said, looking at Johnson.
        “Of course,” Johnson held out his hand. “And I will be glad to have you as an ally.”
        “It is settled then,” Hark’an grasped Johnson’s hand into a firm handshake. The two disengaged the handshake and turned to face the sunset. “Oh! One last thing,” Hark’an said.
        “What?”
        “The Emperor has extended an invitation to your crew and the crew of the Freedom to shore leave for a week,” Hark’an smiled. “To make some amends for the hardships you have suffered in your perilous journey to Romulus. Rest and make repairs, before you set off on your grand journey to the Borderlands. Will you accept?”
        “Well, Praetor, you read my mind,” Johnson smiled.

Chapter Eleven

        “Allright, sounds like everything is shipshape over there,” Johnson said. Kyle nodded on the viewscreen from her place on the Freedom’s bridge.
        “Yes sir. We got a lot accomplished during the shore leave. Everything and everyone is rested up and ready to go back home,” Kyle said. “Right, Frank?” She looked over at Commander Ryan.
        “That’s right, Janet,” he smiled back.
        “Oh, now we’re on a first name basis with Ryan?” Johnson raised an eyebrow.
        Kyle only smiled in return.
        “Well, you’re welcome back to the Courageous at anytime you want,” Johnson said. “Just get aboard before 1900 hours, because that’s when we activate the Quantum Slipstream Drive.”
        “Wouldn’t miss it, for the world, sir.”

        Favor walked into Johnson’s ready room, and found him standing in front of his model showcase. He was looking at the ships on the bottom shelf. Upon Favor’s arrival, Johnson turned to look at the other man.
        “Hi, Nathan.”
        “You wanted to see me?”
        Johnson nodded and walked back to his desk. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for coming.” He gestured to the seat in front of the desk.
        Favor walked over to the desk, and sat down. “Well?”
        Johnson sat down. He sighed and looked up at Favor. “I’m sorry.”
        “For what?”
        Johnson shrugged and interlaced his fingers together, resting them on the desk top. “For my behavior the past few weeks towards you and the others. I know that you already know that Selenta and T’yaanki had been telepathically screwing with my emotions and thought patterns. But still, I have to take responsibility for my behavior and actions.”
        “I see,” Favor nodded.
        “This past week at Romulus, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve reevaluated my thoughts and feelings on certain things. Such as your presence aboard, your job here.” Johnson shifted in his chair. “What they did, they took what was already there in my mind, and twisted it around, magnified things.” Johnson gestured with his hands as he talked slowly.
        “So you’re right, what you said in the Brig. I really still have been thinking of as the Nathan I knew in the Academy. I need to stop doing that. As I’ve been talking with Praetor Hark’an this past week, he’s been telling me how much he has heard of you and your abilities. He told me that I was lucky to have a man such as you aboard. I realized he was right. Throughout this entire mission, you’ve been doing your utmost best, striving to keep this alliance with the Romulans intact. Fortunately, Selari was here to report back accurately to the Romulan Government about our meetings. Selenta’s sabotage did not work.”
        Favor nodded.
        Johnson stood up and reached over with an outstretched hand. “I’m sorry. Friends again?”
        Favor stood up, adjusting his robe. He looked at Johnson for a moment. “Sure.” He grinned as he took Johnson’s hand and shook it.
        “Good,” Johnson smiled. “Good. Now, I know this is the last night of the shore leave, or more to the point, your last night with Selari. I won’t keep you any longer. You can go.”
        Favor smiled. “Okay. Thank you.”
        Johnson winked at Favor as he started walking out of the ready room.
        
        Favor opened his eyes and yawned. He stretched, and felt a presence by his side. He looked over and saw Selari laying on her belly. Her long hair covered her bare back as she slept quietly.
        Favor blinked once again and stared at the ceiling of the bedroom. The curved lines of the ceilings and the dark grey coloration reminded him of where he was, Selari’s house.
        Through the thin rectangular windows, the sun of Romulus shone into the room, onto the bed. Favor looked over at Selari and stared at her. He ran his eyes down her body, memorizing each curve of her body, committing it all to memory.
        Her dark eyelashes moved as she awoke.
        She smiled, seeing Favor’s intent gaze. “What is it, Nathan?”
        “Nothing.”
        “You’re looking at me so intensely.” Selari turned onto her back, pulling the sheet up over her body.
        Favor bent his head to kiss Selari’s shoulder. “I’m just going to miss you a lot.”        
        “I shall miss you very much also,” Selari said. “Do you know what time it is?”
        “No,” Favor shook his head. Speaking in Romulan, Favor asked, “Computer, what’s the time?”
        “The time is 0724 hours.”
        Selari let out a sigh. “You must prepare to leave.” She turned to Nathan.
        “I can’t get out of bed.”
        Selari smiled. “I know, I don’t want to leave either.”
        “No, I mean, I really can’t get out of bed. Five times in one night, you know? It takes a toll on a man.”
        Selari laughed. “Fine. Then I shall bathe first. You can use the facilities after I am done.”
        “That sounds fine. I think I might just be out of bed by then.”
        
        “I wish things had worked out better,” Favor sighed as he glanced around the Romulan transporter room. “I wish you were able to come with me.”
        “You know that I would love that, but I cannot leave. You know the Praetor needs me to replace Selenta as the Romulan Ambassador to the Federation.”
        “I know... but knowing and wishing are two different things.”
        Selari kissed Favor again. “I love you.”
        “I love you too,” Favor said. “I will return. And you can’t say no when I ask you to marry me when I return.”
        “I will await that day,” Selari smiled. “Just try to stay out of trouble in the Borderlands.”
        “Trouble? Who, me?” Favor broke into a grin. Selari chuckled at him.
        “Bridge to Ambassador Favor,” Johnson’s voice came through Favor’s combadge.
        “Favor here,” the ambassador answered his combadge.
        “You want to come along or not?”
        “Do I have a choice?” Favor asked, crossing his fingers.
        “No. So get on the transporter and beam your ass up here.”
        “Aye, aye, sir.” Favor smiled and stepped up onto the transporter pad. He took one last glance at Selari. “Love you,” he mouthed just as the transporter beam captured his atoms.
        “Love you too,” Selari said as he vanished.

        Ryan sat in the captain’s chair, smiling at Johnson through the viewscreen of the Courageous. “It’s official. When I get back to Starfleet Headquarters, I’ll be promoted permanently to captain.”
        “Congratulations,” Johnson said. “You’ve been doing a fine job.”
        “Thank you sir. That means a lot, coming from you.”
        Ryan’s gaze shifted to Kyle, who stood near the tactical station. “And my thanks to Lieutenant Kyle who helped me through this transition. Captain Johnson, if you ever need a new first officer, look no further than the lieutenant.”
        “Well, she is the second officer after all,” Johnson shrugged nonchalantly. “She wouldn’t be there if she wasn’t capable.”
        Kyle smiled slightly. “Good bye Captain Ryan.”
        “Good bye. See you all in five years. U.S.S. Freedom out.”
        “It’s a date,” Johnson smiled. The viewscreen changed to a view of the Freedom. Her warp nacelles glowed brightly, and in a split-second, it was off in warp, heading back for Federation space.
        The bridge crew sat in silence, watching Romulus revolve below them. Johnson cleared his throat. He glanced over at Major Ironsides at OPS. “Do we have all our clearances from the Romulan Orbital Control?”
        “We’re clear to depart, sir.”
        Johnson nodded. He thumbed his armrest. “Engineering. Is the Quantum Slipstream Drive engaged?”
        “Yes, sir,” Fonda replied through the intercom.
        Johnson looked over at Ruiz and LeAnn.
        “Helm, is the new course laid in for the Borderlands?”
        “Aye, sir,” Ruiz replied. “The computer’s analyzed all phase variances and corrections. It should be a smooth ride for the next month.”
        Johnson nodded once again. “Go to Condition Blue. Bring the deflector online.”
        “Deflector online, sir,” Ruiz reported.
        Johnson looked over to the right, to LeAnn.
        “Well, Ensign LeAnn. Let’s get going. Punch it.”

Epilogue
        Johnson sat at his hobby bench, assembling the internal frame of his latest model ship. The plans of the U.S.S. Hamlet laid spread out to one side of the bench. Tubes of adhesives laid scattered to the other side. With the final beam in place, Johnson blew on the adhesive, and stretched out.
        How long have I been sitting there hunched over? he wondered. A chime sounded. “Ironsides to Johnson.”
        “Yes?”
        “The duty shift is over. Will you be remaining in your ready room?”
        “Uh, no. I’ll go to my quarters.” Johnson blinked in surprise at how much time had passed. The undulating blue and black light waves of the Quantum Slipstream tunnel continued shining through the small slitted windows in the ready room.
        Johnson moved the model framework to the side and got off the stool. He stood up, stretching his back. He felt his spine crackle. “I must be hanging out around Fonda too much,” he said to himself.
        He looked up at the shelves of his models. Pulling out the small step stool from underneath the bench, Johnson stepped up to the top shelves. He saw the Lexington and the Cabot. Pressing in the code to deactivate the mag field, Johnson reached up to those two ships. He pulled them down off the top shelf, and moved them to the middle shelf. He positioned them in the most visible sections. He moved two other ships up to the top shelf.
        He stepped back, looking at the new arrangement of the ships. The Cabot and the Lexington held the center positions. He’d see them everyday as he walked into the ready room, and every night when he left. Well, what do you know? The counselor was right. I do feel better, Johnson thought to himself.
        He activated the mag field again and went over to his desk chair. He picked up his overtunic that was draped over the chair. He pulled it on and zipped it up, walking over to the door to the ready room. The lights turned off, plunging the ready room in near darkness, offset only by the faint bluish white light of the Quantum Slipstream tunnel.

        Selari sat on the white bench, covered in a light silvery gown, and nothing else. She looked around at her sterile settings. The room was particularly bright. It was to be expected in an examination room. A patrician Romulan walked in, dressed in a dark grey lab coat. He carried a dark green PADD.
        The older man’s craggy face looked up from the PADD and at Selari. “Madam Selari,” he said by way of greeting.
        “Doctor. Have you the results?” Selari asked, glancing at the PADD in the doctor’s hand.
        “Yes, I have,” he nodded.
        Selari looked at the doctor for several heartbeats. Her face was calm and so was her voice as she asked, “And are the results positive?”

End Log Entry.

SECTION ONE | SECTION TWO | SECTION THREE | SECTION FOUR

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