Author's Note: Endeavour's warp nacelles are based on principles originally found in Zane Gray's Differential, and that concept is used with his permission.

ACT ONE

Romulan-Occupied Space, 2 April 2157.

Alarms were still echoing through the ship, but Harrad-Sar no longer noticed them.

Wiping blood from his face, he gave Navaar a glance, hoping against hope that she would have some surprise waiting for him that would get them out of this situation. With one look, however, he could tell that she had absolutely no idea what to do next. Anger pulsed within him as he reflected that it was her fault that they were adrift in space with their engines crippled and weapon systems down. It had been her idea to venture this deep in Romulan-controlled space against the Syndicate's explicit instructions otherwise. It had been her idea to approach the Romulan warships with their own weapons deactivated. It had been her idea...

As if sensing his eyes and perhaps his discontent as well, Navaar gave him a sharp glare. At once, he could taste the change in the air as her mood shifted and, without a word, he lowered his eyes in face of the rebuke that now laced the oxygen circulating around them. The anger still burned like acid though; and not for the first time, he let his hate for Navaar flood through him. Once again a mad plan that she had devised was collapsing around them, and he had no doubt that it would be up to him to salvage something positive out of this latest catastrophe.

But then, that was nothing new.

"Status," he demanded from his sensor operator, his tone unnecessarily cold. The boy gave him a wide-eyed look but responded instantly, a product of the harsh and unyielding discipline that Harrad-Sar demanded.

"Targets are maneuvering to board, sir!" The boy's terror was understandable: Romulans didn't take prisoners.

"As expected," Navaar stated from her place where she was slouched in the command chair. She appeared to be perfectly confident of survival; however, Harrad-Sar had been a slave to her long enough to see through that illusion and recognize how close to sheer panic she truly was.

"Sir, we need to mount a defense," the weapons officer begged from his shattered console, but Harrad-Sar gave him a quelling glance. A defense now would lead to all of their deaths, and Harrad-Sar still had dreams of dying in bed of extreme age.

"Stand down all tactical teams," Harrad-Sar ordered, his features grim. "And continue broadcasting on all channels." He looked at Navaar once more, the hatred he felt for her filling his eyes. She smirked at him contemptuously and leaned back in the chair.

They didn't have to wait long. Within minutes, the lift door slid open, revealing four figures. Encased in armored environment suits complete with opaque faceplates, they were bipedal and moved with the singular purpose of soldiers, each bearing sinister-looking weapons and unfamiliar equipment. Three of the figures moved differently than the fourth, however, skulking forward in an almost bestial crouch despite their environment suits and disruptor rifles. At their approach, the weapons officer shifted awkwardly before casting yet another desperate glance at Harrad-Sar.

"You are ... Oh'Reon," the fourth suited figure stated calmly in the Trader's tongue as it glanced around the command deck with an almost casual arrogance. "And you are far from your borders," the figure continued. "The Syndicate well knows the price for violation of our space."

Uncoiling from the command chair like a jungle feline, Navaar climbed to her feet in a seductive manner, a smile upon her face.

"Commander," she cooed softly as she sauntered toward him, "we are not here on business from the Syndicate." Another smile was offered to the helmeted Romulan, one that promised much more than simply coy looks. "Our business is with you."

"Unlikely," the figure hissed as Navaar reached out to stroke the environment suit's chest plate. She winced in pained surprise as the Romulan commander abruptly seized her hand and twisted it into an offensive martial hold. Fear filled the air suddenly as she panicked, her spray of pheromones blotting out coherent thought; the weapons officer scrambled for a weapon in answer to Navaar's unspoken demand for aid but fell almost at once, two searing holes burned through his chest as the bestial Romulans reacted with blinding speed. The fear that soaked the air turned to terror as a third burst of fire tore through the sensor operator in the moment that he tried to tackle one of the Romulans. Less than a second later, a brutal convergence of energy ripped apart the helmsman as he stumbled to his feet.

Barely clinging to his self-control, Harrad-Sar found himself unaccountably glad for his many years of servitude under Navaar. The decades-long exposure to her pheromones gave him a tentative resistance to them now, and he trembled with the effort it took to keep from throwing himself at the figures before him.

"We are quite aware of your ... abilities, female," the Romulan commander declared as it held Navaar by the throat and lifted her bodily from the deck. She struggled wildly, clawing desperately at the unyielding grip around her neck as she futilely kicked the hardened armor. "And we are equally prepared to combat such tricks." Cognizant of the three disruptors suddenly trained on him, Harrad-Sar shook as he fought the smells that washed over him, urging him to act. Anger and hate for Navaar gave him strength, and he clung to those emotions with every gram of control he still had.

"Information," he growled through clenched teeth, drawing the Romulan's attention as quickly as if he had attacked. "We have information. Willing to sell."

"Elaborate," the commander ordered. It eased its hold on Navaar, and Harrad-Sar could taste her relief.

"We have trade routes used by the humans," he revealed quickly.

"Such information we already have," the Romulan rumbled through the voice modulator in its helmet. It was quiet for a moment before continuing. "We do seek intelligence about the new weapons being deployed by the humans. Torpedoes that utilize multiple independently tracking warheads. Defensive force screening. Matter transmission devices. Can you provide this information?"

"I can acquire it," Harrad-Sar replied without hesitation, once more in control of himself. This was negotiation, and he excelled at that. "With time and money."

A long heartbeat passed in absolute silence as the Romulan studied him through the opaque helmet and icy sweat slid down Harrad-Sar's back. Everything depended upon this moment, and an odd thought flickered through his mind.

He hoped the Romulan was in a good mood.