Port-au-Prince, Earth, 2447

Rashid takes a deep draw from her vaporizer and leans on the railing at the edge of the rooftop, gazing past the spires of an ornate cathedral at the lights of the city. Behind her, the rooftop is lit by a series of globes which cast light on the palm trees swaying in the summer night breeze.

"Ah! Here she is. Zia!" calls a familiar voice. She turns to see Joe approaching her, clad in a dapper tuxedo, arm in arm with a well-dressed Vidiian woman carrying a glass of champagne. She is elderly but still beautiful, and is smiling deeply.

"That was wonderful," she says as Joe passes Rashid a glass of red wine. "I'll be honest: when Joe told me he was portraying an ancient human monarch in a centuries-old piece of musical theatre, I didn't know what to expect. But that was just wonderful. I loved all the dancing."

Rashid smiles. "I told you, Danara."

"Oh yes, and your song! What was it? The –"

"Satisfied," Rashid says.

"Yes, that was it! I loved that so much," Danara continues. "I want to see it again."

"Hamilton is one of the classics," Joe says, gazing at the Vidiian affectionately. "And, at the risk of sounding immodest, I think Zia and I have set a high standard this season."

"Thanks, Joe." Rashid clinks her glass against Danara's. She tugs on her close-fitting black dress. "Are we staying here long? Because I don't want to miss too much of the cast party…"

"We won't stay long," Joe assures her. "I just wanted to say hello to the artist. His name is Omar Tanaka – I met him when one of his works was featured at the Andorian Gallery. You should meet him! I can introduce you."

They walk down a path in the rooftop garden, and Rashid glances at a painting hovering in the space between two palm trees. She examines the abstract swirls of blue and green, and scowls. "I don't know. I just…" Rashid lowers her voice. "A lot of the abstract artists I've met have been kind of full of shit."

Joe and Danara chuckle. "It's important to make time for contemporary art," Danara says gently. "My people received the cure for the Phage from a group of mercenary scientists, but in exchange, they wanted all of our most precious works of art. Literature, music, the visual arts – they took all our culture's defining works, and erased all record of them to maximize their value. I mean, in those days we would have gladly paid any price for a cure to the Phage, but sometimes I wonder if we really understood how high the cost it was." She sips her wine. "But now contemporary art is all we have."

"Leading to a culture where artists are among the most valued and appreciated members of society," Joe adds.

"I don't know how I feel about living with only contemporary art." Rashid looks disdainfully a painting showing a black and purple swirl.

The doctor shushes her. "There he is. Omar!" He calls to a young bearded man wearing a colourful smock who is standing on the periphery of a conversation between a well-dressed human woman and two Cardassians. The man smiles when he sees the doctor and excuses himself from the conversation.

"Joe!" he says warmly. "You made it! Welcome to my exhibition."

"I wouldn't miss it!" The doctor shakes his hand. "You remember my wife Danara Pel, of course. And this is my friend and castmate, Lieutenant Commander Zia Rashid. Zia, meet Omar Tanaka."

"Wow, a Starfleet officer and an actress?" Tanaka says with just the faintest hint of arrogance as he shakes Rashid's hand.

"Yeah," she replies. "I had some leave time banked, and I try to stay active in the theater when I can, so, uh… it made sense."

Joe gestures to the purple and black painting. "Zia was just saying she wanted to know more about this one."

"Oh, yes! Part of my Anti-Time series." When he turns to the painting, Rashid glares at the doctor and mouths, What?

Joe winks at her as Tanaka continues, "This one's called Untitled #3. I was inspired by the idea that the universe not only exists in time but in anti-time, so in every moment, things are moving forward and backward simultaneously."

"Well, that's kind of how anti-time works."

He turns to her. "Hey, I'm not a scientist."

"Well, you're lucky I'm here, then," she says.

Tanaka takes a glass of wine from a floating tray drifting past. "So what show were you doing?"

"Hamilton," Rashid says, glancing at Joe and Danara who are now engaged in a private conversation. "I was Angelica."

"Huh."

Rashid raises an eyebrow. "You don't know that one?"

He shrugs. "I guess I've never been that interested in pre-Federation human culture."

"Not that interested?" Rashid asks incredulously.

"Hey, I know that Starfleet really fetishizes that stuff, the twentieth century and all that. It just doesn't speak to me."

Rashid smirks. "Okay."

"You seem unimpressed." He sips his drink. "It's just that I don't think we have that much in common with people from that time. Nor should we want to be like them. Our life today is so far removed from their experiences. We've got advances in technology, medicine, and computers which I think are on the verge of calling in question what it means to be human."

"Uh huh."

"And, no offence, but I think Starfleet in particular is deliberately ignoring some of the implications of their technology."

"Oh, really?" she asks. "Well, I happen to think that human nature is real, and that Starfleet allows us to live fully as humans through scientific discovery and self-fulfillment. But then, you probably think I'm blinded by Starfleet ideology."

A roguish grin appears on his face. "Maybe so. But you probably think I'm a pretentious ass."

"Hey, you said it, not me."

"With crap art."

Rashid laughs, shrugging her shoulders.

"Hey," Danara interrupts them. "You should get over here – Joe wants a picture."

Rashid and Tanaka exchange a glance, then position themselves on either side of Danara as Joe suspends a small camera in the air in front of him and sets the timer. Then he joins the trio. As the camera generates a phosphorescent flash, Danara whispers to Joe, "I'm having such a fantastic evening, Shmullus. I love you."

In the sickbay aboard Icarus, Joe gazes at the Danara's image in the digital picture. His reverie is interrupted when he momentarily flickers out of existence, causing the picture to clatter to the deck. Shaking his head, he picks it up and places it on a desk next to his medical equipment and a second picture which shows Joe and Danara next to Rashid, who is wearing a wedding dress and beaming, her arm linked with Tanaka's. Next to it is a picture of the doctor with the senior staff of Voyager.

There is a soft tone. "Dr. Pel to the bridge," Sparks says over the intercom.

The doctor activates a control interface on his desk and keys in a command. Then he is on the bridge under the transparent dome open to space. The room is configured for a staff briefing. Rashid is standing at the head of a table where Sparks, Sorensen, Avala and Rylek are seated. He and Rashid exchange a smile as he sits next to Sparks.

"Alright, here's what we've got." Rashid gestures toward a holographic image of a segment of the tachyon stream, which winds in hundreds of intertwining strands around stellar clusters and other phenomena. "The Romulans are likely to be in there somewhere, but there is an astronomical number of paths they could have taken through the stream. And, to make matters more difficult, they could be cloaked." She pauses and surveys the faces of her crew. "But before we figure out how we're going to do this, I'd like to acknowledge some good news – that Lieutenant Avala has been given a clean bill of health."

Sparks begins to clap, and the rest of the crew joins in.

"Thanks," Avala replies, her expression cold.

"How do you feel, Vanda?" Rashid asks.

"To be honest?" the Andorian asks. "I'm angry. I knew Lerex had control of our computer systems. I should have seen it coming. Won't make the same mistake again."

Rashid folds her arms. "Lerex took us all by surprise. We've gotten used to the Romulans who have integrated so well into the Federation after the destruction of their homeworld. We've forgotten that there are some who rejected Reunification and continue to embrace the old ways, who are very dangerous. But we're not about to abandon Tomas and Pon. We just need to figure out how to find them."

The doctor raises his hand slightly, a quizzical expression on his face. "I have a question. And I'm sure there's an answer to it, but I'd like to know."

"Yes, Joe?" Rashid asks.

He shifts his position, his hand on his chin. "I've been studying this ship, and learned that it has advanced 'matter projector' technology, which seems to me like a synthesis of transporter, hologram, and replicator technology. Which, in addition to creating every environment on this ship, can also rebuild Icarus from almost complete destruction?"

"Yeah," Sparks replies. "Which has been useful a few times. In fact, most of the damage Lerex inflicted on our systems has been repaired, including the main computer."

"I see where you're going with this," Rashid adds. "Why don't we replicate a new SIM unit so we can use warp drive? Unfortunately we're not able to generate a superspace inversion field without creating an antidilithium reaction, and antidilithium can't be replicated except by some very specialized technology which only exists at a few facilities in the Federation."

"I see."

"Which means we're going sailing." Rashid gestures, and a hologram of Icarus appears in space before her. At the prow of the arrowhead-shaped saucer section, there are cables affixed to the four corners of the deflector array. The cables extend outwards and connect with the corners of a vast, microscopically thin membrane. "Susan and I have run some simulations, and we think that in the regions of the highest tachyon density, we can reach speeds of up to Warp 15. So, hang on to something."

Rylek glances at Joe. "That would be Warp 9.9999978 by the old scale. The velocity increases exponentially."

"Ah. Thank you, ensign," he replies to the earnest young Vulcan.

"That's a really wide area of space." Avala peers intently at the hologram, her antennae following her gaze. "On top of the already limited range our sensors have in the Galactic Core. If we knew what was out there, we might have a better idea of where the Romulans would be going. But as it is, we'd be going in blind."

"What about our probes?" Sparks suggests.

"That would extend our sensor range," Sorensen replies. "But only up to a point. Each probe could trace a path for a few hundred light years, but that would be a very small part of the overall area that the Romulans could have gone. And we can't keep replicating new probes indefinitely without a supply of matter to use as our source."

"Plus the probes' limited comm range," Rashid adds.

Sparks strokes his beard. "We could send out the probes in waves, and the lead probes could relay messages to us through the probes in the wave behind them."

Avala peers at the hologram. "We could also extend our range if we're also travelling in the tachyon stream and staying in range of as many probes as we can."

Rashid sits in her chair at the head of the table and steeples her fingers. "Computer, based on the parameters just described, how much of the total tachyon phenomenon can we explore?"

A series of pathways change colour in the holographic display of the tachyon streams, tracing paths which stretch a circular trail around the Galactic Core. "Given your parameters," the computer says, "approximately 17.68% of the total area."

The doctor raises an eyebrow. "Not the best odds, but I've bet on worse."

"That's actually a bit better than I would have expected," Rashid says.

"That calculation anticipated you would capture tachyon particles and use them as a matter source to replicate probes," the computer explains.

"I see. Well, we don't want to disturb the tachyon streams if they are delicate phenomena," Rashid replies.

"The total particle usage would make a minimal impact on the integrity of the streams. The probes could even be programmed to revert to tachyon particles after a predetermined amount of time such as a full circumnavigation of the Galactic Core," the computer tells her. "Your concerns are misplaced."

Joe glances at Sparks, who explains, "Commander Pon designed this ship, and so the computer uses Tellarite personality subroutines. You might find it a bit more… argumentative than what you're used to."

Rashid adds, "We've talked about changing the settings to the human configuration, but I've kind of gotten used to it."

The doctor nods. "Far be it from me to suggest reprogramming an artificial personality."

"What you need to do," the computer says, "is replicate probes with onboard matter projector units."

Rashid's eyes widen. "Then they could self-replicate exponentially using the tachyon particles as a matter source."

Sorensen contemplates this. "We could chart the whole area of the phenomenon."

"That's a really good idea," Rashid says to the computer. "Thanks."

"I do not require gratitude," the computer replies.

"Just say 'you're welcome.'"

"You're welcome," the female voice says.

Sparks leans forward in his chair. "We should still enter the stream ourselves. The longer we sit here at the edge of the stream, the further away the Romulans can get."

"I concur," Rylek says. "If we maintain a consistent trajectory in a high-velocity stream, we can minimize the chance we will fall further behind them."

Sparks casts a sympathetic glance at Rashid. "Think Starfleet Command will go for it?"

"Eh… they're not going to like it," she replies. "Guess I'll have to remind them that they really don't like the idea that the Romulans got their hands on our superspace inversion technology, and we're the only ship with any chance of getting it back." She looks around the table. "Isaiah, Susan, you're in charge of prep for this mission. I'll talk to Starfleet in my ready room. Are there any further questions?"

"I have a question," Sorensen says. She looks across the table and blushes slightly. "Sir, I have to ask, and feel free not to answer, but I've always wanted to ask. Why, of all names, did you pick Joe?"

The doctor smiles. "I often get asked that, and I don't mind telling the story. As you may know, Voyager was able to return to the Alpha Quadrant with the assistance of a version of Admiral Janeway from the future. She was only there for a short time, but once while I was talking to her, she accidentally called me Joe. I gather that in her reality, I had eventually chosen that name. To this day, I have no idea why he – why I – ever chose that particular name. But it seemed like fate to me."

"That's really fascinating."

"In fact," Joe says, "I have a question for you: why is this ship called Icarus? It seems to me to be somewhat questionable to name your ship after a character whose hubris caused him to fly too close to the sun, at which point his wax wings melted and he fell to his death."

"Dr. Pon named the ship," Rashid explains with an expression of resignation. "I think she enjoys mocking human superstition."

"I see."

Rashid puts her hands on the table. "Let's prepare to get underway. Joe, I'd like you to work with Susan to configure the probes. Isaiah, Vanda and Rylek, see if you can model a tachyon collector membrane that will take Icarus to warp."

"We'll hoist the mainsail," Sparks nods.

"I'll contact Starfleet Command," Rashid says. "Computer, bridge configuration."

The tables disappear, and the chairs carry the crew to their respective consoles which materialize on the outer perimeter of the circular bridge. Rashid walks past the command chair to her ready room door.

As she leaves, Rylek moves close to Avala. "I am pleased to see you have recovered, Vanda. How do you feel?"

There is a weary look on her face. "I'm fine, I guess. Physically. And I'm glad we're doing this mission, but I wish Icarus was better armed." She pauses. "I guess we never finished the space opera."

"War-Princess M'Giia and Mr. Sporb must save Andor from Admiral Vuluv and his Logical Legion," Rylek says. "That is, when you are ready."

Avala smiles. "I'd like that," she says, putting her hand on his arm. "Listen, I know we haven't really talked about what happened on Terminus. But I want you to know how much I appreciate that you've just been there for me this whole time. It means a lot. Thanks, Rylek."

The young Vulcan blushes a deep green.

"Admiral Qarash for you, Captain," Sparks says over the comm.

Rashid leans back in her ready room chair and glances around the austere room, her eyes resting for a moment on a painting. She gazes at the abstract swirls of purple and black.

"Put her through." She takes the trapezoidal bars from the back of her combadge, places them on her temples, and sets the arrowhead frame on her desk.

The ready room dissolves around her, and she is seated in a spacious office with plants all around, lit by the familiar light of Sol. A Tamarian sits across the desk, her red uniform showing the rank of admiral.

"Syneq, her fleet becalmed past Tinara," the Tamarian says in a measured voice. "Andris on the shore, her face ashen."

"I appreciate that, my friend," Rashid replies. "Did you receive my briefing note?"

"Queen Veshal, her hand closed."

"I know it's a bit unorthodox, but we are confident we can find some indication of where the Romulans are. And also, the probes can chart the entirety of the tachyon phenomenon, which would significantly increase our knowledge of this region."

Admiral Qarash regards her sternly. "Shaka, when the walls fell."

Rashid puts her palms on the facsimile of the admiral's desk. "Admiral, with all due respect, this can work! We should be able to return to our current position – going against the general tachyon flow takes longer, but it can be done. I'm fully aware that we're not at all equipped to take on a warbird – we won't engage them."

"Rishai, lost forever upon the endless river," Qarash says. "Veshal and her nine councillors, their veils drawn."

Rashid is silent for a moment. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

The admiral nods.

"Look, admiral, I strongly encourage you to reconsider. I'm telling you this is the right thing to do. And I mean…" she pauses. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but I am prepared to face court martial if it means getting our crew and technology back."

The admiral narrows her eyes. "Picard and Riker at the Briar Patch."

"Kirk and Sulu at Khitomer," Rashid reassures her.

Admiral Qarash takes a deep breath. "Syneq, forever compelled to sea. Andris in the window, without her daughter by her side." She interlaces her fingers. "Darmok and Jilad at Tenagra."

"Thank you, admiral," Rashid says, relieved. "We will keep a comm line open and update you as often as we can."

"Icarus and Daedalus beyond Crete, on wings of wax," the Tamarian warns.

"Yeah, you don't have to remind me of that," she says wryly. "Rashid out."

The office dissolves and Rashid is back in her ready room, lit yellow by the stars. She takes the devices off her temples and reassembles her combadge, placing it on her red uniform. Then she exits her ready room and returns to the bridge.

"Status?"

Sparks looks up at her from the ops console. "I think we're as ready as we're going to be, captain. The probes are prepped, and we've run some simulations with the membrane and have a course laid in which should allow us to cover the most ground."

"Good. We have Starfleet's blessing." She looks around the bridge at the familiar faces. "I realize what we're doing is dangerous. We're plunging headfirst into the unknown, against a potentially relentless adversary. But at the very least, the data we gather from the tachyon phenomenon could potentially keep Starfleet busy for decades. Still, if any of you have any objections, they will be noted in my log."

The crew is silent for a moment. From the environmental station, the doctor says, "If I may say so: this plan is unorthodox, possibly even bordering on reckless. But it's the right thing to do. And if I may say so, it's what Captain Janeway would have done."

Rashid smiles. "Thank you, Joe." She sits in the command chair. "Are we ready to get underway?"

"At your command, sir," Sparks answers.

She leans back in the chair and crosses her legs. "Engage."

Five probes shoot from the underside of the ship's saucer section. Particle-collecting membranes extend before them, barely visible in the starlight, and one by one the membranes fill with invisible tachyon particles which propel the probes to warp. Icarus moves forward, and four cables shoot from the deflector array. As they spread outward in front of the ship, there is a faint rippling where the wide membrane unfurls. It forms into a dome shape as it begins to collect particles. Then Icarus is propelled to warp, disappearing with a flash.

Lerex's eyes open, and she gasps and sits upright.

She is on a Starfleet biobed which is out of place in the dim green light of the Romulan infirmary. Near the exit door to her left are a quartet of heavily armoured Romulan and Reman soldiers. Dr. Alomar is examining an unconscious Reman in a nearby biobed. When she sits up, he takes notice.

"It's alright, it's alright," he says, moving close to her as she breathes heavily and quickly.

"Where… where am I?" Her eyes focus on the human. "You…!"

She lunges for him and seizes his throat with her cybernetic hand. "Why?" she shrieks.

"The Exarch…" Alomar begins, his voice cut off by her grip. She lifts him off his feet and slams him against a bulkhead.

Then the soldiers are on them. Two Romulans force Lerex to the ground while a Reman trains his disruptor rifle at her face. Another Reman drags Alomar roughly away from Lerex and thrusts his rifle below Alomar's jaw.

"Easy, friend," Alomar says to the masked Reman, his hands open in front of him. The Reman releases him, and he approaches Lerex and kneels at her side.

"The Exarch forced me to resuscitate you," Alomar tells her.

"My debt," Lerex says, gazing at the barrel of the soldier's rifle.

"He said it was paid." To the soldiers training their guns on Lerex, Alomar says, "Oh, for god's sake, let her up. She's no threat."

The soldiers glance at each other, then lower their guns. A Romulan approaches Alomar with his rifle drawn. "You do not give the orders here, Earthman."

Alomar glares at the black mask beneath the golden helmet. "Are you going to shoot me? What would your Exarch say?"

The Romulan stares at him for a moment, then joins his comrades who stand watch once again by the door. After they leave, Alomar helps Lerex to her feet.

"You followed the Exarch's instruction, despite what I had done." Her eyes are downcast.

"I resuscitated you because I believed it was what I was ethically compelled to do," Alomar tells her. "You were forced to kill yourself against your will."

"He needed proof that I would obey his command," Lerex muses.

Alomar folds his arms as she sits on the edge of the biobed. "We were all genuinely concerned about your well-being, you know," he says.

"I have no interest in having this conversation," Lerex retorts. "I am Romulan, a daughter of the Twin-Masked God. There is nothing more you need to know."

"I have worked with many Romulans," the doctor says angrily, "and they have all been very honourable people who would not betray the people who rescue them."

She sits on the biobed. "Do not compare me to the indoctrinated dupes who believe the lie of 'Reunification.'"

There is a deep, thunderous crash from beyond the walls of the infirmary, startling them. The soldiers snap to action, activating localized forcefields around the entrance to the infirmary.

A Romulan soldier approaches Lerex and Alomar, his face unreadable behind his black visor. "Leave. Now. Take your Reman patient, get inside the quarantine laboratory and set the shields to maximum."

"What is happening?" Alomar demands.

The soldier trains his disruptor rifle on him and arms it. "Leave, human!"

Alomar raises his hands in front of him and backs away from the soldier. "Alright, alright." He turns to Lerex, who stands. They walk briskly away as the soldier returns to assist the others. There is another crash, closer this time.

They reach the unconscious Reman. "Help me with him," he instructs her. As he enters a command sequence into the Romulan biobed, he asks her in a low voice, "Do you have any idea–"

"No," she whispers. "When I was aboard this ship, there was nothing–"

There is a cacophonous tearing noise as a section of the infirmary bulkhead is wrenched aside, exposing several conduits which blast smoke into the opening in the wall. The soldiers immediately open fire into the breach, the green bolts illuminating the darkened corridor. Something in the darkness bellows furiously in a deep, sibilant tone.

"My god…" Alomar begins.

With a roar, a massive Bal'Horai lunges through the breach, overwhelming a force field. It slashes with one of its arms, and two of its three scythe-like talons sever a Romulan soldier's upper torso in a spray of green blood. The three remaining soldiers back up, continuing to rain disruptor fire against the creature, which dissipates against its chitinous exoskeleton.

"Hurry," Alomar says urgently. They remove the top half of the biobed and activate the antigravity unit, causing it to drift above the deck. Beyond them, the Bal'Horai crashes through several hastily-erected forcefields, swinging its claws and crushing the two Reman soldiers against the bulkhead.

Then the bay is illuminated by the green light of the transporter, and six more soldiers materialize carrying disruptor rifles with black bayonets. The lead soldier wears purple and carries a disruptor pistol in one hand and a black, flowing sword in the other.

"The Exarch," Lerex breathes.

The new soldiers surround the Bal'Horai and unleash a torrent of disruptor fire. It bellows and lunges towards two of them, who disappear in a shimmer and reappear behind it, continuing to shoot. As it turns, two of the new warriors teleport near the Bal'Horai's rear legs. They stab the creature in the abdomen, aiming their bayonets through a joint in its armour. Enraged, it lets out an otherworldly roar.

Then the Exarch uses a site-to-site transport and materializes on the Bal'horai's back between its four legs. With both hands, he swings his sword and severs the alien's head in a spray of milky blood. The insect-like head drops to the deck, its four empty eyes staring at the ceiling.

The Exarch removes his helmet and teleports in front of the carcass. "Praise be to the Omnipotent One for this victory," he intones.

Lerex kneels and bows her head. Alomar remains standing, and the Exarch regards him with a raised eyebrow. "You do not kneel, human?"

"I prefer not to validate the delusions of megalomaniacs," Alomar replies.

The Exarch chuckles. "On another day, such insolence may cost you your head. But today Our heart overflows with joy at your handiwork. Lerex, Our dearest prodigal daughter has returned to Us and has proven her honour." He approaches the young woman, who looks up reverently as he takes her hand. She stands and he clasps her close to him, burying his head in her shoulder. "Our dearest child," he breathes, stroking her hair. "You are forgiven. Welcome home, subcommander."

Lerex's body shakes as she sobs into his shoulder. "Thank you. Thank you, my lord."

After a moment, the Exarch releases her. His eyes fall on the unconscious Reman, and an expression of deep emotion appears on his face. "Is he…?" he begins.

"His condition is stable," Alomar tells him.

"You are a worker of miracles." The Exarch crouches next to the pale green, vaguely vampiric Reman.

"Yes, well, I do this not for you," Alomar says, "but because I was ethically obligated to help them."

"It does not matter to Us why you did it, doctor," the Exarch replies in a hushed tone. "Only that you succeeded. Do you know who this is?"

"I know he is an adult Reman. Approximately middle aged. With his genome showing less Romulan tampering than some of the Remans I've encountered in the past."

"This is the Viceroy Upexi, the scion of one of the most ancient Reman aristocratic lineages." The Exarch takes the Reman's spindly hand. "Your healing work means more to Us than you can know."

Alomar scowls. "It was no easy task. There was not much left of him, owing to what I presume was an encounter with a creature like the one your men dispatched."

The Exarch stands. "Quite right, doctor. They are called the Bal'Horai. Part of an empire which dominates this anomaly, who are known only as the Civilization. They have no regard for life of any kind."

"If I may, my liege," Lerex ventures, "how did the Bal'Horai come to be on the ship?"

There is a grim look on the Exarch's heavily tattooed face. "By our own transporters. And lo, it is a great blessing of the Twin-Masked God that you have returned to us. For our enemy has embedded a virus deep within our central computer. One which causes the pattern of a Bal'Horai to be generated by our transporter system, to be unleashed at random aboard our ship. And though we may slay him over and over, using blades forged from ablative plating harvested from the bodies of his previous iterations, he continues to be reborn to run amok and slick his talons with the blood of our kin." He takes her shoulders in his gloved hands. "But you, daughter, have talents which are unsurpassed. You will purge the alien virus from our systems and restore the purity of the Syrinx."

She bows her head. "By your command, Exalted One, it shall be done."

"Of this I have no doubt." The Exarch turns to Alomar. "And you, doctor. You will continue your work. There are many in stasis who require your assistance."

"Damn it," Alomar shouts, "I don't have the capacity to treat all of your injured. Doesn't this ship have a medical staff?"

"Many of the patients are the medical staff. The infirmaries were favourite targets of the Bal'Horai. As you resuscitate more of them, your load will be lightened." The Exarch peers at him. "But for now, you have earned your rest by your deeds today. We require you to be at full cognitive capacity. For this reason, We have decreed that instead of imprisonment, you will be confined to quarters which you will share with your compatriot. Perhaps you can convince her of the wisdom of assisting us."

"That is unlikely," Alomar replies dryly.

The Exarch gestures to two of his soldiers, who approach Alomar holding their rifles in front of them. "Take him to his quarters and see that his needs are attended." The soldiers touch their fists to their chests in salute.

As they begin to leave, the Exarch puts his hand on Alomar's shoulder and extends his hand. Suspiciously, Alomar extends his own, and the Exarch clasps him by the forearm in a traditional Romulan handshake. "You have my deepest gratitude," the Romulan whispers.

"If that were the case, you would return me and Pon to Icarus."

"You know that it would be a grave tactical error to do so." He releases Alomar. "We are bound to act in the interest of Our people before all else."

"Then we have nothing to talk about," Alomar glowers.

"Perhaps." The Exarch grins inscrutably. "Perhaps not."

TO BE CONTINUED...