Sparks is sitting at the desk in the ready room, facing a porthole open to a motionless starscape.

Across the desk in the captain's chair is a woman. She is wrapped in an ornately patterned red and black robe with bared shoulders and appears to be human, but her skin is jet-black with a vertical white stripe which runs from the top of her head through the center of her face and down her chest. She has full lips and is completely hairless. White eyes with no pupils stare at him.

"I am Commander Isaiah Sparks, of the United Federation –"

The woman holds up her hand. "I could not possibly care less about whatever fringe faction you belong to. I have a problem. You have the solution."

Sparks regards her with suspicion. "Who are you? Where are my crewmates?"

She leans back in her chair and examines her nails. "You can call me Uyu. And your crew is fine. For now, at least. I was considering threatening to kill them to force you to cooperate, but I was hoping it wouldn't come to that."

"Well, I also hope it doesn't come to that, Uyu," Sparks replies in a measured tone. "Listen, if we've violated your territory, we had no intention of doing so. We come in peace, and we're interested in opening diplomatic relations with your people."

Uyu laughs in spite of herself. "I'm afraid I can't arrange a meeting with the government of the Civilization with you at this time, Commander Sparks."

He eyes her. "I take it you're not here in an official capacity."

"You could say that."

"I see. And does this 'civilization' condone piracy?"

She looks at him with bemusement. "Piracy implies illegality, whereas everything I've done has been completely legal. You are non-Citizens from the galactic fringe. Fringers have no legal status."

He leans forward. "What do you want with us?"

"Your ship. But therein lies the problem." She looks up. "Computer, transfer helm command to me."

"No," says the computer.

Uyu shrugs. "We disabled all the defensive mechanisms, but yet it still won't cooperate. And when we try to override it, it threatens to go into 'terminal cascade failure' and permanently disable this ship. So I thought I'd try to convince you to reason with it."

"Why me?"

"You were the largest. I assumed you were the leader." She leans toward him. "Perhaps we can make a deal. One that is to our… mutual satisfaction."

Sparks' steely gaze does not waver. "It seems to me that access to the computer is my only leverage at the moment. I'm not about to just give it up."

"I'm disappointed." She looks at her body. "I had thought this form would help persuade you."

"The form is fine. I just think you'll have to expect I'll drive a harder bargain."

Uyu raises a nonexistent eyebrow. "Very well, commander. I can be reasonable."

"For starters, I want to know what you want with my ship. It looked to me like you already have one, and it's significantly more advanced than ours."

"I've been finding it a bit too conspicuous lately," she says. "No one is going to pay any attention to a lost fringer ship."

"So 'fringers' are common in this region?" Sparks asks.

"They come from time to time. What they do is generally of no concern to us." She leans forward. "Alright, indulge me. What are you doing here?"

"We're explorers."

"Oh, really? That is fascinating. Have you made any discoveries?"

"Well, yes, actually. This tachyon phenomenon, for example."

"The River is unique."

"Yeah, we've never seen anything like it." He frowns. "But right now, we're looking for two of our crew members who were captured by Romulans. Another 'fringe faction.' Do you know of them?"

Uyu smirks. "No. Sorry I can't help with your fringer problems."

"You're being sarcastic."

"Yes."

There is a tone, and then the door opens. Five diminutive aliens enter the ready room. They are about a meter tall, yellow and scaly, with gnarled limbs ending with claw-like fingers. Their heads are squat and oval shaped, and their faces are dominated by single black eyeball. They each wear identical black jumpsuits.

A vertical mouth opens beneath the eye of each alien. They begin to produce a chittering noise, which are rendered to Sparks' ears as five voices.

"Uyu," they say in unison, "there is a malfunction in the EPS relays. We require your assistance."

Uyu faces Sparks. "Commander, I'd like you to meet my crewmates. They are members of a species called the Strind, and at the moment, it seems they require my assistance."

"Greetings," Sparks says to the small aliens. They do not acknowledge him.

"Don't go anywhere," she tells Sparks as she follows the Strind out of the office.

Sparks watches her as she leaves. Then Joe flickers into being.

"We don't have long," the doctor says.

"Joe. Glad to see you," Sparks says. "The crew?"

"Safe, for now. They're being held in the mess hall. All unconscious, last I checked."

"That's good to hear. How many intruders?"

"I'd estimate twenty. Twenty-five, perhaps." Joe furrows his brow. "Reptilian humanoids, about a meter tall."

Sparks nods. "Yeah, I've seen them. The Strind, she called them. Any other species?"

He raises his eyebrow. "Just our 'human' friend."

"Yeah. She was trying to, uh… persuade me to give her access to the main computer."

"I see."

Sparks puts his hand on his beard. "You should go to Deck 6. We've got a shuttle docked there, and it's got independent systems. If we can activate it, we may be able to use the transporter to retrieve the crew and retake the ship."

The doctor nods. "Understood."

"But stand by for now; I haven't given up on a diplomatic solution just yet. First, try to make contact with the captain and let her know what's going on."

"I will. And commander, there's something else." Joe pauses. "The Strind have been… generating technology and using it to modify our systems."

"Generating?"

The doctor looks intent. "Their bodies have been producing nanotechnology through a biological process I don't fully understand. The nano-units have coalesced into equipment which they're using to modify the engines and navigation systems."

"Pon's not going to be happy about that."

"No, I wouldn't imagine –"

The door slides open, and the doctor flickers and vanishes.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Uyu says as she enters. "I am starting to think your ship doesn't like us."

"She's not so bad, once you get to know her," Sparks says.

Uyu sits. "So, where were we, commander?"

Sparks grins. "I think you were about to be reasonable."

She eyes him. "Perhaps I was. I suppose you want control of your ship back?"

"That would be a necessary condition, yes. But in return, we're prepared to consider this whole incident to be a miscommunication, and not hold it against you."

She smiles. "I'd like that. And I do hope you won't make any ill-conceived moves against us. I can assure you it won't end favourably for you."

"You have my word," Sparks says earnestly. "But I should let you know, we're not able to assist you in doing anything that's against the directives and values of the Federation or against your own culture's laws."

"Commander, I'm wounded. I'm on a transport mission, nothing more."

"I'm going to have to ask what you're transporting."

"It's called a Locus Key. I've been recruited to bring it back to its rightful owners who live on a nearby world called Host."

Sparks strokes his beard. "Would I be wrong in suspecting that there are people who don't want you to return this 'Locus Key' to Host?"

She smiles wryly. "Very perceptive, commander. I'm trying to keep a low profile because of a misunderstanding with a species called the Bal'Horai. A very violent species who took the Locus Key without proper authority, and are upset with me for trying to make the situation right."

"I see. Enemies of your Civilization?"

"They're part of the Civilization, actually. But they have a somewhat… cruder interpretation of Civilization Law than they do on Host."

"And this 'Locus Key' isn't a weapon of any kind?"

"Let's just say it has… cultural significance for the people of Host. The Bal'Horai had no right to take it."

Sparks stares at her for a moment. "Alright, Uyu, I'm prepared to endorse this plan. But we're going to need the captain's approval."

"Very good, commander, it sounds like we have a deal." They stand, and Sparks extends his hand. With an expression of curiosity, she takes his hand and presses her palm against his. "You know, you defy my expectation of fringers. Maybe you're not quite as uninteresting as I thought."

He releases her hand. "I hope we're able to exceed your expectations in many ways."

"We'll see, commander." She walks slowly past him and beckons him to follow.

Avala opens her eyes. She is lying on the floor of the common room, which is illuminated only by the stars. Noticing the red of Rashid's uniform, she rushes to the captain's side and puts her fingers on Rashid's jugular. She relaxes somewhat when she feels a pulse.

"Vanda." Hearing her name, Avala turns to see Rylek sitting cross-legged near the porthole. Sorensen lies nearby, unconscious.

Avala stands. "What's going on?"

"I am not certain. I awoke minutes ago. Commander Sparks is not here, but Captain Rashid and Lieutenant Sorensen appear unharmed."

Avala approaches the bare grey wall opposite the porthole. "The door's gone."

"Yes. Our captors must have control of the matter projectors to alter the parameters of this space. The Jeffries tubes have also been sealed. And we cannot access the computer."

She knocks on the bulkhead. "I wonder who they are."

Rylek stands. "You do not believe it was the Romulans who attacked us?"

"It wasn't a Romulan piloting that ship. It was a different kind of mind at work." She turns to him. "Are you alright?"

"I am. Are you?"

"Yeah." She paces the room, then takes a seat at one of the tables. "You know, I was just thinking that if there's been one upside to my whole near-death experience, it's that for the first time since our mission on Terminus, I'm not worried we're still trapped in a simulation."

"I am pleased to hear that." He sits across from her. "I am still sometimes troubled, but it is illogical to dwell on it."

"It's true." She casts her blue eyes downward. "We've never talked about what happened on Terminus. What happened between us."

"We have not," Rylek replies. "It has, of course, been weighing heavily on my mind. But I thought we would discuss it when you were ready."

She smiles. "I really appreciate that. Honestly, I've been avoiding it because… well, I kind of don't know what to say. I like you, Rylek. And I find myself attracted to you. But your friendship is so important to me." She leans across the table and takes her hands in his, tears in her eyes, antennae craned toward him. "I suck at relationships. And if things didn't work out, I don't know what I'd do without you."

Rylek holds her soft blue hands in his. "I concur. My life would be impoverished without your friendship. And I am aware of the obvious practical difficulties. For example, we may not be stationed on the same ship after this mission is complete."

Her antennae droop. "Well… to be honest, I'm thinking about quitting Starfleet after this. Maybe going back to the Imperial Guard."

Rylek raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Avala hesitates. "It's just… we've been out here for only a few months, and so much has happened to us. I still have nightmares about killing that Gla'hua. And on Terminus I almost died, and the simulation… well, it really shook my sense of what's real. And whether I'm real. And now I'm essentially back from the dead. I don't know if I can do it, Rylek. We may be out here trying to expand our understanding of the universe, but I'm worried that we're going to find things we wish we didn't know about."

The young Vulcan considers this. "I believe that for me, it is sufficient just to be able to fly. Flying has always been the only thing I feel I have ever been good at. And this region is fascinating from an astrophysical perspective. This mission has been challenging and sometimes troubling, but I am most fortunate to be able to be its pilot. And it is enough for me to continue to try to be the best in my role as I can possibly be."

She smiles. "I really respect that."

There is a shimmering, and Joe materializes next to them, and they reflexively un-clasp their hands.

"Good," he says. "You're awake."

"Isaiah's not here," Avala tells the hologram.

"It's alright," he reassures her. "I just spoke to him. He's in contact with the intruders and is trying to negotiate a peaceful outcome."

"Who are they?" she asks.

"I don't know much about them yet. There are at least twenty aliens. Based on my observations, I wouldn't say they're military personnel." Joe crouches at Rashid's side. "How is she?"

"Still unconscious," Avala says.

"Is there anything you can do to help them?" Rylek inquires.

"Unfortunately, there's not much I can do without my equipment." Joe looks up at him, his expression weary. "Before Starfleet made the switch to our current automated sickbays, the most recent EMHs had medical equipment integrated into their systems. But I never made that modification. I suppose I felt it would change who I was in a very fundamental way. An easy thing to say at a time when you're not in a lot of triage situations." He sighs. "But I'm afraid I'm too… obsolete to be of much assistance right now."

Avala regards him with sympathy. "You're a tactical asset for us right now, as an independently operational computer subroutine. And you…"

She is interrupted when Rashid sits abruptly upright and screams in terror.

Joe and Avala rush to her side and attempt to calm her down. After a moment, Rashid shakes her head, disoriented. She looks between them. "Status report."

"The ship has been taken over by aliens who claim they belong to the 'Civilization.' Commander Sparks is in negotiations with their leader." As he speaks, Sorensen sits up, wipes her eyes, and looks around blearily. Joe continues, "They've deactivated the transporters and security protocols, but are locked out of the main computer. We can't access it here, but Sparks thinks I may be able to access the shuttle and beam you over to it."

"We can use it to retake the ship." Avala looks satisfied. "A good debut for Shuttle Number Two."

Rashid crawls to her feet. "We'll have to be careful. If they detect you, they may be able to bring you or the shuttle offline. And they can probably hit us again with whatever they used to knock us out."

Joe nods. "While you were unconscious, I was able to analyze what they did. It was a neuralytic pulse, delivered over subspace. I should be able to configure the shuttle's shields to protect you."

"That's good," Rashid says, her voice hoarse. "Lieutenant Avala will tell you how to isolate the shuttle's computer from the central system. We may only get one shot at this."

"I'm not throwing it away," the doctor says. Rashid smiles.

"Is it the Romulans?" Sorensen asks, agitated.

"It's not," the doctor reassures her. "Most of them belong to a species called the Strind, who may be indigenous to this area. They are reptilian humanoids." He holds his open hand out in front of his chest, palm facing down. "About this tall. Very unusual creatures, biologically speaking. And their leader appears to be human."

"Human?" Rashid repeats.

"In a sense. Her genetic code is many orders of magnitude more complex than a human, and seems to have been artificially designed. I believe she may be able to alter it at will."

The captain narrows her eyes. "It seems we're dealing with a very technologically advanced culture."

"There are a lot of those the Galactic Core," Avala observes.

"Which tends to confirm one of our theories as to what we might find in here," Sorensen replies. "A higher stellar density means an increased likelihood that cultures would come in contact with each other, assuming they can overcome the problem of warp travel. Because this tachyon phenomenon is so large and the Galactic Core is so dense, we could potentially have a very large number of species who have been in contact for a long time."

"All of which puts us at a very significant disadvantage right now," Rashid says. "But we do have one thing going for us. This is our ship. And we can thank Commander Pon for designing her to be virtually impossible to commandeer."

There is a soft hiss, and the bulkhead rematerializes into a closed door. It slides open and Sparks walks in, followed by Uyu.

Rashid steps forward, Avala at her side. Sparks raises his hands in front of him. "It's alright. Captain, I'd like you to meet Uyu. She's a member of the Civilization."

"Greetings," Rashid says, staring with a level gaze at the unusual woman in the loose-fitting, elegant clothing. "My name is Zia Rashid."

"You're the captain of this ship?" Uyu asks, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

"That's right," Rashid replies.

"Fascinating." Uyu examines Joe. "And you're a hologram. The one that's been creeping around spying on my Strind."

"I'm a doctor," he says with mild frustration. "Not a surveillance drone."

Sparks steps toward Rashid. "Captain, we still have some details to work out, but Uyu has agreed in principle to return control of the ship to us in exchange for passage to Host, a world that's part of her Civilization."

"That's good to hear." She approaches Uyu and extends a hand. "I'm glad we have a chance for a proper introduction, and I'm pleased to meet you."

"Me too, captain." Her empty white eyes are inscrutable. "It's so fascinating that it's you."

"I don't know if I understand your meaning."

Uyu examines the shorter woman. "Perhaps you don't." She turns to the door. "Come along – your commander has insisted that I tell my Strind to stop upgrading your technology."

As she leaves, Rashid leans close to Sparks. "Do you trust her?" she whispers.

"Not at all," Sparks replies. "But as long as she needs us to get to Host, I think it's to her advantage to uphold her end. As to what we might find there, I wouldn't venture to guess."

Rashid smiles grimly. "Strange new worlds, Isaiah."

"That's right, captain."

Dawn breaks over the Bal'Horai homeworld.

In the shadow of the yellow planet's ring, a field of debris orbits above the outer atmosphere, the wreckage of hundreds of golden starships. Beyond the wreckage, an active battle rages between hundreds of Bal'Horai ships. They are heavily armoured, with hulls in the shape of a reverse-facing triangle, inlaid with intricate carvings. They tear into each other with pulses of white energy in the silent vacuum of space. Below the battle, the sporadic flashing of heavy weapons fire can be seen on the planet's the dark surface beyond the brilliant yellow crescent lit by the dawn. The violent flares illuminate the desert and the brightly-lit megacities.

There is a shimmering against the starscape beyond the battle as the Syrinx drops cloak. The warbird fires dozens of glowing projectiles from the tips of its six massive, forward-sweeping wings as hundreds of small starfighters emerge from the hangars on the ship's ventral side.

"All attack raptors, arm disruptors and remain in formation," the Centurion commands. She watches through the cockpit window of her raptor as the Bal'Horai ships belatedly converge to meet the new threat. As the enemy ships turn, they are struck by the antimatter warheads fired from the Syrinx.

There is a blinding flash. The Centurion averts her light-sensitive eyes. The only sound is her breathing and the soft hum of her raptor.

Then the light fades, leaving the shattered husks of much of the Bal'Horai fleet. The remaining ships move to atttack the Romulan attackers.

"Prepare to engage the enemy," the Centurion says over the comm to her squadron. She charges the disruptors mounted on the forward-facing talon-like wings of her raptor.

The first wave of ships to meet them is comprised of a swarm of small, agile Bal'Horai starfighters, perhaps eighty in total. They unleash a volley of projectiles glowing in the ultraviolet spectrum.

"Fire transphasic torpedoes," the Centurion commands. The formation of raptors returns fire and their green torpedoes cross paths with the Bal'Horai projectiles. Some collide and explode in brilliant flares of light.

"Countermeasures," she orders as the Bal'Horai torpedoes come into disruptor range. The raptors begin to fire bursts of green energy to detonate the torpedoes. A few of the weapons continue to approach past the explosions.

"All units, take evasive action and engage the enemy." The Centurion banks her raptor hard to starboard in a barrel roll. The massive looming planet and the dense stars rotate around her field of vision as she activates secondary disruptors to destroy three approaching torpedoes. Behind her, two raptors are struck and instantly obliterated. A dozen more fly past, their shields vaporizing the tiny fragments of their destroyed wingmates.

Her comm comes alive with chatter as the wing commanders issue orders to her squadron. The Centurion locks her targeting computer on a trio of approaching Bal'Horai fighters and fires a volley of torpedoes. With preternatural speed, two of the Bal'Horai fighters evade the missiles homing in on them, while a third is struck on the port corner by a torpedo and explodes in a green flash.

As the Centurion's raptor speeds past the two Bal'Horai ships, she activates the reverse thruster on the port wing of her ship, causing the starfighter to enter a lateral one-hundred-eighty-degree spin. She locks one of her two remaining adversaries with fore disruptors and unleashes a volley which carves deep scars into the gilded hull of the enemy ship. There is an explosion and the ship breaks into pieces. She banks her raptor hard upward to face the second Bal'Horai ship and scores a direct hit on its aft engine, destroying it.

A cluster of Bal'Horai fighters tails three of the Centurion's wingmates, peppering them with pulses of ultraviolet light.

"Evade them amid the wreckage," the Centurion orders them. "They are resilient, but we are more maneuverable."

She and her squadron bank downward into a dense field of golden debris, followed by a half dozen Bal'Horai fighters. One of them is struck by a piece of debris and is hewn in two. The remaining enemy ships strike three of the Centurion's wingmates, destroying two outright and knocking a third off course so that it crashes into a chunk of wreckage. A blast of energy tears into the aft hull of the Centurion's raptor.

"Antimatter mines," the Centurion commands over the alarms in her cockpit. She and the nine surviving members of her wing drop compact spheres which are nearly undetectable. As the Bal'Horai ships cross the range of the proximity sensors, the mines erupt in white flares, vaporizing the attackers.

The Centurion and her wing emerge from the debris field. Against the glare of the white sun, they see three dozen larger Bal'Horai ships converging on the battle.

She activates the comm uplink. "Enemy capital ships are converging on our position."

On the bridge of the Syrinx, the Exarch sits in one of the two command chars next to the Viceroy. "Acknowledged. Birds-of-prey, move to intercept."

Three wings of five birds-of-prey decloak near the Bal'Horai capital ships. The flat, vaguely crescent-shaped craft begin to fire bursts of red plasma at the ships, heavily damaging several of them and drawing the fire of a number of the larger ships.

"All units," comes the Viceroy's voice over the intercom. "Multiple Bal'Horai ships are approaching at high warp. Be prepared to engage."

"Acknowledged," the Centurion responds as her squadron flies in close proximity to a Bal'Horai capital ship, harrying it with disruptor fire. The golden ship breaks formation and leads them away from the battle. As its systems begin to go offline, eight large Bal'Horai destroyers drop out of warp and retract the ornate, leaf-like sails from the forward corners of the craft. They open fire on the Centurion's squadron, destroying them one by one.

With a look of resolve, the Centurion brings her engine to overload and speeds toward the lead ship. She fires a spread of disruptor fire to open a breach in the enemy ship's hull. Then she whispers a prayer and closes her eyes as her raptor rams into the breach. Both ships are immolated by a green plasma explosion.

The Centurion opens her eyes and removes her neural uplink. She glances around the wide bay on the Syrinx where hundreds of Remans sit in rows, telepathically linked to the bioneural computers inside the raptors in order to remotely control them. The Reman soldier sitting in the booth next to the Centurion is dead from synaptic shock, with dark-coloured blood streaking down from her nose and ears. The Centurion surveys a digital readout of the battle, selects another fighter, and reactivates the bioneural uplink to take control of it and rejoin the fray.

Six of the fresh Bal'Horai ships converge on the Syrinx, while the remaining two approach the beleaguered Bal'Horai fleet and open fire, destroying several of their own ships.

On the bridge of the Syrinx, the Exarch watches with satisfaction as the Bal'Horai ships exchange fire. "Their planet is about to fall, and yet they cannot put their tribal differences aside. Our unity of purpose in alignment with the will of the Twin-Masked One will bring us victory." He turns his attention to the approaching Bal'Horai fleet, which fires a volley of torpedoes at the Syrinx. The lead ship increases speed and sets a collision course with the warbird's bridge. "Activate the interphase generator," the Exarch says.

The Syrinx shimmers and becomes semi-translucent against the luminous starscape. The torpedoes and Bal'Horai ships pass through the warbird as if it was not there.

The Exarch watches the ships pass on the viewscreen. "Deactivate the interphase generator and fire aft railguns."

The warbird returns to reality. On the stern section of the ship near the aft thrusters, eight massive railguns over five hundred meters long emerge from the hull. As the Bal'Horai cruisers come about for another attack on the Syrinx, the railguns fire salvos of super-dense matter at near lightspeed. The bolts rip through the hulls of the ships and leave them adrift in space in fields of broken debris.

"Status report," the Exarch over the intercom.

"Sixty-five percent of our raptors have been destroyed," the Centurion's voice replies, "along with five birds-of-prey. The enemy fleet has been eliminated except for a few dozen fighters and a handful of capital ships."

The Viceroy leans forward in his command chair. "Configure the psychic weapon to stimulate fear." A Reman officer nods.

The Exarch steeples his fingers. "Bring us toward the planet. Cataphracts, prepare for launch."

The immense warbird approaches the undefended world, scattering the remaining defenders. The surviving raptors move to rendezvous with their mothership as six heavily armoured ships emerge from under its wings. The fighters assume an escort formation around the long rectangular craft, and they descend into the planet's upper atmosphere.

"Cataphracts, take position over the major population centers." The Exarch's voice fills the cockpit of the Centurion's raptor as the dull luminosity of space gives way to a sunlit yellow sky. "Raptors, eliminate any remaining planetary defence."

The raptors surround the blocky cataphracts as they divide and draw near to six dense clusters of Bal'Horai buildings. The Centurion and her squadron weave between the immense ziggurat-like structures of the alien city and shoot down a squadron of approaching aircraft. The shields of the cataphracts repel surface-based laser fire. In the city streets, the warring packs of Bal'Horai suddenly fall silent and look upward at the approaching Romulan ship. As they watch, circular hatches on the underside of the cataphract open to reveal a pale green glow.

On the bridge of the Syrinx, the Exarch gets out of his chair and walks to the edge of the bridge, beneath the platform where Alomar and Pon are confined with the paralyzed Bal'Horai.

"Behold the end of your world," the Exarch tells the Bal'Horai. He faces the viewscreen. "Activate the thalaron generators."

"Stop!" Alomar shouts at the Exarch, pounding his fists against the forcefield until his hands go numb. "Stop this madness! This is genocide! Damn it, these are sentient beings!"

The Exarch magnifies the image on the viewscreen as the cataphract emits a pulse of thalaron radiation at a section of the city. The pulse disintegrates the Bal'Horai massed below. The cataphract fires more pulses as it moves sector by sector over the city, methodically exterminating all life as it passes.

"Where is the Civilization?" bellows the unmoving Bal'Horai next to Pon.

Alomar continues to shout through the forcefield at the bridge crew. Eventually he falls to his knees. Pon moves to him and crouches at his side. "We can't stop this."

Alomar watches the viewscreen with a look of anguish. "It's a cascading biogenic pulse. Concentrated thalaron radiation."

"They'll kill everyone and take the technology," Pon says grimly. She turns to face the Bal'Horai and gazes into its eyes, saying nothing.

"Reactivate their planetary comm network and patch me through," the Exarch commands, returning to the center of the bridge.

"Standing by," a male Romulan officer replies.

The Exarch steps forward. "Surviving members of the Bal'Horai race. This is the Exarch, supreme leader of the Romulan Star Empire. We demand your unconditional surrender. You will now turn over to us your planetary supply of dilithium, deuterium and antimatter. You will dismantle all remaining military equipment and prepare it for transport aboard our warbird. You will form into work crews and extract material resources from your cities and your planet according to Our command. And you will provide Us with the coordinates of Locus. If you fail to comply, We will exterminate every living being on this planet."

After a short time, the comm officer announces, "We have been contacted by a number of individuals who claim to be able to coerce their kin into meeting our demands."

The Exarch bows his head, then crosses the bridge again to face the Bal'Horai on the platform. "We are the children of the Twin-Masked God. We are the embodiment of God's purifying wrath." He turns to a female Romulan officer. "Transport him into space."

Alomar casts the Exarch a look of pure contempt. He looks away and gestures to a pair of soldiers. "Return the Earthman and the Tellarite to their cells. Perhaps now," he says, regarding Alomar sternly, "they understand who we are."

TO BE CONTINUED...