Note: I meant this to be a part of the previous chapter, but everything took longer than I expected so I decided to break it up. This means you guys get three chapters in a row--yesterday, today and tomorrow (probably)! Lucky you. Make it so, Incanto out


Captain's Log, Koyomi Mizuhara, Stardate Unknown

As I had begun to suspect—and contrary to what I was told at first—the J.I.S. Hideki Tojo is currently holding position. If we were in fact on course to negotiate the surrender of alterna-Vulcan to alterna-Romulus (I've invented the nomenclature for convenience's sake), that conquest has been delayed…in favor of the conquest of all known space.

I have searched and exhausted every option. I am powerless to stop the Tojo's incursion into my own universe; war is the certain outcome, and Federation defeat overwhelmingly likely. Exploration for these people is synonymous with warfare. The Ryouma—the Federation's flagship—is equipped with twelve phaser banks and three photon torpedo launchers. The Tojo has nearly twice that complement; it's a flying weapons platform. I doubt our hydroponics lab and cocktail lounge will be of much help. But even should the Federation somehow be victorious, it will be the most costly war in all human history.

I have yet to learn the actual location of the dimensional rift, and if it's large enough for the Tojo itself, or even a fleet of warships, to pass through. I do have alterna-Sakaki's word that I'll be "seeing my friends very soon." My only hope is that if I can rendezvous with my crewmates, I can alert Starfleet Command in time…

Wait, why am I recording all this in the damn Captain's Log where my captors can read it at their convenience? I guess I've liked making journals and stuff ever since I was a kid. Not that it matters, since alterna-Sakaki, unlike ours, is a full-blooded betazoid—and a full telepath. I'm sure she's anticipated my every move. Still, better safe than sorry, computer terminate log entry


Yomi exhaled and leaned back in her chair. This could only be achieved by slouching down. Chairs on the J.I.S. Tojo didn't recline; in fact, nothing seemed designed with any thought toward comfort. She found herself looking across the desk at the display of weapons on her wall.

It was as if Sakaki's will permeated the whole ship. Although she was free to move around as she pleased, the room itself was like a psychic jail cell, every object causing pain to her eyes, ears or body by its pure alien nature.

The door chime sounded.

"Come."

It was Chiyo-chan. Or rather, the Romulan alterna-Chiyo, whom she suspected was not addressed as chan. The girl stood in the doorway like a post.

"Lt. Mihama," she sighed, "at ease."

She supposed most of the crew was in on Sakaki's game; but they continued to treat her as Captain. If Sakaki really hoped she would grow more used to her newfound power, it was, in fact, getting more unbearable by the hour. She had not left her quarters since midday to avoid the pain of being saluted.

"Sit," she said, waving her hand at another comfortless chair.

Chiyo sat rigidly, knees together, back straight. But just as before, there was a good deal of the familiar; in this case the shy hesitation the much younger girl (and alterna-Chiyo seemed just as young) displayed around her elders.

"Well?" snapped Yomi. "Out with it."

But the girl responded just as her own would—by shrinking further down in her seat.

Well. As Sakaki said, there was really no point in keeping up the charade, was there? "Look, would you like some tea or something?"

"Y-yes. Thank you very much."

"Computer, tea, sencha.—There you are. Now…are you sure you're not my Chiyo-chan?"

The hope briefly flashed that her chief engineer had manipulated negative quarks or something to follow her to this dimension—but if that were the case, she wished they had sent Kagura instead.

"Then it's true?" said Chiyo, whose speech had, after all, a touch more gravity. "You're not from…here?"

Yomi nodded.

"If you want to know about the place I'm from…just imagine everything the opposite of here. We explore planets, we don't conquer them; we're allied with the Vulcans, not the Romulans; Sakaki is gentle and caring but animals are afraid of her; Osaka mainly translates things. She certainly doesn't kill people."

"Then it's just as Commander Sakaki said."

"I'm afraid so.—You know what, I think I'll have some tea too."

For a time, there was only the sound of sipping; and Chiyo made her sound coarse in comparison. Just like always.

"The thing is," she finally got out, "well…you're pretty much the same. Except you're Romulan, not human."

Chiyo squirmed a little in her seat.

"Why is that?" Yomi pressed, guessing she wanted to say something. "Nevermind that you're not like any Romulan I've met…you don't seem the type to get assigned to a ship like this."

"I was assigned for my technical abilities. I can construct devices that amplify Commander Sakaki's powers, creating a net that allows her to monitor the entire ship. That—and bombs, and guns, and other surveillance devices."

"But you don't sound like you enjoy those duties. In fact, you sound like you hate weapons."

A long silence.

Chiyo looked into her eyes.

"Miss Yomi," she said, "I'm about to tell you something that endangers my life…and all free people in the universe. Our universe, I mean."

"If you're afraid," Yomi said quickly, placing a hand on her arm, "don't tell me anything. Nothing's more important than your own conscience."

But her eyes betrayed her.

Chiyo began on a seemingly irrelevant note:

"Miss Yomi, you're a Vulcan, aren't you? I mean actually."

"That's right."

"You've probably guessed—but that stuff on your face is surgical makeup. You've also been given an implant that causes you to scan as Romulan. Our Yomi is Romulan…and she was given a corresponding treatment before we sent her through, to make her appear Vulcan."

"Then it's true," to which Yomi added a word she would never have uttered in front of her own Chiyo. "There's an alterna-me walking around my ship as we speak."

"Yes. But Miss Yomi…" and Chiyo prodded the Romulan veins on her forehead. "I'm not Romulan either."

"You don't mean…"

"I am Commander Chiyo Mihama," she said, "of the Vulcan security forces. It took all our resources, six years of my life, to place me here…and I received this posting just in time. The last of the Vulcan military has been wiped out. My superiors and comrades are all dead. I am Vulcan's last hope."

"But can't Sakaki tell—!"

"You know that Vulcans have limited telepathic abilities. I've been able to block my mind against her so far—but she's getting suspicious. Now's the time to act. But I have so much to tell you…!"

"Slow down. Take it one thing at a time."

"But there's only one thing that's important, isn't there. Until I met you, I had no plan, no way to proceed. But if your Empire has the principles you say it has—!"

"Actually we call it the Federation…"

"Yes, yes of course.—Then you must realize what threat the Empire poses to both our worlds. If even the crew of this ship, the Empire's elite, could be stopped, it would give hope to resistance movements everywhere…"

"Wait," said Yomi. She sat back.

Her expression was one of considerable suffering. So wanted so badly, after all, to believe the best news she had received since being assigned to the Ryouma. Nonetheless she said: "Lt. Mihama. It took a great deal of bravery to tell me everything you've just told me…if it's all true. But. In good conscience, I have to ask. How…how do I know it's all true?"

At that moment, any sign of anger or pain from Chiyo, the only person in this universe there was any chance she could trust, would have destroyed her. But rather the girl looked, all of a sudden, full of confidence and purpose.

"There is a way," she said, and raised both her hands, her soft fingertips extended.

"You mean…"

"Yes. The mind-meld."

All at once, Yomi turned bright red.

"What's the matter?" said Chiyo. "It is the same in your world, isn't it?"

"Yes, but…well, that is to say…" and as bashful as a schoolgirl, Yomi all but whispered: "I've never done it before."

"Never!"

"I was raised by humans. It's a long story."

A long story, indeed. How a transport ship had been attacked by rogue Romulan slavers, xenophobes so extreme even the Tal Shiar repudiated them. How after a rescue by Federation vessels—sadly belated—the only surviving Vulcan, a girl of six, had been adopted by the only surviving humans: a middle-aged Terran couple with the family name of Mizuhara.

"But to know another mind is such a profound experience," said Chiyo.

"I'd, I'd like to. I'm just not sure I'm ready."

"We have no choice! Unless you're willing to take my word. But I understand your reservations, anything less would be foolish…"

Then, absurdly, Yomi thought of Tomo. Tomo in their primary school days, before the element of rivalry had come to the fore of their—oh, why not call a spade a spade—friendship. Tomo, who called the nerve pinch (which Yomi also had no idea how to perform) the "Vulcan death grip," and used it to threaten her own enemies. And one afternoon when Tomo insisted they perform a mind-meld. Of course, as usual, she got her way. For all she had griped, Yomi had wondered if it would work. Was it something that came naturally—but after a long moment that was, at least for her, agonizing, nothing happened. For Tomo is was another diversion, quickly passed over. The memory remained with her much longer. Though now she wondered if Tomo did remember. Later she would learn that young Vulcans only learned to perform it by melding with other Vulcans.

"Alright," she said, "alright—I'll do it. Just…be gentle, okay?"

"It would be a dangerous for a non-Vulcan," said Chiyo, now even with a note of tenderness as if, nightmare that her own life was, she truly pitied a Vulcan who had never experienced the meld, "you should have nothing to worry about," and without another word, she put her small hands on either side of Yomi's face.

And they sat still, in relative darkness, in silence.

Yomi had no idea how long it lasted. When Chiyo drew her hands away, both their eyes were moist. As it turned out, for quite different reasons.

"I'm sorry," said Yomi, roughly. "I had no idea it was so bad. I mean I knew—but I didn't know."

While Chiyo began at nearly the same time: "Your world is so beautiful. Everyone is so happy. But, you must know that."

Yomi shook her head. "I'm not sure I did, until now."

"Then you understand?"

"Yes. I understand everything. What should I do?"

She had sensed only Chiyo's ironclad determination to resist the Empire. Of plans—and she had admitted, after all, there had been none until just now—there was nothing.

"Miss Yomi, please listen carefully. I said that I designed Commander Sakaki's security net. I fed a program into the sensors that shows you here, in your quarters, mourning the inevitable death of your comrades," and she gave a bitter smile. "She'll like that."

"You mean you did that already?—But you weren't even sure you could trust me."

"What choice did I have?"

"Alright. Tell me how long I've got."

"Two hours…unless she figures it out. Then there's nothing either of us can do."

"I get it. What should I do with that time?"

"Go to the brig. The guard will let you pass; we've all been instructed to play along. There's a forcefield blocking the priority cells—I can disable it. Go to cell C-4. There is a woman there who can help you…or rather, you can help each other."

Yomi, on an impulse that had never gripped her before, and hardly would ever again, gripped Chiyo's hand.

"Thank you. I'll never forget this. We'll both get out of here…"

Chiyo, smiling, was shaking her head.

"Logically speaking, that is unlikely. I have resolved to oppose the Empire in any way possible. If my death can hinder it, I have resolved to make that sacrifice. If worse comes to worse…I can engineer a warp core breach. It would kill at least some of the personnel aboard this ship…myself, likely included."

"Not until it's absolutely necessary," said Yomi. "Promise me that."

"Miss Yomi. I find it very difficult to promise anything."


Another Romulan, in that awful parody of a Starfleet uniform, stood guard outside the brig. The alliance must go back some time to have so many Romulans aboard, Yomi reflected—but now was no time to be playing amateur sociologist. His look was skeptical; he must be in on the charade, if her personal lackey wasn't.

"Pardon me, Captain, but what business have you here? Surely there are more important matters…"

Yomi stared at him. After a moment, he winced.

"I beg your pardon, nameless crewman. Unless you want to be thrown out the nearest airlock, you will not question Captain's business. Do I make myself understood?"

He lowered his eyes.

"Yes. Perfectly."

"Good. Go back to standing there like the wooden post you are, and speak accordingly."

As the heavy brig doors shut behind her, she reflected that after all, there was a part of her that took to this world.

The brig aboard the Ryouma, with its modest eight holding cells, resembled a residential corridor with the doors replaced by transparent forcefields. Privacy, and a few square feet of living space, were all the prisoners had to sacrifice. The cells aboard the Tojo were sealed off by menacing-looking blast doors, and she had no wish to know what lay behind any except C-4.

The cells designated "C" lay along a narrow, crooked hallway, and as she passed down it, Yomi guessed the inoperative forcefield had blocked the entrance. Now that alterna-Chiyo was out of sight, she feared for her safety as much—if not more, she seemed so much more real—as the crew of the Ryouma, who already felt like a dream toward which she had the instinctive feelings only present in dreams. But contacting her was out of the question; the comm activity would draw alterna-Sakaki's notice.

"Computer, open cell C-4, Captain's authorization."

Presumably, all her voice commands could be overwritten by Sakaki's. Still in this case, they served their purpose.

The doors ground open very slowly. Behind them, she caught the telltale shimmer of another forcefield. Then behind it, as the little available light seeped in, she saw a figure huddled in a wretched cell no larger than a maintenance closet aboard the Ryouma.

No—fully exposed to view, the figure was not huddled. The Vulcan woman sat on the edge of a metal cot in a dignified posture, meditating, her eyes shut. She did not open them until the blast doors were fully opened, and Yomi stood before her.

"Ah," she said, in a voice faint, broken, but still maintaining the form of politeness. "'Captain' Mizuhara. You have returned."

But her eyes were weak from confinement in darkness; otherwise she might have noticed that Yomi was staring at her in a manner hardly that of a captor.

"Ambassador…Kurosawa?"

"You address me by my name this time? How courteous of you,"—but even as she spoke, the cold sarcasm of her tone faded and she leaned forward, trying to make out Yomi against the sudden light.

"Ambassador Kurosawa!" Yomi spoke now in a loud hiss. "It's me—the real Koyomi Mizuhara! The one you spoke to before!"

Even imprisoned—and, now that Yomi surveyed her, sadly emaciated—a Vulcan could convey a staggeringly matter-of-fact skepticism.

"First Officer Mizuhara of the starship Ryouma…how is that possible? This is highly illogical."

"How is any of this possible?—Don't worry about that right now, we need to get off this ship!"

"I have had more than enough of your tricks. I prefer to await death here, in peace and solitude."

"Oh for crying out—c'mere, and let's do the mind-meld thing already."

"Mind-meld? But you are Romulan. My own eyes do not deceive me."

Well, thought Yomi. She was doing much what she had expected a few days ago. Conspiring with Chiyo-chan against a common enemy, and dealing with formidable bureaucrats.

But it wasn't proceeding quite as she had expected.