My thanks to Miz Perfect, T'Lyra and Ariennye Dhivae Argelia for the encouraging reviews. I'm so glad you're enjoying it. This is the last-but-one installment of 'Leviathan T' - the conclusion will be up shortly. x.

"The Romulan ship is still in the wicinity, sir," Chekov reported tensely. "I am tracking the fluctuations."
"Cat-and-mouse," said Scotty grimly. Several delicatedly coded distress signals had produced no response, either hostile or friendly. "No doubt they see us too. We have to get close enough to the planet to contact the landing party. How are the phaser-banks looking?"
"75 power and increasing."
"But sir," Lietenant Uhura turned around at her console, "Even if we could get close enough to contact the Captain – we couldn't beam them up yet. Transporters still haven't come back online…" Scotty grimaced in frustarion. If he was down there, he knew, he could have the platforms up and running in half the time…

"Mr Sulu," he made a command decision, "You have the con. I'll be in engineering." The bridge crew exchanged glances. Commander Scott hadn't gained a reputation as a miracle-worker for nothing. It might be possible – just possible – to ward off the Romulan vessel long enough to beam up the party, then vanish – if only they could creep in close enough to contact the captain.

Cat and mouse.

"Surgical enhancements are brilliant," McCoy murmured, clinically binding the Romulan's deeper wounds with material torn from Leni and Shaltan's cloaks. He had judged the spy's injuries not to be life-threatening, but the Romulan breathed shallowly and his skin was clammy and cold. The surgeon was at a loss. Marat – or not-Marat – ought to be recovering, instead he seemed to be slowly worsening, and he had not yet spoken.

"Blood composition is altered to approximate the Rython's colour," he explained to Kirk. "The antennae are attachments. And the ears, of course – clipped." This wasn't the first time they'd seen a Romulan surgically disguised, but was possibly the most impressive.

"There is no point," Leni sat against the wall and stared into space, shocked. "There is nothing left."
"The revolution was a lie." Shaltan appeared to be holding back tears. He kicked the wall in anger.

"The revolution isn't a lie!" Kirk urged.

"Marat was the revolution. He taught us. And he was lying."
"What sort of things did he teach you?"

"He said there could be peace – without fear. Order – without death. A life – without the tyrant watching over us…"
"Wasting your breath, Captain," a voice rasped. Kirk turned to see the spy had raised his head and managed to leer, horribly: Marat and yet not-Marat. "They are weak, these Rythonians. They are nothing. Without their precious leader, they would have been directionless, frantic….easy prey for the empire. And you – you know I would have had you murder the Leviathan. Your risk instead of…mine." The last word forced a gasp of effort from the Romulan, whose eyes widened in pain. McCoy looked down on his patient dispassionately:

"I'd save my strength if I were you. I don't know what your problem is, but it doesn't look good."

"You don't know-!" the spy choked a bitter laugh out. "I am a Romulan. I have failed. Yet you still wonder why I am dying? You are idiots."
"Poison," Kirk realised suddenly.

"Dissoluble capsule," the spy wheezed, "Impossible for you to pick up, I imagine. So many chemicals are running in my bloodstream at this moment, gentlemen….a true feat of our scientists. Well, I have failed. Here I end." A vicious flash of his eyes. McCoy stood up and put away his tricorder, always disgusted at the decision of suicide. The Romulan's eyes scanned the cell – and they settled on Spock. Viciousness twisted his features. An ancient, final passion, not unfitting for a Romulan, brought life flashing back to his face. Racial hatred. The Romulan drew breath. Then,

"DEVIL! FIRE DEVIL!" he shouted. Guards, roused by the noise, hurried up to the bars – "Take that one! Search him!" the spy screamed, pointing. "He is one of the ones from the sky – Fire Rainers!" He fell back on the ground. And died.

Guards clattered into the cell, and two of them seized Spock by the arms and yanked him to his feet.

"No! Wait! He's not a Romulan!" Kirk cried. The guards paid no attention, pulled Spock's hood down, and gasped and drew their weapons at the sight of his pointed ears.

"Fire Devil," one muttered, gruffly. "I thought they were only a legend."
"So they're back," the second guard narrowed his eyes, angry, fearful: "Well, bring him. We'll hunt out the rest."

Spock didn't try to reason with them: logically, a waste of energy. Parting words would have been meaningless between the landing party. The words of eyes sufficed.