As soon as she'd heard the word emperor pass Jim's lips, Di'On bolted for the turbolift, relying on its guidance to get to medbay.

When she arrived, the first thing that greeted her was the stench - burning flesh, the coppery smell of spilled blood - even before she got to the door.

She paused just inside to orient herself to the layout of this overly-large, unfamiliar space. What was familiar, though, was the sense of controlled chaos as medical personnel performed triage and treated injuries. Di'On scanned her people - for all the injured were her people, even if she'd never served with them before - quickly, searching for her aunt, her uncle or any other members of her family.

She found none, but paused when she saw Tafv, her aunt Ael's second in command. He sat against the far wall beside a door marked Surgery, cradling his left arm against his body. Di'On dodged other crew and personnel as she crossed the room.

"Subcommander," she said, falling back on formality for its comforting familiarity. "The commander? The emperor?"

"In there." Tafv jerked his head toward the door beside him. "They are both grievously hurt."

"Thank you." Di'On stepped past him to the door, scowling when it failed to open. Then she pounded on it.

After a moment, it slid partway open, just enough that Di'On could see a blonde woman beyond. "Doctors McCoy and M'Benga are in surgery -"

Di'On cut her off. "I am kin both to the emperor and the commander, and I will see them now."

"I'm sorry," the woman - a nurse, Di'On supposed - began, "but -"

"Let her in, Chapel." Di'On recognized the voice as belonging to Dr. McCoy, the chief medical officer who'd been sent as a hostage when she defected with Iron Talon and its crew.

Unhappily, the woman - Chapel - released the door and stood aside to let Di'On into the antechamber. Beyond, through a force field, Di'On could see the operating theater where two beds were currently occupied. From this distance, and given the sterile fields around the beds, she couldn't see who the patients were.

She could see Dr. McCoy at one of the beds, a dark-skinned man - presumably the M'Benga Nurse Chapel had referred to - at the other.

"Sterilizing field is there," Chapel was saying, and Di'On focused on those words. "When the light turns green, put on a gown."

Chapel went first to demonstrate the process, and Di'On followed her into the surgery theater.

As she approached the beds, she saw that her aunt lay on the bed where Dr. M'Benga was working. She would have paused, but McCoy spoke first.

"Maybe you can talk sense into him."

Di'On stepped closer toward the bed to gaze down at her uncle's head - the only part of him visible beneath the sterile surgical field, and only just visible through the tangle of tubes and machinery keeping him alive.

The right side of his face was burned - more melted flesh than normal flesh. His right ear was charred almost to ash, his right eye appeared to be fused closed, and most of the right side of his jaw and mouth were in similar condition.

His left eye, though, met her gaze clearly, though it was bright with unshed tears.

Di'On refused to look away, even as she addressed McCoy. "What sense do you mean, Doctor?"

"He's refusing surgery," McCoy said. "Hell, he's refusing painkillers."

Finally, she looked up at the doctor. "Is this the extent of his injuries?"

"No."

McCoy touched a control, and the sterile field faded to transparency.

It took all the discipline Di'On had needed to become a commander in her own right, not simply a relative given a command as a favor, not to flinch as the extent of her uncle's - the emperor's - injuries was revealed.

Fully half of his right leg was burned away, much of his torso was as charred as his face, and his entire right arm was missing as though it had never been there.

"Your wish, my lord uncle," she whispered in her own language.

"Rr…" The noise did not sound like something a humanoid could make, even with flesh as damaged as his. His good eye narrowed, and she could only assume it was frustration that he couldn't speak.

Then she heard the faintest tapping sound. Frowning, Di'On tracked down his mostly-intact left arm to see that he tapped his fingers against the biobed.

Light glinted off the ring on his first finger, and her breath caught. Of course.

"The ring?" she asked, still in her own language.

"Aye," he answered in Federation Standard, the word easily spoken on an exhale through damaged vocal cords.

Di'On reached for his left hand, but McCoy grabbed her wrist. "What d'you think you're doing?"

"He wishes the ring removed, Doctor," she told him.

"Not gonna happen," McCoy told her. "Not without a lot of regenerative work for all that tissue damage."

"Then cut it off."

"This is medbay, dammit, not a metalworking shop," McCoy said. "None of my instruments will cut through the metal."

Di'On swallowed hard and glanced at her uncle for confirmation. His gaze held no fear, only determination. She steeled herself for what came next. "You misunderstood. Cut off his finger."

"Now just a goddamn minute -!"

"It is his wish, Doctor, and my duty to follow his wishes. If you will not, then I must."

McCoy scowled at her, then transferred a much softer gaze to her uncle. "Is that really what you want?"

"Aye," he said again, though much more weakly than he had before.

"Goddamn brutality, that's what it is," McCoy muttered, but he was reaching for a surgical scalpel even as he did.

Minutes later, the operation was complete, and he was dipping the ring into a solution that dissolved the flesh inside it. Di'On accepted the ring from McCoy, held it so her uncle could see it.

"What is your will, Uncle? Whom shall I give it to?"

"Y-you." His voice was barely a whisper, and even as it trailed off, the biobed he lay on beeped in time with his failing heart.

"I knew it." McCoy reached for an instrument Di'On didn't recognize, but she guessed it had to be something for her uncle's heart. "That was one shock too many, small as it was."

"Do not, Doctor." Her commander's voice came out, and it was enough to shock McCoy still for a heartbeat, two, three.

"But he'll die."

"It is his choice," Di'On said. "He can no longer lead our people into battle. You will honor his choice."

McCoy looked like he wanted to argue, but before he could find the words, the biobed monitors fell into the low monotone that meant her uncle had passed out of this world.

Di'On swallowed back the tears she couldn't cry now and slipped the ring unobtrusively onto her left thumb. It still felt loose, but less so than it would have on any of her other fingers.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Don't thank me," McCoy said. "I feel like I just broke the Oath. First, to do no harm…that last shock killed him."

"No," Di'On told him, and of that she was certain. "The traitors who fired on Bloodwing killed him. You eased his passing and honored his final wish. You could do no more service for him than you did, and I am grateful."

She held McCoy's gaze until he nodded, however reluctantly, before turning her gaze to the other bed.

"How is the commander?"

"Stable," M'Benga replied. "At least for now. She lost a lot of blood, but enough survivors donated that we were able to replace it. I'm optimistic, but time will tell. For now, she'll be moved to recovery and monitored."

"Which means," McCoy said, "shoo."

Di'On frowned at the word. "Shoe?"

"No, shoo. Go on, get out of here," McCoy clarified. "There's nothing else you can do but get in the way."

Di'On knew he was correct, and allowed herself to be escorted back to the waiting area.

A dozen pairs of Romulan eyes greeted her - and one pair of very blue human ones.

She spared a glance for Jim, but straightened and faced her people.

"The Emperor is dead," she told them. "I witnessed his passing myself."

A sharp voice cut across the murmur of prayers for her uncle. Tafv's voice. "You wear the sigil."

She met his gaze. "He entrusted it to me, though we don't know how many of the imperial family survived."

"I can help with that."

Di'On turned to Jim. "Captain?"

He offered her a datapad. "A list of the survivors."

It didn't take long to scroll through the names. "So few."

"I'm sorry we couldn't get more." Jim's voice was quiet, and the regret in it was real. "The damage was too severe - Bloodwing exploded in the middle of transporting the last group."

Di'On nodded, numb as she handed the pad back to him. "None of the imperial family."

Tafv stood, still bracing his arm, though it had been encased in a flexi-cast. "Hail the Empress."

"No," Di'On said sharply, quickly. "There are still those who remained behind at home."

"Speaking of home." Jim's voice again, and she turned to him. "We're meeting to discuss retribution. I assume you want to be there?"

"Yes, Captain. But first I must contact my cousin and tell him the news."

Jim left Di'On in Uhura's more-than-capable hands before striding into his ready room. A glance told him that President Kiraly, Sarek, and both Spocks had already arrived.

"Report." Jim took his seat.

"Forty-eight survivors were beamed aboard," Spock - the one he shared a bond with - replied. "Five have since died of their injuries. Another eight remain in medbay with severe injuries. The remaining thirty-five have been treated and released. Yeoman Rand is coordinating temporary billets for them."

Jim blew out a breath. The numbers were less than he'd hoped and more than he'd feared, but given the suddenness and viciousness of the attack, he supposed they were to be expected.

"Among the casualties," Spock continued, "were the Emperor, his son's wife, and his grandson."

"How horrible," President Kiraly murmured.

"Interesting," the elder Spock said. "One has to wonder whether this attack was as a result of our negotiations, or whether it was directed at the emperor personally."

"Ambassador Charvanek is contacting her family now, so with luck we'll be able to answer that soon. In any case," Jim said, "what's the word from Babel regarding retribution?"

"As the ranking diplomatic official aboard," Spock answered, "I asked Ambassador Sarek to speak with the Confederation."

Jim spared a glance at President Kiraly - she was, after all, the ranking official aboard, period - but she seemed more interested in what Sarek might say than in any possible offense to her position. He focused his attention on Sarek.

"The Confederation has concluded," Sarek said, "logically but, I believe erroneously, that the attack was civil in nature -"

"There was nothing civil about it," Kiraly said.

Sarek regarded her blandly for a moment, then said, "The attack came from a domestic source - Romulan against Romulan - and therefore does not violate the Treaty."

He'd barely finished speaking when the door to the ready room slid open and Di'On burst in. She was almost quivering with rage, Jim saw, but when she spoke, her voice was steady, if rough.

"All of my family is dead," she said. "At the same time Bloodwing was under attack here, my cousins, my aunts and uncles, all of the family were slaughtered on Romulus. Raimahan has declared himself emperor."

"The commander who tried to hunt you down when you defected," Jim said.

Di'On nodded tightly. "The retribution for the attack on Bloodwing will also remove this usurping pretender."

"There will be no retribution," Sarek said. "The Confederation has determined that the attack was internal, and therefore outside their influence."

Jim didn't need a bond with Di'On to sense the rage about to explode from within her, and he spoke before he thought. "That's not the only possibility."

Di'On whirled on him. "What do you mean?"

"I, too, would be interested in your thoughts," the elder Spock said.

"The emperor was coming to us," Jim said slowly, backtracking through his conclusion to rebuild the steps he'd taken to come to it in the first place. "Specifically, he was coming to sign a treaty with us - a treaty that would have made Romulus part of the Federation."

"Technically, it would have made the Empire a confederate of the Federation," President Kiraly said.

"I believe in this instance, the distinction is moot," the elder Spock said. "Please continue, Captain."

"The minute he signed that treaty, we'd be bound to defend the Empire from all threats, domestic or foreign," Jim continued. "He was killed before he could sign… but his heir can sign it."

"It doesn't sound like Emperor Raimahan is of a mind to sign the treaty," Kiraly said.

Jim gave her a thin smile. "I wasn't talking about him."

"Then who?" Kiraly demanded.

"His surviving blood relative." Jim turned to look at Di'On.

"Fascinating." The word came from three Vulcans' mouths, and Jim's own lips twitched with amusement he couldn't show at the moment.

Di'On sat heavily in the nearest chair. "Captain, your intent to do me honor is…ironically accurate."

"Explain," Jim said.

"Before he died, my honored uncle passed this to me." She held up her left hand, turning it to display the ring on her thumb.

Jim frowned. He hadn't seen her wearing it before, and now that he looked more closely, he thought it fit her loosely.

"This is the emperor's personal seal," Di'On explained, "worn on the left hand to symbolize his willingness to stand between the Empire and all who would do it harm."

"The shield-arm of old," the elder Spock murmured.

"Indeed," Di'On said. "It is a sign of his blessing, his selection of me as his heir. I will sign the treaty on behalf of the Empire."

"This is … most unusual," Kiraly said. "We must discuss this."

"That's our cue." Jim rose from his seat. "C'mon, Spock, Ambassador… Sorry, your Highness."