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The following story takes place after "Needs of the Many"

Star Trek: Maximillian

Strength In Darkness

Chapter III

Once the initial discomfort and small traces of nausea wore off, the now-Romulan away team began to get their bearings on the room they had just beamed in on. They were directly in front of the command seat, where the vessel's Commander would rule from a slightly raised platform. Design-wise, there was much in common with a Federation ship. The same auxiliary stations to the rear and to the front of the Commander, and the same viewscreen setup, though slightly smaller. The bridge was much smaller, giving a kind of cramped atmosphere. Skrit instantly disliked it. While he had no problem with working with anyone to accomplish a task, he did require his space. Having everything so close together would undoubtedly work against any probable notions of functioning more efficiently. Instead, he thought that it would just serve to add more tension in whatever conflict would be taking place.

If it bothered anyone else in the room, it wasn't noticeable. The remainder of the team glanced around, took in their surroundings, and proceeded with their plans. Kelvok took a small easily hideable tricorder from his pants pocket and began to scan around the room. Overload, not needing any electronic equipment as she was a machine herself, looked around slowly, in an odd sort of sweeping motion that would have seemed slightly unnerving to anyone else, but wasn't acknowledged. T'Kill moved to a panel in the front of the bridge and began tapping away at it, while Critch moved to the Commander's seat. Glancing at it a moment, he then shrugged, and sat down.

Kelvok spoke, without looking away from his tricorder. "Lifesigns, Captain. Twenty Remans."

T'Kill nodded. "Most in medical section, a few decks down." He turned to Overload. "Any security systems?" Romulan technology wasn't always out in the open.

"Nope! All clear." She said with a smile, and then glanced at Critch. "Aren't you going to do anything?" He was staring intently on a small panel on the right arm of the Command chair. After a moment, he tapped it, then kept tapping it.

"No patience, I swear…If anyone would know what's going on, it's the Captain." He ignored a soft 'huh' sound from Skrit and continued. "And these guys would have to report back to Shinzon or the Viceroy or someone, so he'd keep a log just like we do…and I bet…Got it!"

T'Kill grunted. "What?"

"The warbird Llaihr III set out on a glorious mission of conquest, with the finest warriors from Remus. To further weaken the defenses of the hated Federation during what would undoubtedly be a war of many …days? Years? Translator doesn't like that word…"

"Generations." Kelvok offered.

"That's it, thanks. They set out to the hated Andoria to…ah hell."

"What is it?" Overload cocked her head.

"Kelvok, see if you're picking up any radiation in the background, would ya?

Nodding, he presses the tricorder a few times. An eyebrow shot up as though under it's own power. "Thayleron."

Critch stood. "This thing's a suicide ship. They're going to drive this thing right into Andoria. Kill billions."

T'Kill looked at Critch. "Shinzon was adept at tactical situations. Long-range plans. He may have planned for the war to be at Andoria's doorstep when this thing arrived. Quick victory."

Skrit was focused on a screen at the back of the bridge, making small adjustments. "And if it wasn't necessary, then he had an answer for that too. The system is loaded with back doors and strange bits of code, a lot of it wired right into the self-destruct system. If Shinzon was still around, he could have blown this ship up at any time."

"Only thing he never planned on was losing." T'Kill grimly added.

Critch smiled. "Then we have something in common."

"Lets do him a favor. Commander, set self…"

"Not yet, Admiral. I wasn't finished. This log makes reference to other 'fine warriors', other great victories. Not to mention that Andoria isn't a great enemy of either the Romulans or Remans. A charter member of the Federation, but that's about it. Destroying them may win a battle but it could just cause everyone else to fight harder."

T'Kill sighed. "Your point?"

"My point is that this isn't the only Reman ship. Probably one heading to every planet in the Federation right now, waiting on Shinzon's war."

There was silence for a moment as T'Kill considered this. "You're still intent on waking them?"

"We didn't get all dressed up for nothing, Admiral."

He sighed heavily. "Fine, it's your funeral. Commander?"

Skrit didn't turn around. "Ready in 3…2…there. Their sensors are locked down. They won't see anything we don't want them to see."

"Excellent. To medical then?" Critch offered an arm to Overload, who happily took it, and they moved off, the rest of the team behind them, T'Kill suddenly feeling the beginnings of a great headache.

Tamak sat back on his haunches, taking in the silence that surrounded him in the main mess area on the Maximillian. Ordinarily he would welcome the time to meditate, or concentrate on whatever task he was involved with. However, for the past few weeks, ever since he had been released from the makeshift prison of his quarters, the continued lack of any communication from his crewmates at all was beginning to disturb him.

It hadn't been too long since the incident which caused him to again go up before a review board, but still he could not remember anything about the event. He knew he had ordered the Maximillian forward into harms way, but for the very life of him he did not know why he had done such a thing. It had been done unconsciously, without purpose or malice, but still it had been done. And while, as a Vulcan, he could not say he was sorry for it, he did regret the happenings all the same.

He was familiar with the review board, having been both on one and in front of one before. He had served on one to determine the fate of Lieutenant Commander Starblade just after the Marconian incident three years before, which had of course cleared him of any wrongdoing, even though he had violated several Starfleet regulations. The circumstances of his own review, commonly referred to as a 'Captain's Mast', were far stranger.

It was during the Maximillian's long and mostly dull sojourn into the Menkare Expanse, where the ship, commanded by Tamak himself, had been ordered to hunt down a race of aliens that had infiltrated the highest posts in Starfleet. The investigation had proved fruitless, but was not without event. During the mission, Tamak had entered a rare case of advanced Pon Farr, which had caused him to become angry and deluded, unable to be reasoned with. Events quickly spiraled out of control, resulting in an out-of-control shuttlecraft chase around Sol, and a lost Admiral Lyon sometime in Earth's past. It was only by coincidence that Lyon was rescued, a fact that Lyon had reminded Tamak about many times before his death, even though he wouldn't have minded if he had been stuck there forever. The facts remained that Tamak was derelict of duty, and the result was a demotion. It had been a long hard road for him to regain what rank he had left, and becoming chief of a department. And in one fell swoop all of that had been removed from him again.

This most recent review mainly consisted of fears that he was once again suffering from a rare Vulcan ailment, which he vehemently denied. At the end, there was no demotion, and there was no need. The command staff had changed, Kelvok no longer holding the chief post but instead stepping aside, undoubtedly to avoid his own Captain's mast. He was pleased to learn that Starblade had been chosen for the Captaincy, and realized that his own precarious state likely doomed him from remaining on the command staff. The review board prevented him from taking any command post for at least two years, effectively placing him on probation, and sent him back to the Maximillian, if they would have him.

He inwardly sighed, not revealing his thoughts of abandonment. Since he had returned, not one crewmember had said more than a few words to him. He had never been the most popular crewmember, of course, but now even the short pleasant greetings had silenced. As said, he appreciated his solitude, but he had become accustomed to those he had known as his friends sharing their time with him. Only Turock, Critch, Overload, and Kelvok had spoken to him at length over the past few weeks, and even then he could see the distrust and suspicion behind their eyes. None of them, nor the crew, could forget that the death of the young ensign was on his hands, the result of the horrible transporter accident caused by the nearby electrical disturbances. Not even Tamak himself could forget, nor did he wish to. Despite his unknowingness and unwillingness, it was still his fault that he had succumbed to the unconscious urge to do what he had done. It was a miracle that he was still allowed on any sort of duty.

He blinked, a sudden dizzy spell overcoming him and then dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. He ignored it. He had been feeling such things all day. He would have to speak to his replacement in engineering about rations in the tricorder. Perhaps there was some sort of nourishment deficiency…

It happened again. And again. Tamak stood up, noting that the room seemed stretched out somehow. This time the dizziness stayed, and he heard very loudly his heart pounding in his ears. Still alert, he noticed that no-one else seemed to be effected by what was happening. Sickbay. Commander Jaydin would have answers, and most probably a cure. Tamak took a step, and his body continued to move even though his legs no longer did. His consciousness fading fast, his considerable bulk struck the calmly colored carpeted floor with a loud thump. The last sight he would see this day was the crewmembers that had ostracized him rushing to his aid, and then nothing but black.

"Coma? How?" Turock asked. Jaydin had contacted the away team only a minute before they had reached the medical area, and were now being informed on Tamak's condition, huddled in the hallway.

"That's the thing, I'm not sure. Every scan I have shows him to be completely healthy and normal. Heartbeat is fine, vitals are fine, it's just him that's off. It's like someone just hit his off switch. No offense, Overload."

Ignoring Overload's indignant squeak, Critch followed up. "Any connection to…uh, his earlier condition?"

"Pon Farr wouldn't cause this, at least so far that nothing that we have indicates."

"I concur." Kelvok said. "You say that he was eating calmly in the mess hall. Anything relating to Pon Farr would certainly cause a different appearance."

Jaydin was surprised at Kelvok's openness regarding the guarded condition. "Anything else you can think of? We're getting ready for another scan."

"Keep him well hydrated. With luck, the problem will illuminate itself."

"Thanks. Good luck guys. Jaydin out."

"Yep." Critch tapped his badge once. "Cap'n to bridge, we're going quiet. Track our vitals, anything goes wrong, get us out of here." He tapped it again, and all was quiet. He then bowed and waved his hands, motioning his crew into the medical area.

Not surprisingly, the area was not built for comfort. Romulans could be very efficient if given the opportunity, and their medical quarters were an example. Like the bridge, far more cramped, only a few metal slabs, built into the ground. There were, of course, the usual computers and supplies, but unique to this ship were what looked like coffins, spread around in no particular order or arrangement as though they had been shoehorned in without regard for aesthetics. Once again, Critch supposed, efficient to the last. Each 'coffin' showed a single green light, softly illuminating the occupant. From the twelve coffins that were contained in this area, they could confirm that their scans were correct. All of them were Remans.

Overload shivered. "It's like they're all dead."

Turock smirked. "Not dead. Just hibernation. Rare, but it does happen on long voyages." He glanced at Critch. "You ready?"

Critch nodded. "Let's meet the neighbors." He rolled his shoulders, attempted to get into character as the Romulan Captain of the Warbird Rehllai.He hoped the Remans hadn't had much contact with Romulans. He knew he hadn't, other than by combining Kelvok and Turock.

"Break a leg, everyone." He mumbled, then pressed two tabs on the right side of the coffins.

There was a sharp hiss, and the lights turned to red. Critch straightened up, as did the others, each trying to look as much like a Romulan as they could. Turock and Kelvok glanced at each other, Turock suppressing a laugh.

Air escaped from the coffin, and then the hard glass encasing slowly slid down. For a moment Critch thought all of this was for nothing, the Reman wasn't going to wake up, they were all dead. Then the Reman coughed once. Then several times, and he leaned over the side and spit a glob of green fluid onto the metal deck. He blinked, willing his eyes to work. From his viewpoint, he was startled after a moment when five Romulans, one slight female wearing some kind of facial ornament, two distinguished looking ones, obviously command material, and two youngish men. He growled unconsciously, and attempted to speak, not even noticing that his speech was being translated instantly, thanks to Skrit's quick installation of a Federation translator in the outdated Romulan computers. "Who…are…you?"

To his surprise, it was neither of the distinguished Romulans who spoke, but one of the younger men. "Commander C'Rit of the Rehllai serving Shinzon's armada!" He saluted in the Romulan way, followed by each of the other 'Romulans'. Warily, still trying to get his bearings, the Reman saluted back.

Critch had been careful to bring up Shinzon's name early in the proceedings, trying to gain the Reman's trust any way he could. Even so, he knew it would not be this easy, so he remained on his guard as the Reman stood slowly, offering his own name. "Kimir." He appraised the others, who were also prepared with their own chosen names.

"Maddox!" Overload sung out sternly, using her own name as it would also pass as a Romulan one. As did Skrit, using extra emphasis at the beginning, sounding like "Ska-rit." Turock and Kelvok did not change their names at all, knowing that none of the Remans would be learned on Federation ship captains, particularily since there should be no Federation in existence at this point.

Satisfied, Kimir spoke again. "My soldiers?" Not crew, not men. Soldiers. Critch remembered his training about respecting other cultures. Even those that wanted him dead. Still, there was bitterness in his reply that went unnoticed.

"Alive, still in hibernation. We will wake them…"

"No! Wait...why are you here?" Kimir challenged.

Turock readied his prepared answer. "We have been sent by the viceroy Vkruk to retrieve those lost warriors sent to their dooms. Your war is over, my friend. Andoria has already fallen. The Federation is now our lapdogs." He said this with some measure of satisfaction, falling easily, maybe too easily into the role. Kelvok raised an eyebrow.

"Shinzon rules then?" Kimir nodded. "Then that would be good news. If you have truly been sent by Shinzon himself. Or perhaps you are a Romulan traitor, sent for our weapons. Or worse than that." The Reman drew himself to his full considerable height, towering over each of the 'Romulans'. "What evidence do you bring? How do you prove your loyalty?"

Critch was prepared for this, as well. "We bring our ship, available for inspection, and at your command. We bring only ourselves, our loyalty."

Turock picked up on his cue. His role as the honorable Subcommander, defending his people. "And we bring the fact that we have not killed you and taken your ship for ourselves."

Kimir was quiet, setting the entire away team on a slight edge. And then boisterously laughed. "As though you could. Even with the entire Reman army frozen, even a thousand Romulans would stand no chance! Take me to my crew; I desire their freedom from frozen sleep." As Kimir turned, Critch relaxed, shrugged to his team, and followed.

One by one, the Remans awoke. It was arranged for Kimir to be the first one they saw as they came back to life. He prepared each of them in turn for the Romulan presence, and they followed their Commander's lead in acknowledging them and then joining in the awaking for the compatriots. Throughout all of this, Kimir spoke the most not to his soldiers, and not to C'Rit, but instead Subcommander Turock. C'Rit took no offense at this, as the two were similar in age, and of course, were mostly the same race. Indeed, Kimir wondered aloud how someone of C'Rit's stature and age had made it to the rank of Commander before Turock. Turock made a thin joke about killing off the rest of his elders, which Kimir responded well too, and for the rest of the adventure would refer to C'Rit not as Commander, but 'Klingon dog!" Having many Klingon friends, Critch felt it an honor, even if he could not say so.

Then it was to the last, and as Kimir said, the most important of them all, at least in his own head. His own subcommander, a larger Reman, named S'Rka. "Large in stature, and ego!" Kimir said as he hit the release button, and watched with the rest of his crew as the dazed Reman slowly woke up, and appraised them, his eyes darkening as they came into focus and seeing the Romulan team.

"Who are these….infidels?" Was the first thing S'Rka uttered after the customary salutes.

"They are friends of Shinzon." Kimir's voice turned from cheerful to biting. "And that makes them friends of us."

"Shinzon would not have woken us so easily. Shinzon would have merely sent us on another mission."

C'Rit attempted to help. "There are no more missions. The war has past, and we are victors!" He raised his arms in celebration, his team and more than a few Remans with him, but S'Rka did not join in.

"Your word is meaningless without evidence! Show us your ship! Show us your words have truth!"

Kimir tried to calm his subcommander. "You know as well as I do that we cannot simply move to another ship in our state, we have only awoken! We must tread lightly, if only for a few more hours…"

"Commander, you have been tricked! These are no servants of Shinzon! They are…"

"They are our guests, S'Rka!" Kimir turned to Turock, apologetic in posture, then looked back. "And by my command, they will be treated as such!"

"They must be killed quickly, before they can bewitch you further, Commander!" S'Rka hissed.

"No more of this talk, SUB-Commander." He over-emphasized the smaller rank. "Come, soldiers! We will prepare a feast from our humble stores." He turned to C'Rit. "Where our guests will regale us with stories of the time we have missed, and the victory of Shinzon!" The cheering began again.

S'Rka held his ground, not backing down or moving. "I will not dine with Romulans." If he could have he would have spit at the name of the race.

Kimir appraised him. After a moment, he spoke again. "Then you will not dine." He grabbed S'Rka by the arm, pulling him along, and the soldiers followed. Critch frowned at Turock, the others remaining silent, still in their roles as subservient crew, one that Critch hoped that they would remain in.

"That could have gone better."

Turock nodded. "And it could have gone worse." And the Romulans followed the Remans deeper into the ship.