PART TWO

THE TERROR

Prologue

It is sometimes in the thickest black of night that one has only to look back to see illumined not only where one has come from, but where one is, and sometimes, where one belongs.

By all accounts I had led a normal life. I came from good parents in a good town, and had a good disposition in life, really. After all, working at a clothing store might not be high adventure or as glamorous a position as I might have liked, but it was better than it could have been. And if ever I became bored with my disposition in the world, I had but to turn my imagination on and warp away to other ones. It was far from an idyllic existence, but it was in many ways ideal.

To say that I was ripped away from that existence is only a half-truth. After all, it had been my decision to stay or leave, and in the end I had chosen to stay. I will never know what I would have chosen if I had known that I would eventually be more or less trapped on a Reman Warbird heading for one of the more dangerous parts of the galaxy. I certainly cannot say whether I would have stayed or not had I known that it was about to get much, much worse.

Chapter Thirteen

V'Eral stirred slowly. For our own security, we had kept him under close watch at all times for the past day and a half. He had spoken little, preferring to eat his meals in sullen silence, always watching and usually looking as though he were just waiting for the slightest chance to escape his quarters. We were still almost a day's journey away from our destination, and although I was not at all excited by the prospect of walking into a trap, I could not help feeling a little relieved at the idea of being rid of this prisoner. It was my turn to watch him, and as he awoke I tightened my grip a little on the phaser rifle in my hands.

"Good morning," I said, trying to at least make a little conversation. V'Eral grunted and reached a dark hand up to shade his eyes from the faint overhead light. He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

"Good for you, perhaps," he growled, slowly putting his hand down and staring forward.

"Well, it could be worse for you, you know," I countered. "At least you're still alive." V'Eral had no eyebrows to raise, but it did not keep that bit of his Vulcan ancestry from surfacing. He stared at me.

"Terran, why do you even speak to me?" His voice was still malevolant, but I sensed a genuine curiosity in his question.

"I like talking, I guess," I said. He snorted.

"No Terran likes to talk," he said. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Excuse me? Where did you get that idea?" V'Eral looked at me with piteous contempt.

"Do you think I am a fool, Terran? You just want information from me," he said. I sighed with irritation.

"Think what you like. I certainly don't have to talk," I said, and shut up. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then he spoke again.

"You would deny the facts about your twisted race?" he asked.

"That would depend on the 'facts' in question," I replied. "What 'facts' are you referring to?" V'Eral stood slowly – slowly enough not to appear threatening – and began to pace.

"Where should I begin?" he said. "Your race is quiet and manipulative. They have never had much in their favor. They have no strengths to speak of. That is why they created the Federation, is it not? To pull from the strengths of others and create an Empire that is centered around the idea of the weak using diplomacy to control the strong. They conquered the Klingons in this manner; there was no armed conflict, no war. Merely sickeningly devious diplomacy. The Romulans, curse them, are also now falling prey to your race's particular brand of conquest. Terrans are the masters hiding in the shadows, sending the slaves to the front to do what they will not and probably cannot do. Can you deny this?" he asked. I stood up, flushing with anger.

"Emphatically," I said. "That's absolutely ridiculous! Who writes your history books, anyway?"

"We learn through experience," he said levelly. "The greatest evidence against you is your inability to act independently. We Remans have fought for that ability, and we have a greater appreciation because of it. And we use it to form a single, unified mindset. That is our reality. One of your fool philosophers once said 'Reality has always had too many heads'. And that is, in essence, the root of the problem for your race. You cannot focus on doing one thing really well, because you cannot do any one thing well."

I stood there, utterly stunned. "You really don't have any concept of humanity beyond propaganda, do you?" I said. V'Eral waved a dismissive hand and sat back down, his sharp teeth protruding through a frown. I continued. "I'll admit that humanity has its flaws. And throughout our history, we have certainly exhibited the behavior you're describing many, many times. But not all of us are cold and manipulative. Even the Federation is not as bad as you're making it out to be. Isn't it worth something that one of the biggest goals for the Federation is maintaining peace?"

"True peace is not attained by diplomacy," V'Eral said. "Unity and peace are desireable, to be sure. But, as with all things, they are only lasting if you have had to pay for them. If we want to have peace with a race, we conquer them and then maintain that peace with them."

"But isn't that just glorified slavery?" I asked. V'Eral's lip curled in a snarl.

"You speak of what you do not understand, Terran! We do not seek to enslave, as the Romulans do," he spat. "We seek the ultimate freedom; one without the tyranny of beaurocracy and seedy manipulation!"

I was silent, considering the ghastly nature of what he was suggesting. I turned to look out the window at the stars whizzing past. Was it possible that this Reman, who had probably never even met a human before, had heard a more accurate account of our nature than we ourselves understood? I started to speak, but in an instant a looming shape filled my peripherial vision, and I felt a tremendous shock wave blast through my skull as somethng hard and black collided with the side of my face.

And then everything went black.

I awoke to darkness, a searing pain tearing back and forth across my skull in a rythmic throbbing. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to my surroundings, and I could see that I was in a small room. The archway in front of me had no door, so I slowly sat up and put my feet on the floor. As I stood up, I noticed that something did not feel quite right. As I struggled to maintain my balance, it occurred to me that I could no longer hear the thrumming of a ship's engines. I was feeling real gravity.

We were there.

Panic struck me, and I gathered my balance and ran for the door…

…And was instantly knocked back flat on my butt. My body tingled with the noisy discharge of the force field, and I swore silently as I picked myself back up. I tried to get as close as I could to the field, to look out. All I could see was a long, dark hallway. I rubbed the tender spot on the side of my face, struggling to remember what had happened.

I had been talking to V'Eral, and had looked away for just a second to…fear and anger and embarrassment all hit me at once. I leaned up against the wall of the cell for support. Suddenly, in the grim silence, I could hear the sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor. I backed away from the archway, with the false hope of somehow making myself invisible to whomever – or whatever­ – might be coming my way. Presently, three armed Reman figures came to the archway and peered in at me. One of them was V'Eral.

"Come with us, Terran," he said. "And no tricks." He grinned vilely at me. One of the other Remans looked me up and down, then nodded approvingly to V'Eral.

"Excellent work, Commander; this one will do very well. You have proven yourself, and the Prefect has elected to reward you personally." V'Eral's eyes widened in surprise.

"I am to be given…an audience with the Prefect?" he stammered. The other Reman nodded.

"The Prefect awards valor and ingenuity to those who will serve." He turned to me. "Come with us, Terran," he said, deactivating the force field.

Reluctantly, I complied. As I walked through the archway, the other Reman pushed me roughly into the corridor so that I walked in front of them. I felt the jab of a disruptor in my back as they goaded me forward.

We passed several holding cells similar to the one I had been in. Some of them were empty, but most of them had creatures of indeterminate origin milling around inside of them. As we passed one cell, I thought the figure inside looked vaguely familiar.

"Stop," said V'Eral abruptly. I stopped, and as they deactivated the force field I could see that I did recognize the figure. Jean-Luc Picard emerged, his bald head sporting a fantastic bruise. He looked at me for only a second before complying with their wishes and falling into step next to me as we continued down the corridor in silence.

Finally, we stopped at the last cell. This time one of the Remans went inside, and dragged out a heavily manacled figure, who turned out to be Spock. It amazed me to see how afraid of this aging Vulcan they really were, to have him in leg and arm chains. I remembered his actions in the city of Shirkahr. Maybe they were wise, after all. Still, I felt very sorry for Spock; the chains were heavy, and he had some difficulty walking in them.

It was obvious to me that we were now at the operating base of the Bek'Tal. What our fate would be, I could only guess at shudderingly. One of the Remans had said that I would "do very well". A wellspring of horrors jumped to my mind at the thought of that statement. Were we to be used as some sort of ransom? Surely not, I thought. The Remans would have to know that the Federation would never give in to something like that. Slaves, perhaps? No. There was far too much care and planning that had gone into this for it to simply be a plan to enslave us. It occurred to me that I was probably not the focus of their efforts. After all, I stood next to two of the greatest men in the galaxy. Both men stood to incur the wrath of the BekTal, Picard for killing their pocket Praetor, and Spock for working so hard to unite the Romulans to the Federation through the Vulcans. Perhaps the Reman really meant that I would do very well as a slave, since I was of no concern to them otherwise.

We made our way slowly down the corridor, Spock's chains dragging inches behind him and sending a shadowy echo down the dark corridor. I could hear his labored breathing, and I extended a hand toward him in a gesture of support for his condition. I was suddenly propelled forward a foot or so by the butt of a disruptor rifle.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Terran," one of the Remans barked. I looked askance at Spock, whose face was a complete blank. Picard did not seem to show any emotion either, but I could see his sharp eyes darting back and forth, and I knew that his mind was working. He was looking for an escape.

We came to an intersecting hallway, and were led to the left, where we came shortly upon a sealed door. One of the Remans lowered his disruptor and moved to a keypad on the adjacent wall. He typed in a code, then raised his rifle to us and prodded us to go in.

We stepped into a large antechamber, as dim and cold as the corridor had been. There was a small patch of light coming from somewhere above, and the Remans led us into it. We stood awash in light, and it was suddenly even more difficult to see our surroundings. A voice spoke out of the darkness. It was soft and feminine, echoing around the chamber.

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Captain Michael Allen, and Ambassador Spock," the voice said slowly, "welcome."

Something at the back of my mind told me that this voice sounded familiar. I strained to see outside the light and around the chamber, and after a few seconds, I caught sight of a shadowy figure directly ahead of us. It moved with the grace and curvaceousness of a woman, though its face was shrouded by a deeply-hooded robe. It stopped several feet away from us.

"Ambassador, please step forward." Picard and I looked at Spock, who merely raised an eyebrow. Slowly, his chains restricting his movement, he stepped forward into the shadows.

In an instant, the figure brought a naked hand up behind his neck. The hood fell back, and in the darkness a female face came forward and locked onto Spock's in a passionate kiss. An instant later Spock reeled backward, stumbling back into the light. In an instant, the emotional guards he had spent so many years refining were dropped entirely, and a look of pure horror crossed his face. He breathed a single, shaky word.

"Valeris."