The Complication

by CharlieFenwick

Data struggles to reconcile the discrepancies between Tasha's verbal and nonverbal communication during and after the events of Ligon II. "Am I the 'complication?" Data asked. Data begins to develop emotions. Tasha/Data fluff & angst. Data/Geordi friendship. Covers the events of TNG season 1 with missing scenes, original adventures, and some mild AU retelling of events.

120. Shibboleth

Author's Note: Thank you so much for your ongoing support of this series!

There is an early cameo from one of my favourite characters in this chapter. It won't fully pan out until much later in this series. It's all part of laying one brick in the foundation for this character's backstory, eventual role, and relationship to Picard & the TNG crew. I hope you enjoy!

C/W: Violence, death, injury, substance use/abuse, pregnancy, SA (discussion only).

There's also a steamy scene in this chapter. It's 'fade to black' but more risqué than usual for the non-Lady_Lore parts of this series.

I want to thank Lady_Lore for helping me to experiment & grow more comfortable with writing in that aspect.

Without further ado…

---

There was a soft, steady beep.

Then the gentle hiss of a machine or hypospray.

There were voices too—distant and soft.

Slowly, the world came into focus.

Sela kept her eyes shut as she used her other senses to get her bearings. It was a Romulan tactic and one taught to every cadet in the Fleet.

It sounded like a medical facility on a ship or starbase. Sela recognised the mix of languages and dialects spoken throughout the Romulan Empire.

It was not a comfort.

Sela's arms were restrained at her side.

She awoke agitated and disoriented but had no desire to tip off any would-be captors to the fact she was alert. She tried to quell the rising panic in her chest.

This is happening. It has happened.

The last thing Sela could recall was being on Lantera. Things hadn't been going well. A Centurion had requested an audience to present a highly valuable captive.

It was that no-good dissident journalist—Ventax or Verax or some other silly name of the lower classes. It mattered not. Sela remembered feeling giddy because she would have the honour of bringing his head to her father.

She was going to enjoy peeling the flesh from his fingers one-by-one as retribution for calling Sela 'a child in a fascist costume' in his weekly column.

Only Sela never got the chance. There was an explosion.

Then everything was a blur.

Sela had no idea if her father was alive or dead. For all she knew, he might very well be her captor. Sela didn't have time to theorise or process her emotions. Because if she paused to reflect on the possibility of that deep sense of betrayal, it would overwhelm her.

There would be time to contemplate later. First, Sela needed to escape.

Sela cautiously tried to slip her hands through the restraints. She had slender wrists, and the restraints were not metallic.

In fact, they felt like standard medical bindings (not unlike those used in her father's lab). It was an unsettling thought.

If Sela did manage to free herself, then she would need to fight to escape. Sela would rather die at the end of a disruptor than become the next experiment for her father's machinations.

Suddenly, an arm shot out and grasped Sela's forearm.

Sela panicked. She thrashed against her restraints. The same firm pair of hands gripped her shoulders. Sela fought back even as he tried to shush her.

"Commander. Commander," he said, attempting to get her attention.

Sela flailed like a cornered animal. It was impossible to set aside her feelings of terror.

"Sela."

Sela flinched as her captor cupped her face.

"Sela. Sela."

Sela was skittish as she glanced around the room. Her chest was heaving.

"Shhhh. It's alright."

It took Sela several moments to realise that her captor was stroking her hair. He dropped his hand to Sela's and gave it a small squeeze.

Sela froze.

"You were out for a long time. Had me pretty spooked."

Korenus.

He flashed Sela a toothy grin. But his dark eyes were clouded with worry as he unlatched Sela's restraints. She wasn't a prisoner—they were simply there to prevent Sela from accidentally detaching the medical sensors.

"There we go," Korenus said.

Korenus began to massage Sela's wrists. She couldn't relax. Her fists remained clenched. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears.

Korenus leaned in close.

"Breathe, my lady."

He spoke in a low voice against Sela's ear as she came back to the world.

They were in a secluded corner of the medical wing. It offered some privacy, but there was no telling who was listening. Korenus shared that fear as he cast a wary eye over the staff.

"It would be best if you were not to draw too much attention. I'm not sure how many of them are your father's and how many belong to Tomalak," Korenus whispered.

Tomalak.

Sela's heart sank. His arrival was problematic. Tomalak would never risk coming to the heart of Morak's operations unless he felt secure.

And that meant that something was terribly wrong.

"This isn't Ekloire," Sela realised as she studied the room.

"No."

Korenus's silence sent a shiver down Sela's spine.

"What happened?" she demanded in an urgent whisper.

"Ekloire starbase was destroyed along with a significant portion of the Romulan fleet," he answered.

Sela's mind reeled from the loss.

"Impossible," she breathed in disbelief.

Ekloire was supposed to be unstoppable—an entire cloaked starbase equipped with the latest Romulan technology, more than ten thousand troops, home to dozens of D'deridex cruisers, and it could move.

It was the lynchpin of Morak's plan to annex the Federation.

Her father's legacy.

Sela was devastated.

"I'm afraid 'impossible' found a way, my lady" Korenus said.

Sela's throat went tight. In spite of the risk of drawing attention, Sela sat up and turned to Korenus. Her eyes welled up. When she spoke, panic in her voice was evident as she managed to choke out a burning question.

"Azura? Portunus?"

A wry grin spread across Korenus's face.

"They're safe," he assured her.

Sela collapsed back against her pillow in relief. She clutched the locket around her neck.

"And Lantera? Did we hold out long enough for the fleet to arrive?"

Once more, Korenus was hesitant to answer.

"Lantera is lost."

Korenus had kept watch at Sela's bedside since their shuttle was intercepted by the Vindicta. On Morak's orders, he had not so much as stepped away for even a moment. Liran and Merul had checked in at hourly intervals bringing tea, meals, and snippets of information.

"From what I've gathered, Admiral Jarok and a handful of ships managed to escape the blast wave. But your father's forces are seriously diminished," Korenus warned.

"My ship?" Sela's voice cracked.

"Is currently under the command of Subcommander Movar," Korenus answered.

Nearly half of the ships and troops under Morak's control had been wiped out. It represented almost a third of the entire Romulan fleet.

He would have to pull troops from other sectors (including the Breen conflict) in order to compensate for the loss. Even then, it would take days for them to reach Romulus.

Sela was gutted.

Even in spite of her injuries, Sela's mind was able to see the entire chess board—and she knew her family was in check.

"Is my father still Proconsul? Is he still Supreme Commander of the Fleet? Is he still—"

Sela couldn't bring herself to finish the thought.

She had no idea if her father was still the shadow Emperor—let alone if Morak was even alive.

Her father was a cruel, callous bastard. No one would weep for his loss. But he was the only thing standing between Sela and a fate worse than death.

Sela held no delusions about what men like Tomalak or her cousin would do with her. She could easily find herself imprisoned for life or thrown into the mines on Remus. Her cousin would probably take great pleasure in forcing Sela to wait on him hand and foot.

It was considered a grave crime against the divines for any member of the Imperial family to kill another.

But to maim?

The only reason Sela's branch of the Paliurus family was still in power was because her great-grandfather had all of his siblings blinded, sterilised, and exiled to live out their days in imprisonment on a desolate island.

Once more, Korenus checked to ensure they were out of earshot.

"As far as I am aware, your father is still in command of this ship," he said quietly.

To that end, Korenus had strict orders.

The staff had yet to realise Sela was awake. The Medical Wing was flooded with casualties. Korenus knew their window of opportunity was closing fast.

"Do you think you can move?" he whispered.

---

Korenus glanced around the corner. He looked up and down the corridor to ensure they were alone. Korenus couldn't believe his plan had worked.

He'd previously asked Merul and Liran to wheel an unused laundry cart into the corner near Sela's bed. With great care, Sela had managed to hide underneath.

Korenus had simply walked out of the medical wing unnoticed.

It wouldn't be long before someone realised Sela was gone. A search would ensure and Tomalak would be notified.

That meant every minute counted.

"Alright," Korenus said.

He offered Sela his hand and helped her climb out from under the sheets and discarded hospital gowns. She winced in pain but did not cry out.

Korenus snagged the plain cloak of an Uhlan's rank and secured it around Sela's shoulders to help disguise her appearance.

Sela's steps were tender as they made their way down the corridor. Sela leaned heavily on Korenus for support as they made their escape.

"Where are we going?"

"Shuttlebay," Korenus answered.

He didn't mean to come across as gruff. His attention was entirely focused on watching their surroundings.

They paused and ducked into an unused alcove as a group of mid-level troops passed an adjacent corridor.

"We'll head for your family home. If your father can hold out until his forces arrive, then you can coordinate with him from there. If not—"

Korenus paused.

"Well, if not, you'll be safely away from the capital. Out of Tomalak's reach," Korenus concluded.

Sela chuckled.

Korenus frowned.

"What?"

"It's just… it's clever. No doubt my father would have the same plan," Sela remarked. She had not expected such political savvy from her newfound lover.

Korenus flashed her a warm smile. He was only too pleased to take credit for the idea—even if he was only acting on Morak's orders.

Sela didn't need to know.

"Come on," Korenus said as he guided Sela toward her waiting shuttle.

It was slow going. Sela's wounds were extensive. She cursed her human heritage and the weakness it was with each painful step.

Together, Sela and Korenus made their way through the ship. They evaded patrols, dodged Tomalak's loyalists, and slipped past a group of Uhlans that ran past as part of their daily exercise regime.

They were nearly down to the shuttlebay when a curious Centurion took notice of the unusual pair. He first noticed the limp, then the blonde hair.

"Stop right there. What are you doing on this level?" he demanded.

"Keep walking," Korenus urged as he squeezed Sela's hand.

Behind them, they could hear the Centurion call out for reinforcements.

Korenus yanked Sela into a perpendicular corridor but there were two Uhlans guarding the lift. They doubled back only to find their secondary escape blocked by an approaching patrol.

Sela grimaced and as Korenus tugged her toward an unused corridor. He had no idea where it led. The most important thing was escape.

Korenus was practically running as he yanked Sela along. She stumbled and felt humiliated by her own weakness.

"I'm sorry."

She was winded and in pain.

Korenus said nothing as he scooped Sela up into his arms and raced for the shuttlebay. He turned into the corner that led to their escape and right into Emperor Aquilo's entourage on its way back to his private shuttle.

"Well, well, well." Tomalak said with an air of smug superiority.

Sela's face flushed with embarrassment. It was bad enough to be caught, worst still in her current position. She couldn't very well appear dignified bruised and battered in a hospital gown—let alone conjure an image of authority when she had to be carried.

Korenus gently set Sela down.

"Your grace," Sela said.

Sela struggled to bow. She stumbled on the way down and was caught by Korenus. Aquilo was pleased to wait as Sela tried to pull herself back up. It was obvious that she was in great pain and that lightened Aquilo's heavy heart.

"My dear cousin," he greeted her. "How wonderful to see you up and about. You had us all concerned."

Aquilo's voice dripped with malice.

He stepped forward and squeezed Sela's shoulder—painfully so. She whimpered as his fingers dug into her injured arm.

"In fact, your health and wellbeing has been at the forefront of my mind," Aquilo went on.

Sela grit her teeth. Her vision went white. For a brief moment, Sela thought she might collapse under the pain.

"Permission to speak, your grace," she managed to choke out.

Aquilo released her shoulder.

Sela swayed. Summoning all her strength, she managed to steady herself. Before she could speak, Aquilo gripped Sela's mouth much in the same manner Morak had done to both of them as children.

"Yes, we've eagerly awaited news of your recovery," Aquilo snarled.

"On the edge of my seat," Tomalak mused in a lazy drawl.

Sela shut down. She knew it was useless to try and protest. Her best bet was to remain compliant and wait for her moment to escape.

"Recent events have thrust the succession back into the spotlight. I've been thinking, it's been far too long since we sat down for a nice chat," Aquilo said.

He gently slapped Sela's face a few times, chuckling.

"You poor thing. Yanked around from engagement to engagement. Your father dangling you like a piece of meat for the hounds to fight over."

Sela's heart sank.

She knew exactly where the conversation was headed. Only it wasn't a discussion Aquilo had in mind—it was a royal command. Sela would be in no position to resist.

"It is high time you were wed and settled, cousin," Aquilo said. "Then we can put this all behind us. We never need fear for your safety again."

Sela was certain her knees would have given out were it not for Korenus's support.

Her command was her life.

She had clung to a childish fantasy that she might prove herself in the Fleet in a way that allowed Sela to rise without marriage. She longed to carve out a career for herself free of constraints of aristocratic expectations and Imperial duty.

"While we are on the subject of conversation, I'm sure you have quite a story to tell about your experience on Lantera," Tomalak sneered.

Aquilo clucked his tongue, nodding along.

"Indeed. What a disaster. There will be a formal inquiry of course," Aquilo explained.

"How fortunate that you should manage to escape shortly before its demise," Tomalak added.

Sela was trapped. She looked back and forth between Tomalak and Emperor Aquilo. She knew what they were asking of her—and how devastating it could be if their plan backfired.

"We have no wish to impose on your recovery. But I'm sure you can find the strength to answer a few questions."

Tomalak wanted Sela to blame her father for the disaster, to give them some sort of testimony or evidence they could use against Morak during what would likely be a highly publicised Imperial treason trial.

Failure to comply could result in Sela facing the same fate.

Yet if Sela turned against her father and Morak somehow managed to survive, his retribution would be swift.

It was an impossible choice.

"I'll pop in later to check on your recovery," Aquilo promised.

Tomalak snapped his fingers for his guards to step forward. Sela followed his line of sight to Korenus.

"I ordered—"

She stopped and frowned.

"Whatever your name is," she barked coldly while eyeing Korenus.

Korenus caught on. He bowed lowly. Before he could request permission to speak, Sela put up a hand to stop him.

"And I don't care," she hissed. "I want to see my hounds."

Sela's love for her animals was well known among the Imperial court. She prayed this request and her icy attitude toward Korenus would be enough to distance him from any harm.

"Please escort Lady Paliurus to her quarters. Her dog too," Tomalak ordered as he looked Korenus up and down.

---

General Morak was rapidly losing control of his ship. On Tomalak's orders, Morak was not informed that Sela had regained consciousness.

He had no inkling his heir was little more than a hostage in her own quarters.

Morak had more important matters at hand—namely saving his own neck.

Tomalak and Aquilo may have thought they were being sneaky. They may have feigned polite intrigue into his discovery of Iconia, but Morak remained suspicious as ever as to their true intentions.

He would not leave things to chance.

Morak was vulnerable. Now was their moment to strike.

After all, it was exactly what Morak would do.

His suspicions were confirmed after his tense lunch with Tomalak and Aquilo. Morak had sent dispatches out to his allies.

He needed to raise ships and troops.

Morak called upon every one of his closest comrades in the Black Eagle movement. He reached out his friends, his bannermen, and to allies that were sworn to protect the Imperial cause.

Morak sounded the alarm, claiming there was the possibility of Federation threat. He made noise about the need to discreetly patrol the space around Romulus and protect the homeland.

The response was lukewarm—even amongst his closest comrades.

The wardens Morak had appointed in the Eastern province vowed they would protect Romulus from the surface of the planet. His allies in the nearby Galatian colonies feigned a Breen threat to avoid answering the call.

Some hadn't even bothered to respond.

Morak could read the writing on the wall.

They were waiting, biding their time to see where the chips fell before riding into the inevitable battlefield to come.

Imperial shake ups were always messy.

Faced with limited options, Morak knew it was time to call in a favour.

---

"Where are they!" roared Sela, noting the absence of her beloved hounds.

She whipped around and closed in on Korenus. Even limping, the sight of Sela's fury would be enough to make lesser men quake in their boots.

"You swore to me they were safe! Where are my hounds?"

"Permission to speak, my lady?"

Sela would have smacked him if she had it in her. She was too weakened by her injuries to muster the energy necessary.

She was in no mood for games. Sela's primary concern was for her beloved hounds.

"Merul and Liran are holding them on your shuttle," Korenus answered.

Sela staggered.

She collapsed onto her bed. Korenus sat down next to Sela and pulled her trembling hands into his lap.

"It's alright," he said in a soothing voice.

He expected Sela to sob on his shoulder, to cry herself hoarse until there were no tears left. Instead, Sela pulled away.

For a moment, they sat in silence as Sela stared at him. When she spoke, her voice was cold. There was a strange, faraway look in her eyes.

"I dismiss you from my service."

Korenus blinked in stunned silence.

"I dismiss you from my service," Sela repeated as she inched away from him.

"My lady?"

Sela turned away. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.

"Go," she hissed.

"Have I displeased you?" Korenus inquired.

He tried to catch Sela's attention, but she turned further away from him.

Sela fought the urge to react as Korenus caressed her bicep.

"Is that your wish, my lady? To send me away?"

Sela squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists.

"Go."

Korenus dropped to his knees and knelt before her. Sela scowled as he slipped his two fingers below her chin, forcing Sela to meet his eyes.

"I will go if that would please you, my lady. I would throw myself in the very firefalls of Gal'Gathong if that would make you happy," Korenus said.

Sela's resolve fell away as he traced his thumb across her bottom lip.

Sela didn't want to send Korenus away. She wanted to cling to him. She was terrified and had no idea what the next few hours or days held in store.

If she lived that long.

When Sela didn't respond, Korenus pulled away.

"I will send for Merul and Liran to guard you," he said.

Korenus bowed lowly and backed toward the door. He was nearly there when Sela cried out.

"Wait!"

Korenus knew she couldn't watch him walk away.

"Take my hounds? Take Azura and Portunus and run far away from this place."

She swallowed down the urge to break.

"Please?" Sela's voice was barely audible.

Korenus eyed Sela with heavy suspicion. Her hounds were her whole world. Sela loved them more than she loved herself.

"Don't you want them with you?" Korenus pressed. "You love them. Why?"

"Because I can't protect you anymore," Sela confessed.

A pained look crossed Sela's face as she silently pleaded with Korenus to understand. He wasn't safe. Her hounds weren't even safe. It would only be a matter of time before Tomalak hurt them in an effort to control Sela.

Emotion was a liability she simply couldn't afford.

Korenus smirked. He looked utterly pleased with himself.

"GO!" Sela barked.

Only Korenus didn't move for the door. Instead, he made a beeline for Sela and pulled her into a warm embrace.

Sela was outraged.

"How dare you!" she snapped, pushing him off.

"Awww, don't be like that baby," Korenus growled against her ear.

"You impudent, reckless—"

Sela swung. Korenus caught her arm and silenced her with a swift kiss.

When they broke apart, he lingered to nuzzle against Sela's face.

"If you're lucky, Tomalak will kill you. That is, if my father doesn't do it first," Sela cautioned. "They won't hesitate to use you. You. My beloved hounds. I can't protect any of you anymore."

"I know."

He captured her lips again in a slow kiss. Sela tried to enjoy it, but she couldn't shake the sinking feeling that she would pay dearly for her failure at Lantera.

"Please take them. Get out of here," Sela said between each kiss.

"You care. You really do care," Korenus murmured.

Sela clutched the front of his shirt in warning.

"I want you to go. You vowed to serve me," Sela reminded him.

"I know," Korenus replied as he nipped at the pulse point of her neck. "But then I did a terribly foolish thing and fell in love."

They were precisely the words Sela needed to hear.

"I can't. I don't get to fall in love," Sela protested even as she turned her head to give him better access to her neck.

Her protest was only half-hearted, and they both knew it.

"It's not a crime," Korenus growled.

"But it is."

"And you like it," Korenus threw back without missing a beat.

Sela was a member of the Imperial family. Korenus had been stripped of all his titles and rank. As the son of a traitor, Korenus was disinherited and cast aside. In the eyes of the Romulan legal system, he was no better than the lowest class of free citizens—just one step above the lowly serf.

It was a crime for him to even look at a person of Sela's rank.

In another time or place, Korenus and Sela might have mingled as part of the old aristocracy. Before their downfall, his family had been one of the oldest Romulan houses—not quite on the same level as the Imperial family but awfully close. They even shared a common ancestor.

And Korenus's family was forbidden by decree from marriage into the Imperial family. It was treason.

Korenus was, in fact, the one thing Sela couldn't have—and exactly what Sela wanted.

He could play the role of a biddable subordinate. He understood the social rules of the strict Romulan caste system and the inner workings of the Fleet.

Yet, he was educated and witty. Cheeky enough to keep Sela interested and wise enough to know what it meant to be a young aristocrat in the Romulan capital.

He understood the challenges and expectations in a way none of her previous liaisons could.

And Korenus knew exactly how to use that knowledge to manipulate Sela's feelings.

"You can't stay. It's too dangerous," Sela argued.

Korenus stopped. He sat back and stared down at Sela.

"Tomalak will probably marry me off to his idiot son or one of his nephews. Maybe a rival. Whoever makes the best offer," Sela lamented. "You and I both know what comes next."

Korenus didn't flinch.

"I don't want a title. I don't care about such trivial things," Korenus lied. "You know, losing everything was rather freeing. Gave me a new perspective on life."

His hand crept up Sela's leg under the hem of her hospital gown.

"I've come to appreciate what really matters."

Sela's breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over her thigh. Korenus hovered over her, grinning with delight as Sela's heart pounded in her chest.

"You're going to wed some dull veruul."

There was no avoiding it.

"I'll be your dog walker. Your bodyguard. Your bloody boot polisher. I don't care what you have to tell him," Korenus mused. "And once you've fulfilled your obligations on his arm at one function or another, I will be waiting to serve you."

Korenus promised that whatever was coming, Sela wouldn't have to face it alone.

"Do your duty. Tolerate his bed if only to survive. Let them all think they've tamed you. I'll be there. After. To hold you, to protect you."

Sela shivered as Korenus unlaced her hospital gown.

"Let me take care of you, my lady," Korenus whispered.

Sela closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink back into the comfort of her bed.

Time was precious. Tomalak and Aquilo could return at any moment. Her father was undoubtedly working on a scheme to save his position.

Sela would need to be ready to act at the drop of a hat.

There were any number of more important things that she should have been doing aside from making love—but they all melted away under the weight of Korenus and his arms.

Sela hissed in pain. Her shoulder was still tender from the wounds sustained on Lantera. Sela's body ached. The air felt suffocating under the weight of Korenus's body.

Korenus stopped, mindful of Sela's injuries. He helped Sela as they gently rolled together and then waited patiently as she climbed on top. Korenus let her set the pace.

"I wish we could run away on my ship. I don't want to marry anybody," Sela confessed.

"But you will have to."

Sela nodded sadly.

Korenus reached up to trace the length of her neck. His hand closed around it—lightly so—before he caressed the line of Sela's jaw with his thumb.

"He can have your name and your titles—I only want you."

In the years to come, Sela would struggle to pinpoint the exact moment when she lost her heart to that disinherited rogue—but that one would remain a top contender.

---

USS Enterprise | Bridge

Commander Riker shifted in the Commander Chair. He gripped the arm rest and then released it. Will Riker simply couldn't get comfortable.

It had been nearly three hours since the away team beamed down to the surface of the planet. There had been no word from Captain Picard.

The Thomas Paine was maintaining radio silence to avoid detection.

The Romulans had not taken the bait.

They had also not made any attempt to interfere. The Enterprise had been forced to drop her shields for a split second while beaming down the away team. It was a risk—but one Captain Picard thought worth taking.

The Romulans had also made no effort to open communication with the Enterprise. They were just sitting there.

The atmosphere on the Bridge was stifling. Tasha tugged at collar. It was hot. For a brief moment, Tasha thought she might pass out. Her eyes grew dark, and Tasha gripped the edge of the Tactical console to stay upright.

A sudden ding from the communication system was enough to snap her out of it.

"Transporter Room to Bridge."

Miles O'Brien had miraculously managed to isolate ship-wide communications. They had yet to find a solution to the virus. But working in tandem, Geordi and Miles had managed to keep it at bay.

"I've amplified our sensors. Even with a three hundred percent increase, I still can't pick anything up," Miles reported.

He warned that they wouldn't be able to maintain those levels for long.

Riker had asked the Chief to run a scan every fifteen minutes in search of the Captain's away team.

"Understood. Return to normal levels. Stay sharp, Mr O'Brien. I want to be able to pull them out there at a moment's notice," Riker answered.

"Aye, sir."

Geordi had cautioned that it would be unlikely they would pick up any life signs. Whatever shield was protecting the surface created significant interference.

Suddenly, Lieutenant Jae tensed. She was sitting in at Operations.

"Sir, I'm detecting a power surge in the Romulan vessel!"

Tasha jumped into action. She isolated the Enterprise sensors for a more in-depth look.

"Power increase," she reported, analysing in real-time. "It's consistent with arming the forward disruptor array."

"Here we go," Riker said.

He sat up straight and went to work—ordering Tasha to bring the torpedo banks online and instructing Jae to notify Sickbay to expect casualties.

"Mr Hawk. Be ready to move us out of here at maximum impulse," Riker added.

Nothing happened.

The seconds ticked by as the crew waited for something—anything—to occur.

Tasha kept her eyes trained on her station. The sensors showed an increase in power followed by a significant drop. A moment later, the surge was back.

Tasha glanced up at the same time Lieutenant Jae turned and frowned. She'd detected the same thing on her own console.

"Somebody tell me what's going on," Riker said.

"It looked like they were ready to fire. Then they suddenly disarmed and cancelled," Jae said.

Her dark brow furrowed as she watched the energy levels swing back and forth.

"I don't know, sir. Maybe there's a problem?" Jae theorised.

"Or our own sensors are unreliable," Tasha suggested.

"I don't want to wait and find out. Lock on phasers and hold your fire," Riker commanded.

Tasha hesitated.

"Sir—"

Will glanced back over his shoulder.

"Spit it out, Lieutenant. We don't have a lot of time."

"If we were to bring the phaser banks online and there was some issue with firing, that energy could redirect back through our own ship. A lot of people would die," Tasha warned.

Riker was visibly upset by this information.

"I wish you hadn't told me that," he grumbled.

He wasn't mad at Tasha. He understood it was all a part of the job—not that it made his job any easier.

"Maybe we should wait. Captain Picard told Subcommander Taris that we had no ill intention. Arming our phaser banks would violate that," Deanna said.

"I don't think the Captain intended for us to sit here and take their fire," Riker threw back.

"They're arming again. Locked onto our forward phaser array," Jae advised.

Just as before, nothing happened.

In fact, the Romulan weapons seemed to arm and disarm at random.

There was an alarming moment when it looked like they were about to fire just before the disruptors lost all power.

Riker sighed with relief.

"Fate protects fools, little children, and ships named Enterprise," he remarked.

Without warning, the gentle hum of the ship's systems stopped. The lights went dark, and it took a moment for the emergency system to kick in.

"Shields are down," Tasha announced.

"Get them back up!" Riker barked.

"Emergency systems are coming online," Lieutenant Jae added as she watched each section light up on the Operations screen.

Reports were coming in from across the ship—and they all meant one thing.

The malfunctions were growing worse.

"Shields are back up," Tasha said.

"Sublight engines are offline," Hawk shared.

"Shields are down. Phaser banks are down… wait, no they're back online."

Will and Deanna turned to one another.

"In another time and place this could be funny," Deanna remarked.

She could tell Riker was agitated and wanted to lighten the mood.

"In case it should become necessary to fight, could somebody arrange to find me some rocks to throw at the Romulans?"

It was an attempt to quip, but Riker's tone hinted at a deep discomfort.

The strange power fluctuations continued to plague the Bridge for several agonising seconds. The whole crew fell silent. They were helpless to do anything other than monitor their consoles.

"Tasha, talk to me," Riker insisted.

He felt the most powerless of all. In the Captain's chair, one had to rely on all the different stations to keep one informed.

"The Romulan torpedoes are continuing to arm and disarm," Tasha explained.

"Then maybe this attempt to fire was unintentional?" Riker thought aloud.

He looked to Deanna for insight.

She shook her head.

There was so much confusion, fear, and uncertainty that it clouded Deanna's ability to focus empathic skills for any specific insights on the Romulans' intentions.

"Opening hailing frequencies."

Tasha keyed in her access code and opened a channel to the Romulan ship.

"Romulan vessel, this is the Enterprise. We are detecting some unusual power fluctuations from your ship. Can we render assistance?"

The Romulan ship did not respond.

"It is possible their communications are down," Deanna theorised, wanting to assume the best of intentions.

"Or they don't consider us worth talking to," said Hawk.

Riker sighed.

"For all we know I may have just insulted them," he grumbled while scratching his chin.

Always a chess game. He thought.

Will Riker was lost in his own thoughts when he realised Deanna was staring at him. There was something that didn't add up.

"What is it?" she prompted.

"Why would the Romulans be experiencing problems? If the probe is the cause, how could it infect their ship?" he asked.

Riker turned to the back of the Bridge for answers.

"Tasha, is there any possibility we missed another launch? Could it be a sensor malfunction?" he inquired.

"It's possible, sir," she answered. "I wish I could give you a more definitive answer. But these malfunctions have made our instruments… tools at best."

Tasha had to rely on her experience and intuition to interpret the readings.

"I didn't detect any launch, but it's impossible to know for certain," she concluded.

Riker nodded slowly, chewing on his lip as he weighed his options. The possibility that the Romulans were facing a similar threat presented new risks to the Enterprise.

Riker didn't want to take any chances.

"Bridge to La Forge."

Geordi was up to earlobes in work—but Will needed answers.

"Geordi, we think there's a strong possibility the Romulan ship may be experiencing similar malfunctions. If their reactor were to go critical like the Yamato, I want to be sure we're clear of the blast wave."

"That may be a problem," Geordi answered.

Sublight engines were offline.

"Would our shields be able to withstand the blast?" Riker pressed.

Assuming they're online. Riker thought bitterly.

"I don't know, Commander. Romulan power generators are notoriously unstable. And we know very little about these new D'deridex class cruisers," Geordi responded.

It was little more than a year earlier when Starfleet had first encountered the new ships. They were bigger and faster than any previous Romulan design.

"Geordi, get me those sublight engines," Riker pressed.

"On it."

"Mr Hawk, as soon as those engines are back online, I want you to lay in a course and get us clear of here."

Tasha visibly bristled. She audibly scoffed at Riker's order before she could stop herself.

Stunned, Riker turned in his seat.

"We… we can't just leave them down there. Captain Picard—"

Data.

Tasha stopped herself, embarrassed by her reaction.

Like the Enterprise itself, Tasha felt like her hormones were malfunctioning.

Tasha was always cool in a crisis. Now, she felt on the verge of a meltdown. Her face was hot, her throat felt tight. There was an unnerving flutter in her abdomen.

Tasha closed her eyes and took a breath to steady her nerves.

Tasha was so consumed by an overpowering sense of dizziness that it didn't register Commander Riker was speaking.

Deanna was immediately on alert.

"Tasha?"

Tasha stumbled into the Security console and failed to catch herself.

Riker leapt out of his seat. Deanna rushed up the back of the Bridge and knelt down next to Tasha. Riker offered his hand, but Tasha waved him off.

"I'm… I'm fine," she managed to choke out.

The room was spinning.

"You're not fine," Deanna insisted.

The dizziness faded as quickly as it came on.

"Deanna, take Tasha to Sickbay," Riker ordered.

"Really, I'm much better," Tasha said.

"I can't have you passing out on the Bridge. It puts everyone on the ship at risk," Riker said.

Of course, he was right. And Tasha understood that the last thing Riker needed was an argument.

"Right," she said.

"Get her to Sickbay, Deanna," Riker ordered.

"I can see myself there, sir."

Deanna was needed on the Bridge.

"And I'll radio when I get there," Tasha added, noting Riker's disapproving look.

"Alright," Riker agreed.

Tasha stepped onto the lift. Her arms hung loose at her side as she whipped her hands back and forth to crack her wrists.

Deanna watched with concern as the lift closed. Again, she was struck with an odd sense of disorientation.

For weeks, Deanna had struggled to focus her empathic abilities around Tasha. Deanna had suspected Tasha was holding something back or had a secret she wasn't quite ready to share.

It had been difficult for Deanna to even get a proper read on Tasha's emotional state. Something was interfering. Granted, Deanna's empathic abilities had faced a significant challenge with all the collective stress and anxiety aboard the Enterprise.

Yet, that did not account for the fact Deanna sensed something different when she was around Tasha.

Something more.

In fact, if Deanna had to put it to words, she could have sworn that she could sense more than one lifeform.

Deanna gasped.

Could it be?

It wasn't possible. And yet, Danna could only come to one conclusion.

Tasha Yar—a Romulan spy?

The Romulan spy.

A dark feeling settled in Deanna's core.

Tasha fit the profile. She had access to the highest levels of ship security. She was in control of the investigation and had a long history in covert operations.

And who was to say that Tasha Yar was really from Turkana IV? It wasn't like Starfleet could contact the government on Turkana or pull any academic or medical records to verify her origins.

"Deanna?" Will prompted.

She flinched in surprise when he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Everything alright?"

Deanna had to keep her emotions in check. The ship was already a powder keg. She could not incite panic.

Deanna tapped her communicator.

"Counsellor Troi to Sickbay. Lieutenant Yar is on her way down to see you. She wasn't feeling well on the Bridge. Please notify us when she arrives," Deanna said carefully. "We want to be sure that she gets there alright."

"Is everything alright?" Beverly asked.

It was hard to miss Deanna's tone.

"Tasha seemed to lose consciousness for a moment. I'm sure you'll conduct a neural scan as part of your routine diagnosis," Deanna suggested.

There was a brief pause.

"Acknowledged."

Deanna closed her eyes for a moment and tried to focus her energy. She was certain Beverly understood.

"Deanna?" Riker questioned, feeling as if he had been left in the dark.

Deanna hesitated.

Riker dropped his voice.

"If there's something I need to know..."

"I'm just worried about Tasha," Deanna said. "I just want to be sure she makes it down there alright."

Riker couldn't argue with that.

"But as soon as we know her condition, we should speak in the Ready Room," Deanna said.

She clutched Will's forearm to drive home her point. Riker dropped his gaze to the spot and then glanced back up at Deanna.

Before he could ask, Lieutenant Hawk interrupted.

"Sir, impulse engines are back online."

Riker's question would have to wait.

"Get us out of here!" Will ordered as he came down the ramp.

Hawk punched in the coordinates to take the Enterprise out to a safe distance. The ship hummed to life as she began to move out of her orbital position.

The lift slid open. For a moment, Deanna held her breath in fear that Tasha had returned. But it was only Lieutenant Solis.

"Lieutenant Yar ordered me to report, sir."

"Welcome to the Bridge," Riker said.

He waved her over to the Tactical console where Solis quickly got her bearings.

"We're leaving?" she inquired.

"We're moving to a safe distance," Riker informed her.

Lieutenant Solis frowned as they pulled away from the planet.

"Sir, what if the Romulans use this as an excuse to engage?"

"I think we can safely say the war's been postponed for the moment," Riker replied.

"Dang. I was looking forward to giving it to them," Solis remarked.

Riker bristled at the comment. He knew from the personnel reports that Solis harboured prejudice towards many of the nonhuman crew.

"Another day, Lieutenant," Riker said in an annoyed tone before adding, "Hopefully never."

Deanna had to hide her smirk. Will Riker had never been subtle.

"Let's hope the away team is having better luck than we are," Will muttered.

---

Iconia

The surface of Iconia was a barren, frozen wasteland. Wind whipped across the surface as it carried the dust of tens of thousands of years into swirling sand dunes more than fifteen metres high.

In stark contrast, things were eerily quiet inside the shield grid protecting an installation. It was the only thing left on the planet that wasn't in ruins.

Or buried under metres of volcanic ash.

Data's boots crunched on the surface as he scanned the shield.

"Fascinating."

It was almost identical to the one they had encountered on Aldea.

"If we survive this, I will be most curious to know if the Aldeans and Iconians once traded. Or shared a similar ancestry," Data remarked.

Jean-Luc bent over and picked up a broken shard. He turned it over in his hand, admiring the intricate looped engraving that was a hallmark of Iconian architecture.

"An archaeological graveyard. Perfectly preserved," Picard said breathlessly. "Pompeii… centuries before Pompeii was even a thought."

Jean-Luc physically shook his head.

"Sir?" Worf inquired.

"Forgive me, I could so easily get lost in a place like this," Picard said.

They had a mission to accomplish. Everyone was counting on them.

"I'm detecting no life signs. But tricorder readings are limited," Worf reported.

Whatever interference had impacted the ship's sensors was also having an effect on the tricorders. There was some limited improvement. Worf suspected that was due to proximity.

Nonetheless, he was on guard.

The building that remained was vast—and Worf knew they were walking in without any intel on what to expect. Worf was no archaeologist, though he knew the Iconians were legendary warriors. Worf was on high alert for any sort of traps or security measures intended to deter outsiders.

To that end, Worf insisted on taking point.

Jean-Luc didn't protest. He was in awe of the planet, surveying every available inch with the greedy eyes of a child that had just been introduced to a wonderland beyond all imagination.

The trio stepped up onto the remains of a long, narrow outdoor bridge. It was lined with thick columns just like the ones the team had found months earlier near the Iconian doorway.

"Readings would indicate there was once sediment and seabed here," Data announced.

The place was stunning enough in decay.

"What a sight this must have been in its day," Picard said.

He couldn't fault the Romulans and their desire to claim Iconia. It was a remarkable discovery. Jean-Luc knew he had barely scratched the surface of comprehending the cultural and religious significance such a sight held for the Romulan people.

Nevertheless, Picard was blown away.

Oh, how he wished for a few days to scan the area. A 3D holographic representation would be enough to keep experts busy for a decade.

Hell, Jean-Luc would settle for some soil samples if it meant the tiniest chance of learning more about the Iconians.

In a different world, they might have had a relationship with the Romulans that would permit for such research or even access to the site directly.

"Is something amusing, sir?" Data inquired.

"I was just thinking that it is a shame we couldn't coordinate with the Romulans to study this discovery together," Picard shared.

"Perhaps someday the geopolitical situation will change to allow for such mutually beneficial research?" Dat suggested.

Jean-Luc chuckled.

"Not in my lifetime, I think. Perhaps yours," Picard quipped.

"But sir, I may theoretically exist for—"

Data stopped himself.

"Oh, oh I see."

Worf wasn't in the mood to joke around.

"I would not like to become a permanent resident here," he growled.

"Quite right, we should try to locate the central command. There must be some sort of operations centre or control room," Picard said.

---

The inside of the facility was just as eerie as the abandoned exterior.

Data was unnerved by the silence. His audio receptors missed the gentle, steady hum of the Enterprise.

Jean-Luc ran his hand along the surface of the wall. The entire facility was constructed of heavy, carved stone.

"No doubt the Iconians had the means to cut and haul this material. But even with the technology—the sheer effort alone would be monumental," he said.

"Perhaps that was the intention?" Data theorised.

"A monument built to last a millennium," Picard said as he turned his attention overhead.

Worf glanced around, unimpressed.

"You think they would have better lighting."

The trio decided to head for the centre of the facility first. It was likely that any primary control area would be found in a central location.

They passed a number of empty rooms and a space that Data theorised was a shuttlebay.

Jean-Luc practically tripped over himself with excitement upon discovery of a storage room (as indicated by shelving that now sat bare).

He momentarily diverted from the mission to admire the storage area.

"Remarkable," Picard gasped.

Worf raised a sceptical eyebrow. They had shelves on the Enterprise. They were hardly groundbreaking advanced technology.

"It's not just a shelf, Mr Worf," Picard argued. "These would indicate the Iconians had some form of production for supplies rather than just relying on replicated materials. We've long wondered about agriculture or textile production."

"For all we know they kept batteries or artefacts in here," Worf said with a nonchalant shrug.

Jean-Luc snapped his fingers.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed. "It could have been any number of possible materials."

Data ran a tricorder over the shelf but could only detect carbon-based residue consistent with the rest of the dust and debris in the facility.

"So, why is there nothing here?" Worf asked.

Jean-Luc paused to reflect on Worf's question.

"Well, they're all gone," he answered.

"But why is nothing here," Worf reiterated. "Did they take it all with them? That would imply they had time to evacuate."

Such a story was inconsistent with the legend.

"Or was this facility never completed? Abandoned years before?" Worf went on.

Data was the first to pick up on Worf's concern.

"It might have been abandoned if they detected problems or volcanic instability," Data theorised.

"But why keep the shield in place?" Picard wondered.

The shield had enormous power requirements.

"Maybe they hoped to return one day?" Data said.

"And what? They were too busy the last ten thousand years?" Worf asked sarcastically.

Worf was teasing—but he had a point. Their long absence seemed to point to some truth in the old legend of the Iconian demise.

"Hopefully, we can find some answers," Picard said.

They had to keep moving.

---

It was an hour before they located the operations centre. Jean-Luc had somehow managed to resist temptation.

Each archway and every adjacent corridor called to him.

Even when they finally located the command centre, Picard had a difficult time restraining himself. One wrong move and he risked the safety of everyone on the ship.

Picard's hand hovered one of the consoles.

To stand where they stood. He thought.

He quickly retracted his hand.

"Data, do you think you will be able to figure this out?"

"It is of a similar nature to the command centre we discovered on Lantera," Data answered.

The layout was the same (if on a larger scale) and the computer terminals appeared to be of a comparable design.

Data couldn't know how many years (or centuries) were between the time of construction for the two different facilities. Nor could he identify which one had been built first.

Data scanned the area and made a quick check to ensure the console showed no outward signs of damage.

It booted up without issue. Data's hands danced across the surface while he quickly took stock of the power level, accessed a map of the facility, and attempted to open the logs.

"Captain, your original hypothesis is correct. Based on my analysis between the logs found on Lantera and at this facility, the Iconian language is the parent tongue of language family which consists of proto-Vulcanoid root words such as mother, father, child, home, food, life—"

"Data," Picard warned, putting up a hand to stop him.

Jean-Luc sighed.

He never thought he would utter such words.

"We are on a deadline," Picard concluded.

Jean-Luc's throat was tight with guilt. He felt utterly awful for shutting down Data.

It felt wrong.

So very wrong.

"Can you access the defensive capabilities? Sensors? Anything that might give us insight on the probes?"

"I am attempting to access the system controls for weapons and sensors," Data said.

He did not remind Captain Picard that it took them nearly an entire day just to interface with the system at Lantera.

Though Data had gained considerable insight into the Iconian language, he was hardly an expert. Reading was one thing—comprehending was another altogether.

It was an uncomfortable reality Data had been forced to acknowledge during his own study of language and humanoid behaviour.

There was a time when Data had been stunned to learn that translation was not merely a cold analytical study of etymology.

For example, the Denobulan expression 'Ki-yam uptruk naakpakan' literally translated as 'a crowded shelf.'

Only it wasn't used to describe a storage unit holding too many items. It was Denobulan slang for a large bust.

Likewise, Data was equally shocked to discover that the act of being 'cheesed off' had nothing to do with lactose intolerance.

For that reason, Data was wary of overestimating his ability to decipher the Iconian logs. He worked quickly but carefully.

"Data?" Picard prompted.

"Sir, I do not wish to rush this process," Data said without looking up from the console.

Jean-Luc nodded stiffly.

"Alright, carry on."

While Data worked to crack the Iconian system, Worf and Captain Picard searched the control room. There were no clues indicating recent activity or Romulan security devices. That was a good sign the Romulans had not been able to penetrate the shield.

There were four different adjacent corridors that led out of the command centre. Picard longed to go exploring but thought better of it. He couldn't leave Data alone or risk leaving Worf there so Picard could go off on his own.

Worf was right—there could be booby traps.

Jean-Luc had studied the Iconian language. Sources were limited and relied on artefacts recovered centuries after the Iconians disappeared.

There were no contemporary written accounts of them nor their language.

Jean-Luc could recognise numbers. He knew the alphabet and all its seventy-one characters. He could recognise common root words.

He lacked the ability to string together sentences or interpret paragraphs of information.

Based on his limited understanding of the language, Picard was able to translate the engraved directional signs near each adjacent corridor that led to locations that roughly corresponded to meeting rooms, personnel quarters, and stellar cartography.

"Sir?" Worf asked.

Jean-Luc was staring at the corridor.

"Stellar Cartography, Mr Worf," Picard translated. "What secrets that room must hold. They've likely charted parts of the galaxy we've never seen or will see in our lifetimes."

"We must not permit it to fall into Romulan hands," Worf declared.

"Quite right," Picard agreed.

On the other side of the room, Data frowned as he hit another metaphorical wall. He keyed in the appropriate command code to access the weapons system.

Once again, the computer rejected his command.

Data's body visibly tensed.

"Is there a problem?" Picard inquired.

"It is too early to tell," Data answered honestly.

"Data!" Picard said, exasperated.

Data paused. He turned to face the Captain.

"Sir, I have only had seven minutes and eighteen seconds to analyse this terminal—one of many in this room," Data pointed out as he gestured around the command centre.

For the first time all day, Jean-Luc realised what a heavy strain he had placed on his Second Officer. Data wore it with poise as the consummate professional that he was.

But there were signs—including the exhaustion in his voice.

"I understand the significance of finding a solution in a timely manner, Captain. My own personal motivation to find a solution remains in the forefront of my neural net."

Tasha.

There would be no future together if Data failed.

Jean-Luc's expression softened.

"Forgive me, Data," he said.

The two men shared a small nod before Data turned back to his work. Captain Picard leaned back against one of the consoles and crossed his arms to keep them from touching anything.

Patience had never been Picard's forte.

It was an art Worf had mastered.

He stood so still in the corner that Picard could have sworn Worf had turned into a statue. Worf was prepared to wait as long as it took. And though he was motionless, Worf remained keenly aware of every flash of movement and sound.

He was ready to leap into action at the drop of a hat if needed.

The minutes ticked on. Picard was hesitant to check the timepiece on his wrist. He didn't want to pile more pressure on Data.

At long last, there was a breakthrough.

"Captain, I have managed to isolate several of the command functions," Data announced.

Picard discreetly checked his watch and was relieved. It had only been an hour.

"What does that get us?" Picard asked.

"Sensors—at least for the immediate area. I suspect there was once a network of sensor receivers scattered throughout the planet and in orbit," Data answered.

"Probably lost when the planet was destroyed," Worf concluded for him.

"I also have access to an orbital satellite. No weapons or positioning controls. It is reading—"

Data stopped himself.

"It is reading… one ship in orbit."

Data's hands trembled above the console screen.

"The Enterprise?"

Suddenly, Data's oral cavity went dry.

"Data," Picard urged.

"The location and size would indicate it is the Romulan ship, sir," Data answered.

Data was in shock. He manually shut down his memory engrams and entire portions of his neural net. It was only a temporary measure. There would be an inevitable mental spiral—but Data couldn't stop to grieve.

At least not yet.

"Are you saying the Enterprise was destroyed?"

"It is gone."

Data did not elaborate. He didn't have it in himself as he was still reeling from shock.

"Is there any way to know if it was the Romulans? Or the virus?" Picard pressed.

"Perhaps the ship moved out of orbit?" Worf suggested.

There could be any number of possible reasons. They may have received a transmission from the Thomas Paine. Or Riker might have backed off to buy time or good will with the Romulans.

"Data, I know how you feel," Picard began.

Data turned his head but could not meet the Captain's eyes.

"With all due respect, sir, no. You do not," Data said.

Jean-Luc put his hand on Data's back.

"Right now, you are the only person that can work this terminal. Now is there any evidence to indicate that the Enterprise was destroyed? Debris? Radiation?"

With lacklustre enthusiasm, Data activated the screen and retrieved the sensor data. He had no desire to look. In a way, it felt like rummaging through the graveyard of space.

"Considerable debris and flotsam remain in orbit following the Yamato's destruction," Data advised.

The Yamato was also a Galaxy-class ship. That made it impossible to determine if the Enterprise was destroyed.

"The whole orbit is riddled with the remains of a Galaxy-class ship—possibly two," Worf realised.

Suddenly, Worf's line of sight dropped to a blinking alert in the bottom corner of the screen.

"What is that?" Worf asked.

Data was only half paying attention.

"As I said, I cannot determine with certainty, but it is likely the Romulan vessel," Data replied in a faraway voice.

"No, that."

Worf pointed at the screen.

Data cocked his head to the side as he studied the image.

"This is a map of the facility. That is the stellar cartography area. And that is a life sign."

"Romulans?" Picard theorised.

"Or survivors from the Yamato," Worf added.

The Enterprise had managed to beam aboard less than fifty people before the Yamato's destruction—all civilians that had been trapped in the lower residential decks. They had spent the entire crisis confined to quarters and knew nothing of Captain Varley's orders or the situation on the Bridge.

The possibility of finding survivors that might have been acting on orders or had knowledge of the ship's final moments had to be investigated.

Jean-Luc looked back and forth between his comrades.

"There is only one way to find out."

---

Captain Picard, Data, and Worf crept down the darkened corridor toward the stellar cartography lab. It was the far eastern edge of the facility. Records indicated that at one time, the stellar cartography lab had overlooked vast ocean.

Data's study of the facility layout guided them there with ease.

Unlike the command centre, this corridor had a musty smell.

"Environmental systems must have prioritised air filtration in key areas," Data remarked.

It was bad enough for Worf and Captain Picard. Data had made several attempts to manually shut off his olfactory receptors only to discover that he could not.

He did not wish to raise alarm and so he kept that information to himself. For the time being, such a malfunction did not impede Data's ability to perform his duty.

Data resolved that he would inform Captain Picard the moment it risked impacting the mission.

"It is just ahead," Data advised.

"Tricorders are still unable to get a reading," Worf said.

He was starting to suspect that there was more to the heavy stone slabs than just an aesthetic desire to show off. They were designed to inhibit non-Iconian technology.

Worf had to admit it was a clever strategy.

"Through here, sir," Data said.

They had no sooner stepped inside when the charging sound of a phaser rifle drew their attention.

Captain Picard put his hands up.

"I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

The woman wielding the phaser rifle tightened her grip.

"Put your phasers down and kick them over here," she ordered. "Tricorders too."

"We're from the Enterprise. Did you make it off the Yamato?"

"I SAID PUT YOUR PHASERS DOWN AND KICK THEM OVER HERE!"

She was wearing a gold uniform. He couldn't get a glimpse of her pips. Picard's view was obstructed by a phaser rifle and her long, sleek curls—long enough to rival Counsellor Trio.

"We're not going to hurt you," Jean-Luc said.

He gestured for Data and Worf to lower their phasers.

"Please," Jean-Luc said in his smoothest tone. "Let's all just take a step back. No one needs to get hurt."

The unidentified officer was shaking. Picard was worried that she was so terrified that one false step would lead to being vaporised.

"Please, lower your weapon."

"Not a chance," she refused.

"I'm Jean-Luc Picard. This is my Second Officer, Commander Data and Lieutenant Worf, Security. We have no intention of—"

"I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!" she roared. "What I don't know is if you have one of those…. things in your brain."

They were at standstill.

And they were running out of time.

---

USS Enterprise | Turbolift Two

Tasha stepped onto the lift.

"Deck 12."

She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet while swinging her arms. Beverly would no doubt demand a full workup and that meant Tasha would be off the Bridge for the next few hours.

Of all the times to be out of action! She thought bitterly.

Tasha was drumming on her legs when the lift stopped to pick up a passenger on Deck 9. The doors slid open, and Rachel Cohn stepped on.

Tasha scowled.

"I'm sorry to delay you, Lieutenant. I'm sure you're off somewhere important," Rachel apologised. "I'm just on my way down Engineering to lend a hand."

Tasha quickly recovered.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was just surprised that they would call you in to work. You're—"

"Grieving?" Rachel interjected. "I should be sitting shiva. But this is an emergency. I think both Uriah and my God will understand."

She wasn't upset. Rachel flashed Tasha a small smile.

"I'll confess that work helps. It's a distraction so I don't have to think about Uriah," she admitted. "And when I do, it's all the more reason I can't sit back. Not with all these malfunctions."

The Enterprise was at risk. Rachel did not want any other families to have to know the loss of a loved one.

"I have to believe that whatever Uriah died for was important. And I don't want that sacrifice to go to waste," Rachel concluded.

She was still in the dark about the Lantera mission.

"And so, you're heading to Main Engineering?" Tasha asked.

Alarm bells blared in Tasha's mind.

"Lieutenant La Forge put out a general call for any personnel that aren't already occupied with another job," Rachel answered.

Of course he did.

Geordi hadn't been conscious during the meeting between Tasha, Riker, and Data where they agreed to keep all personnel that fit the profile and resided on Deck 9 busy with other tasks.

They couldn't risk the spy being assigned to a critical area. All the malfunctions presented an opportunity for further sabotage.

Ever since finding the mysterious Romulan surveillance device on Deck 9, Tasha had heightened concerns they were closing in on the spy.

Tasha didn't want to think it might be Rachel Cohn—but she fit the profile and had quarters on Deck 9.

With all the chaos on the Bridge, no one had warned Geordi about their plan.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant? You look white as a sheet," Rachel said.

Tasha flinched as Rachel put a hand on Tasha's arm.

"I'm fine," Tasha replied hastily. "It's uh… it's really good of you to help out."

Rachel Cohn's brow furrowed as she studied Tasha's posture. Before she could inquire, Tasha anticipated her question.

"I'm just on my way to Sickbay," Tasha said.

Suddenly, the lift ground to a halt. The lights flickered overhead. Then the lift dropped.

Hard.

It was a hard enough drop to knock both Tasha and Rachel to their feet. Tasha was momentarily disoriented. She tried to stand and was overcome with such a sense of dizziness that it sent her right back to the floor.

"The bulkhead must have activated to stop our descent," Rachel said.

It was an emergency measure and the only thing that prevented them from falling to the bottom of the shaft.

Tasha squeezed her eyes shut. Her body tensed.

No, no, no.

Tasha took a series of slow breaths to try and steady her body.

"Lieutenant?"

Tasha gagged. The contents of her last meal spewed out onto the carpet of the lift. She vomited so hard that tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

"That's it. Get it all out," Rachel said as she rubbed Tasha's back.

Nurturing was just in her nature.

Tasha coughed and spluttered. It was humiliating to toss her cookies like that (not to mention that hot sauce wasn't exactly easy on the throat the second time around).

Tasha pulled herself into an upright position and leaned back against the wall. She turned her head away, unable to even look. The acrid smell overpowered all other senses.

"I'm so sorry," Tasha said.

"You have nothing to apologise for. I'm sorry you're feeling under the weather," Rachel said kindly.

On instinct, she reached to feel Tasha's forehead with the back of her hand.

"You're warm too," Rachel noticed.

Tasha tapped her communicator.

"Yar to Bridge."

There was no response.

Tasha rubbed her temple. She'd taken quite a hit when she hit the floor. It was a lucky thing it hadn't been worse.

"Did you injure your head?" Rachel asked. "Dizziness could be a sign of—"

Tasha waved her off.

"No. I was dizzy before. On the Bridge. I don't think it's serious. I must have just picked up a bug. I'm fine, really," Tasha said.

Tasha tried to turn her attention to the control box near the lift door. But the odour was too strong and Tasha had to cover her nose.

"You're not fine," Rachel insisted.

Unfortunately, they were trapped until further notice. That meant there was nowhere to go that didn't reek of putrid partially digested food and stomach acid.

"I really am sorry about this," Tasha said.

To her surprise, Rachel chuckled.

"Please, I had two children. Takes more than a little tummy acid to make me squick," she said.

Tasha laughed too and shook her head.

"I hate going to Sickbay. I'm overdue for my physical. I've had weird symptoms for weeks that I can't explain and now… well, now that I finally have to go—Riker's orders—and this happens," Tasha said.

"Funny how life works out that way," Rachel said.

Tasha sighed and glanced overhead. At least the lift was intact. It might be hours before anyone could rescue them (assuming the Enterprise was still in one piece by then).

"I'm sure we'll be out of here in no time," Rachel added.

"I hate being trapped here," Tasha confessed. "Feels like I'm not doing anything to help."

"Uriah used to say that sometimes we have to step back and take care of ourselves so that we can be strong for others," Rachel shared.

She blushed.

"I'll confess I have a hard time with it myself," she added.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Tasha tried to think of anything but the smell the penetrated every available inch of breathable air.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Rachel offered.

"What?"

"You seem nervous. Sometimes talking helps," Rachel went on. "Doctor Crusher is an excellent physician."

"Oh," Tasha said as she realised what Rachel was hinting at. "Doctor Crusher is great. I'm sure it's nothing. She'll probably just tell me to take it easy on the hot sauce and lay off the late-night pickles. I'm sure it's just heartburn or nerves."

Tasha laughed.

"Probably good for the old waistline too, eh? I'm due for a bit of diet," Tasha said with a smirk. "I've really packed on the weight lately."

Rachel's eyebrows shot up. She blinked slowly as she raked her eyes over Tasha. Lieutenant Yar had always been willowy. But now, as Rachel paused to really look, she could see that Tasha looked… fuller than she had before—almost as if the rest of her had finally managed to catch up to her round face.

"You've had heartburn, dizziness, weight gain," Rachel said, rattling off her symptoms. "And you mentioned nerves?"

"Nothing to worry about. Just some stress. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I have a sinking feeling Beverly's going to tell me I did this to myself," Tasha replied.

A strange smile spread across Rachel Cohn's face.

Rachel Cohn thought this was a welcome piece of news in spite of everything that had happened.

Hope. She mused.

"Lieutenant, I don't think there's anything wrong with you. In fact, I think you're the picture of health," Rachel said, beaming. "I'm sure Doctor Crusher will get it all sorted."

Tasha was thoroughly confused.

"You know, I bet we could get the hardwire communications back online," Rachel said, eyeing the control box.

It would allow them to transmit a written message to the Bridge.

For a moment, Tasha remained silent as she weighed this proposal. There was a chance that Rachel Cohn was the Romulan spy. Allowing her to access the lift controls presented a risk.

Yet, the controls were limited. A single box in the lift had no ability to access any vital systems. The only risk would be to Tasha and the lift itself.

And Tasha doubted that any spy would want to take out the Security Chief at the cost of her own life. Tasha simply wasn't a high enough target.

Data maybe. Or Riker.

Picard.

Spy or not, they both needed to get out of the lift.

"How can I help?" Tasha asked.

---

Vindicta | Private Quarters

"You have to get out of here."

Korenus ignored Sela.

She closed her eyes and tried to suppress the urge to melt as he kissed her bare shoulder. A second later, his breath was warm against her ear.

"Commander," he murmured.

"You have to go," she repeated.

"You love me," Korenus whispered.

Sela fell silent—neither confirming nor refuting that statement. She couldn't bring herself to admit it.

"It's not a weakness," Korenus said.

Sela rolled onto her back. Korenus hovered her face, grinning with delight as Sela reached up to cup his cheek.

"How easily I could fall for you," she confessed.

"No one has to know."

A pained expression crossed Sela's face.

"I'm a master of discretion," Korenus went on.

"Do you know what my father does for fun? What my family is like?"

She dropped her voice low for fear of being overheard.

"They will break you. They will do unthinkable things to you in order to get me to comply, to hold me under their thumb, to hurt me—just for fun."

Morak found pleasure in inflicting pain. Aquilo was no different.

"Do you know that when I was a little girl, Aquilo used to dangle me over the railing at the Imperial palace just to watch me squirm?"

It was a dark memory.

"He used to tell me that he could crush my little human skull. That if my father died, he would take me to the Imperial hunting lodge and run me down in the woods like the animal that I am."

I'll give you a sporting chance, cousin. My hounds are due for a good chase.

Aquilo was older than Sela. Both children had been raised by Morak. Aquilo was also a bully—something Morak encouraged because he believed it helped teach Sela resilience.

"And I think what I hate the most is that my only saving grace is my fucking womb."

Sela grimaced in disgust.

It was the sole doorstop between Sela and death (or worse).

It hurt to be reduced to exactly the same role her mother had fulfilled.

A means to an heir.

"You'll never be that to me," Korenus promised, praying the Divines would forgive him for that lie.

---

Iconia

The standoff continued.

Captain Picard, Worf, and Data had all lowered their phasers. In spite of Worf's protest, Jean-Luc had ordered them to do as their captor requested.

Worf bit his tongue as he kicked his phaser over to the stranger.

"If she was a Romulan, she would have killed us already," Picard pointed out.

This did little to ease Worf's concern.

"You are from the Yamato, aren't you," Picard said—it was not a question.

"If she is, then what is she doing down here alone?" Worf accused. "How do we know she wasn't a spy? She might have run away to save herself before the ship was destroyed."

The woman gasped.

"The Yamato? It's gone?"

She staggered for a moment before collecting herself and training her sights back on the trio.

"I guess that explains why no one answered our hails. And why no one followed," she remarked, clearly saddened by the news. "I was hoping I just couldn't get through the interference."

"Then you admit that you abandoned your post," Worf said.

She baulked.

"I'm no coward. I'm here on Captain Varley's orders," she roared. "Don't test me, muscles—I'll blow your Klingon arse right through to the next room."

"You're here on Varley's orders? Donald Varley ordered you down here?" Picard pressed.

She was the only survivor they had located, the only person that could provide answers to the final hours of the Yamato.

"Donald Varley was a very dear friend," Picard acknowledged.

"He said that," she replied. "And he said you would come."

Picard relaxed. They were finally making progress.

"Then you know I mean you no harm. Put down your phaser and we can talk."

Instead, she clutched the phaser rifle tighter.

"Not until I know I can trust you. Not until I know you don't have one of those things in your brain."

She wasn't backing down.

"One of those things?" Picard questioned.

The line of her lips thinned.

"Don't pretend. If you really are who you say you are, then you know that something is controlling people. The senior officers," she said. "By the end Varley couldn't trust any of them."

What a terrible end. Picard thought.

Donald Varley deserved better.

"What do you mean by things?" Data inquired.

"You tell me," she replied in a cold tone.

She wasn't about to trust anyone—that was Varley's final warning.

"We have reason to believe there is some kind of parasite or device implanted in Starfleet personnel that latches onto the brain stem effectively replacing the control of the individual," Picard answered.

"Well, I can tell you the slug that crawled out of Commander Geirson wasn't a piece of technology," the woman shared.

Picard was stunned.

"You've seen one?"

She nodded.

Her face soured as she thought back to the memory. "What crawled out of him… nasty thing."

"Please describe," Data requested.

The woman looked him up and down. She'd heard about the android officer and decided he was only being analytical.

"Like a slug with pincers. And fast."

Data turned to the Captain.

"Then it is likely we are dealing with a parasite," Data said.

As the Enterprise's resident exobiology expert, Beverly had turned to Data. They two had analysed her findings from the Yamato crewmember they encountered months before—the very findings that the Yamato's Chief Medical Officer tried to make disappear.

Beverly had never gotten the chance to study it further. Her limited research did indicate the presence of something in the back of that officer's neck. It was right at the brain stem. There were other signs of parasitic infection too like anaemia, heightened hormone levels, and a slight elevation in body temperature.

Data was intrigued.

Parasite or not, this was a new lifeform. Data was keen to study it. The sheer timing of its arrival in conjunction with the Romulan conspiracy indicated some level of intelligence.

Jean-Luc held his hands out in the universal sign of surrender.

"I can assure you that we understand why you're so concerned. We've been fighting this conspiracy for months and I suspect it has penetrated the highest levels of Starfleet," Picard acknowledged. "I can also assure you that we are not infected."

"Prove it."

Once again, they were at a standstill.

Picard found himself at a loss for options. He couldn't even suggest returning to the Enterprise. There was a chance the ship was gone. They had no way to return.

In any case, he didn't think this officer would go along with that idea.

Fortunately, Data had a plan.

"The synthetic nature of my construction makes parasitic implantation impossible," Data said.

Their captor slowly came around to that idea.

Keeping one hand on her phaser rifle, she backed toward a console and rummaged for an item. A moment later, she tossed it to Data.

"Medical tricorder. Scan them," she ordered.

Captain Picard and Worf both readily submitted to the scan. Data carefully ran the tricorder around the circumference of their heads and then along the back of their necks.

"I can detect no sign of a parasite," Data announced.

"Satisfied?" Worf growled.

He didn't appreciate having his loyalty questioned.

"Almost," she replied.

She trained her phaser rifle at Picard and repeated that she was there on the orders of Captain Varley. Vigilant to the last, Varley had ensured the most important thing on the Yamato was safe.

"I would very much like to know more about those orders. We can't let this fall into Romulan hands," Picard said.

Iconia was far too valuable. According to the research Varley had shared with Picard, the Romulans were keen to put any Iconian technology to use.

"Captain Varley sent you here alone?" Picard questioned.

It seemed odd.

"No. There were eight of us," she said darkly.

Worf scowled.

"Then where is your team?" he demanded.

They had seen no sign of anyone else.

"Svensson and Halifax were looking for a way to shut down this shield. The interference is blocking communications," she shared. "They were killed trying to get a message out. Some sort of security measure electrocuted them."

Data had managed to avoid that fate because of what they learned previously on Lantera.

"And the rest?" Worf asked.

The woman hesitated.

"What happened?" Picard asked softly.

"Commander Evans lost it. He ordered us to disregard Captain Varley's orders. Said it was a matter of life and death and that our only chance was to make a break for the Neutral Zone."

It had been a harrowing experience.

"He opened the armoury on the Corsica and he… he threatened—"

She stopped. Her voice began to quiver.

"We didn't have a choice. He was out of control," she concluded.

Before Worf could question this, Picard intervened. He needed to keep things civil.

"Then you are not alone? The rest of your colleagues are safe?"

Jean-Luc intentionally kept his wording on the focus of safety.

"Aarden is guarding the Corisca," she answered.

"And the others?"

"Shortly after we landed, Commander Geirson ordered us to conduct a search of the area," she explained.

It was routine procedure.

"Geirson ordered Bergeron and Yang to take point," she recounted soberly. "He turned his phasers on them—just shot them."

There had been nothing to precipitate that action. No warning, no sign of trouble.

"He just shot them," she continued.

"And then what happened?" Picard asked.

"He turned his phaser on himself. Started screaming. Begged me to 'get it out.' Over and over again."

The woman blanched.

"He started beating his head against the wall. I just wanted him to stop," she said. "I only fired a low-level phaser blast. Just enough to stun him."

She paused and cleared her throat, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"It didn't even register. He just kept screaming. And then… then that thing crawled out of him. I shot it."

The creature had moved fast.

"I was afraid it was coming for me. Took three shots at level three just to stop it."

That was more than sufficient to stun most humanoids.

"And Commander Geirson?" Worf asked.

"He turned his phaser on himself. He asked me to stop him. I just thought he meant that he didn't want to do it. I tried talking to him. Told him to put it down. But I think, looking back, he really couldn't control himself," she said.

In those horrifying final moments, Geirson had pleaded for his life.

"It was like he was struggling with his own hands not to fire. He had his phaser dialled up to level seven."

"It could be a form of protection," Data theorised. "This creature may secrete a substance or pheromone that exerts some level of control over the host."

There were a number of parasites with similar properties.

"But why kill the host?" Picard asked.

"To prevent them from providing information," Worf chimed in. "A wise countermeasure."

"In more ways than one," Data remarked.

All eyes fell on Data.

"Such a method of destruction would prevent the host from recounting their experience. It would also obliterate any evidence thus eliminating the possibility of a proper autopsy," Data explained.

"Is there any chance your remaining colleague is infected?" Picard demanded.

The woman shook her head.

"We both scanned each other," she answered.

Then she frowned.

"Actually, Captain Varley scanned everyone on the team less than an hour before we left," she shared.

"Perhaps someone falsified the scans to allow this Geirson aboard?" Worf surmised.

"Or the parasite had only recently entered his body. That could explain why he was able to have some level of lucidity," Data added.

"I'd like to see the Corsica," Picard said.

The presence of the Corsica on the planet explained why they had found no trace of the ship during their scan of the area. The interference from the shield explained why the ship was missing and why the crew aboard had failed to contact the Enterprise.

At the very least they had solved the mystery of the Corsica.

Well, part of it.

"So, Captain Varley dispatched your team on the Corsica to stop this facility from falling into Romulan hands?" Picard guessed.

"Only as a secondary objective. Our mission was to protect something Captain Varley considered far more valuable," the woman answered.

Picard's mind reeled with possibilities—more information recovered during Varley's secret missions, Iconian artefacts, Romulan secrets.

Perhaps even breadcrumbs to Varley's mysterious source?

"In his final moments, Varley implored me to find the Corsica," Picard said.

"He said you would be the only one that could correctly identify the password," the woman said. "And if you don't—I'll have no choice but to shoot you."

Data's head snapped toward Captain Picard.

"Sir, the Yamato was destroyed before Captain Varley could finish his final message," Data reminded him.

Jean-Luc wasn't fazed.

"Donald Varley would never have left a matter of such importance to something as simple as a password. No, he gave you a riddle, didn't he? Or a clue from our shared past? Something he knew couldn't be falsified," Picard said.

He was right so far.

"A way of protecting whatever it is you're guarding from any imposters," Picard went on.

The woman nodded.

"What clue did Captain Varley give you?" Picard asked.

"Captain Varley said you were a man of history," she prefaced.

She went on to share that Varley had insisted Picard would be the only one that would understand.

"He said you would finally understand what it felt like to fly into the jaws of death. And that he was sorry that he probably wouldn't get to do it with you," she went on.

Picard was at a loss. None of that information brought him any closer to solving the riddle of Varley's mysterious password test.

"He said that you would know it. That it would be easy because it was a secret password used since antiquity."

Picard fought the urge to scoff.

Thanks a lot, old friend.

"He said it was the only way to distinguish friend from foe, resistance from infiltrators, and neighbours from occupiers," the woman explained. "It was used in Gilead, Korea, and Ukraine. The people of Bruges used the same method in the fourteenth century as the Finns in the twentieth century."

Jean-Luc wracked his brain to identify the common thread. Varley was as much a student of history as Jean-Luc. It was a mutual passion since their days at Starfleet Academy.

"And he said that your ancestors relied on it when the French Resistance made use of Château Picard to hide munitions during the Second World War," she continued.

Suddenly, Picard snapped his fingers.

"You want me to say 'Shibboleth.'"

For the first time since their encounter, the woman relaxed. She lowered her phaser rifle and took a deep breath. Jean-Luc finally got a peek at the pips on her collar.

She cleared her throat and stood at attention.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Picard said.

"Lieutenant, junior grade Raffaella Musiker," she said, introducing herself. "Sir, I apologise for—"

Picard put up a hand to stop her.

"Not necessary. You were merely following orders."

Musiker replied with a stiff nod.

"What was your mission?" Picard pressed.

"Follow me," Musiker replied.

Captain Picard, Data, and Worf followed Lieutenant Musiker down a darkened corridor in the opposite direction of where they had entered the facility. Data surmised the installation was mirrored on opposite sides.

"When things started to look bleak, Captain Varley made a decision to launch the Corsica," Musiker explained. "I guess we got out just in time."

"Lieutenant, how was the ship able to pass through the shield?" Data inquired.

"Captain Varley gave us this."

Lieutenant Musiker reached into her tactical vest and retrieved a small device. Varley's team had recovered it during one of their secret missions. It was a piece of Iconian technology.

"We think it acts like a key allowing us to bypass the shield," she explained.

"Then why did you not take the Corsica outside of the shield when it became apparent you could not use the communications system?" Worf asked.

In spite of Picard passing the test, Worf remained sceptical of this Lieutenant Musiker. She tossed the device back to Captain Picard—only for Worf to block it with his body.

Worf dove on it, covering the mystery device as if it were a grenade.

Nothing happened.

"If I wanted to kill you—I'd have done it already," Musiker said.

"Thank you, Mr Worf. Your diligence is appreciated," Picard said with a wry smile.

Worf handed the device over to the Captain. He took a brief peek before passing it on to Data for analysis.

"It appears to only work one way," Musiker explained. "Unless this 10,000-year-old key suddenly happened to run out of batteries."

Data ran his tricorder over the piece. It wasn't much bigger than an isolinear chip.

"The construction is clearly Iconian in design. There is no detectable power source. However, there appears to be something blocking the tricorder scans below the exterior surface," Data said.

Data's head shot up.

"If this device only works one way—"

"Then we're trapped here unless we can figure out the Iconian computer system," Picard finished for him.

The trio had known that was a possibility when they embarked on the mission. However, they were confident the Enterprise would still be in orbit.

Lieutenant Musiker scowled as she eyed the trio.

"What happened to the Enterprise?" she demanded.

For a moment, no one answered. Data was usually the first to jump in with information on any subject. Only, he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud.

"We cannot be certain," Picard answered.

"It is possible the ship has moved out of orbit. Or it may have been destroyed," Worf said.

"That's going to be a problem," the woman announced.

The group rounded the corner to the shuttlebay where the Corsica waited.

"If we could figure out how to drop the shield, we could fly the Corisca out and rendezvous with the Thomas Paine," Worf suggested.

Lieutenant Musiker shook her head.

"I'm afraid we're a bit overbooked," she replied. "And this cargo absolutely takes priority."

"What is it exactly that you're protecting?" Picard asked.

"Precious cargo."

Lieutenant Musiker tapped to open the back of the Corsica. The door hissed as it lowered to the ground. A voice called out from the dark inside the ship.

"Stop right there!"

"It's me," Musiker replied. "It's only me. And Captain Picard."

Worf clicked on his torch and shined it inside the Corsica.

A heavily pregnant officer lowered her phaser rifle.

"Lieutenant Aarden, meet Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Commander Data, and Lieutenant Worf," Musiker announced.

There was movement in the back of the shuttle. Worf and Data were immediately on guard. Data could just barely make out a pair of eyes hiding inside one of the storage compartments.

Then another.

Worf flashed his torch around to survey the ship. There were dozens of them crouched behind lockers, peeking out from around the corners, and hanging down from the overhead storage.

A small child rushed out from the darkness inside the shuttle and tugged at Lieutenant Aarden's pantleg.

"Do we get to go home now?"

The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve. He did not blink as he stared awaiting an answer from Captain Picard.

---

Commander Riker rapped his fingers on the arm rest.

"Has there been any word from the Thomas Paine?"

"Long-range communications are down, sir," reported Lieutenant Jae.

Lieutenant Hawk, who was seated at the helm, tapped the screen with his finger.

"Navigation has gone… wonky, sir."

"Wonky?" Riker asked.

Hawk's blond brow furrowed as he attempted to reconfigure the heading.

"I'm not sure, sir. The instrument won't respond."

Lieutenant Jae spun around in her seat at Operations. She opened her mouth to speak but Riker put up a finger to stop her.

"Ah!" he warned.

Jae shot him a knowing look.

"Decks twelve through nineteen are reporting turbolift malfunctions."

"Phasers are down, sir," added Lieutenant Solis.

Riker rocked his neck back and forth in order to crack it while he regained his composure. Deanna reached over and gently placed her hand on his forearm.

Will was desperate for a sense of control. It was infuriating to feel so helpless. He decided to tap his combadge and do the one thing he could at the moment.

"Bridge to Doctor Crusher. Has Lieutenant Yar checked into Sickbay?"

---

Beverly was in the middle directing triage. With all the malfunctions and systemic issues onboard, the Enterprise had become one big workplace safety hazard.

To make matters worse, some of the medical equipment had begun to fail. Beverly couldn't rely on faulty machines for lifesaving actions. That meant good old fashioned country medicine—and a lot more heavy lifting.

"Move those cots into prep room two," she said, directing the team. "We'll set up another section in there."

"Doctor, that's the last of the cots. Permission to take a team down to the storeroom on level fourteen for more?" asked Lieutenant Adams.

"Go," Beverly urged.

Doctor Selar appeared with her bag slung around her arm and a checklist in hand.

"I have secured space in the lounge and fitness centre. We have begun directing new incomings to those locales. Nurse V'tilo and the crew from Gamma shift are on site," Selar informed her.

"Good. Have we been able to reach Doctor Sanghera?"

"She is still trapped on Deck 4. Turbolifts are not functioning," Selar answered.

Damn. Thought Beverly.

They were flooded with patients, short of hands, and running out of room.

Over in the corner, Nurse Ogawa was desperately trying to stabilise an unfortunate Ensign that had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Plasma burns that were normally a priority medical emergency sat untreated.

"I can't get down there," Beverly said.

There were too many people waiting for emergency surgeries.

"I'm on my way now," Selar assured her.

She would make a quick assessment, assign a nurse to oversee triage, and return in time to scrub up for their next emergency surgery.

Suddenly, the door to Sickbay flew open. A mixed team of personnel from Engineering and Security rushed in carrying a young woman.

It was Ensign Hallie McKendry, and she was unresponsive. Even from across the room, Beverly could tell it was bad. She dropped everything and rushed over to the door.

"What happened?"

"We were on repairs. Some sort of feedback buildup. The console blew. She was right on top of it."

"Put her down over here," Beverly ordered. "You—pack the wound!"

Several waiting patients dispersed to make room. They were already sitting three and four to a cot, standing, and crammed into every inch of the private exam rooms.

"Selar—wait!" Beverly hollered.

Doctor Selar had been nearly out the door. But if Beverly had to move this patient to surgery, she would need Selar to remain.

Beverly clicked the end of her penlight to run a quick diagnostic. The wounds were extensive. Beverly could feel Doctor Selar hovering over her shoulder. Every minute counted and the pressure was on.

"Pupils are sluggish. She's lost a lot of blood," Beverly said.

"Your orders, Doctor?"

Beverly clicked off her light and hooked it back on her uniform. She turned to Doctor Selar and dropped her voice.

"This is six hours of work."

"At a minimum," Selar added.

And they didn't have the knitter to help. They would have to work by hand to stitch up every hole and wound. Beverly would not be able to rely on the robotic equipment or the modern surgical camera that was standard for such an operation.

Beverly didn't need to look at inventory—they would never have enough units of blood.

"She's O negative. We'll have to tap the crew and there's a ten… maybe fifteen percent chance she'll survive the surgery."

Beverly closed her eyes and took a breath.

"We're the only two that can do it," Beverly went on.

Beverly and Doctor Selar were the only two qualified surgeons capable of such a complex operation. Beverly glanced over her shoulder at the room full of wounded. There was no telling how many of them would be at risk of further injury, complications, or death if they proceeded with the surgery.

Under normal circumstances, the operation would be a serious undertaking—but would have proceeded without question. Even in a standard emergency they would have been able to provide palliative care.

It seemed so cruel to abandon her without so much as even an analgesic to alleviate the pain.

Doctor Selar could tell Beverly was struggling with her decision.

"Doctor, the only logical choice—"

"I know," said Beverly.

She instructed two nearby personnel to take Ensign McKendry down to the storeroom. It was gruesome, but the Morgue had already become a pre-op overflow.

The team that brought Ensign McKendry watched in horror as two medics lifted her onto a litter.

"You're… you're not even going to try and save her?" exclaimed an outraged NCO.

His eyes flooded with hot tears as he got right up in Beverly's face.

"She was trying to make sure our shields stay up!" he roared. "She kept working when that buildup started to make sure the explosion didn't take out the whole damn section!"

"I'm sorry," Beverly said. "There is nothing I can do."

She kept her steady but authoritative. She felt awful but couldn't stop to grieve. Beverly turned to move on, but the NCO grabbed her shoulder.

"I'm not done talking to you, Doc!"

"Again, I wish there was something I could do. Her wounds are too extensive. Now, I have to get back to—"

"YOU HAVEN'T TRIED ANYTHING!"

The room fell quiet as all eyes fell on Doctor Crusher.

"Ensign McKendry is not going to make it. And there is no amount of time or materials or miracle that can change that," Beverly said, imploring the man to understand. "I can't save her. But there are a lot of other people that I can save."

The man's anger faltered. Beverly was no stranger to that feeling. She could tell it was beginning to sink in.

"But… but if you just… w-w-hat about—" he stammered, pleading for a miracle cure that might have been overlooked in the rush. "Maybe we could try and keep her stable and then when things slow down—"

He stopped when he caught sight of Beverly's face.

"Oh God," the man gasped.

He clutched his head and stumbled back into the wall.

"Oh God. Oh God. She's really gone."

The NCO slid down to the floor and wept. McKendry was his best friend. They had been assigned to the Enterprise together, starting at the same time and sharing assignments since day one of their careers.

"She's not supposed to die," he sobbed.

Beverly pointed for one of her staff to intervene. She needed to get the man out of Sickbay as quickly as possible. It wasn't good for morale, and they needed the space.

Lieutenant Perez pulled the man to his feet and guided him toward the door.

"She's not gone yet, but she doesn't have much time. I think it would mean a lot to her family if you were with her when she passed," Perez said. "We can go together. That way she isn't alone."

Before Beverly could reboot, she was confronted by Ensign Pullman. He had a mild fracture and some moderate lacerations on his arm. An hour earlier, Beverly had explained he would be fine but would have to wait for treatment.

"Doc, I gotta know. Are you not treating me because I'm gonna die too?" he asked, panicked.

Beverly could feel dozens of pairs of eyes waiting for an answer. They all had the same question on their mind.

"Pullman, you're fine," she assured him. "I know it hurts. But I don't have the hands or supplies to treat this right now. The only reason I'm not treating them is because you are going to be fine."

Over near the door, Doctor Selar was trapped by no fewer than six patients with the same question. Lieutenant Adams had never made it to the supply run—he was busy assisting Nurse Ogawa. If he moved his hand, the patient would bleed out.

"Doctor! We need you!" Alyssa hollered.

The communication system pinged.

"Bridge to Doctor Crusher. Has Lieutenant Yar arrived at Sickbay yet?"

Beverly tapped her communicator to respond as she rushed over to assist Nurse Ogawa and Lieutenant Adams in the corner.

"No and I wish she had. I could really use another set of hands!"

---

Up on the Bridge, Deanna gripped Will's arm.

Riker glanced down at her hand and then over at his Imzadi.

"Counsellor?"

"I need to speak to you," Deanna said. "Alone."

Will recognised that look. He didn't like to step away from the Command Chair during the middle of an emergency. But it wasn't like there was anything he could do. The ship was effectively adrift with limited thruster capabilities.

"Lieutenant Hawk, you have the Bridge."

---

Will and Deanna slipped into the Captain's Ready Room. It seemed odd to be there alone without the rest of the team.

Without Captain Picard.

"It feels weird being in here without the Captain," Riker said.

"Because you miss his presence or because you're repulsed by the idea of command?" Deanna asked.

Riker made a face.

"You're afraid of making an error—all Captains are."

"If you came in here to psych 101 me—"

"I asked to speak with you about a matter of security," Deanna interjected.

Riker suddenly sobered.

"Go on," he said as he sat perched on the edge of the Captain's desk.

"I think Tasha may be compromised," Deanna said.

"She's worried about Data. And Worf and the Captain," Will replied with a nonchalant shrug. "We're all compromised, D."

Will wasn't about to lecture Tasha about the Regulation 1138—certainly not when they were facing insurmountable odds and trapped on the wrong side of the Neutral Zone.

Riker knew how close Tasha was to Worf. They were found family, tied together through the bond of their shared experience as orphans and outsiders.

Captain Picard was the closest thing Tasha had to a father figure.

And then there was Data.

Riker couldn't begin to fathom how frightening it must have been to break orbit knowing Data was down there.

"I know if you were down on that planet and Captain Picard had given that order, I don't even want to think about what that would feel like," Riker shared.

"I do not mean emotionally."

That was the last thing Will had expected to hear come out of her mouth.

"I think Tasha might be our Romulan spy."

It took Will a moment to process that statement.

"Tasha?" he asked angrily. "Deanna, we're talking about Tasha."

"I know," Deanna said in a terse voice. "And I sincerely hope that I'm wrong."

Next to Will, Tasha was Deanna's closest friend. It felt wrong to question Tasha's honour—but Deanna couldn't ignore her instincts. And she understood that the ship relied on her empathic abilities to keep everyone safe.

"You wouldn't bring this to me without evidence," Riker said.

Deanna folded her hands in front of her as she prepared to try and interpret her perceptions for Riker to evaluate.

"For some time, I have suspected that Tasha has been withholding something," Deanna said with a heavy sigh. "I just thought it was a secret between her and Data. Something innocent."

With the benefit of hindsight, Deanna realised just how wrong she had been.

"I don't get the same reading when I'm around Data. Whatever it is—Data doesn't know. I'm confident of that."

What wasn't clear was if Tasha was under the influence of something or if she had always been a double agent.

Will didn't want to dismiss Deanna outright, but he felt her methodology was a bit vague.

"You don't need to say it. I know you need more," Deanna acknowledged.

Riker wasn't about to lock up a fellow officer based solely on Deanna's gut. For all he knew, Tasha could simply be hiding dinner plans. She was notoriously private.

"One of the theories is that the Romulans are using a parasite to infiltrate our ships, right?"

Riker nodded. He didn't like where Deanna was headed.

"I've had great difficultly reading Lieutenant Yar as of late. The last few weeks… well, it's like there's been a sort of block," Deanna settled on.

Something had changed ever since the incident with the Vico in the Black Cluster.

"And just now on the Bridge shortly before Tasha left, I felt—"

"What Deanna?" Riker pressed.

"I felt like there was something else inside of her. Something that's influencing her emotionally, her decisions… feeding on her," Deanna said.

Deanna paused and shook her head.

"Like a parasite," Will said darkly.

He brought his hand to his face. After rubbing his eyes, he stopped to scratch his chin. Tasha knew how to maintain secrecy and transmit information. Tasha was fourth in the chain of command after Data.

And an expert poker player. Riker thought.

"She was leading the investigation. She was the one that brought this to Captain Picard," Riker said, stunned.

It was the perfect cover.

"We need to locate Lieutenant Yar immediately," Deanna urged.

Tasha could be a danger to the ship and to herself. If there was a parasite inside her, there was no telling what she might do if it felt cornered.

"Sensors are down," Will said. "I don't have the people to dispatch teams for a deck-by-deck search."

There were entire areas of the ship cut off (including key turbolifts). It was far too dangerous given all the malfunctions.

"In any case, Tasha knows this ship inside out. She's a trained covert operative. If she planted something, I guarantee that we will never find it in time."

"And she could be out there right now doing who knows what," Deanna reminded him.

A crisis was the perfect cover to sabotage the ship or steal critical information.

"What are you thinking?" Deanna asked softly.

"That you and I should have stayed on Betazed," Will replied dryly.

---

A loud clang resounded through the lift as the sonic multitool hit the floor. Rachel Cohn hissed in pain as she massaged her hand.

Tasha was up in a flash.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," Cohn said through clenched teeth.

Her arthritis was acting up and it made it a challenge to try and reroute communications through the central control box. It was complicated work, even for an expert engineer like Rachel Cohn.

Rachel only had a small multitool on her person. She didn't usually carry a full toolkit like most of the other engineers.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I really am. I just need a moment."

Rachel's hand was stiff. She wasn't accustomed to working hands-on anymore. For years, her work had been purely theoretical. Rachel tried to clench and retract her hand. She grimaced as she felt her joints grind and crack.

"Maybe you could tell me how to do it? You know, walk me through the repairs?" Tasha offered.

Rachel hesitated.

"I'm no engineer, but I've programmed and repaired my share of Tactical consoles," Tasha said.

"Forgive me, I don't mean to question your capabilities," Rachel prefaced.

She proceeded to explain that reprogramming the lift to tap into the ship's hardwired communications network was a dangerous process.

"There's a lot of current running through that console and we don't have a way to shut it off," Rachel explained.

One false move and they could blow the whole console.

"Those circuits are tied right into the same system as the emergency safety system. We trip the wrong one and this turbolift will be on a one-way drop to the belly of the ship," explained Rachel.

She reached for the tool and prepared to resume her work.

For a brief moment, Tasha wondered if Rachel Cohn was giving her the runaround—intentionally delaying the work for a more sinister purpose. Tasha immediately felt guilty for thinking such a thing as she watched Rachel's trembling hand.

"Wait!"

Rachel stopped.

"I don't think we should risk it," Tasha said. "And the first rule of any emergency situation when one is trapped is to stay in place."

Technically, it was procedure.

"You think we should stay put and wait for a rescue?" Rachel asked to clarify.

"I don't like the idea…" Tasha's shoulders slumped. "I just don't want to wind up flat as a pancake at the bottom of this shaft."

"Alright. We'll stay put," Rachel agreed with a smile.

---

Iconia

"Are you a Klingon?"

"Yes."

"So, you're really strong then?" asked one of the children.

"Yes."

"Could you lift a Targ?"

"Yes," Worf replied in a stiff voice.

"Could you lift two Targs?"

One of the children was hanging upside down from a coolant pipe. He flipped and landed on the floor.

"What about an elephant?" he asked.

"No," Worf replied without elaboration.

"What if it was a baby elephant?" asked one of the other children.

Worf closed his eyes and prayed for patience as he endured an endless stream of questions from the children aboard the Corsica.

Do you have a bat'leth?

Can we see it?

And of course, each answer brought a chorus of 'why?'

"They mean well," Lieutenant Aarden said.

She was grateful for Worf's arrival. He was able to take over guarding the Corsica. It was the first chance for a break Lieutenant Aarden had enjoyed in hours. She was thirty-two pregnant and it was a relief to get off her feet for a while.

"I truly am grateful to have you here, Mr Worf," Aarden said.

She hissed and rubbed her belly.

"Sorry."

"There is no need to apologise," Worf assured her.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit. I need to get off my feet," Aarden said.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Worf offered.

Aarden smiled and shook her head.

"I'll just be glad to see the Enterprise," she said.

Worf's lack of reaction set off alarm bells in the ever-alert Lieutenant Aarden.

"Something has happened," she realised.

"We are uncertain," Worf replied. "There is significant interference. It is possible the ship has moved out of orbit."

Suddenly, Worf's eyes went wide with fear. His head snapped around and his eyes fell on Lieutenant Aarden's prominent bump.

"May I ask… how far along are you?" he inquired as delicately as possible.

Lieutenant Aarden chuckled.

"I'm not at risk of delivering anytime soon if that's what you're worried about," she replied. "This one's got at least another six weeks to go."

Worf visibly relaxed. He had basic field medic training. Emergency delivery procedures for humanoid species weren't covered until the advanced course.

"I heard the Captain mention that you were able to beam aboard people from the Yamato before she was destroyed but not everyone."

Worf didn't have the heart to tell her that they had, in fact, barely saved anyone.

"Captain Varley knew you would come in time," Aarden said brightly. "Do you know if Michael Aarden was one of them?"

"I do not know," Worf answered honestly.

There had been so much going on that Worf was not aware of the names of the personnel—only that it was a limited number, and that they were all civilians.

Lieutenant Aarden turned her attention to the viewscreen.

"He's my husband. We're supposed to start our leave the minute we get back over the Neutral Zone," she explained. "We're planning to visit my parents on Stratium Orius and stay with them for our parental leave. They've never met Michael outside of subspace calls."

She looked to Worf, hopeful for any crumb of news. When he didn't answer, Aarden was overcome by a wave of grief.

"Now she never will either," Aarden sobbed as she clutched her bump.

Worf didn't know what to say. It was a great honour to die in the service of one's ship. Worf considered the Yamato crew to be among the honoured dead—after all, they were trying to stop a war. He recognised this would be of little comfort to Lieutenant Aarden.

Worf knelt down next to Lieutenant Aarden and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I am certain that Captain Picard will find a way to get us out of here. Mr Data probably already has a dozen theories."

It was all Worf could think of to try and soothe her.

"Once we are back on the ship, I will personally help you search for your husband among the survivors," Worf vowed.

The odds were slim. They had only managed to save less than fifty people. More than a thousand crew and civilian personnel were gone.

The children were already frightened. Lieutenant Aarden's tears compounded that uncertainty and confusion.

"Are we gonna die?" one of the kids asked.

Worf glanced back over his shoulder.

"Today is not a good day to die," he declared.

It was obvious from their reaction that the younger children did not understand, and the older children were not convinced.

"We are not going to die. In fact, Captain Picard and Mr Data are working to get us home right now. And we have tasks we must perform to help them."

He figured that putting the children to work would occupy their minds.

The teens on board were put to task caring for the youngest children. Worf deputised two of the older children as forepersons while the rest took stock of the supplies on board. The younger children were given jobs too— sorting the contents of the ration packs, moving emergency blanket kits from one side of the ship to another, and taking an emergency water canteen to each seat.

It was busywork, but it kept the children from growing restless.

Lieutenant Aarden wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve as she watched them go.

"You're really good with children," she remarked.

Worf flashed her a rare grin.

"Crowd management is a Security specialty."

"How are we going to get them all out of here?"

Worf and Lieutenant Aarden spoke in hushed voices, mindful to keep their tone calm lest they incite a panic.

"We were already pushing the limit of the ship before," she whispered.

The carbon dioxide scrubbers couldn't keep up with so many people on board. They would only have about twelve hours of oxygen. That wasn't enough to fly the Corsica to safety and they couldn't very well leave anyone behind.

"I am sure that Captain Picard and Mr Data will find a way out of here," Worf said.

He did his best to cheer up Lieutenant Aarden. But no matter how hard Worf tried, he couldn't stop the intrusive thoughts in his own mind. Lieutenant Aarden's presence was a bitter reminder of the cold reality of life in Starfleet.

Worf had volunteered for the mission to ensure Data made it back. Failure was not acceptable.

Because if Worf failed in his mission, then there would be another little one on the Enterprise that would never know their father either.

---

Captain Picard, Data, and Lieutenant Musiker walked along back to the Stellar Cartography room.

"Why did Captain Varley select you specifically, Lieutenant Musiker?" Data inquired.

"Raffi, please," she said. "We're trapped here on this awful mission. And we've all seen enough shit in the last three days that I think we can do away with formality."

In fact, Lieutenant Musiker had seen enough to make her reconsider her entire career trajectory.

"To answer your question, Captain Varley handpicked our team. Officers that had the skills necessary for this kind of mission, the temperament. Most importantly, people he knew he could trust," Raffi said sadly.

Or so he thought.

Raffi rattled off a short explanation of their qualifications. Varley had carefully chosen a team with the Engineering know-how, covert background, medical expertise, and Romulan familiarity in order to maximise their chance of success and survival.

"Lieutenant Aarden isn't just our best navigator—she minored in Romulan language studies and was on Starbase Yorktown for three years before transferring to the Yamato," Raffi explained. "She knows the area in and around the Neutral Zone like the back of her hand."

"And you?" Picard asked as they rounded the corner into the Stellar Cartography lab.

"I spent two years in covert operations. My speciality is in Romulan relations—particularly Tal Shiar operations," Raffi shared.

As part of that study, Raffi had a working knowledge of the Romulan language, technology, and behaviour.

She laughed and shook her head.

"I did my dissertation on the sphere of Tal Shiar influence on Federation politics and systemic misdirection," Raffi said. "Never in my life did I think it would lead here."

She keyed up the main console with ease.

"I was firmly of the belief that Iconia was a Romulan myth—a fantastic myth—but one fabricated solely for the purpose of cultural distinction from their Vulcan ancestry," Raffi explained. "It's Romulan mythos that I'm drawn to."

Picard was intrigued.

"And now?"

"Let's just say if Donald Varley was still here that I would owe him a very fine bottle of Aenarian whisky."

The console hummed as it came to life. Data watched as glowing orbs that surrounded the room clicked on one by one.

"Captain Varley tapped me to help him analyse the finds from our missions that were off-the-books," Raffi went on. "He wanted a sceptic to give a second opinion."

A grin spread across Captain Picard's face.

That was Donald.

"Captain Varley assigned me to a team along with a handful of other officers to oversee the project."

Through strategic division of labour, they kept most of their findings a secret from the bulk of the crew. But there were questions, whispers, and leaks.

"They were always five chess moves ahead of us," Raffi shared. "That's why six months ago, Captain Varley ordered me on a special assignment. I wasn't just analysing the finds—he wanted me to try and identify his secret informant."

Varley's orders had come directly from Starfleet Security HQ, from someone in Admiral Henry's office. But the source remained unnamed.

"He was suspicious," Picard realised.

"We knew there were Romulan spies on the Yamato. But we couldn't eliminate anyone. It only made sense to look higher," Raffi said. "We thought that if we could identify the source, we could work from there to try and stem the leak of information."

"And were you successful?" Data inquired.

Raffi shook her head.

"No—but I think we were close."

They had narrowed down a list of potential suspects for the secret informant only to be shut down by their very source.

"We got a message a few months back from the informant ordering us to stop looking into their identity. They claimed it risked compromising their position and the mission," Raffi said.

The source claimed that the heat was on within Starfleet Command to root out officers that were aware of the conspiracy.

"Captain Varley didn't want to risk losing possibly the only person in Admiral Henry's office that recognises the threat we're facing."

An officer in such a high position was too valuable. They couldn't risk the Romulans getting to them.

"So, he called off the investigation and the trail went cold. I'd been working with an old friend from the Academy to relay messages. A sort of low-level counter-informant," Raffi said.

There was a hint of frustration in her voice.

"What happened?" Picard asked.

Raffi turned and met the Captain's eyes.

"I don't know. She disappeared shortly after we were ordered to stop the investigation."

Raffi's source had been a clerk that worked in an adjacent department but within the same building as Admiral Henry's office. Her friend had been ordered to embark on an unusual archiving mission to recover materials from a closed Starbase.

She was never heard from again.

It was obvious that the Romulans that had infiltrated Starfleet had been able to trace the communications between the clerk and the Yamato.

"Captain Varley thought they must have mistaken our low-level informant for the source in Admiral Henry's office and taken out the wrong person," Raffi said.

There was something in the way she said it that tripped Picard's curiosity.

"But you don't," he observed.

For Raffi, the loss of their counter-informant was confirmation of something more sinister.

"I think our secret source in Admiral Henry's office is a Romulan operative," she said.

It would certainly explain how they were able to manoeuvre throughout the Neutral Zone without being detected, slipping in and out of planets to recover artefacts just in time before the Romulans arrived to claim their prize.

At the time, Captain Varley believed the source was skilled at intercepting Romulan plans and acting on them before it was too late.

"No one gets that lucky," Raffi said.

In hindsight, it was evident the source not only had information, but also power to dictate those Romulan actions.

"Obviously, they must have some control over the Romulan Fleet or are taking orders from someone that does," Raffi concluded.

She turned her attention back to the console.

"Please don't mistake my statement for criticism of Captain Varley," she said. "He wasn't naïve. He didn't trust our source entirely."

Before his death, Captain Varley had informed Picard that there were pieces of information and recovered artefacts that he had not passed along.

Picard was still left with a burning question.

"But to what end? Why would the Romulans send us to recover Iconian artefacts, to secure their own religious and cultural sites? It would be devastating for them if we managed to figure out even the simplest Iconian technology," Picard argued.

Even increasing Starfleet's knowledge of the Iconian language alone was a considerable risk.

"It's a classic Romulan move," Raffi replied casually. "I think someone with considerable power doesn't want the rest of the Romulan Fleet, or the government, or the Tal Shiar… whoever to know about it."

It was a case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing—and it was by design.

"Somebody wants to hide these little discoveries. Probably stockpiling them or using them to advance. If we were at a casino on Freecloud, I would put my money on this being some sort of internal political grab," Raffi theorised.

A look passed between Data and Captain Picard.

It did not go unnoticed.

"What?" Raffi prompted. "I showed you mine."

"We obtained some information from a secret source of our own. I'm afraid your assessment is on the nose," Picard said.

Raffi shook her head in dismay as she tapped into the Iconian Stellar Cartography database.

"I wish the Romulans would learn to keep their internal politics as internal conflicts," she muttered.

The last power grab had spilled over into Breen territory. It ignited a conflict between the two powers that still raged to this day. And the power struggle before that had threatened the longstanding non-aggression pact with the Klingons.

"I suppose we should thank them. If they had minded their own borders, they never would have driven the Klingons to becoming our allies," Picard pointed out.

"Many people died in that conflict. Many more will die if we do not stop them," Data said.

"That's exactly why Captain Varley was willing to risk everything to destroy this place," Raffi said.

She keyed in a code on the console and the entire dome overhead lit up with a holographic map of the stars. It was projected out from each of the glowing orbs that lined the room.

"Fascinating," Data breathed.

In just a matter of seconds, Data could tell this was no ordinary starchart. Jean-Luc too was intrigued. There was something distinctly familiar. And yet, Picard could not place it.

"Data, what are we looking at? Is this an unexplored region?"

It was entirely plausible that the Iconians had charted vast regions that remained undiscovered to modern explorers.

"Don't you recognise it?" Raffi asked.

"I do not believe I have ever seen this region of space," Picard answered.

"Sir, we are looking at a holographic representation of our own universe," Data explained in awe. "At least, what it looked like before 200,000 years of stellar drift."

Data pointed overhead.

"There. Earth."

Jean-Luc followed Data's line of sight to the small glowing orb above.

"Vulcan. Andor. Wolf 359," Data rattled off.

They were all there—Denobula, Casperia Prime, Metatro Prime, Gratus IX, Betazed.

"What were you doing in here?" Picard asked.

It was a remarkable discovery, one Jean-Luc would have gladly spent the rest of his life studying. But it wasn't the time or place for such endeavours.

"Trying to find a way home," Raffi shared. She tapped the console again, highlighting a number of points on the holographic starchart.

"Iconian planets?" Picard guessed.

"More like a network of doorways," Raffi said.

A chill ran down the back of Captain Picard's spine. He was looking at the very network the Iconians had built centuries before, the same one that had carried them across the galaxy and allowed them to grow into the most formidable empire of the era.

"Are you saying these points are all Iconian gateways?" Picard asked. "And… and that there is a doorway here?"

Raffi nodded.

"It would seem the doorway we discovered previously was not the last," Data chimed in.

Nearly a year earlier, the team from the Enterprise had stumbled upon an Iconian gateway. It was hidden among an asteroid field on the remains of a planet that had long since been decimated. At the time, Jean-Luc feared it was the only one left.

Now, it seemed that fear was unfounded.

"From what I can tell, these are all still a part of a functioning network," Raffi said.

"But to where?"

As Data studied the map, it was difficult to determine precisely where these doorways were located. There was no telling if the planets were hostile.

"It will take time to determine if these planets are viable escape alternatives," Data said. "I cannot guarantee if the destination will be near any Federation worlds or shipping lanes—let alone if they will support humanoid life."

Picard turned to Raffi.

"Is that what you were doing in here? Trying to find an escape?"

"When it became obvious that we wouldn't be able to make contact with the Enterprise, I had to look for an alternative," Raffi answered. "But as Mr Data has said, it's not an easy or fast process."

Captain Picard scratched his chin as he mulled over his options. It would only be a matter of time before the Romulans discovered them on the surface and sent down teams of their own.

Jean-Luc knew they needed to destroy the facility but would not risk the lives on the Corsica. He needed to find a way to destroy Iconian and get them to safety.

"How can we expedite this?" Picard wondered aloud.

"I will get to work right away, sir," Data said.

Data slipped into position at the console. His hands danced across the surface as he quickly worked to analyse the network, identify key points on the starchart, and create a working comparison to modern navigation charts.

"I am attempting to cross reference these coordinates against Federation records. Narrowing parameters to M-Class planets. Checking against known Federation worlds, allies, trading partners, and non-hostile nations," Data rattled off.

"You… you can read Iconian?" Raffi asked in astonishment.

"We discovered a doorway and several artefacts approximately a year ago. I have been able to study them and develop a working knowledge of the Iconian language," Data answered.

Raffi was blown away. It had taken a lifetime of meticulous research just to learn a rudimentary understanding of the Iconian language and symbols. Raffi was one of the best in Starfleet—but far behind Data's understanding of the tongue.

"I apologise that this is taking longer than normal," Data said in earnest. "I recently experienced a series of systemic malfunctions that have slowed my processing capabilities."

If anyone else had said that Raffi would think they were fishing for a compliment. But Data was just too sincere.

"I believe I will have preliminary results in an hour or so, Captain," Data said.

Raffi flashed Data a grin.

"Not bad at all, Golden Eyes. Not bad at all."

---

Sela hissed in pain. She was lying in bed on her stomach.

"Almost finished," Korenus said.

He carefully applied another treatment with a Romulan dermal regenerative tool to the wound on her back. They had survived the explosion on Lantera, but Sela had suffered serious scrapes and bruising from the fallout.

Sela should still have been under the care of a physician, but they couldn't risk returning to hospital.

"There," Korenus said as he put the instrument down.

He leaned over and kissed her spine, delicately walking his fingers up the length of Sela's back.

"You should get moving," Sela urged.

"I have no intention of leaving your side," Korenus promised.

Sela keened as he started to massage her shoulders.

"You can keep me or come with me," Korenus declared.

Sela chuckled.

"Hmmm… yes. I can see it now. We'll run away to Stardust City. We can work as mercenaries for hire," she mused.

"I've done that," Korenus growled against her ear. "That's no life for you, my lady."

Sela scoffed. She gingerly propped herself up on her elbows and turned to glare at Korenus.

"Just what are you implying?" she demanded.

Korenus held Sela's face and smiled.

"That you were born to be so much more, my lady."

"I told you, call me Sela," she said.

Sela loved when he said her name. It made her shiver all over. It was spoken with love. Korenus was the only one—all her previous lovers were too afraid.

"Except when we're in public. Then it has to be—"

"I know," Korenus said, shushing her.

Korenus grinned, hovering just inches from Sela's face. He closed the distance between them and kissed Sela's forehead.

"My Commander. My empress," he whispered.

Empress.

Sela's breath hitched.

"That's treason."

Sela's voice was so soft that it was barely audible—even for Romulan ears. It was treason to suggest another on the throne (even if that person was in the line of succession). It was a grave crime to imply the death of an Emperor.

"Then hang me for it, my Empress," Korenus said as he bit down on Sela's exposed shoulder.

Sela groaned.

"I like that way it falls from your lips," she confessed.

Without warning, the door to Sela's chambers flew open.

"And that is treason," announced Tomalak.

Sela and Korenus flew apart. She clung to her bedsheet in an effort to preserve a modicum of dignity as a contingent of Tomalak's loyal troops poured into Sela's private quarters.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

Aquilo stepped inside and clucked his tongue in disapproval. He helped himself to Sela's liquor cabinet, fishing around for the best of her whiskey, and then plopped down at the desk.

The whole room waited as the Emperor took a sip of his drink. Then Aquilo snapped his fingers.

Two of the guards picked up Korenus and roughly hauled him to the floor. A moment later, Sela's hounds were led in—growling at their captors. Merul and Liran were absent. Sela had no way of knowing if they were captured, dead, or had willingly turned over her dogs without a fight.

And Sela was in no position to ask.

Azura and Portunus took up a low stance, eyeing Tomalak. They strained against their leads but would not attack without orders. Sela was half-tempted to make that call. Her hounds would tear Tomalak's face off before his guards could stop them.

But there were too many disruptors in the room.

Azura and Portunus could certainly get Tomalak—but it would come at the cost of one or both of them. That was a risk Sela was not willing to take.

"Sit," Sela ordered.

Azura and Portunus immediately plopped down.

"Obedient," Tomalak said, admiring Azura.

He stepped close and extended his hand. She growled, baring her teeth and Tomalak thought better of it.

"Well, well, well, Korenus Velthur," Aquilo said. "I knew you kept questionable company, but the son of a traitor? That's low… even for you cousin."

He leapt up from the chair and pulled a blade from one of his guards. Aquilo began to pace in front of the bed.

"I wonder which one you care about more—your hounds or your dog?"

Aquilo rounded on Korenus with the blade in hand. Azura and Portunus began to fidget. They took up an attack stance, ready to jump into action at Sela's command.

"Well?"

Sela held her breath as Aquilo slipped the blade under her chin, forcing her into the awkward position of having to hold her head up without looking in his direction as he had not yet granted permission for Sela to look upon him.

"I haven't cut your tongue out yet."

"Permission to speak, your grace," Sela said, keeping her eyes on the far wall.

"Look at me," Aquilo commanded.

Sela fought the urge to flinch as he stroked her face. He gripped her chin, painfully so, squeezing her face like she was a small child.

"I'm not worried about you supplanting me. You're just a silly little slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, your grace."

"I'm not going to kill you," Aquilo assured her.

That did little ease Sela's fear.

"No, no. You're far too valuable. I could never harm my favourite cousin."

Your only cousin. Sela thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sela caught sight of Tomalak. He looked practically giddy with anticipation. Sela braced herself for the worst.

She did not react as Aquilo gripped the back of her hair.

"You and I are going to have a nice long talk about your father and his plans," Aquilo said. "You're going to tell me all about his failure at Ekloire and Lantera."

"And his plans to overthrow the Emperor," Tomalak added.

What they were not-so-subtly signalling was that they expected Sela to comply, to blame General Morak for the losses.

Fabricated treason charges would allow for a show trial. It would please the public and provide a way to eliminate Morak once and for all.

Of course, Morak had eventually planned to move against Aquilo. But he had yet to make any direct moves. All his work had been, up to that point, perfectly legal and acceptable under Romulan law.

"And I think we'll talk about your future. What you can best do to serve my Empire," Aquilo said as he stroked Sela's hair. "I know how keen you are to serve our family, little cousin."

"You're going to tell us everything we want to know. Bear in mind that your future, where we go from here, depends entirely on your cooperation," warned Tomalak.

Sela's chest felt tight.

"I don't… I don't know anything," she insisted.

Aquilo shushed her.

"I don't expect you to have all the answers. We just need you to say a few words."

"The right words," Tomalak added.

"And then I'll let you play with your dogs," Aquilo promised with a smug smile.