Author's Note: I'm completely blown away by all your comments, questions, and words of support. Thank you!

I apologise for the delay. I wrote and rewrote… and rewrote… and then transferred everything to my writing graveyard and rewrote again… *insert exasperated Picard meme face*

In the end, I wound up reworking the sequence and splitting this across different chapters.

Which means… I lied.

I said there would only be two more chapters in this Enterprise-C arc. But in keeping consistent with myself, I've gone over my intended goal.

Jean-Luc's trauma & the burden of command has always been a subplot of this story (along with Tasha's unusual relationship with the fabric of time).

I intend to release a companion piece entitled The Crease In the Fabric of Time that covers the events of Narendra III, Romulus, and Sela's origins in greater detail.

And what I'm struggling with here is how to condense just enough information for this point in the story without going too far over my outline.

Please be advised this portion of the story is a dark turn. I want to assure you – this series has a happy ending. But this part is filled with pain and loss.

Content Warning: Strong language, violence, abuse, child abuse, sexual assault, torture, graphic injury, enucleation, pregnancy/childbirth, miscarriage, stillbirth, abortion, self-harm, suicide, character death, murder.

"You loved her," Picard said in astonishment.

"From afar," Castillo said.

The comment hung in the air as Jean-Luc tried to wrap his head around it.

"Well, now it's out there," Richard said.

"I must confess now that I know, I find myself wishing I'd never asked," Picard acknowledged.

Jean-Luc was struck – not surprised – but struck.

This revelation explained a lot. Picard now had a deeper understanding of why Castillo had been nervous about disclosing details and why Deanna sensed he was withholding information.

Yet this discovery only spurred more questions.

"How did Tasha Yar end up on the Enterprise-C?" Picard asked.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Castillo questioned in response.

Picard's brow furrowed as he eyed Castillo with caution.

"My apologies Captain. I know for you this all must be… well, for me it's already happened," Castillo said, struggling to explain. "We've met before Captain. On your Observation Lounge. This ship. These people. I've been here before but not like this. It's the same and yet all so different."

Castillo glanced around the room.

As Richard had spent most of his time restricted to Sickbay and the Brig, he wasn't entirely certain what the situation was with the Klingon Empire. He had heard bits and pieces – but it was hard to tell.

"The Federation and the Klingon Empire, they're allies now. Is that correct?" Castillo asked.

Picard nodded.

"Yes. The Second Khitomer Accords were signed in 2345. The war ended. A year later, we became formal allies. In fact, the involvement of the Enterprise-C in the defence of Narendra III is often cited as the turning point. The lynchpin that led to peace," Picard said.

Castillo chuckled as he wiped away tears.

"Then it worked. It all worked," he remarked.

Picard eyed him carefully.

"What worked?" Picard questioned.

"Look, I'm a helmsman. A pilot. I don't know the first thing about temporal mechanics or quantum… whatevers," Castillo said.

He sighed.

"I don't have all the answers. I won't pretend to understand it. And I know what I'm about to say sounds ridiculous," Castillo prefaced.

It sounded foolish in his head. Richard knew it would sound even worse aloud.

"Two years from now - you and I will meet and have an equally distressing conversation in which you will impress upon me the importance of peace and duty. Of trust," Castillo said.

Timelines.

"At least, that's what's already happened," Castillo said, feeling uncertain.

He ran his hand back through his greying curls.

"I know what's happened has already occurred and if what I understand about time travel is true – then it's going to happen again. It must in order to ensure that…in order to fix the timeline," Richard said.

Gods, I sound like an idiot. Richard chastised himself.

Of all the bloody people that would find themselves entrusted with bearing witness to such a sacred task – Richard Castillo certainly thought he was the worst possible choice.

"Mr Castillo, I recognise you've been through an ordeal. And I don't mean to push you but-"

Picard trailed off and held out his hands, wordlessly asking for an explanation.

"We were patrolling along the Neutral Zone near the conjuncture of Federation, Klingon, and Romulan space. There had been an increase in activity through that corridor since the Federation had opened formal peace negotiations with the Klingons," Castillo said.

"Mmm," Jean-Luc nodded.

He recalled that time well. As a primarily diplomatic and scientific vessel, the Stargazer had been far removed from the conflict. Nonetheless, Picard was still keenly aware of the situation at the border.

"We picked up an emergency hail from a Klingon outpost on Narendra III," Castillo went on.

It wasn't out of the ordinary. Narendra III was one of a series of strategically located planets in an area known as the Demon's triangle. The Romulans and Klingons had engaged in a number of skirmishes throughout the sector for years.

Even Starfleet had put a post up on Narendra III at one point – but that was long since abandoned by the time of the Enterprise-C.

"Negotiations were at a critical juncture. The initial hail indicated only two Romulan vessels in the area," Castillo explained. "As the flagship, Captain Garrett felt we had a responsibility to render aid. We thought we could warp in and either stop the attack or evacuate the Klingons present."

He paused.

"It was an outpost, sure. But it was a minor outpost. This was no war division or launching base," Castillo said. "There were a handful of outdated transport ships. A few older warbirds. Most of those people were Klingon Defence Force volunteers and civilians."

Castillo shook his head in despair.

"We had no idea there were two more Romulans ships cloaked and waiting," Castillo said.

The Romulans had been hoping to bait out additional Klingon ships. They'd hit the jackpot when the Enterprise-C arrived.

"We were certain that the Romulans would stand down. Captain Garrett had every confidence that they wouldn't violate the ceasefire," Castillo explained.

To the Romulans, the treaty was open to interpretation and seemed only to apply in circumstances where it could be enforced.

"We lost warp drive. Life support was failing. The ship had taken severe damage. Casualty reports coming in from every deck," Castillo recounted. "We broadcast an emergency hail for anyone in range. But it was going to be hours before the nearest starship could provide aid."

Castillo's brow furrowed. There were nights where the memory of that shift on the Bridge replayed on an endless loop.

"The Klingons tried to scramble their own ships. But the Romulans were picking them off before they could get out of spacedock," Richard said.

Richard paused.

"And then there was this… tear," Castillo settled on.

He glanced out at the window.

"A tear in the fabric of time itself," Richard said. "No Romulans. No Narendra. Just another Enterprise. Your Enterprise. This Enterprise."

Even though he was still, Jean-Luc felt like he'd stood up too quickly.

"What?" Picard asked softly.

Richard cleared his throat and turned back to the Captain.

"In an effort to avoid the Romulans, we travelled straight for a subspace anomaly. It threw our sensors into chaos. We thought it might do the same for them – at least buy us time to make some repairs," Castillo explained.

Castillo chuckled.

"How right we were," Castillo said.

They had bought time indeed – twenty-two years of it.

"Our ship travelled through a temporal rift to stardate 43625.2," Castillo announced.

2366.

"Two years from now," Picard remarked.

Now he fully understood the meaning behind the comment they would meet again in two years as well as Richard's reluctance.

"My apologies Captain. I know for you this all… well, I guess the tables are turned this time. For you, it's the first time we've met. But for me it's already happened," Castillo said, struggling to explain.

Jean-Luc was having a difficult time keeping up.

"Your Mr Data theorised that the intensity of the weapons fire created the temporal rift. We encountered your ship. You provided medical assistance and repair work with the intention of sending us back," Castillo shared.

Jean-Luc's mouth went dry.

I ordered these people to their deaths.

"Then I-"

Picard stopped to clear his throat.

"I told you about this conversation. That's why you knew to… return," Picard settled on.

Castillo shook his head no.

"You never said as much, but I always suspected you were holding back more than you knew. For me, it was the first time we had ever met," Castillo explained. "You shared the information about the fractured timeline with Captain Garrett and our team of officers. At least what remained of us by that point."

Jean-Luc felt uncomfortably warm. His uniform collar was suddenly too tight, constricting his airway. He felt ill – both physically and mentally as he grappled with this information.

Picard didn't want to contemplate the possibility that he was the one responsible for ordering the Enterprise-C back to Narendra.

Back to their deaths.

Hundreds of lives were lost. Families were torn apart. An entire generation of good officers, young people, and rising stars had been lost.

"I ordered you-"

Picard trailed off as he looked up desperate for any alternative explanation.

"Technically, I volunteered," Castillo acknowledged.

Not that he'd had much choice.

"According to history, we had to sacrifice the Enterprise-C. And when we travelled through that rift, the timeline fractured," Castillo said. "I won't pretend to understand it – but Guinan, your bartender. She was suffering from what you called Af-Kelt," Castillo said.

Guinan.

Of course. Picard thought.

"I'm sure this sounds ridiculous. But she knew things," Castillo went on. "She knew the timeline had been altered in some way. She knew that we had to go back through that rift."

"I don't think it sounds ridiculous at all," Picard said.

Af-Kelt.

"You keep mentioning the timeline," Picard remarked. "But what I still don't understand is why Tasha Yar was on that ship."

Richard shifted uncomfortably as he scratched his neck.

"Is she happy here?" Castillo asked.

"I don't understand," Picard responded.

"Is she happy here?" Castillo repeated.

There would be no going back, no return to 'before' if Richard were to reveal Tasha's fate.

Jean-Luc frowned.

"I understand that you have feelings for-"

"That's not what this is about," Castillo insisted.

Castillo wasn't asking out of some selfish desire.

"I'm not asking for myself. I do not want to upend her life with this information. We're not supposed to meet until stardate 43625.2," Richard acknowledged. "And though I may have fallen in love with her from the moment she smiled at me, I have no intention of swooping in to disrupt her life here."

Richard paused and took a shaky breath.

"I would give anything for that love again. Just five minutes more. To hold her hand. To see her smile for me, because of me – but not at the cost of her happiness," Castillo said, blinking back tears.

An uneasy weight settled on Jean-Luc's chest. It was not unlike the weight he felt in his last few moments with Jack Crusher – the moment where they both knew Jack wasn't coming home.

Guinan's warning from a year before now seemed prophetic.

You're debating if you should warn her.

What would you even say?

You can't expect her to live her life based on trying to avoid something none of us understand.

Since that day on Starbase 118, Picard had lived with a constant fear that something was out there just waiting to strike. Try as he may, he couldn't set aside that feeling.

And it was part of why he came down so hard on Tasha whenever she put herself at risk.

"So, I will ask you again, Captain. Is she happy here?" Richard repeated. "Does she have friends? Does she enjoy her job? Does she seem… content? Fulfilled?"

Picard opened his mouth to speak – only words failed him.

"Because it is not a story that will bring you peace of mind. There is no happy ending. It is a story of pain and grief and immeasurable loss," Castillo said.

So many lives sacrificed.

So much death.

"There is only one good thing that came from this and that was saving the timeline," Castillo went on. "All of which, sadly, relies on this being a story that can never be told."

Richard scratched his chin and shook his head at the injustice of it all.

"There should be songs. Memorials. There should be a Tasha Yar award for fucking heroism," Richard managed to choke out. "And knowing her – she'd hate that."

In spite of the sour mood, both men shared a laugh.

"She would," Picard agreed.

Once more, the heavy burden of the matter at hand fell on the two men. And with it came silence. Eventually, Castillo was the first to find his voice.

"So, I will ask you, Captain – are you sure you want to know?" Castillo inquired.

"I don't know," Picard responded honestly.

It was a lot to think about.

Hours earlier Picard had been kicking himself as he wrestled with several undesirable decisions regarding Beverly, their guests, and Data & Geordi's request to examine the Romulan ship.

Now he wanted to take it all back.

All of those decisions combined were more appealing than thinking about this.

"I have a Romulan confined to the Brig demanding to speak with my Security Officer. Two of my best officers are urging me to grant them permission to inspect the Romulan vessel we found you on – an act that may very well violate the Treaty of Algeron," Picard said.

He shook his head.

"Starfleet is facing a threat that could spell the end of the institution and the Federation as well. You tell me there's an even greater threat looming out there," Picard went on as he began to pace about the room.

Castillo sounded the alarm earlier that there was a nameless enemy they called 'mechs' that was far worse than anything the Romulans could throw at them.

"We are one minute to midnight away from reigniting a war with the Romulan Star Empire!" Picard fumed as he flung his hand up.

The last war had cost billions of lives. The Romulans had annihilated entire worlds without so much as showing their faces. They simply decloaked and used crude nuclear devices to destroy their enemies – taking great pleasure in choosing highly populated Federation worlds to maximise the impact of their destruction.

No ground troops, no invasion.

No prisoners.

"And now… now I may be teetering on the edge, contemplating a metaphorical leap that could unravel the very fabric of time itself," Picard vented in frustration.

Richard simply nodded slowly.

"Uh… yes, sir," Richard answered.

Jean-Luc's shoulders slumped.

"If I may offer a word of advice, sir?" Castillo asked.

"By all means," Picard said.

Jean-Luc felt like he was stranded and swimming in the ocean, desperately seeking any sign of help.

"You have time," Castillo said. "Some time, that is."

Breathing room.

"There's no reason a decision needs to be made tonight, sir," Castillo explained. "We could talk tomorrow. I could start with the information about the mechs or the Romulan situation while you mull things over."

The offer was tempting.

"It's just that I can see you need to think about this. And that's wise," Castillo said.

He glanced back over his shoulder and pointed at the bedroom door.

"And I've been really looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed on a ship where I know I don't need to be looking over my shoulder," Richard confessed.

For the first time since meeting Mr Castillo, Captain Picard took a hard look at the man. And what he saw was not just the premature ageing from years of hard labour.

Castillo was exhausted.

He wore his fatigue on every facet of his body from his expression to the lines under his blue eyes.

"Of course. Please get some rest," Picard said.

They could speak in the morning.

"Thank you, Captain," Castillo said.

Jean-Luc nodded and excused himself for the night.

It felt weird to hear Castillo thank him. After everything Jean-Luc had heard, it felt like he was the one that should be thanking Castillo.

And Tasha.

"Good evening, Captain," Lieutenant Hawk said as Jean-Luc stepped off the turbo lift.

Picard barked a gruff response before storming into his Ready Room.

Nothing felt right.

Picard felt like a fool. He'd chastised Beverly earlier in the day for her insatiable curiosity, for diving into trouble without regard for the consequences.

Now he'd done just that – and regretted it.

Deeply.

How could he sit across from Tasha during their weekly Security briefings? Or order her on another mission?

How could look Data in the eye and promise to take him to Føroyar for happily ever after?

There is no happy ending. Castillo said.

Jean-Luc slammed his hand down on the surface of his desk. Then he dropped his head into his hand.

None of it was right.

But what felt worse was knowing he was powerless to stop it.

Jean-Luc needed to sleep. He longed to shut his brain down for a few hours and not think about anything – not Romulans, not Beverly.

No treaties. No timelines. No Tasha Yar.

And certainly not the possibility that he was responsible for sending her to the Enterprise-C.

"Computer, access security settings for audio file one - four - nine - seven - seven - three – one. Restrict access to Picard, Jean-Luc authorisation code Picard zero – seven – one – three – zero – four."

Across the ship, Data was at his workstation. It was late, but there was something that was bothering Data – something he couldn't shake.

It lingered in the back of his mind.

The emergence of the Enterprise-C survivors had reawakened Data's curiosity. Data was a man of science, of reason. He recognised that life was more often than not the culmination of billions of unconnected, utterly dissociated actions occurring simultaneously.

Political events a sector away might impact the very existence of a butterfly neither faction even knew about.

There was a strange beauty in the randomness of the universe.

And yet…

Data strove to find meaning in it all. Data wasn't sure if this need was driven by his desire to emulate the patterns and symbolism found in his beloved art and literary musings. Or if in some small way, he truly did believe there was significance behind every occurrence.

Because of his unique perception of time, Data had actually witnessed how seemingly unrelated events were, in fact, tied together in the greater fabric of the universe – like someone choosing to bypass a precaution (one they had done a thousand times) leading to near disaster when the right set of circumstances fell into place.

Or how the discovery of a seemingly ordinary crystalline lifeform would lead to the annihilation of an advanced, sentient civilisation.

Velara III would remain with Data forever.

A chance encounter.

Less than twenty-four hours from introduction to extinction.

Yes, Data could calculate odds. He could make predictions and recognise patterns that were often too obscure for his humanoid companions.

All of his education and information engrams told Data that the universe was nothing more than a haphazard melange – as beautiful as it was deadly.

But every fibre of his being screamed that he could not discount notions of fate. Data wanted to believe there was something more to the grand fabric of time and existence.

Because the astronomical odds that a girl from Turkana and a sentient android abandoned on Omicron Theta would meet – let alone fall in love – was too great an occurrence to ignore.

Data glanced over at the door to the bedroom.

He rose from his workstation.

For a moment, Data stood in the doorframe watching Tasha. She had fallen asleep perusing the shinty scores. She was sleeping at an uncomfortable angle and Data knew her neck would be sore in the morning.

Data padded across the carpet. He sat down on the edge of the bed. After readjusting Tasha's posture so her neck wouldn't be stiff, he pulled the casual throw blanket up over her shoulders.

Data set her PADD on the end table. Then he reached up to tuck Tasha's bangs back behind her ear, trailing the back of his fingers down and around over the line of her jaw.

Tasha stirred.

"Mmmm," she groaned, coming back to the world.

"I believe it would be wise for you to return to sleep," Data said.

Tasha frowned and stretched without opening her eyes.

"You snuck out of bed," Tasha said.

"I just have a few things to attend to before I turn in for the evening," Data said.

Tasha opened her eyes just enough to shoot Data a look.

"What are you working on now?" Tasha asked.

She sat up and wrapped her arms around Data, burying her head against his shoulder.

"Come back to bed," she urged.

The offer was tempting. It had been a long frustrating day and Data found there was a certain level of comfort that came in dissociating from the world whenever he slipped into his dream programme.

"Please?" Tasha asked in a soft voice.

"I will be in shortly," Data replied.

He needed answers before he could turn in for the night. In particular, he needed to hear the recordings from the Trieste's encounter with the Enterprise-C again.

In the back of Data's mind was a thought that had plagued him all day.

He had overlooked something.

Inspired by the audio detection software programme Data had designed to exonerate Captain Picard during the Ferengi Stargazer incident, Data was keen to run the Enterprise-C audio file against all known Starfleet audio logs in order to identify the voice.

It would take time – weeks to cross reference all the files – and that was why Data was so keen to get started.

Tasha sat back and studied Data's expression carefully. She could tell he was deep in thought. And Tasha knew Data well enough to understand that meant he wasn't going to be able to shut down for the night until he worked out whatever was on his mind.

"This is about the Enterprise-C, isn't it?" she asked.

Data responded wordlessly, lifting his eyebrows to acknowledge that he was caught. Tasha reached up to stroke his hair.

"This is really important to you," she observed.

"I must confess that the discovery of survivors has surfaced feelings I was unaware were still so… raw," Data settled on.

Tasha smiled.

"I'm sorry. I'm not smiling because you feel this way. Well, I am," she confessed.

Tasha bit her lip.

"I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to talk about them," Tasha explained.

A year earlier Data had a difficult time even recognising his feelings. Now he felt safe enough to openly express them.

"I cannot help but think that if had been you or I in that position – the last officer to relay the message of General Order Thirteen to abandon the ship-"

Data trailed off. His brow furrowed for a moment before he turned back to Tasha. He cupped her face, stroking his thumb across the apple of her cheek.

"I would want you to know how dearly you are loved. And that my final thoughts would be of you," Data said.

"Oh Data, you wouldn't have to say anything at all," Tasha assured him.

They shared a slow, reassuring kiss before breaking apart. Data rested his forehead against Tasha's as they sat in silence, savouring a moment for themselves.

There was so much uncertainty. That was the one constant thread that came from a life in Starfleet.

But for the moment, they were alone and together.

And that was all that mattered.

"You require rest," Data said.

"So do you, Mr Data," Tasha replied.

"I will be in soon," Data promised.

He just wanted to check one thing.

"Alright, why don't I make you a cuppa while you finish up?" Tasha suggested.

"That is not necessary. I would rather you sleep," Data said.

Tasha threw off the covers and rolled out of bed.

"No trouble at all. That way I can assure you aren't up all night," Tasha said.

Data knew it was no use trying to argue with Tasha. Once she had made her mind up, there was no changing it.

So, while Tasha set that table for a late-night tea for two, Data settled back into his workstation.

"Computer, please replay audio file one -four - nine - seven - seven - three - one," Data ordered.

But instead of the audio file, the computer responded with a short buzzing noise that indicated there was a problem.

Data repeated his order and received the same response.

"Computer, please locate audio file one -four - nine - seven - seven - three – one," Data requested.

"That file is not available," the computer answered.

Data looked up from his workstation computer the same time that Tasha turned around. A dark look passed between the two of them.

"I wrote that file," Data said.

His eyes flit back and forth as he tried to theorise the cause of such an error.

"It has been stored in Starfleet records for twenty years," Data went on. "I pulled it for Captain Picard just yesterday."

"The computer didn't say the file was missing or erased. It said it wasn't available," Tasha realised.

Data cocked his head to the side as he caught the meaning of Tasha's statement.

"Computer, please replay all actions from the log regarding file one – four – nine – seven – seven – three – one in the last forty-eight hours," Data requested.

Half an hour later, Data was still listening to the computer's log for the last forty-eight hours regarding the file in question.

He was seated on the sofa with Tasha.

Tea had long since been abandoned and Tasha had fallen asleep in Data's lap.

There was a lot to go through on the log because Data had pulled all the files and arranged them for Captain Picard.

Fortunately, they were coming to the end of the time period Data had pulled for review.

"23:11 hours, file access restricted by order of Captain Jean-Luc Picard," the computer announced. "Public access terminated. Security Level Two access terminated. Security Level One access terminated."

Captain Picard had cut the file off from everyone – including the four people that typically had access to any file.

The First Officer, Second Officer, Security Chief, and Chief Medical Officer had a special security clearance that allowed them access to most files on board.

It was rare for Captain Picard to cut them off from anything.

A sense of foreboding crept into Data's mind.

His body tensed enough that Tasha stirred. She sat up and stretched before flopping down against his shoulder.

"Come to bed," Tasha urged.

"Tasha, Captain Picard has restricted the audio file from the Enterprise-C incident," Data shared.

"I'm sure he has a good reason," Tasha said through a big yawn.

Tasha's hand snaked up under Data's casual sleep tee in order to rest against his chest.

"Please?" Tasha asked as she nuzzled against him.

Tasha was exhausted. She just wanted to sleep. And she slept better and woke more rested when Data was there.

In a matter of seconds, Tasha's breathing changed as she started to doze off again.

"The only reason I can theorise for Captain Picard to restrict such a file would be to withhold information contained in that file," Data pondered aloud.

His eyes were flitting back and forth as he pieced it all together.

"And the only reason to issue a blanket restriction including us would be to prevent us from accessing that file," Data went on. "You. Me. Commander Riker. Doctor Crusher."

It didn't add up.

And in light of the situation with the Romulan conspiracy, this latest act by the Captain set off alarm bells in Data's mind.

"Tasha, I think my 'gut' is telling me something," Data confessed.

"Hmm? What?" Tasha said, shaking awake.

Data cupped her face and Tasha blinked against the sudden shift in light.

"I believe Captain Picard is trying to hide something," Data said.

"I'm sure he has a good reason," Tasha repeated.

She cupped his face and offered him a lazy smile.

"Please take me to bed. I want to curl up next to you," Tasha said.

She planted a soft kiss on Data's lips before sitting back. Tasha threw her arms up, groaning as she stretched her back.

There was a pleasant crack signalling it had been a success.

Tasha dropped her arms and ruffled her hair.

"Please, Data?" she asked again.

"Tasha, I believe Captain Picard is hiding something. Coupled with the concern about Romulan mmph-"

Tasha silenced him with a kiss.

When they broke apart, Tasha stayed close. She closed her eyes and nuzzled against his face.

"Bed," she whispered.

Data resigned himself that this was one argument he could not win.

Once they were safely under the covers, Tasha turned toward Data. Her arms found their way around his body until they were flush against one another.

Tasha leaned in close. For a moment, Data thought she was going to nibble at his jawline. But then he realised she was simply being discreet.

"Obviously he is hiding a file. I'm sure he has a good reason. Remember, there are Romulans on board now," Tasha whispered.

Damn. Data thought.

Sometimes Tasha was so convincing in her covert actions that even Data failed to see them coming.

"And if the intention was malicious, there's no reason to think they're not already watching you," Tasha went on. "Your workstation would be a prime spot for a listening device."

One could never be too paranoid – and Tasha was no exception. Years of covert operations had opened her eyes to the possibility that the Romulans were capable of anything.

Tasha giggled.

"Mmmm, Data," she said louder, giving the impression they were simply enjoying the company of one another in bed.

"I love you," Data said.

It wasn't just acting – Data was genuinely in awe of her ability to size up a situation.

"We can run a sweep tomorrow," Tasha murmured.

Data could easily work it in as simple maintenance on his workstation.

"Until then, let's not give him cause to notice. It's not like the file is going anywhere," Tasha said.

She captured his lips in a slow, easy kiss. Tasha keened as Data's hand slid under the hem of her sleep shorts to gently squeeze his favourite portion of her anatomy.

"Data," she said in a soft, warning tone.

"Do you not wish to rehearse for Føroyar?" Data asked, feigning innocence.

"I'm too tired," Tasha confessed.

She was intimately aware of his intentions, but Tasha was far too exhausted.

"Forgive me, I-"

"It's alright. Tomorrow," Tasha assured him.

Tasha gave Data a peck on the lips before snuggling down against his chest.

"We have plenty of time. I'm not going anywhere," Tasha said.

Data wrapped his arms around her back and took a slow breath.

Tasha was right – there would be plenty of time.

Ekloire Starbase | Romulan Space

A roar of laughter echoed around the room.

The delegation from the Senate War Committee, Sela, and General Morak (along with his staff) were all assembled for a reception in Morak's personal grand hall.

He had built the room specifically to show off Ekloire Starbase and all they had accomplished. Like his office, this room featured a grand window that overlooked the decks below – right down to the central hub where Morak's fleet was on full display.

General Morak was standing over by the window, staring at the troops down below.

"As you can see, our force is nearly ready," General Morak said.

Senator Huulor chuckled.

"Forgive me, General. But I am reminded of the story of General Cerialis who sought to reclaim our lost territories in the Ivorian Sector," Huulor said.

Morak was familiar with the tale.

His own father had often cited Cerialis's ill-fated campaign as a lesson.

Morak smirked.

"My Fleet is nearly three times that the size of Cerialis's," Morak replied in a dismissive manner.

"My point exactly," Huulor remarked. "His goal was to reclaim a handful of minor colonies against one enemy – the Breen."

Huulor took a slow sip of ale as he observed the troops below.

"You're going up against an entire quadrant. The Federation is hundreds of worlds, and they have Starfleet protecting them. The humans, the Vulcans, the Andorians," Huulor went on.

He paused.

"Their allies, the Klingons," he added with a bitter tone.

There were many Romulans – Senator Huulor included – that felt it was a mistake to attack the Klingons years earlier.

"Your last great plan to reclaim territory in this quadrant drove the Klingons right into the hands of the Federation," Huulor spat.

Morak sneered.

"I can assure you that this campaign will be entirely different, Senator," Morak said.

Across the way, Sela was doing exactly as her father had instructed – working the room, praising the loyalty of those who supported her father, and delivering thinly veiled threats with a polite smile to the holdouts.

She flitted from table to table, diligently carrying out Morak's instructions with the kind of poise that came from years of training.

"Congratulations on the completion of your studies at the Imperial War Academy. I believe you have been given your own command?" Senator Itarian asked.

"Yes, Senator. Thank you," Sela answered.

"When time permits, we shall have to receive you at our home in Vilia properly as a new Commander of the Fleet," Itarian said as he raised his glass to Sela.

You fool. Sela mused. You opened the door yourself.

"Thank you, Senator. Though I would hate to be a burden," Sela responded, feigning sympathy.

"Not at all!" Itarian insisted. "My wife and I are hosting our nephew this summer. He's a recent graduate of the Senate University. He's a fine young man… and currently unattached."

The way Senator Itarian's voice tilted up indicated he was keen to try and introduce Sela to his nephew in hopes of negotiating a formal alliance between their houses through marriage.

Sela responded with a coy smile.

"Oh, Senator. I can assure you my father would never even consider an affiliation with a house that can't meet its grain quota," Sela said.

Senator Itarian's face dropped.

"W-we had a poor harvest. The weather-"

"Curious how it missed all of your neighbours and was only concentrated on your production fields," Sela said.

She swirled her glass of wine in her hand and sighed as she glanced down at the contents.

"Strange indeed. Perhaps the divines do not look favourably upon your house?" Sela asked.

Senator Itarian fumbled for the words.

"We.. we sent all we could spare," Itarian stammered.

"And we were grateful. But as you can see we are feeding an Empire," Sela said.

She paused to pick up a piece of fruit from the centre of the table.

"My father was forced to turn to other more reliable sources," Sela said casually.

Itarian stiffened.

For a moment, neither of them spoke as Sela glanced around the room. Itarian looked around too, desperate for any opportunity to slip away.

"Excuse me, I have been meaning to speak with Senator Reiti," Itarian said.

"Oh, he's not coming," Sela replied.

Itarian froze.

Senator Reiti was a powerful member of the Senatorial War Committee and one of the last voices of opposition to Morak that still held any real power.

"Have you not heard? Our long range sensors detected that his vessel was destroyed en route to this very function," Sela said.

Her tone was upbeat as if she was discussing nothing more than whether to choose the plomleek soup or the spiced seaweed purée before the main entrée.

Then Sela released a heavy, dramatic sigh.

"I'm afraid there were no survivors," Sela said.

"If you are threatening me-"

Senator Itarian's words were cut off as Sela's fingers gripped his throat. He spluttered, gasping for air.

Such a scene would have caused a disturbance at an ordinary dinner party. But this was a Romulan reception. No one blinked. It barely warranted enough interest for the other guests at the same table to look up.

"This would be threatening you, Senator," Sela said. "Look around – no one is coming to your rescue. If we had wanted you dead, you would not have been invited to dinner."

Sela paused as Senator Itarian pawed at her sleeve, desperate to break free.

"But we're just having a polite conversation, isn't that right?" Sela asked.

She released the Senator. Itarian heaved a deep breath and coughed before quickly adjusting his collar. He was disturbed that not a single guest had even reacted.

Sela reached forward and smoothed his collar down.

"Now if I'm not mistaken, the late Senator Reiti had occupied what was once your family's ancestral home," Sela said. "Your grandfather lost it after he failed the last Emperor. Or was it the one before?"

Sela paused to chew on her lip.

"It's good land. That estate is most prosperous and has aided in feeding the Fleet for generations," Sela went on. "My uncle the Emperor will have to be sure to appoint a new steward to oversee the estate."

"What do you want?" Itarian demanded.

He had little time for games.

"I won't mince words with you, Senator. If you were to offer my father a gift, he may see fit to recommend you oversee the estate," Sela said.

"What do you want?" Itarian repeated.

Sela rocked her head back and forth.

"Say a hundred thousand bushels of rukesh grain and pulses," Sela answered without hesitation before quickly adding, "to start."

Senator Itarian choked on his drink.

"We'll expect routine shipments every four months. On time," Sela explained.

Senator Itarian bristled.

"It's one of the most productive estates in the Empire," Sela pointed out. "Those numbers are well within reason."

It was technically within reason of the expected crop yields. Though it was a steep price – one that would cost Senator Itarian dearly were he to accept.

But Sela was dangling his ancestral family home and the Senator could not resist. For a Romulan aristocrat, the family estate was the foundation on which all their power rested.

"Done," Itarian agreed.

"As always, the Romulan Star Empire thanks you for you service," Sela said, lightly slapping his cheek in a patronising manner.

She grinned before slipping away to her next target.

The moment she was gone, one of the other guests looked up. She had been at the table throughout the whole encounter and didn't even flinch.

"One day, she's going to rule the Empire," she remarked.

"Divines help us all," Senator Itarian said.

General Morak picked up a spoon from the nearest table and tapped his glass to get the attention of the other guests.

"If you would please turn your attention to the viewscreen. We have an honoured guest that could not be here tonight. But we are grateful he could join us via subspace channel," General Morak said.

The large viewscreen on the far wall lit up.

A collective gasp of shock and awe erupted.

"Admiral, how gracious of you to join us," General Morak said.

"It is my pleasure," replied Admiral Gregory Quinn.

He was in his own private quarters aboard a ship near the Neutral Zone under the guise of routine manoeuvres.

Quinn was easily recognisable to the Romulans in the room. Due to his prominent position in Starfleet Operations, Quinn's figure was well known to the members of the Senate.

And his presence symbolised that Morak had been successful in reaching a high-priority target.

"I have wonderful news to share. Our latest acquisition includes the USS Renegade," Quinn announced.

General Morak was delighted.

"Excellent! Please give my regards to Captain Tryla Scott," Morak said.

The two men raised a toast to one another.

"To the Empire," Quinn said.

"To the Empire!" everyone echoed.

Near the edge of the room, Sela found Jarok. He was a shrewd man that had served her father loyally for decades.

Jarok had always rejected the fame and cult of personality that dominated these official state functions.

Sela admired him for that. And, in a way, found herself more than a little envious that Jarok had the option to ignore the gladhanding and pageantry.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Admiral," Sela said.

"Thank you, my lady," Admiral Jarok replied with a small nod.

"My father values your service. We all do. The Empire is indebted to you," Sela said.

Jarok was a brilliant strategist. He had the ability to calculate an enemy's next three moves. Jarok moved carefully – and he'd taught all of these things to Sela.

"You flatter me," Jarok replied.

"Oh pish. I can think of no one more deserving," Sela said.

And she meant every word.

"I have requested that my ship serve under your fleet when we begin the next phase of our invasion," Sela said.

Jarok paused and took a sip of his drink.

"That would be an honour indeed. However, I will not be overseeing the invasion," Jarok said. "I received word that my wife is with child. Your father has kindly agreed that I will oversee his operations closer to home so that I might be there for the birth of my heir."

Sela flashed him a tight smile.

"Congratulations, Admiral," she said.

With a small nod, Sela excused herself from the room. She needed air.

Jarok was a self-made man. He had risen through the ranks of the Romulan military courtesy of hard work and a bright mind. As such, he was not bound by the same traditions as someone of Sela's rank and social station.

Jarok had been free to pursue a relationship of his choosing. While he was still restricted within the societal hierarchy that dominated Romulan culture, Jarok had been able to meet and court a wife that he genuinely adored.

Jarok had chosen to have a child because he wanted to start a family. His marriage was founded on love, not protracted negotiations over territories and heirs.

It was something Sela would never have.

And it stung.

On her way out of the reception, Sela turned left and headed down the corridor. She was planning to take a long walk around the starbase to clear her mind.

As she rounded the corner, Sela was stunned to find herself face to face with Senator Reiti – the very man General Morak had arranged to have killed en route to the visit.

He grinned at the surprise in Sela's reaction.

"Commander," he said with a small nod.

Sela quickly recovered.

"Senator!" she said, feigning ignorance. "We were beginning to worry."

"Not as much as I suspect you are now," Reiti replied without missing a beat.

He was an intimidating man and the last main voice of opposition that remained in the Senate. He held the power to veto monetary appropriations for General Morak's plans – and wasn't shy about threatening to do so.

Reiti wasn't convinced Morak's plan was viable. He was concerned there were too many loose ends. Additionally, Senator Reiti was worried what those loose ends would mean for Romulan spies within the Federation.

It took years to plant a viable spy, cultivate a plausible identity, and have them work their way up into positions of power.

Were Morak to fail, it could mean exposing dozens of Romulan operatives.

"My aide tells me one of my ships was destroyed earlier today near the Dacian Sector." Reiti said as he made a show of slowly removing his gloves. "How fortunate my travel plans were altered at the last minute."

He handed the gloves over to one of the guards in his entourage.

"Alas, duty called. I simply couldn't avoid a minor detour," Reiti went on.

He was rubbing it in. Somehow Senator Reiti had been tipped off about the assassination plan. Reiti had employed a ruse of his own – sacrificing a ship and a small crew in order to make Morak think he'd been successful.

Now he had arrived to taunt General Morak.

"Then we are indeed fortunate you were not aboard," Sela said in a cold voice. "I'm sure my father will be thrilled to know you're here."

"Yes. It would seem I've made it here safely," Reiti said.

Sela chuckled.

"Forgive me, Senator. I know that you are a learned man and great orator. But I said that you were here – not that you were safe," Sela pointed out.

Senator Reiti did not react.

He'd known full well the danger in coming.

"I've come to learn that safety is often nothing more than an illusion for a man in my position," Reiti said before adding, "I am sure you can relate."

Sela froze.

"Tell me, is it safe anywhere for a half-breed?" Reiti asked.

Sela didn't respond.

"Though I daresay I wonder if that's changed?" Reiti teased. "My sources tell me that Coyote and his band of rebels were cornered on Tantalus a few days ago."

Reiti paused and glanced around.

"And as I have not seen them, I must presume they escaped through your incompetence," Senator Reiti went on. "After all, had they been captured your father would surely parade them for all to see."

Sela's mouth went dry. Word of her failure had leaked back to their enemy. Worst of all, Sela knew that Senator Reiti would use this to taunt General Morak.

Failing her father was one thing.

But failing him in public brought a whole new level of shame.

"My heart is Romulan," Sela insisted.

Senator Reiti took Sela's hands in his own and smiled.

"I am sure you believe that. But then again, you'll never really know what it feels like to be one of us. To be a real Romulan, will you?" Reiti asked.

By the time she reached her quarters on base, Sela was in a foul mood.

She sealed the door, kicked off her boots, and chucked her metal harness across the room before flopping down on the bed.

It felt so empty.

Sela was grateful her staff had come to clear away the body and change the sheets – but it did little to quell the feeling of loneliness.

A soft whine from the corner caught her attention. It was followed by the brush of a familiar wet nose against Sela's hand that was hanging off the bed.

A moment later, a second recognisable figure moved in and nuzzled against Sela's back. Then he plopped down next to her on the bed, resting his head on her shoulder.

"My darlings," Sela said, greeting her two only real friends.

Sela's ship had arrived early during the reception. She was grateful to be reunited with her two loyal companions – and it seemed they were too.

"I missed you, girl," Sela said.

She paused to kiss the top of her dog's head.

"You too, handsome lad," Sela added, scratching the ears of her other dog.

Azura and Portunus.

They had been Sela's constant companions for the last decade. They were large Romulan wolfhounds known as 'Shadow hounds' for their dark colouration and intimidating size.

In spite of being nearly the size of a small horse, this breed of dog was renowned for its stealth prowling and hunting abilities – hence the fond nickname 'Shadow hound.'

Azura and Portunus had been a gift from General Morak shortly after the departure of Castillo and his followers.

But they were more than just guard dogs.

Sela adored her companions. They were the only two people left Sela could trust.

"Fenthair will be most displeased," Sela pondered aloud. "I suspect he'll be none too happy you're here either."

Azura growled to signal disapproval.

Sela's companions had tried to intervene on more than one occasion when Morak raised a hand to his daughter. Her dogs could sense he wasn't a good man.

Morak had long since learned it was easier to call his daughter to him for discipline rather than trying to administer it when the dogs were present.

Sela rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

"We shall have to do something about that."

Jean-Luc Picard threw off his bedcovers in a huff.

He rolled out of bed and threw on a spare uniform.

It was still early.

The wee small hours.

Gamma shift was on duty. Most of the crew were asleep.

Jean-Luc Picard longed to join them in slumber. He was exhausted. Only sleep hadn't come easily. Picard's thoughts were plagued with questions he didn't want answered.

His feet carried him through the empty corridors of the ship and right past Ten Forward.

Picard stopped.

He so rarely set foot in Ten Forward on his own just for a casual visit. Picard had no qualms about attending functions like concerts, performances, and promotions. But he felt it was important to maintain a certain distance from the crew.

And one key element of that was avoiding socialisation at the lounge.

But it was late and Ten Forward was nearly abandoned.

Double checking to ensure there weren't many people around, Picard slipped through the doors and saddled up to the bar.

Guinan was at the far end chatting with Lieutenant Tidor, a Vulcan science officer.

Guinan spied Picard out of the corner of her eye and could tell he'd come for a reason.

"I'll see you later," she said to Tidor.

"Of course," he replied with a stiff nod.

Before they parted, Tidor did something most unexpected. Picard watched with rapt attention as Tidor reached out. He touched Guinan's hand with the tips of his first two fingers, tracing them along her hand as he held her gaze.

"Goodnight," Guinan said with a small smile.

Such an act might seem like nothing to the casual observer. But Picard knew that it was special to Vulcans. It spoke of deep intimacy.

"Something tells me this isn't a casual visit," Guinan said. "What will it be?"

"Isn't that-"

"The Vulcan Volcanologist," Guinan finished for him. "Don't think too hard. He's heard every joke. They're wasted on him anyways."

She glanced up to find Picard staring at her with a smug look on his face.

Picard glanced toward the door and then back at Guinan. He raised his eyebrow.

"And?" Guinan prompted.

"Well, isn't he a bit eh… young?" Picard asked.

Guinan shot him one of her deadpan looks.

"Everyone on this ship is a bit young," Guinan retorted.

She set down two glasses and poured them both a stiff drink.

"In any case, he's ninety-three," Guinan explained.

Picard nearly choked on his drink. He glanced back to the door in shock.

"Vulcans don't age like you humans do," Guinan reminded him.

It was true. The Vulcan lifespan was much longer than that of humans. It was a trait they shared with their Romulan cousins.

"There's a two-hundred year old Romulan in the Brig. You two could reminisce about the last war," Picard quipped.

That earned a small chuckle from Guinan.

"My ninth husband was a Romulan. Too intense," Guinan remarked.

Jean-Luc just laughed and shook his head. Guinan was his oldest and dearest friend in the world. And yet there was still so much he didn't know about her.

"I hope someday you'll write a book," Picard said.

"Nobody would have the kind of time to read it," Guinan replied.

It was said in a way that left Jean-Luc wondering if her comment was really true or merely a jest.

"But you didn't come to ask about that," Guinan said knowingly.

There was no use dancing around the matter. Guinan was too good. She knew when Picard was in need of counsel.

"You look terrible," Guinan said.

"Haven't been sleeping," Jean-Luc confessed.

"Because?" Guinan pressed.

Picard fell back against his chair and sighed.

"What is Af-Kelt?" Picard asked.

Guinan froze. She eyed Picard with caution.

"Where did you hear that term?" Guinan asked.

"From the man you told me to listen to," Picard answered.

Guinan leaned against the edge of the bar.

"It's an affliction that is unique to my people," Guinan shared.

She glanced over to the window.

"Do you ever sense something isn't right? You can feel it right down to your bones – only you can't figure out why. No evidence. No theories. You just know," Guinan tried to explain.

"Like an instinct?" Picard asked.

"More than that," Guinan replied.

Guinan frowned.

"It's more than a gut instinct. It's more than simply an emotion. When my people experience Af-Kelt, we become physically ill," Guinan said.

It was an uncomfortable experience. There was pressure in the sinuses, a throbbing pain at the base of the neck. Af-Kelt brought nausea and temperature swings, weakness, and general disorientation.

As he listened to Guinan describe the physical symptoms of this Af-Kelt, Picard was certain he had an explanation.

"You know something is wrong. And you can't help but feel uncertain, like every choice you make may lead to disaster," Guinan said.

A sinking feeling settled in the base of Picard's spine.

"I believe I am experiencing this Af-Kelt," Picard said.

Guinan laughed.

"No," she said, grinning as she shook her head. "Like I said, this is unique to my people."

"But-"

Guinan put a hand up to stop him.

"I have no doubt you're feeling many of those same things," Guinan assured him "Roughly translated – Af-Kelt means time sickness."

The timeline.

"I know there's a lot weighing on you right now. Your heart is so heavy," Guinan said.

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"But with Af-Kelt, you know that something has been altered in a way that changed the very fabric of the universe. And that change has rippled out to have far reaching consequences," Guinan explained. "You know that something is wrong."

She paused.

"You feel this way because you have a number of important decisions you must make. You're facing the unknown. One false step and you risk war with the Romulans or worse," Guinan said.

Officially, Guinan didn't know about the conspiracy – but she could read between the lines. She had observed enough information to piece together that Jean-Luc didn't entirely trust Starfleet Command these days.

"You are worried about making a grave mistake," Guinan said. "And that's why you're a good leader. You recognise the weight of your decisions, the impact they have."

Picard's thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Castillo.

I ordered them back. I ordered them to their deaths.

"What if I feel like I've already made that mistake?" Picard asked.

Ekloire Starbase | Romulan Space

Senator Reiti threw back his head and laughed.

Having just come from crashing General Morak's reception, Senator Reiti was in high spirits.

He reached up to detach his ceremonial cloak and shoved it at his aide.

"Have that cleaned and ready for the morning. I'll take first meal at 06:00. Something light," Reiti ordered.

"Yes, sir," the aide responded.

"And I do not wish to be disturbed. Tonight, I intend to sleep well," Reiti said with a smug sense of satisfaction.

He had outwitted General Morak.

It was a moment Senator Reiti would relish in until his final breath.

After dismissing his aide, the Senator stepped into his guest quarters. He removed the large ring he wore – a symbol of his office – and set it aside.

Then he made to remove his boots and froze as he felt a blade against his neck.

"I'd leave them on," Sela said.

Senator Reiti straightened up and put his hands in the air, signalling that he was unarmed.

"So General Morak sends his lap dog to clean up his mess?" Reiti asked.

Sela pressed the blade tighter.

"I would hate for things to get messy now. Why don't you scurry on home, and we'll pretend this never happened?" Reiti suggested.

Sela didn't answer. She ran her hand along the side of his legs and torso, checking for any hidden weapons.

"All I have to do is say the words and my guards will come running. They wouldn't think twice about running a half-breed like you through with a blade," Reiti warned.

"Your guards aren't coming," Sela said.

Satisfied he wasn't armed, Sela ordered Reiti to head into the corridor.

He scoffed.

"You expect to walk me right through my guards?" Reiti taunted.

"I already told you, your guards aren't coming," Sela replied.

"I have four guards posted out front," Reiti protested.

He would need to have conversation with them about just how Sela managed to slip into his quarters.

"Are you sure?" Sela asked.

She gripped his chin, forcing his head backward.

"Because if you would have been paying attention, you'd have realised there were only three," Sela whispered against his ear.

Had there been three?

It wasn't uncommon for the men to rotate during their shift for a meal or a quick break.

"Even if you managed to get to one of my guards-"

"Three actually. The fourth didn't like my offer so I had him eliminated," Sela explained.

Reiti stiffened.

"You really should pay your people better if you expect loyalty," Sela remarked.

"Guards!" Reiti shouted.

Sela responded with a simpering laugh.

"I told you, they're not coming," she repeated.

"Guards!" Reiti yelled.

Sela shoved him against the wall and pressed her knife tight to his throat.

"Your guards are in my quarters enjoying my bath, sipping my wine, and feasting," Sela said.

Senator Reiti's chest felt tight as the reality of his situation began to sink in.

"We're going to take a little trip," Sela said.

They saw no one on their way through the corridor. They were all empty as everyone was still at the reception.

Even Senator Reiti's aide was nowhere to be found. He suspected he had his own former guards to thank for that.

Sela led him down to his ship and ordered the Senator to sit behind his desk.

"People will ask questions," Reiti said. "I'm not one of your usual targets. My allies-"

Sela feigned a yawn.

"Who are you monologuing for?" she asked, glancing around.

Reiti fell silent.

"I've already prepared a final message. You've grown increasingly suspicious your aide is really working for the Breen," Sela explained.

Reiti baulked.

"My aide is loyal to me, and he will-"

"They'll never find him. Your guards… well I guess they're mine now," Sela said with a small laugh. "They disposed of him before heading off to collect their reward."

No loose ends.

"My friends in the Senate-" Reiti began to protest.

Sela sat down on the edge of the desk, toying with the knife in her hands.

"It doesn't matter what your small band of friends think or know. Your circle is growing smaller and smaller with each passing day. So tight now that you can feel the noose around your neck," Sela said.

"If you would like to say goodbye to your loved ones in your own voice then now would be the time," Sela said.

Reiti frowned.

"I-I don't understand," he stammered.

"I'm offering you the chance to tell them goodbye. Tell them you love them. Or that you've always found them disappointing. I don't care really," Sela confessed.

Reiti laughed.

"Having second thoughts? Does the human part of you lack the stomach to get dirty?" Reiti asked.

Sela leaned across the desk and pressed her blade against his throat.

"I'm going to slit your throat. And then I'm going to sleep well tonight knowing that you will never stand in the way of my father again," Sela spat.

Over at the reception, things were starting to wind down.

"That is most fascinating, Senator," General Morak said, trying to wrap up a dull conversation.

He glanced at his timepiece.

"But I fear you will have to fill me in on the details over first meal. It has been a rather long day," Morak said.

"Of course. Sleep well, General," the Senator replied.

As soon as they were in the corridor, Morak turned to Jarok.

"Senator Reiti doesn't leave this starbase. Is that clear?" Morak barked.

"It would appear Senator Reiti has left the starbase," Admiral Jarok said.

General Morak said nothing.

For nearly an hour he'd waited in front of his window, keeping watch down on the main hub as he awaited news of Reiti's demise.

Senator Reiti had outwitted him – and had the nerve to throw it right back in Morak's face.

No one taunted Morak and lived.

When Morak didn't respond, Jarok proceeded with the rest of the report.

"His aide has vanished as well. There's no trace of any missing ships or shuttles. The ship he arrived in remains docked at Starport Thirteen. I've dispatched two teams to investigate," Jarok advised.

Morak turned back to his desk.

"Find him," he snarled.

"Yes, General," Jarok replied, keeping his eyes on the carpet.

"Will you not join us, my lady?" one of the younger guards called out.

He and his friend splashed one another. He threw back his head and laughed as his friend downed wine straight from the bottle.

Sela did not respond. She was sitting at her vanity, turning a ring over in her hands. She had taken the ring from Senator Reiti following his death.

There was a splash of water as one of the men stepped out of the large marble tub. General Morak had it built especially for Sela.

It was modelled after the Romulan thermae at their own home compound. It was made of the finest slabs of imported stone from southern provinces. On the floor was a large eagle mosaic built into the bottom with black and gold marbling.

The bath was large enough that Sela could swim from one end to the other. And it was big enough that eight people could comfortably fit in the space.

Normally her bath was a reminder of just how lonely Sela truly was.

But not tonight.

"Permission to speak, my lady?" one of the guards asked.

"Granted," Sela responded without looking up.

It seemed for all his faults, Senator Reiti had at least managed to instil a proper sense of decorum in one of his guards.

"Will you join us, my lady?" he asked.

Sela glanced up and caught sight of the guard behind her in the mirror wearing nothing more than droplets of perspiration from the steam.

"You're dripping on my rug," Sela said as she looked him up and down.

"It's probably worth more than I make in a year," he remarked.

"It's worth more than you'll make in your life," Sela threw back.

He grinned.

Sela suspected the guard was ex-military. He bore an insignia tattoo that indicated military service. He wasn't close enough for Sela to get a proper look without making a fool of herself.

He was older too. She surmised he'd probably done his required service and then sought employment as a personal guard. The pay was much better – though not as much as Sela had offered for their services.

Three of the men she'd approached were only too keen to change allegiances.

And as Sela's hungry eyes travelled down over his chiselled physique she silently thanked the divines for such a good bargain.

"I could do other things on this rug for you, my lady," the guard offered.

Sela smirked.

"I'll join you in the bath in a moment once I've finished," Sela said.

She placed the ring into a small box. Sela wrote a short note and slipped it on top. She would have one of her staff deliver it in the morning before first meal.

Sela set down her pen. She turned her head side to side and studied her appearance in the mirror as her insecurity flooded her mind.

Sela didn't know if these men had accepted her offer because they were genuinely interested or if it was the money.

Or the threat of what she could do to them.

Or both.

And she didn't want to ask.

Sela rose from her vanity and strolled across the room.

The three guards were enjoying themselves in the bath. Two of the younger ones were horseplaying around, sloshing each other with water as they guzzled down imported Orion wine.

The third man, the one that had climbed out earlier, was resting back against the warm tiles along the wall.

"Why don't you two just relax? Enjoy," he asked.

"Relax? Now? No mate, this is a celebration," one of the replied.

"We're getting better pay. Better food," the second one chimed in.

They raised their glasses to another.

"And I'm betting she didn't invite us back here just for a scrub."

"She is a member of the Imperial family. She is Sela Astradis Paliurus, and you will treat her with the respect she is due," said the first guard.

"Commander Sela Lucia Invictia Vitellias Branwen 'ri Astradis Paliurus," Sela said.

It was rare to use her full name outside of formal state functions. But she wanted to impress upon these men the difference in their rank and class in order to establish a clear hierarchy.

"Heir of General Morak Paliurus, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Proconsul of the Senate," Sela said as she untied the sash on her dressing gown. "Of the House of Paliurus. The Black Eagle."

She slid her dressing gown off her shoulder.

"Stewards of the Apnex Province, Regents of the Gelidis Islands, and Wardens of Reoite, Ratag, Melus, and Critora," Sela went on.

Sela paused to slip her dressing gown off the opposite shoulder and let it slip away to the floor.

"Daughter of Iconia," Sela said as she stepped into the water. "Fourth in line to the throne. And the Golden Eagle of her house."

Sela hissed pleasantly as she slipped into the water. She inhaled deep, taking a moment to savour the steam that filled her sinuses.

"And I invited you to my bath to be sure none of you were carrying anything to slit my throat while we sleep tonight," Sela explained.

One of the younger men peaked over the edge to discover that all their possessions were gone – clothes, weapons, even their boots.

Sela glanced around at her three companions.

"What is your name?" she asked the man on her left.

"M-M-Merul," he stammered.

"Just Merul?" Sela asked.

He nodded quickly. All trace of his previous boisterous attitude evaporated under Sela's gaze. There was something empowering in making a large Romulan guard quake.

Serfs and the lower classes did not carry surnames. They were reserved only for the great houses and their descendants.

"And you?" Sela inquired, turning to the other young man.

"Liran, my lady," he responded. "Just Liran."

"Liran. You're from the east," Sela realised.

He nodded. Liran's body tensed as Sela drew closer, tracing her hand along the outside of his thigh.

"Tell me, Liran. How did you come to find yourself in the service of Senator Reiti?" Sela asked.

Liran and Merul were young, not all that much older than Sela. They were Infren, a class of freedmen that held citizenship in the Empire. Technically, they were above serfs.

But not by much.

"I had a choice to go home, to return to my family's bakery in Eastmarch or accept the Senator's offer of employment," Liran explained. "He paid double, you see."

"More than I ever would have made in a year working back on the docks in the Imperial city," Merul chimed in.

The third man, the oldest of the three, remained quiet. He was the only one that had inquired after her earlier. He had approached Sela with respect and was the same man that had spoken up in regard to her title.

"And you?" Sela asked. "You're not Infren. Are you Equitas?"

Equitas was the term used to describe a class of land-owning Romulans. They weren't aristocrats. Strict class laws kept them suppressed. But they were more educated and certainly wealthier than the other classes.

"Korenus, my lady," he responded.

Sela stopped toying with Liran and moved closer to Korenus.

"Just Korenus?" she asked.

"No, my lady," he answered.

Unlike the other two, Korenus's voice did not waver. He wasn't afraid or intimidated and Sela found that fascinating.

"What is your name? Your full name?" Sela demanded.

"Korenus Autronius Marius Velthur," he rattled off.

Sela smirked.

Korenus took a risk and lifted his head ever-so-slightly.

"And yes, my father was Cassio Velthur, traitor to the Empire," he said.

Sela was familiar with the name. Cassio Velthur had once been a prominent General of the Fleet. The family was aristocratic – not quite on the same level as Sela's own house – but near enough that they were in the same social circle.

At least they had been at one time.

General Velthur had led a disastrous campaign against the Klingons. The Klingons had captured the General and ransomed him back.

The family was left destitute. And to add insult to injury, the Emperor had General Velthur executed for treason. The real reason had been the failure of his military leadership – but none of that mattered in the Romulan courts.

"And you?" Sela asked as she slid onto his lap.

"After I completed my studies at the Imperial War Academy, I served in the Fleet. Earned the rank of Commander. And after nearly twenty years of service, I was discharged because of my father's crime," Korenus shared.

He didn't flinch as Sela traced the line of his neck, eyeing him as if to size up a cut of meat. Sela's fingers ghosted over a scar on the side of his torso.

A bead of perspiration formed at the side of his neck. Sela watched as it ran down over his chest and into the hot water below.

"And you were ruined?" Sela pressed as she traced the line of his jaw.

"I was, my lady. I've worked as a personal guard since, selling my services to the highest bidder," he replied.

It wasn't glamorous, but it offered Korenus a living. Even accusations of treason could ruin generations of a family. With their wealth gone, the Velthur family had lost everything.

"And that was Senator Reiti?" Sela asked.

"Until I met you, my lady," Korenus replied.

For a moment, he held her gaze. Sela said nothing when Korenus reached for the small of her back to pull her flush against his body.

"I would serve you, my lady. If you would have me," he said.

Sela beckoned the other two men over.

"And you will serve faithfully? Do anything I ask of you?" Sela inquired of three of them. "If you agree, I will appoint you as my personal guard. You will serve me, dine at my table, sleep at my hearth, and protect my interests."

She paused.

"And know that in serving me you are also serving the Empire," Sela added.

Korenus, Merul, and Liran agreed.

"And what does my lady command?" Korenus asked.

Sela reached behind Korenus and grabbed a piece of fruit from the tray on the edge of the tub. She fed it to him before capturing his lips.

Sela found Merul's hand. She guided it toward her as Liran kissed her shoulder.

"Is it really true your mother was a human?" Liran whispered against Sela's ear.

Suddenly, everything came to a screeching halt.

"I-I-I meant no offence, my lady," Liran said quickly.

Korenus was observant and could sense this comment disturbed Sela. And he feared what she might do in retribution.

Sela's offer was the best offer Korenus had received in ages. He didn't want anything to ruin his chance to regain prestige, wealth, and honour.

Sela turned toward Liran, but Korenus caught her face.

"Your heart is Romulan, my lady," he said. "You have the passion of a Romulan. I can see it in you."

Sela froze as Korenus traced his thumb over her bottom lip.

"Your golden hair," Korenus went on. "It is said the divines only gave their light to a few. Like a spark inside of you."

Sela closed her eyes as he stroked his fingers back through her hair.

"My lady," he added softly.

It was everything Sela had wanted to hear and more.

"He's been dead for at least an hour," Jarok reported.

General Morak walked around the desk, studying the body of the slain Senator Reiti. He was slumped over his desk. The Senator had bled out over the surface and into the carpet.

"He sent a transmission shortly before his death. Seems to point to his aide as the culprit," Jarok added.

Morak knelt down and picked up the late Senator's hand. He noted the missing ring.

"And a patrol found one of his guards stuffed in the waste disposal unit. Nearly was ejected," Jarok said.

Morak glanced.

"Only one?" Morak asked.

Jarok glanced down to double check the report.

"Yes. That's correct, General," Jarok said.

General Morak braced himself as he entered his daughter's quarters.

They were in a state of disarray and that was more than could be said for the occupants of the bed. Empty wine bottles littered the floor. It would cost a fortune to have the rug replaced.

Sela was lying atop Korenus in a tangle of blankets. Liran was at her hip. She had one arm casually draped over a slumbering Merul.

Morak sighed.

She had inherited her father's appetite.

General Morak poured himself a drink and sat down at Sela's vanity. It was his intention to wait until they all awoke before reminding his daughter of her duty.

But something on the surface of Sela's vanity caught his eye.

Fenthair.

It was a note atop a wee gift box dedicated to General Morak.

Morak's eyes lit up as he spied the golden ring inside the box. He lifted it and turned it over in his hand, watching as it gleamed in the dim candlelight.

Morak grinned.

He pocketed the ring. Tomorrow he would present the ring to the next chair of the Senate War Committee – and this time it would be someone handpicked by General Morak.

Morak got up and strolled over to the bed where his daughter lay sleeping. He sat down at the edge and brushed her hair back out of her eyes.

"My little eagle," he said fondly.

Sela stirred awake as her father caressed her face. A look of fear flashed in her eyes as she realised her father was there.

"Shh," he said, shushing her.

Sela braced herself to receive the full wrath of her father's rage.

"Thank you," Morak said.

Sela was stunned. She blinked slowly.

Morak studied the three men that were in his daughter's bed.

"They're not uhlans. Or serfs," Sela insisted. "They've pledged to be my personal guard."

She instinctively clutched Korenus tight, desperate to hold onto him.

"Do they make you happy?" Morak asked.

"A little," Sela replied in earnest.

In truth, it had only brought a fleeting moment of happiness. But Sela had managed to beat back the biting sense of loneliness for a while and that was victory enough for one night.

"Then you may keep them," Morak agreed. "If you promise to limit yourself to these three alone. Is that understood?"

Morak had previously demanded Sela clear all her liaisons in advance. He couldn't risk having word get out about her activities. Yet Morak could sympathise with her position.

He didn't approve of this latest debauched tryst. Morak recognised Sela was acting out – and likely because he'd come down so hard on her earlier in the evening.

So, he found a certain wisdom in using this to his advantage.

"It was wrong of me to try and clip your wings," Morak acknowledged. "Will this be enough to satisfy my little eagle?"

Sela nodded.

"Swear it," Morak demanded.

"Yes, fenthair," Sela answered.

"Then all is forgiven," Morak said.

Morak knew that Sela wanted to please him. She had killed Reiti to prove her devotion to her father. She was starved for affection.

He bent down and kissed her forehead.

"Sleep well, my child," Morak said.

Sela curled up on top of Korenus. She keened as his hand stroked the length of her spine. It had been ages since she'd fallen asleep feeling so cosy.

And so loved.

Sela wasn't the only one feeling a welcome reprieve.

Richard Castillo felt utterly out of place as he lay down on a comfortable bed in a temperature controlled room with clean sheets and a soft pillow.

It had been two decades since he'd last felt this level of serenity.

Richard Castillo kissed the faded blue ribbon and tucked it safely under his pillow.

He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Richard Castillo stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.

He slung the strap over his shoulder and continued on. There was no sound save for the wind rippling through the trees and the light crunch of snow underfoot.

He passed by row upon row of old growth trees. There were birch and hemlock, sugar maples, ash, and plenty of tall white pine trees.

It was cold – cold enough that Richard could see his breath.

It was mid-afternoon, but the sun would be going down soon. The last orange rays blazed brilliantly on the horizon, reflecting off each crystalline flake of snow.

In spite of the chill, Richard marched on. He had just one goal in mind.

There was a second pair of little boots waddling along behind him – and her pace was slowing.

Richard glanced back over his shoulder to see Sela huffing along. She squinted against the setting sun as she lifted her head, a pair of blue eyes staring out from above the scarf wrapped tight around the bottom of her face.

"Would you like to ride atop your sleigh now?" Richard asked.

She nodded.

Earlier Richard bundled her up in her snowsuit and taken her out for the afternoon. They'd gone time and again down the old sledding hill before climbing back up to do it all over again.

Now Sela was thoroughly puffed out and ready for a nap.

It was hard for little legs to keep up in the snow.

They had stopped on their way back home by the woodshed to grab a fresh store of firewood. Temps were expected to dip overnight, and Richard wanted to be sure and keep the house warm.

Richard scooped Sela up and set her on top of her sled.

Then he picked up the strap and continued on.

The sun had set by the time they reached their cabin. He could see the smoke rising from the chimney high into the night's sky. There was warm light coming from the window.

"Now when we go inside, little snow bunnies have to be quiet. Do you understand?" Richard asked.

"I'm always quiet, papa," Sela responded.

She was eager to please.

Sela rolled onto her stomach and slid off the pile of logs.

Richard stuffed the antique sled under a cover he'd built to keep their firewood dry. It was the same sled he'd had at that age, one his mother had purchased for him as a gift when he was no taller than little Sela.

Richard grabbed an armful of firewood. Sela took a single split log. Together, they walked up the cement steps and into their cabin.

When he reached the top of the landing, Richard kicked his boots against the rail to clean off the snow. Sela mimicked him exactly.

Only she misjudged her step and slipped.

"I'm okay!" she hollered.

Sela froze and bit her lip.

"I'm okay," she whispered, remembering that she was supposed to be quiet.

They crept into the house. Richard set the firewood down in a bucket near the door. He slipped out of his boots, stripped off his jacket, and then unzipped his coveralls.

Sela flopped down on the wet floor as she struggled to pull off her own tiny boots.

"Do you want help?" Richard asked.

"No, papa. I do it," Sela replied.

She stuck her tongue out. Her eyebrows furrowed as she concentrated on removing her boots. After a tremendous tug, one boot flew off – taking the sock with it.

Sela wiggled her toes in triumph as she grinned up at Richard.

"Put your wet clothes away. Grab some warm socks. And then can you wash your hands for supper?" Richard asked.

Sela nodded.

"Good girl," Richard said fondly.

"I'm always good, papa," Sela responded as she pulled her long braid out from under the gold and green NMU Hockey knit cap she wore.

The hat had once been Richard's at that age.

As Sela scurried off to her room to change, Richard slipped into the living room with a few fresh logs to replenish the woodstove that sat in the far corner.

He stopped in the doorway.

Tasha was curled up on the sofa that sat under a big bay window. In the summer, it overlooked their dock at the lake below. In the winter, it provided a perfect view of the frozen wasteland and the stars above.

She stirred and rolled onto her side, cosy under one of the oversized quilts Lucia Castillo had made.

Richard couldn't help but smile as he watched her sleep wearing one of his old button up flannel shirts.

The sound of fussing brought him out of that moment.

Richard quickly added a few logs to the stove and shut the door as quietly as he could. Then he padded back across the carpet to the bassinet next to the sofa.

"Did you put mummy to sleep again?" Richard asked as he reached for his son.

He unwrapped his sleep sack and the baby threw his arms up.

"Oh, big stretch," Richard said before scooping him up.

The baby smiled, flashing a big toothless grin between two cherub cheeks. Sela had straight hair like her mother. But their boy had a thick mop of unruly curls just like his father.

My boy. Richard thought.

Sela came bounding out of her bedroom with all the ungodly energy of a small child. Richard shot her a warning look, but there was nothing to slow her down as she pranced across the carpet.

"Remember, little snow bunnies are quiet," Richard reminded her.

"Baby Luka is already awa-aaake," Sela replied in a sing-song voice as she twirled around.

"But mummy is sleeping," Richard replied.

Sela jumped onto the sofa.

"Oof," Tasha said as she was rudely awoken.

Sela scrambled up under the blanket and Tasha hissed at the sudden change in temperature. Sela's feet were freezing. Her hands and cheeks were just as cold and red from the long afternoon out in the snow.

Sela snuggled down against Tasha.

"What time is it?" Tasha asked through a mighty yawn.

"Night-time now, mummy," Sela said.

Tasha groaned as she sat up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to doze off-"

"It's alright. Isn't it?" Richard said, cooing at the baby.

Tasha clapped her hand to her forehead as she glanced around, taking in the dim glow of the firelight.

"I meant to start dinner," she said.

Holding the baby in one hand, Richard instructed Tasha to lay back. He pulled the blanket up over Tasha and Sela. He'd spoiled her rotten ever since giving birth.

Tasha was itching to do more, but Richard insisted on being the one to see to meals, household chores, and more. He even made a point to bring their baby to Tasha for overnight feedings, so she didn't have to step foot out of bed.

"Why don't you stay tucked in here while me and the lad take care of supper, eh?" Richard suggested.

Tasha made a noise of protest – which Richard quickly stopped.

"Ah! I can't have my beautiful wife get her toes cold," Richard teased.

"Give me my baby, you big oaf," Tasha said.

Richard handed over the baby into Tasha's arms.

"Whatever you command, my lady," Richard teased.

Tasha kissed her son's mop of curly hair as she grinned up at Richard. Then she snuggled back down under the covers with Sela and the baby.

"Is this all you wanted?" Tasha asked with a smirk.

"And so much more," Richard replied as he pulled the blanket over his family.

Tasha shivered against the chill.

"It's so cold," she said.

Richard sat down on the edge of the sofa. He reached up to brush her bangs back and stopped.

"It's so cold," Tasha repeated.

Richard stumbled backward.

Tasha's lips were blue. Her skin was ghastly.

She glanced down at the baby lying atop her and frowned.

"My baby," she said.

Richard was gripped with fear as Tasha turned to him.

"You promised," Tasha said, her voice full of betrayal. "You promised to keep us safe. You promised."

The baby wasn't moving.

Sela was screaming. She was confused and frightened.

"No, no," Richard said as he tried to push the image from his mind.

Richard felt someone grip his ankle. Tasha was crawling toward him, her dead child in her arms as she pleaded with Richard.

"It's so cold," she said, collapsing against him.

She was cold. Her hands were like ice as she clutched Richard's arms. All the warmth in her skin was gone.

There was nothing but frozen, rotting flesh.

A child that could never be.

And so much blood.

Richard jolted awake. He sat up in bed and clutched his chest. It was heaving as he tried to regulate his breathing.

He glanced around the dark room. Slowly his eyes began to adjust to the low light. There was no sound save for the steady hum of the ship's environmental system.

You're on the Enterprise. He reminded himself.

Richard was on the Enterprise. He was in Federation space. Tasha Yar was alive and well.

And Sela? A little voice asked.

Richard fell back against his pillow. He reached underneath to retrieve the faded blue ribbon he had carried for years.

It was a bitter reminder of the girl he loved as his own.

Of the wee lass he'd longed to see grow up free of duty and expectation.

Richard held the ribbon close to his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to cling to the wonderful dream, the dream he'd had more nights than not.

The dream that had never materialised.

It had felt so real.

He could see Sela's beaming smile – rosy cheeks, snowflakes on her lashes.

He could taste the woodfire, smell the chili on the stove and the scent of fresh powder and sour milk that came from having a baby in the house.

Richard could practically feel Tasha's embrace.

Richard had never wanted much in life. When he was young, he'd joined Starfleet because he wanted to explore the galaxy. He felt a sense of duty and was keen to travel.

But after everything he'd seen and experienced, Richard would trade all of that for a simple home with her.

He had longed to take Tasha and Sela away from Morak, away from the horrors of life in that compound.

And now Sela was dead.

She would never get the chance to grow up.

Richard rolled over onto his side and wept into his pillow.

Tasha's eyes fluttered open.

She longed to stretch. But there was a moment just before Data realised she was awake that she got to watch him sleeping.

In a matter of seconds, Data's sensors would detect the change in Tasha's breathing pattern. It alerted him that she was awake.

Then he would emerge from his rest programme.

Tasha wished she could watch him sleep sometimes. She longed to hold him close, to stroke his hair while he dreamed.

One cue, Data opened his eyes to find Tasha smiling next to him.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he replied.

Tasha wrapped her arms around Data's torso and pulled him in close, burying her head against his chest.

"Are you going to be like this on Føroyar?" Tasha asked.

Data's brow furrowed.

"To what are you referring?" Data inquired.

Tasha giggled.

"How come you never sleep in?" Tasha asked.

"I have no biological-"

"Ah, ah, ah! How do you know if you've never tried it? Hmm?" Tasha pressed.

Tasha propped herself up on her elbow and grinned at Data.

"Are you feeling alright?" Data questioned.

"I'm fine. I think taking my vitamins later in the day's helped," Tasha said.

She hadn't been queasy in the morning for a while now. She could stomach breakfast. It was a big improvement from the last few weeks.

"You are in an unusually jovial mood," Data observed.

"I'm always in a good mood when I wake up with you," Tasha replied.

She leaned over to kiss the tip of his nose.

"I'll be in an even better mood if we save time and shower together," Tasha suggested with a wicked grin.

She paused and scrunched up her face.

"Oh, and I want to have those little Betazoid crumpet things with the apricot filling for breakfast. I'm famished," Tasha said.

"You are always hungry," Data said in response.

Tasha cocked her head to the side.

"The use of the term 'always' is inaccurate," Tasha said, doing her best to mimic Data. "In fact, eight days, seven hours, nineteen minutes and-"

Tasha fell over laughing as Data whacked her with a pillow.

"It was eight days, nine hours, and fourteen minutes ago that you last said you were not hungry," Data teased.

Tasha collapsed in a fit of giggles.

"No sense of humour my arse," she commented.

"Was that funny?" Data asked with a small gasp of delight.

"Mmm, you're so clever," Tasha said with a grin, her face close to his.

Ekloire Starbase | Romulan Space

Korenus stood perfectly still in front of General Morak's desk. For several minutes, he'd stood in silence as General Morak sipped his morning tea and futzed about with the reports on his desk.

Korenus cleared his throat and requested permission to speak.

"Granted," Morak said.

"You summoned me, General?" Korenus prompted.

"You fucked my daughter," Morak said without looking up from his desk.

Before Korenus could open his mouth to respond, Morak cut him off.

"How much is she paying you?" Morak asked.

"My lord, I serve at the pleasure of Commander Sela because-"

"Is that what you told yourself when you buried your cock in-"

The communications system chimed.

"Apologies for the interruption, General. The Retribure has been delayed," Admiral Jarok's voice rang out as he advised of the latest troop update.

"Very well," Morak replied.

For the first time in the conversation, Morak lifted his eyes to size up Korenus.

"Your father was Cassio Velthur," Morak said.

"Yes, my lord," Korenus answered.

Morak sat back at his desk.

"He was a fine man," Morak said.

"He was a traitor, my lord," Korenus replied.

Korenus had said the words so many times since his father's execution that it rolled off the tongue automatically anytime his late father was mentioned.

"In my experience, the two are not mutually exclusive," Morak remarked.

As Korenus was uncertain if this was a test, he opted to remain silent.

"I'd like to make you an offer to double your income," General Morak said. "And what's more – I'll restore your land, your ancestral home, your titles."

Korenus expected Morak to banish him, to urge him to never look at his heir again, and to flee from Ekloire starbase on the next ship out.

But General Morak had other plans.

He got up from his seat and turned to the great window that overlooked the troops below.

"I want you to keep bedding my daughter. I want you to gain her trust," Morak instructed. "You will be wholly devoted to her. If she wants you to whisper sweet things in the dark, you'll do it. And if she wants to claw at you like a wild animal, you'll thank her for the privilege."

Morak clasped his hands behind his back.

"I want to know every person she talks to. Every offer she receives. Her correspondence with the Emperor. Her schedule," Morak explained.

Sela's tryst combined with the unique nature of Korenus's position presented an opportunity Morak could not resist.

"I want to know all the thoughts and confidences she shares with you that she's too afraid to tell her fenthair," Morak said. "I want to know when she bleeds. And if she doesn't, you'll see to that too. Discreetly."

Morak whipped around.

"Do you understand? You'll report to me twice a week," Morak ordered.

"And you will restore my titles and my lands?" Korenus pressed.

He had to be certain.

"In time," Morak promised. "We'll start with your titles. One month from now, if I am satisfied, I will reinstate your claim as Warden of Tyrene."

It was a moderately sized city and one the Velthur family had laid claim to for generations. The current Warden was one of Morak's personal appointments. He could easily promote that man elsewhere.

"It will work in both our favours to move cautiously so that my daughter might come to believe you have grown on me and that there is a possibility of a match," Morak said.

Morak knew how desperate Sela was to avoid any marriage arrangement with Duras.

"Is there, my Lord?" Korenus asked slowly.

"No," Morak replied without hesitation. "But it will make both our lives easier if she believes there's a possibility."

The General smirked at his own brilliance.

"She'll wed a Klingon to formalise my alliance with the Duras family. And I'm hoping that when the time comes, you will help convince her that such an arrangement is beneficial to us all," Morak explained. "After all, once she provides Duras with an heir she'll have you to keep her happy."

"Done," Korenus agreed.

"Then I believe this will be a profitable endeavour for both of us," Morak said.