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.

100. When Time Runs Out

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

The next few chapters are a significant departure from TNG canon, though my intention remains to 'weave' this into the story as a whole.

This will be a longer arc with several chapters dedicated to this storyline.

The focus is split between Data & Tasha's relationship and the growing Romulan threat. There's a bit of deviation from our regular cast at the start.

Please know they return to the spotlight soon after a brief interlude necessary for the conspiracy plot and backstory.

This arc has ramifications for several key parts of the series: Data & Tasha's relationship, the Romulan conspiracy, Captain Picard's burden of command, and the larger long-term relationship between the Romulans, Klingons, and the Federation.

It sets the foundation for storylines we won't see fully play out for quite some time as this arc is an intersection between the broader, long-standing storylines for the series for the Borg, Klingons, and Romulans.

They are three distinct arcs. But this is one of the moments where they overlap, and I hope you will enjoy it!

---

A note on time/Sela: In TNG, the attack on Khitomer took place in 2346. In this story, it occurs in 2344 in the 'broken' timeline and 2346 in the restored timeline.

And speaking of time, we know from Redemption that Sela was allegedly born a year later after her father made his 'arrangement' with Tasha.

Presuming that this was within a year or so (at the earliest) following the loss of the Enterprise-C, that would make Sela around 22 at the time of Redemption & Unification. That puts her at 19 at the time of this chapter.

So please don't be shocked at her youth, it's in sticking with canon! (And it plays a role in her mental state for this series.) You'll notice some parallels between Sela and her mother – this is intended and key to their story.

We'll see more of Sela's story in separate fics - The Crease In the Fabric of Time and The Consequence.

---

Influence: The spark for the Coyote legend in this story is influenced by the stories of the Secwépemc First Nations people as well as Ojibwe and Lakota influences.

The cult of the Imperial Family is based on Michael Chabon's notes on Romulan culture. However, I've expanded on that. For this series, I am basing the most prominent Romulan religion on a mix of that theory as well as the ancient Roman imperial cults and 'god-emperors.'

Chabon uses the term 'Demon Child.' I didn't like that, so I came up with 'Shadow' instead.

---

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, pregnancy/childbirth, miscarriage, abortion, self-harm, suicide, character death, murder.

---

And we'll recall when time runs out that it only took a moment to be loved a whole life long. - Hello, Dolly!

---

It was cold.

It was always so damn cold.

He snuggled in close against the warm body pressed against his own. He buried his head against her shoulder, trying to hold onto the scent of… something.

Vanilla? Cinnamon?

He could never be certain – only that it was the embodiment of sugar itself and that he would cherish that smell unto his last breath.

"It's freezing," he whispered.

She turned in his arms, wrapping herself around him.

"I'm cold," she said. "I'm so cold."

Her voice changed from a groggy morning tenor to a ragged tone. Her breathing was laboured.

He held her tighter, squeezing his eyes shut as pushed away the thoughts that fought their way to the forefront of his mind.

Her body wasn't cooling as death's grip closed to extinguish the spark of her indomitable soul.

No, she was lying safe in his arms – not cold and dead under the tree.

Our tree. He recalled.

There was a brief moment somewhere between sleep and waking where he could remember her brilliant smile, the way her face flushed whenever she sat in the bath too long.

The sugary scent that clung to her skin.

And for a few seconds, he could convince himself that she was still that way – glowing, happy, loved.

Alive.

"Iu Tuula," he said in a hushed voice.

"Mmmm," she murmured as he caressed the length of her spine.

"Iu Tuula," he repeated fondly.

She glanced up at him.

"It's time to stop dreaming," she said.

His face fell.

"I can't let go," he confessed.

"I know," she said, offering him a sympathetic smile. "But you have to wake up now."

She planted a small, chaste kiss on his lips.

The kiss was welcome – but it was never enough.

"You have to wake up now," she said, whispering his name against his ear.

"I love the way my name sounds when it falls from your lips," he replied.

It was a desperate attempt to cling to his dream – the same dream he'd had every night for nearly twenty years.

"I would close my eyes and pretend to be asleep if that would ease your conscience. Only I can't bear to," she said, running her fingers back through his hair.

He pulled her snug against his body, burying his face against her ear.

"Softly. I will leave you softly," he began to croon. "For my heart would break if you should wake-"

She giggled, the sound of her laughter enough to make him melt.

"You have to wake up now," she said with a sad smile.

---

"You have to wake up now!" Brown hissed, shaking the shoulder of his comrade.

A loud blast woke him with a start.

The man known as 'Coyote' sat up, his chest heaving as it all came back to him.

He glanced down at his trembling hands, prematurely aged from years of hard labour and exposure to the elements.

"We need to move," Brown said, shoving a small rolled-up sack at Coyote.

"Where?" growled a low voice.

It was Sodan, a grizzled Klingon with an impressive, greying mane.

Another loud blast shook their humble cave dwelling.

"Is it the mechs?" Coyote asked.

He swung his legs off his cot and slipped on his boots.

"No," Sodan answered. "That's disruptor fire."

Romulans.

"Those vampires. Great. Just great," Coyote remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The cave shook as another wave of fire pelted down above them, sending crumbling rocks and dust falling to the floor.

Outside, something flew overhead - low and slow.

Brown and Coyote looked to Sodan for an answer. He shook his head, straining his ears as he tried to mentally block out the sound of the waterfall curtain that protected their hiding spot.

"Mid-sized. Maybe a Harrier-class? They've probably got a ship in orbit. This place will be swarming with ground troops soon," Sodan advised.

"Wake the men. We go now," Castillo ordered.

"Where?" Sodan asked, repeating his question from earlier.

It was a valid inquiry.

There were seventeen of them in total.

At least, there were seventeen of them left.

"Braekan and Gore aren't back yet from their scouting mission. We've only got the Goldfinch and that's not near big enough," Brown said.

It was a small Romulan vessel only big enough to four crew members – and that was already pushing the environmental constraints.

"I hate to sound like a damaged log – but we've got nowhere to go," Sodan pointed out.

Even if they were to draw lots and send four people to safety, it would only be a temporary measure. The Goldfinch had limited power. They couldn't sustain the cloak long and there was nowhere to run.

In the last year, their team had encountered an alien species of some sort. Part human, part machine, these creatures consumed everything in their path – leaving entire planets stripped of all their resources.

Coyote's men had only ever observed them from afar. Based on their unusual physiology, they called them 'mechs.'

Another wave of disruptor fire blasted as the Romulans continued their bombing pattern. It was designed to scare them out.

Coyote stepped over to the edge of the cave as he listened to the sound of various small craft landing as Romulan ground troops began to disembark.

"What do you fellas say to lifting a ride out of here?" Coyote asked.

"Are you suggesting we steal one of their ships?" Brown asked.

He leaned in close and dropped his voice.

"Are you mad?"

The others were starting to come out from the deeper portion of the cave, and he didn't want to cause alarm.

"I'm in," Sodan said without hesitation.

"Did I hear we're stealing a ship?" Roosevelt asked, approaching the group as he threw on a frayed jumper.

It did little to push aside the chill. But it was better than nothing.

Roosevelt shivered. He clasped his hands together, rubbing them as he blew warm air on his fingers to try and to get the circulation going.

"We could all be killed," Brown said.

"I'd rather be killed than spend another minute in Romulan captivity," Roosevelt declared.

"Agreed. Those bastards won't take me alive again," said another comrade known as Ghost.

He quickly apologised to the Romulan standing to his left.

"Sorry," Ghost said.

"I am not offended. I happen to agree," Verax said.

As an enemy of the Tal Shiar, Verax was no stranger to the cruelty of his own people.

"I would rather die fighting for a chance at freedom than dishonourably at the hands of one of those brutes tending some pompous senator's estate," Sodan declared.

These were hardened men. They were men of all stripes, a blend of Humans, Orions, Caitians, Klingons, Romulans, Remans.

They were the strongest and luckiest of all of them, survivors that had somehow managed to defeat all the odds and were fortunate enough to have physiologies adaptable to many planetary extremes on the spectrum of what qualified as barely M-class.

The team had lost more than a few good people to elements beyond their control during their years on the run.

Yet in spite of the different circumstances that led to their captivity, these men were brothers.

They were warriors, all of them.

Warriors that had been defeated. Beaten. Broken.

And yet were somehow still alive.

Reborn. Forged in fire.

Coyote glanced around his team and grinned.

"You know if we pull this off we could uh…" he trailed off, rocking his head side to side.

For years they had talked of escaping across the Neutral Zone. Life on the run, hopping from barely hospitable planet to barely hospitable planet was hardly a life worth living.

They had passed the time by working as saboteurs, a sort of underground that sought to support the broader work of organised dissidents of the Empire.

The team was neither large enough nor well supplied enough to deliver any devastating blows – but they did their best to make lives uncomfortable for the Romulan Empire.

The team had spent more than a decade on the run from the Empire, limping through space in a stolen ship that was far past her prime.

Their numbers were dwindling. They were all aged.

And they were tired.

Now salvation had quite literally been dropped in their laps.

Well, at least in the vicinity – they had a helluva firefight waiting for them.

If they could capture a better ship, overpower the Romulan crew, then the team stood a chance of finally escaping across the Neutral Zone.

"We shall require a distraction," Verax said.

---

Coyote raced along through the treeline, carefully avoiding the Romulan patrols that were scanning the area.

He ducked behind a large tree, pressing his body flat against the trunk as two Romulans rushed past armed with disruptors.

Tantalus.

The planet had been their home for years. It was on the end of the spectrum when it came to the M-class designation.

It was cold and prone to long, dry winters. The sun provided barely enough light and heat. It was far from comfortable, but just enough for a limited growing season.

Only the heartiest of plants survived – bandit leeks, an ugly (but edible) variety of squash, and rallaks which were a sort of cabbage-like Romulan vegetable.

There were few trees, but the team had managed to set up camp near one of the only wooded areas on the planet.

Years earlier, the team had discovered an old Romulan outpost on Tantalus.

And when that first spring rolled around, they learned it wasn't nearly as abandoned as they had first thought. The Romulans simply didn't staff it most of the year.

It was a desolate planet where sunshine, warm breeze, and decent food were always just out of reach.

While it may have seemed an odd place to set up shop for the Romulans, Tantalus had once been an important outpost.

The planet was located in Sector 30 on the Romulan side of the Neutral Zone.

In recent years, its importance had waned as the new Romulans favoured a starbase known as 'Ekloire.'

Roughly translated it meant 'lighthouse.'

It was a massive installation – somewhere between a ship and starbase. They had completed construction several seasons prior, and the facility had been completely operational for three years now.

It was a long-range surveillance station and Starport facilities for up to twelve D'deridex-class cruisers. The Lighthouse could cloak itself and move if necessary – though only at impulse speeds.

It was also home to more than twelve thousand Romulan troops.

An entire invasion force just waiting at the border and completely undetectable.

Coyote and his team had obtained all of that information using the same listening facilities and equipment the Romulans had abandoned on Tantalus.

Now Coyote was hoping he could use it to create a distraction and lure the Romulan troops away from one of their ships – or at least confuse them enough to make it easier for his team to steal one.

But Coyote wasn't solely motivated by altruism.

He also had a personal motivation to retrieve something from the safe storage box.

When the Romulans left, the team had taken over the main office. Most of the time they preferred the caves to the office. There was a sense of security that came with sleeping there.

But usually they kept two or three people there on duty to monitor the area.

The night before, the team had picked up a Romulan vessel in the vicinity. As a precaution they had abandoned the station in a hurry and Coyote had been forced to leave without his most prized possession.

The Romulan facility was located in the middle of a clearing. That meant Coyote could use the treeline as cover to approach discreetly.

As he drew closer, he could hear Romulan troops as they spilled off the ramp of a midsized craft.

"Fan out. Someone has been using this facility without authorisation. Find them," a Subcommander ordered.

Coyote kept low, pressing himself against the building as he crept along the wall near an old storage building that the men used to store fuel – dried shrubs, wood, makeshift buckets of a sticky sap-like material excreted from the trees and used as a waterproofing agent.

He lit a match and carefully started a fire with some of the smaller bits of dried shrub they used for kindling. Then he tossed it into one of the sap buckets and rushed off to his secondary target.

In a matter of minutes, the place would be up and flames – hopefully enough to distract the Romulans.

Coyote used a secondary door to slip inside the main building and immediately set to work recalibrating the equipment.

He dropped to the floor when a patrol passed by outside, hiding himself below the window's edge so as to remain unseen.

Coyote ripped off the access panel to the long-range communications equipment. After rerouting the power supply and deactivating the outgoing channel, he set the equipment to a wide dispersal at a high, painful frequency.

Next, he went into a small adjacent room. There was nothing in there save for a few old cots and a lavatory.

When the facility had been in use, the Romulans would use the space to take their breaks.

Now the men on Coyote's team used it as a sleeping area during their own shifts, taking turns in kind to monitor Romulan activity in the area.

He'd just gone in for a sleep when they'd had to bug out the night before – leaving one very important item tucked under the pillow.

Coyote reached beneath the thin, frayed pillow and breathed a sigh of relief as his hand found the object in question.

He pulled out a length blue ribbon, brought it to his lips, and closed his eyes.

A shout from outside broke the moment of peace. The fire was in full force and had indeed caught the attention of the Romulans.

A second later, a powerful sound wave blasted out from the communications array – temporarily immobilising everyone within a kilometre and scrambling the Romulan ships.

Coyote stumbled. He was disoriented from the painful sound.

Forcing himself to move, he turned to go.

But no sooner had he stepped back into the main room when the door flew open and in stormed a Romulan with a disruptor rifle aimed squarely at her target.

Commander Sela froze, stunned by the discovery. Her eyes fell on the blue ribbon clutched in his hand.

She blinked in confusion.

Sela was surprised by his appearance - but she couldn't find it inside her to ask why.

"Congratulations on your completion of your studies at the Imperial War Academy," Coyote said, eyeing the talons on her uniform. "And the rank of Commander so soon! That must make you one of the youngest Commanders in Romulan history."

"Shut up," Sela ordered.

Coyote dropped his gaze to the floor.

In Romulan society, looking upon someone of Sela's rank was forbidden. There were strict rules dictating how the different social castes interacted – especially for slaves and prisoners.

"Forgive me, my lady," Coyote said.

"Shut up!" Sela repeated as she tightened the grip on her disruptor rifle.

Her chest felt tight. She wished she could go back and never open the door. Had she merely ordered one of her subordinates inside, then he would already be dead.

Sela wouldn't be standing there, immobilised, embarrassed by her inaction, and angry with herself for being weak.

Her finger hovered above the trigger - and yet she hesitated.

Because Sela couldn't bring herself to kill her protector.

"I have teams combing every inch of this forsaken planet. You won't escape," Sela declared.

It was a strange statement given that he was trapped, hands up, and she was the one holding the disruptor.

"May I make a request, my lady?" Coyote asked.

"Shut up," Sela hissed. "Don't think I'm going to leave you out under the stars as part of some stupid ritual. You will burn like the rest of them even if I have to drag your body to the fire myself."

Her expression hardened.

"Nothing would give me more pleasure than dumping you in the bottom of a pit. A final, fitting end," Sela spat.

She knew that for this man there was no greater final disgrace than to be denied clear access to the stars. It wasn't even his own silly custom, simply one he'd adopted from a repulsive, backward people.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Sela said.

Coyote prepared himself for death – only nothing happened.

"You might as well. I would prefer it to the alternative," Coyote said.

It wasn't that he entirely welcomed death. But after so long on the run, he was exhausted. Years of hard labour, exposure, and trauma had all taken their toll on his body.

And his mind.

He simply wanted to be at peace.

And it was his hope that if there was an afterlife, the woman he'd loved for nigh on twenty years would be waiting for him there.

There was just one last thing to do.

Something Coyote knew he must do.

"Before you kill me, I must warn you that you cannot stop what is already in motion. There are others that will take my place," Coyote said. "And someday there will be a Republic. You cannot kill the idea of a Romulan Free State."

"The last words of a slave and traitor. Prophesying what you cannot possibly begin to understand," Sela tutted.

"A warning," Coyote clarified.

Sela scoffed.

"A threat? Need I remind you which one of us has the disruptor?" Sela remarked.

Sela gasped as Coyote lifted his head to meet her gaze in direct defiance of Romulan practice.

"There are threats out there bigger than either of us. Something bad is coming. Surely you've seen the reports," he said, trying to appeal to her sense of reason. "You know that the Empire cannot survive another sustained conflict."

Sela fell silent.

"The people are starving. There's a hundred slaves and prisoners to every one of your soldiers. And just as many serfs," Coyote went on.

The serf class was the largest class of people on Romulus and subject to strict regulations. They were responsible for most of the manual and domestic labour.

And they were displeased with the status quo.

"What do you think will happen to you when they rise up?" Coyote pressed.

He had seen it coming for some time. He knew the Romulan High Command was worried about riots with coming ration cuts for the serfs.

"There's something out there. Something coming. It could be the tipping point for a new uprising on Romulus," Coyote went on.

If there was one thing Coyote had learned during his time on Romulus it was that the Romulan people were just that – people.

The vast majority of which could care less about the geopolitical machinations of the Romulan Senate.

Years of grumbling had grown. Six years of military service was compulsory for all serfs. Those that agreed to serve for twenty-five years were eligible for citizenship.

Most only lasted three.

In preparation for their final move against the Federation, the Romulan Senate had reduced the age requirement from sixteen to fourteen.

And when the people openly expressed their dissent, the Tal Shiar used it as justification for sweeping roundups of serfs.

In some parts of Romulus, the impact was so great that there were serious concerns about the harvest. It was a situation that only further exacerbated the hunger crisis as grain stores were depleted.

"People are capable of anything when they're hungry enough and tired enough," Coyote warned. "And when these-"

He paused.

"Look, I don't know what they are. But I've lost more than a few good men to them already. They have destroyed entire worlds," Coyote said. "It's only a matter of time before they find a Romulan colony. Maybe Romulus itself."

Only Sela wasn't interested.

"You're stalling. Trying to delay your long overdue execution," Sela said.

Coyote shook his head.

"No," he said softly.

A pained look crossed his face as he eyed Sela. She may have held the rank of Commander, but Coyote couldn't see her as anything other than the same little girl in a costume far too big for her person, shaking in her wee boots, desperately seeking her father's approval.

"I'm only telling you this because I… I," Coyote struggled to find the words.

Outside there were Romulans shouting about the fire, rushing around the compound in a desperate attempt to stop it from spreading.

It was hardly the time or place for such a conversation. Yet, Coyote couldn't go to his death without saying it.

"The same heart you have that disruptor trained on is the one you stole," he said, chuckling as his eyes began to water. "The first time I ever held you, you captured my heart."

"Another man's child?" Sela scoffed. "Please, spare me your pathetic drivel."

"We often wondered if it would have been better to have simply been taken as shock troops against the Klingons or sent to the mines," Coyote said.

Were it not for the greed of their captor and his need for a slave labour force, Coyote likely would have died years before.

"The men joke that the lucky ones died on the Enterprise-C," Coyote went on.

In a way it was true. Those that perished with the ship had been spared the agony of Romulan captivity.

"But not your mother. Not after she had you," Coyote said. "For all she suffered, all the torment. She once told me that she would never change any of it, she would endure it all again if it meant having you."

Sela gritted her teeth, steeling herself against his words. He was the only man that had ever spoken to her with such kindness.

And Coyote could see it was working. Sela's face flushed the same way as her mother's whenever she was about to cry.

"She loved you. You were her whole world," Coyote said.

Sela lifted her disruptor in an attempt to hide behind the scope.

"She was a traitor and a whore that turned her back on my father after he gave her everything. She abandoned her child simply to disgrace herself with a human," Sela spat.

"She loved you. She walked through fire for you," Coyote said in a calm voice, countering Sela's assertion.

To Sela's surprise, he smiled.

"She called you her maoird," Coyote said.

There was no direct translation, but it meant a rare and beautiful occurrence – like a miracle or a shooting star.

"By all rights your very existence is a wonder. Your mother, a woman out of time. Somehow she survived the destruction of the Enterprise. And Narendra. And the prison camp," Coyote said.

It was nothing short of a miracle.

"Then your father, a man who has spent his life fighting for Romulan supremacy, who believes humans only exist for enslavement, finds himself enamoured with one," Coyote went on.

He chuckled and shook his head.

"Against all odds, defying all custom and expectation, they had you," Coyote said. "And in spite of her loathing your father, the circumstances that led to your birth, and the awful treatment she endured because of your birth – your mother loved you."

A part of Sela wanted to shut it out. She had convinced herself for so long that these were lies. Yet inside, there was something gnawing at her.

"Your mother loved you. She never regretted that. And whatever your father told you, know that your mother died trying to protect you. Her children were all that she thought of," Coyote said. "The beatings. The abuse. Prison."

His smile was sad as he eyed the girl he'd sacrificed everything for.

"She wouldn't have changed any of it if it meant losing you," Coyote concluded.

Sela lowered her disruptor, momentarily lost in thought.

Coyote breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that he may have finally broken through the years of manipulation and propaganda.

But to his dismay, the moment was short lived.

Sela pulled out a traditional double-shadow blade as was the standard for Romulan Commanders. They were expected to use it to take their own lives in the event of capture.

Death before dishonour.

Sela backed Coyote into the wall, holding the blade against his throat.

"I was planning to simply watch your body burn. But it will find far more pleasure in gutting you like a stuck pig," Sela hissed.

"Romulus is your home, and you love it. Someday soon your people will need a leader. I know you have it in you," Coyote said.

Sela's entire childhood had been solely focused on grooming her to be the next great Romulan leader. Her education had been relentless. Her private tutors, demanding.

"Am I supposed to be flattered?" Sela asked.

"You're a brilliant young woman. Surely you can see the direction the wind blows. If you were the position yourself in a way that gave you options, perhaps align yourself with one of the less extreme parties in the Senate-"

"How dare you presume to lecture me? You forget your place," Sela said, outraged a slave would have the gall to speak to her in such a manner.

Coyote's face softened.

"My lady," he began.

He had called her that since before she was old enough to walk.

Even when Sela had been a small child, parading around in a little costume with an entourage and barely able to keep pace with the adults, he had called her 'my lady.'

When her little legs were too tired to go on and she had to be carried, she had been addressed as 'my lady.'

And she had still been his lady when she slammed her fists on the table, throwing a tantrum about having to eat viinerine.

"Forgive me, I do not presume to have a greater understanding of Romulan politics. I merely seek to… express a desire for your safety," Coyote said.

Sela said nothing. She pressed her knife tighter against his throat in warning.

"Your people will need a leader. You could usher in a whole new era of prosperity. You could save the Empire you love," Coyote went on. "Create a world where little girls could grow up to be writers, not soldiers."

As a child, Sela's only refuge had been literature. Stories were her sanctuary.

After a gruelling day of trying to live under the pressure of being her father's heir, Sela would let her imagination run wild.

Sela had listened with rapt attention to all of Coyote's stories about places in the Alpha Quadrant – beautiful, tropical places like Bora Bora and Risa, the windswept steppes of Icithayn III where wild horses ran in great herds, ancient gardens shrouded in hanging ivy on Orion.

These stories had captured Sela's attention as a girl.

Now they seemed nothing more than a cruel taunt.

"You could come with me," Coyote said. "I could show you that world. The one you dreamed of as a girl."

"Of course. I suppose I would make quite a valuable hostage," she sneered.

"It wouldn't be like that," Coyote assured her.

Sela rolled her eyes, pretending to be amused by his naivety.

"And as soon as your precious Starfleet is done interrogating me and my father makes it clear that he will never, ever give in to Federation demands for my return, I will be nothing more than a science experiment. A prisoner," she pondered aloud.

Coyote shook his head in protest.

"I wouldn't let that happen," he promised.

"I would sooner take my own life. I'm no slave," Sela said in a menacing voice.

She grumbled in frustration.

"You could at least try to hide your disgust," Sela grumbled.

She may have called it disgust, but it was Sela that the one put off by the pity in Coyote's eyes.

"When I was dispatched on this stupid mission I never imagined finding your little band of thieves," Sela said.

There was an eager gleam in her cold eyes, the very same ones that had once looked upon Coyote with love.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you," she went on. "My father will toast my success in stopping the man responsible for Colonia Zantan, for Nimes."

They were two non-essential sites that had been recently destroyed – presumably by Coyote's men.

"And I will sleep easy knowing that while I am the toast of the Romulan Military you are burning in whatever hell hole you crawled out of," Sela snarled. "Give my regards to my mother."

"That wasn't us," Coyote said suddenly.

Sela hesitated.

"That wasn't us," Coyote repeated. "Your outposts. It wasn't us."

"If you think that denying it will spare you-" Sela began to say.

Coyote closed his eyes and grimaced.

"I'm not trying to spare my life. I'm trying to warn you."

Sela's brow furrowed.

"Why would you deny responsibility for the best thing you've managed to accomplish lately?" Sela asked.

Their band of dissidents had long sought to strike out at the Empire. But they lacked the means and manpower to make any lasting impact.

Until now.

"It wasn't us. We're old men. We can barely feed ourselves," Coyote explained. "Sometimes we can intercept a shipment or disrupt your subspace communications. But we don't have the means to pull off something like that."

A number of Romulan outposts had recently vanished. The planets were decimated. There were no survivors, no trace of any explosive or weaponry.

"Do you think we'd be living here like this if we could do that? That we wouldn't bother scrapping every usable piece of technology? The supplies?" Coyote asked.

He could see Sela mulling it over.

"There's something out there. These aliens are unlike anything I've ever seen – part man, part machine. You can't reason with them. They simply consume," Coyote shared.

He had never seen anything like it. And even if Sela was intent on killing him, Coyote wanted to warn her.

"Come with me. Please. I will keep you safe," he said, his voice full of pain.

Sela's resolve faltered as Coyote reached up, his hand coming to rest atop her own that held the knife at his throat.

"I took a vow to protect you," Coyote implored. "I love you. I have always loved you as my own, Lala."

Sela may have been wearing the talons of Romulan Commander, but Coyote knew that underneath all that uniform and façade was a young girl.

She was still a child.

Coyote didn't mean that in a patronising sense. He merely longed to see her enjoy all the same rights and privileges any young person was entitled to, free of the responsibilities of command and expectations of perfection.

Free to be young and curious.

And vulnerable.

Sela blinked furiously, fighting back hot tears that were threatening to pour over.

"I will kill you," she said, unsure if she was trying to convince Coyote or herself.

All of sudden, a familiar shimmering sound filled the room as his body began to dematerialise.

"No, no, no, no!" Sela cried as slipped away.

She tried to grasp his shirt and found herself holding nothing.

Sela fell to her knees and slammed her fist against the wall.

"Commander?" a foot soldier asked, poking his head inside. "Subcommander Lupek would like to know what we should do about the fire. It's spreading."

Sela pulled herself up to her feet and thumbed away the tears of frustration from her failure.

The soldier looked concerned.

"Commander? Are you alright?" he asked.

He produced a handkerchief from his holster and offered it to Sela.

"What is your name?" Sela asked as she accepted his kindness.

"Uhlan Praetol, Commander," he answered. "I will speak of this to no one."

He was an Uhlan, the lowest non-slave rank of the Romulan military.

He straightened up, presuming he was about to receive praise or commendation for his actions. Crying was a sign of weakness and Praetol had been advised that discretion was a soldier's best friend.

"Of course you won't. You're being reassigned to Sector 218," Sela said.

Sector 218 was a particularly nasty assignment for any Romulan given their frequent squabbles with the Breen in that region.

Sela made a mental note to follow through with that promise as soon as she was back aboard her ship. Petty retribution had always brought her joy.

Sela dropped his handkerchief and made a point of stepping over it as she strode out into the compound, leaving a stunned soldier behind.

"Sir, the rebels have stolen a ship," a young soldier reported.

Sela dropped him with one shot from her side arm as she marched past. She stormed by the fire without a care, singularly focused on one goal.

"Ready my ship," she ordered.

---

Coyote reappeared on the Bridge of a midsized Romulan craft.

"Got him. Punch it!" Sodan ordered.

Ghost and Verax were at the helm. They engaged the cloak, fired up the engines, and opened a warp bubble to take them as far and fast as they could from that place.

"You sentimental old fool," Roosevelt commented, spying the ribbon in Coyote's hand.

He quickly tucked it into his shirt pocket.

"It's alright," Roosevelt assured him. "In a few days, we'll kiss goodbye to this life for good. A fresh start. At least you'll have some good memories to take from it."

Coyote glanced around the Bridge.

The team had managed to snag a Harrier-class ship right out from underneath the Romulans. It was a larger shuttle capable of decent warp speeds and was equipped with better shields than a standard shuttle and an impressive weapons array for its size.

Most importantly, it had a cloak.

"Get us out of here," Brown said.

"Braekan and Gore aren't back yet from their scouting mission," Coyote protested.

In addition to the small ship known as the Goldfinch, the team also had one older model Romulan shuttle. It was capable of limited range travel and low warp speeds.

The team used it on scouting missions to locate supplies. At the moment, two of their members were gone on one such mission and not expected back for several days.

"I'll not abandon them," Coyote warned. "Chart a course for Devron and send a coded message to rendezvous there."

Ghost nodded and punched in the coordinates.

"And after that, Alpha Doradus? Sooner or later we're going to need to unload this ship for something else. The minute we decloak in Federation space we're going to have every ship in the Quadrant on our tail," Ghost said.

"Devron. Alpha Doradus. Freecloud. Then home," Roosevelt said.

He smiled and sighed, lost in thought.

"No more life on the run," Brown remarked, grinning ear to ear.

"I'm afraid that may be premature," Verax said.

"Report?" Coyote asked as Sodan helped him to his feet.

"We've got company. One ship. Viper-class inbound. Thirty-eight seconds to intercept," Verax advised as he monitored the sensors.

"One ship?" Coyote clarified.

He didn't need confirmation to know exactly who was piloting it. Sela was humiliated that he had slipped through her grasp. She also knew what fate would befall her should she fail.

Singularly focused when it came to revenge, Sela could be a formidable force.

"One ship," Verax answered.

"For now," Roosevelt added.

There was no doubt the Romulans would make an effort to follow them.

The team sprung into action.

Sodan took up a position at Communications array. Roosevelt jumped on Tactical while Brown slipped into the seat at the Operations console.

One of the men tapped Coyote on the shoulder and gestured to the command chair. After all, Coyote had been their de facto leader for more than two decades. The team trusted him. It only made sense for Coyote to assume the command chair.

"Bringing the disruptor arrays online," Roosevelt said.

"The Viper is closing," Verax reported.

One advantage of the Viper was that it had the ability to track and target even cloaked Romulan ships.

"They've locked on," Verax said.

"Ghost, evasive manoeuvres," Coyote commanded.

The ship shook as the Viper's forward dual disruptor array rocked the aft section with a direct hit. They wouldn't be able to sustain many more hits like that.

"We can't risk dropping the cloak," Verax advised. "This entire area is crawling with Romulan ships."

"We must destroy that Viper," said a voice from the back.

It was Proventus.

He was an elderly Romulan, the oldest among the team. At one time, Proventus had served as Vice-Proconsul of the Romulan Government.

But that was before. Now he was an enemy of the state.

"You must destroy that Viper," Proventus echoed as he approached the command chair.

"She's probably already called in reinforcements. Every second we delay we run the risk of being caught," Verax added.

Proventus folded his hands and straightened his posture.

"In any case, it will be a relief to finally put that petulant brat in her place," Proventus remarked.

That 'brat' was one of the primary forces in ousting Proventus from the Senate. He held a personal grudge for that affront.

"You don't think General Morak might use the death of his daughter at the hands of the likes of us to justify going to war? She'll be a rallying cry for their ultranationalist agenda," Roosevelt protested.

"And admit they lost a Harrier-class ship to us? Never," Brown said, dismissing the idea.

Coyote shifted in his seat.

"She's not just a citizen anymore. Earned her talons. She's a full-fledged Commander in the Romulan Fleet," Coyote shared.

"Roosevelt has a point. They could spin this. I do not want to contribute to their propaganda," Sodan said.

Another blast from the Viper hit the ship, impacting the rear hull.

"So the little brat graduated from that fascist finishing school? Passed with flying colours, no doubt! Mark the occasion with fireworks and destroy that ship," Proventus insisted, emphasising every word.

"Hang on," Ghost shouted.

The ship dove at a sharp angle to avoid another blast from the Viper.

"I took an oath to ensure that no harm would ever come to that child," Coyote said, pointed to the Viper on the viewscreen.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think this is what she envisioned," Ghost advised without looking back as he tried to steer the ship to safety.

"If you can't make the tough calls, perhaps you should step aside for someone that can?" Brown suggested.

His interest wasn't personal ambition. Rather, he had long been concerned Coyote was too emotionally compromised.

"You can't put an oath you made to a dead woman above the safety of the team," Brown pointed out.

Coyote rose from his seat, glaring as he closed in on Brown.

"You took an oath too. Most of us here took that oath," Coyote said. "Have you all forgotten that? What about Parker? Fredericks? Huh?"

"Things were different. She was just a little girl then," Brown argued.

It was far easier to stomach protecting a wee girl than it was to turn the other cheek when she had them in the sights of her dual disruptor cannons.

"Sela is nineteen. She is still a child," Coyote said, pleading for them to understand.

He may not have been her father, but Coyote had loved her as his own. In his eyes, she was still a child and all that was left of her mother.

"A child that would not hesitate to kill you," Proventus warned.

"She did," Coyote said softly, recalling Sela's hesitation.

"She isn't now," Brown said.

Everyone braced themselves as another disruptor blast nicked the port side wing of the ship. The alarms started to sound.

"Substantial damage to the port side. I'm sealing the bulkhead," Sodan advised.

Their situation was dire and growing more critical with each passing second. This was their best chance at freedom, the closest they had come in two decades.

"Destroy the Viper!" Proventus insisted.

"I took an oath. We took an oath," Coyote said, his voice cracking in desperation.

He took a step back and collected himself.

"In any case, it's not my decision. We're a team. We've always been a team. We put it to vote," Coyote said.

"You risk all of our lives the longer you delay," Proventus said.

His patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Vote? Oh now you want to offer us a choice," Brown commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Coyote didn't want an argument. It was hardly the time or place. But the tension of the last hour had brought long-standing feelings of resentment to the surface.

Now facing the possibility their escape would be snatched away at the moment before victory, it was too much for Brown to remain silent.

"I don't recall us having an option before. Do you think maybe we would have made a different decision had our circumstances warranted a choice? Any choice?" he demanded.

"We will vote," Coyote said in hopes of diffusing the situation.

"Perhaps we should have voted before you got us into this mess? We wouldn't be here if you'd kept your cock in your fucking trousers!" Brown snapped.

He shoved Coyote for good measure.

"We were all slaving away. Starving. Dying. And we thought you were too, taking the brunt of it for us," Brown said, airing his grievances. "Meanwhile you were bedding her."

He swung at Coyote, landing a hit on the side of his chin.

"You were bedding her! You are why we are here!" Brown shouted, between blows. "You brought us here! You! You did that!"

No one moved to intervene.

"The two of you are why we wound up in that godforsaken prison. And then you just couldn't resist, huh?" Brown went on, delivering a serious beating to his comrade.

Coyote dropped to the floor and grunted as Brown landed a kick at his ribs.

"You two risked our lives!"

Thwack.

"All our lives!"

Twack.

"Just to have it off!" Brown roared.

"It wasn't like that," Coyote said in a strained voice.

Brown's anger dissipated, his blows only half-hearted. Then he stilled, breathing hard.

"I hope it was worth it. I'm sure the two of you will be very happy together in the afterlife when that little cunt blows us all to oblivion," Brown said.

With great effort, Coyote pulled himself to his feet and wiped away the blood from his split lip.

"We make these decisions as a group. No one man above the other. We vote," Coyote declared. "And as we vote, I ask that you remember the promise we made."

Coyote paused.

"Though know I will not hold it against anyone who votes differently," Coyote said, assuring the team that he understood.

They were desperate men. This was their first taste at real freedom.

With two members gone on a scouting mission, they were fifteen people left in total.

"All those in favour of destroying the Viper?" Coyote asked.

Seven hands shot up including those of Proventus, Brown, and Verax.

"Opposed?" Coyote asked.

Seven more hands went up, including Coyote registering his own vote on the matter. He was relieved to find Roosevelt, Sodan, and Ghost had backed him.

Everyone collectively surveyed the room, taking stock of just where the group was at. All eyes fell on a slim man in the back of the vessel that was attending to the wounded.

Ahn.

He was an elderly Klingon that had been captured on Narendra III. He was also Sodan's uncle. In the years since the dishonour of capture, Ahn had found solace in dedicating his life to the oath he took on Romulus.

"And how do you vote, Ahn?" Coyote asked.

He momentarily paused patching up a disruptor burn on one of the wounded men in order to address the group.

For a Klingon man that had suffered the mental anguish of defeat only to find new purpose in their underground resistance work, the decision to betray that was difficult to consider.

He was about to open his mouth to vote in opposition when a powerful blast rippled through the ship.

Sela's Viper had landed a devastating blow on the underbelly of their vessel. They wouldn't be able to sustain another hit.

The blast had been enough to bring navigation offline. The ship was losing attitude control.

It spiralled, the cloak fizzling in and out as Ghost tried to right the ship before they hit any nearby objects.

As the ship rolled, the team was tossed about the Bridge. Sodan managed to hang onto his console, but most of them were thrown into the side wall.

After several agonising seconds, Ghost managed to right the ship and the team was able to dislodge itself from the wall.

Except Brown.

He gasped, sputtering as he tried to speak. The choking sound caught the attention of Coyote.

Coyote turned to find his oldest and dearest friend impaled on one of the coolant pipes.

"Ahn! Quickly," Coyote said.

Ahn was the closest thing they had to a physician left.

Coyote rushed forward and clutched Brown's hand, offering small comfort to a dying man. They may have just come to blows, but Coyote held no ill will.

"I'm sorry, old friend. Sorry for the words I spoke in anger," Brown managed to choke out.

"All is forgotten. You said nothing that was untrue," Coyote replied.

Brown shook his head as he squeezed Coyote's hand.

"It was wrong of me. I know you loved her," Brown said.

Then he smiled.

"Boy you had shit timing," Brown teased.

Coyote couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah. Yeah we really did," Coyote agreed.

He could see Brown was fading fast. Brown closed his eyes and hissed. There was a moment where the pain began to fade to a near serene-like state.

"Promise you'll have a drink for me on Freecloud? And none of that swill, you hear?" Brown asked as his speech became laboured. "I'll uh… I'll tell her you're coming. She's gonna have to wait a little longer."

"Be at peace, my friend," Coyote said, offering him one last smile as they bid farewell.

Brown took one last, rasping breath before he passed.

The Viper was still in hot pursuit. Ghost was doing everything he could to avoid its fire.

For a moment, the Bridge fell silent as the team grappled with the loss of one their own.

Then Ahn stepped forward.

"I was going to cast my vote one way. But I find this loss has persuaded me differently. I cannot, in good conscience, permit another one of us to perish when we are so close," Ahn said.

Coyote closed his eyes as Ahn went on. Ahn's words carried weight and Coyote knew he'd lost even before Ahn was finished.

"Please do not mistake my vote for cowardice or a desire to secure my personal safety. We have a mission to warn the Federation, the Empire, anyone that will listen," Ahn explained. "These mechs must be stopped."

He turned and locked eyes with Coyote.

"Forgive me, my old friend, but we must destroy that Viper," Ahn concluded.

An understanding passed between the two men, though it did little to ease the weight on Coyote's soul. Proventus wasted no time.

"There. You have your vote. Destroy that ship," he ordered.

Roosevelt was manning the Tactical station. He glanced over at Coyote.

"Step aside," Verax said, positioning himself behind Tactical.

Verax keyed in the appropriate instruction and bypassed the security protocol. Without hesitation, he fired two torpedoes from the aft bay.

"You have the Bridge, Mr Verax," Coyote said as he retired to the corridor next to the Bridge.

He wasn't going to watch.

---

Sela was practically giddy with delight at the chase as she closed in on the stolen Harrier-class ship.

Her heart was racing. Her skin prickled with delight.

She had always enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and was solely focused on her imminent victory. She couldn't contain herself as she imagined that moment of glory when she would tell her father the news.

She would avenge her father – the one to end this rebellious faction, to silence the dissidents once and for all.

Sela would be the one to deliver retribution against those that had betrayed her father.

To finally earn her place in his eyes.

And the affection she had long craved.

Sela was so caught up in the dream of glory that she did not notice they had fired on her until it was too late.

Two torpedoes impacted the Viper, sending it into a smoking spiral. The ship fishtailed out of control.

Navigation was gone. Weapons offline. And all possibility of escape gone as warp capability was destroyed in the blast.

She was venting atmosphere and at risk of the power core going critical.

The stolen Harrier-class ship disappeared from the sensors, using the opportunity to make a successful escape.

Sela gasped for air as the emergency hull breach protocols automatically kicked in. As the ship spun, Sela could feel herself growing dizzy.

Her protector had betrayed her.

He'd fired directly on her ship.

It was unthinkable.

And it hurt.

In her last few lucid moments of consciousness she struggled to wrap her mind around that unfathomable pain.

---

There was a familiar aroma, one that triggered the memory of chilly autumn evenings and hot, spiced tea.

Sela breathed deep, inhaling the warm scent as she relished in the memory of happier times.

It was warm. The room smelled pleasant, and the bed felt divine. But Sela herself felt grimy. She could feel the perspiration on her skin and that her hair was matted on the side.

Sela couldn't recall striking her head, but she must have.

Suddenly it all came back to her – the discovery of a den of traitors on Tantalus, the firefight in space.

The betrayal.

Sela gasped and sat up, her chest heaving as she took stock of her surroundings. She was on her father's ship, the Vindicta, in his private quarters.

She recognised the Black Eagle banner behind the desk and the fine, oversized leather chair. In the corner was an altar with candles, crystal obelisks, and icons devoted to the seven deities.

Sela's family had long been dedicated to the cult of the Imperial Family.

In Romulan culture, the cult of the Imperial Family was the primary religion practiced among the governmental elite and wealthy vassals of the Empire.

The Emperor or Empress of Romulus was worshipped as a living god, the very embodiment of power.

Regardless of their own legal familial situation, the Emperor or Empress was worshipped along with five other preeminent citizens of their immediate or extended family.

At the top of the hierarchy was the Emperor or Empress. They were the mother or father of the Empire and seen as divinely sanctioned with the responsibility to the protection of all the people.

Their spouse (if they had one) was considered responsible for the preservation of the Romulan way of life. Their word was law when it came to advancement of cultural and scientific interests.

If unmarried, that role fell to a sibling or cousin.

Next in line were the divine Grandmother and Grandfather. Typically this role was filled by a cousin or even aunt or uncle of the Emperor – anyone that was technically family and in a position of power to serve as counsel.

The Grandmother and Grandfather were always prominently positioned within the Senate. They served in separate but equal capacities – grandmother saw to the affairs of state while grandfather provided wisdom on all decisions relating to military and Tal Shiar operations.

The Son and Daughter were next in line. Like the moon and the sun or night and day, they were equal forces of power – one Tal Shiar and one in the Military.

The Son and Daughter were figureheads that represented all that a good Romulan hoped to achieve. They were people that led by example in both career and personal pursuits.

And the people loved them for it.

It mattered not how distant the family relations to the Emperor were. In some cases, lineage went back three or four generations to find a common ancestor.

In reality, these divine leaders were often actually political allies shoehorned into a 'family' role to preserve the image of the Imperial Family. And the propaganda masters went to great lengths with carefully cultivated press releases to sell this idea.

They were backed by lavish state dinners, parades, and tours to sell it to the people.

Since childhood, Sela had been groomed to one day fill the role of divine Daughter of the State. She was the golden girl, the darling of the extremists that were banging the drums of war in the senate.

As a cousin of the Emperor, Sela and her father had worked hard to position Sela to take over that role in the event anything should happen to the role's current occupant – a very real possibility given that competition for such highly coveted roles was par for the course and plot and conspiracy were the Romulan way.

They were not above assassinating their own for gain.

What's a little poison as long as you keep it in the family? Sela mused, reminding herself of an old Romulan adage.

Sela's father was already a member of the official Imperial Family.

General Morak was the Supreme Commander of the Romulan Fleet as well as Proconsul of the Senate. He was, perhaps, the most powerful man on Romulus.

He was loved and feared. And as uncle to the Emperor, he was worshipped as the divine Grandfather.

Rounding out the seven deities was the Shadow or 'Demon Child.'

The Shadow was typically not a living member of the Imperial Family. Rather, the Emperor would select someone that had committed a grave offence, one that had been disgraced.

Usually this individual was deceased. Yet at times it could be one that was imprisoned or exiled.

The Shadow served as a reminder that anyone could fall from grace.

And that such things happened in all families.

Sela reached for the small carved statue that represented the Shadow, turning it over in her hand. Her greatest fear was becoming the Shadow.

All of her life, Sela had shared a difficult relationship with this piece of the altar. Sela could relate. She understood how easily she could become such a despised figure.

Because were it not for her father's grace, Sela would be the Shadow.

"You've come back to us."

Sela dropped the figure and froze, recognising her father's voice. She felt like a child again, caught in her father's office when she was not supposed to be there.

"Praying?" he inquired.

"Uh… yes," Sela lied.

"You did not light a candle," he noticed.

Very little got past General Morak.

"I was just about to," Sela said, fighting the urge to shiver.

She fumbled for a match from the shelf above. Her father's approaching footsteps only added to the tension.

Sela could sense his presence behind her and braced herself for the worst.

Instead of his wrath, there was a soft click as General Morak lit the candle that represented the Mother.

"Then let us be grateful for the blessed Mother's deliverance of your safety," Morak said before adding. "And for the mercy of the sacred Father."

The meaning of his words was not lost on Sela.

He was reaffirming that Sela's very life was wholly dependent on remaining in her father's good graces. For if she failed or ever crossed him, she would suffer that same terrible fate as her mother.

"You are fortunate we found your ship in time," Morak explained.

He gripped Sela's shoulders, turning her toward him.

"I had a feeling you would require my assistance," Morak explained. "You see, a father always knows."

"Thank you, fenthair," Sela replied, using the Romulan word for father.

Morak strolled over to the liquor cabinet in the corner and poured himself a tall drink.

"Tell me, how did they escape?" Morak inquired.

His tone was polite, but Sela knew he was seething.

"There was a fire. And they used the communications array to send out an impulse that left our ground forces disoriented," Sela explained.

"So you were distracted?" Morak asked casually as he sat down at the edge of his desk.

Sela bit her lip, carefully weighing how to respond.

"I am unaccustomed to my questions going unanswered," Morak reminded her.

"I don't know what happened on the stolen ship," Sela confessed.

Morak lifted his eyebrow, wordlessly asking for elaboration.

"I-I wasn't there. I was at the compound," Sela said. "That's where the fire was. The troops were trying to put it out. To preserve the installation."

"I know," Morak said simply. "Subcommander Pelos has already submitted a complete report. What I fail to grasp is where you were in all of this?"

Sela fell silent.

"Well?" Morak demanded.

"I was in the main building. I had one of them trapped," Sela said.

"Hmm," Morak said, nodding slowly.

He glanced around, surveying the room before turning back to his daughter.

"And where is this prisoner? I don't see him," Morak asked, feigning ignorance.

It wasn't enough for Morak to merely reprimand his daughter – he had to humiliate her. Such treatment had been a routine part of Sela's upbringing.

When she had been a little girl, Morak would routinely create scenarios to 'catch' Sela simply remind her that there was nothing she could hide from him.

"He escaped," Sela admitted.

Sela had always been ashamed of failure. In that moment, she didn't feel like a Commander. She felt like a little girl and that was precisely Morak's intention.

Her father paused and took a sip of his drink, intentionally drawing out the moment so as to instil fear in his daughter.

"But why did you not kill him on sight?" Morak asked.

"As soon as he dematerialised I went after them. Immediately. That's how I realised they had stolen a ship," Sela explained.

Morak set his drink down.

"Why did you not kill him on sight?" Morak repeated.

Sela's back hit the wall as her father's hand closed around her neck. She hung there, gasping for air as she clawed at his hand.

"Because you hesitated. Just like you hesitate now," Morak sneered.

Sela's lungs were on fire as Morak's grip constricted her airway.

"It was that traitor, wasn't it? You allowed yourself to be taken in. How many times have I warned you to set aside this emotional weakness?" Morak growled.

Sela's mind began to slip away, her consciousness felt like it was leaving her body.

Morak could see she was nearly gone and loosened his grip enough to allow limited oxygen.

"Warning," Sela managed to choke out.

It was a desperate attempt to save her own skin. Morak eased up to allow her to speak.

"The outposts that were destroyed. It wasn't them," Sela shared.

Morak rolled his eyes.

"You foolish girl," Morak spat. "This will be the last time you put the words of a traitor above our own intelligence."

Morak released his grip and Sela dropped to the floor, clutching her neck as she gasped for air. On instinct, she remained there on her knees and braced herself, expecting her father to deliver a sentence of severe punishment.

"Why did we find your ship adrift? It was nearly destroyed," Morak asked.

"They fired two torpedoes. I was unable to avoid them," Sela said.

"Then they fired upon you?" Morak inquired.

"Yes," Sela answered.

She kept her head low, her gaze fixated on the floor.

"They intended to kill you," Morak said.

"Yes," Sela said.

Her resolve began to falter. Sela's face flushed. Her eyes began to well up.

"Then your protector has betrayed you. Is he not their leader?" Morak pressed.

"Yes," Sela replied through gritted teeth.

In spite of her best efforts not to cry, hot tears began to spill over. Morak watched as his daughter fought to keep her composure.

Morak knelt down and slipped two fingers under her chin, lifting Sela's face to meet his eyes.

"They betrayed you. It is in their nature. That is why you must never put your faith in humans. In the end, they will always betray you," Morak said softly.

Sela sniffled as he brushed away her tears.

"He didn't love you, Sela. He never loved you. He only wanted to get close to you so he could use you for this silly rebellion," Morak went on.

Morak pulled her into his arms, holding his daughter close as she sobbed.

"I know it hurts. Use it. Harden your heart, Sela. You must learn to shut out these human failings," Morak cooed. "It's not your fault your blood is flawed. That was my weakness. But I fear you are the one that must suffer for it."

Morak's love for his daughter was strange, fanatical even. One minute he could be the most terrifying, cruel man and the next he was sweet, doting.

Sela was Morak's only surviving heir.

He had been less than enthusiastic at her birth though anger had quickly dissipated to disappointment after confirmation that she was, in fact, Morak's child.

At least her ears were Romulan.

Yet little Sela had quickly endeared herself to her father. There was something in her nature, an unstoppable will to survive that spoke of an indomitable spirit.

Just like her mother.

"I'm the only one that's ever truly loved you, Sela. Don't ever forget that," Morak said.

She nodded against his shoulder.

"Come now. Dry your tears," he ordered.

It was a task easier said than done.

"I've had them prepare your bath," Morak said.

That explained that pleasant, familiar aroma that lingered in the room.

"You will be dressed and ready before final meal. We'll be joined by Senator Aulus, his son, and several members of the Senate Security Committee," Morak said.

Sela was only half-listening, her mind still consumed with the events of earlier.

"We need their support on a vote scheduled for next week. So offer praise for his work on the trade negotiations with the Breen," Morak instructed. "And there are other business matters to attend to."

"Yes, fenthair," Sela responded in a faraway voice.

"And Duras," Morak said. "He'll be joining us as well."

Her father's words barely registered.

"I should go after them. The stolen ship," she said.

"Did you hear me? Duras will be there tonight as well," Morak said.

Sela stiffened.

She didn't care for Duras. Their families had long been allies, sharing similar interests including resources and information that was mutually beneficial to both parties.

And in recent years, Duras had shown an inappropriate interest in Sela – a fact her father was keen to exploit.

"I-I-I don't feel well enough," Sela said.

It was partially true. Her injuries were severe. She had barely had time to recuperate properly, and a bath certainly wasn't going to fix the bruising.

Morak gripped the back of Sela's hair.

"You will be there on time. Presentable and pleasant. You will laugh at his jokes and tell him how impressed you were with his recent conquests in the Krondak sector," Morak said in a low, dangerous voice. "If he asks you to jump, you will say 'how high?' Because he will be the next Chancellor of the Klingon High Council."

Morak was counting on it – and on the promise of Duras to break the Klingon Empire's alliance with the Federation.

"You would use me like a whore for what? Dilithium? A weapons shipment?" Sela asked, appalled but not a bit surprised.

Morak's attitude immediately shifted.

"No, no, no. Never," he said in a sweet tone as he pet her hair. "We are merely taking advantage of his weakness. Your duty is to keep him interested. Dangle the prize then snatch it away before he can claim it. It's a game, child."

Sela flinched as Morak twisted his fingers into her hair.

"Wear your red dress," he snarled against her ear.

Morak pressed a kiss against her temple.

"Enjoy your bath, my little eagle. And do be on time," Morak said before releasing her.

---

As soon as her father was gone, Sela collapsed to the floor. She took several slow, steadying breaths to ground herself.

The minutes ticked by as Sela lay there, contemplating all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

The timepiece on the wall continued to tick. It was an unpleasant reminder that she had duties to perform.

Only she didn't want to perform any official duties. Sela was in no mood to attend a state function.

She wanted to be small again, safe in the arms of her protector. She wanted to return to a time before he knew that he was capable of turning on her.

A time when she had simply been Lala.

A time when she felt loved.

Sela ripped off her talons and cast them aside. She kicked her boots off and stripped away her uniform.

With all physical traces of her rank and position in society discarded, Sela stepped into the bath.

On instinct, Sela's hand found the locket that hung around her neck. Sela was grateful that the neckline of her uniform was high enough to hide that she wore it.

Sela opened the locket and took out two small golden pips.

She held them in her hand, studying them for a moment. As Sela ran her fingers across them, she wondered how different her life would have been had she had a mother who loved her.

Sela secured them back in her locket.

She leaned back against the tub, resting her head on the edge.

I love you. I have always loved you as my own, Lala.

Sela didn't want to feel anything – but she couldn't stop replaying his words in her mind.

She slipped under the water, allowing herself a moment to completely dissociate from the world.

---

Lightyears away, Tasha Yar felt incredible.

She had just reached that blissful point when the endorphin rush from a good run began to kick in.

Her mind was clear.

Tasha let her head empty as she raced past the coastline in one of her favourite running programmes. On one side sat a thick blanket of tall birch trees. On the other was the vast ocean.

There was a cool breeze that blew through her hair, providing both a sense of freedom and the perfect air temperature for a long distance run.

She was nearly an hour into her run – the first time she'd had a chance to actually run on the holodeck in ages.

With the travel restrictions still in place, holodeck appointments were strictly rationed. That meant Tasha had been forced to move her runs to the fitness centre instead.

It was hardly comparable to running out in the simulated beauty of all the different paths the holodeck could offer.

She surmised it was that difference between treadmill or synthetic rubber and the dirt path she was currently on that explained her rough start.

Things had been a bit shaky at the start.

Her balance felt… off.

To make matters worse, Tasha could already feel the fatigue.

Move. She said, urging herself to push forward.

Tasha was no stranger to pushing herself. When exhaustion set in, she liked to challenge herself. Five more minutes, two, one – anything he could to keep going.

But her legs felt heavy, her chest was uncomfortably tight.

And with each passing step, Tasha found herself growing woozy.

All too late, Tasha realised she couldn't go on.

She misjudged her step, landing awkwardly on her left foot and could not recover. She lost her balance and crashed to the ground.

Too tired to fight, fatigue won out.

---

Miles O'Brien stepped off the lift and onto deck 10.

He had just finished his shift and was looking forward to a long-awaited evening with a new kayaking programme on the holodeck.

He made his way down the corridor, whistling as he went because there was nothing that could stand in the way of his evening.

Miles stopped a metre from the door.

Programme In Use.

Miles had half a mind to give the person inside a good talking to.

They were under strict orders to mind their time. It was inconsiderate to run over into someone else's designated appointment.

After all, they were all supposed to pull together.

But Miles had made himself a promise that nothing was going to bring down his mood.

So straightening his uniform, he opened the arch and opted to merely make a friendly request that the person before wrap it up in a timely fashion.

"Hello?" Miles called out.

There was no answer.

"Hello? I hate to be that guy – but your time is up," Miles said.

He was greeted with silence only.

"Hel-"

Miles stopped, spying a body ahead.

He rushed forward. As he drew closer, Miles realised it was Tasha.

He dropped to his knees. She was breathing and had a pulse – both good signs. But she was scraped up like she'd taken a nasty fall.

"Lieutenant? Tasha? Tasha?" Miles asked as he gently shook her shoulder.

She stirred.

"Mmm?" she asked, confused.

She tried to sit up and was overcome with a sense of dizziness. Tasha laid back down against the ground, breath slowly for a moment before she tried to pull herself up again.

Her hand shot out to steady herself.

"Whoa, take it easy," Miles said as he caught her.

Tasha blinked a few times as she tried to recall what happened.

"Stay here. Lie down. I'll get a medical team," Miles said.

"No!" Tasha said quickly.

The very last thing she wanted was to wind up in Sickbay.

Miles frowned. He knew Tasha could be stubborn. But it was obvious something was wrong.

"I just lost my balance. I tripped," Tasha said.

"And then decided 'oh this looks like a nice place. I think I'll just stay down here.' Eh?" Miles asked, giving her a knowing look.

Tasha's shoulders slumped.

"I've been really pushing myself lately. And it's… it's been hard," Tasha confessed.

She was easily fatigued. Her cardio workouts in particular were getting harder to complete. She'd had to shorten her time on the sparring mat with Worf and even scale down her weight while lifting.

She was making gains, but it was difficult to maintain her pace.

"I've upped my caloric intake, but I fear it hasn't been enough," Tasha shared.

It had been a mistake to skip her afternoon snack. She'd needed that additional fuel and now Tasha was paying the price.

Wordlessly she pleaded with Miles to understand.

To Tasha's great embarrassment she could feel her cheeks grow warm.

"I'm sorry," she apologised.

"T?" Miles prompted, concerned as she started to cry.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head and turning away.

"Your cheeks are too wet for it to be nothing," Miles pointed out.

Tasha wiped both her eyes and then turned back to Mile. To his surprise, she laughed.

"I'm sorry," she said with a shrug. "Ugh. It's so hard trying to train again. Ever since those damn prototype suits. And those stupid nanocytes."

Miles could empathise.

His kayaking prowess had taken a hit too. And it was frustrating to have worked so hard for so long only to take a huge step back.

The experiment had gone wrong. It was no one's fault – but that did little to fix the lasting impact of their experience.

Miles couldn't begin to imagine how much harder it was for Tasha and Worf for that matter. Their lives revolved around training. It had been a massive blow to both body and ego.

"Urgghh, and now I'm interrupting your time," Tasha said as she made to get up.

Miles stopped her.

"Hey. Are you sure you should be standing? I could walk you back to your quarters?" he offered.

"No. I'm fine, really. Just a dizzy spell," Tasha assured him.

Miles wasn't entirely convinced.

"Maybe you should have Doc Crusher give you the once over? Just in case," Miles suggested.

"Look. I promise this is nothing. I just need better snacks is all. And more of them," Tasha teased.

She bit her lip.

"Do something for me, Chief?" she asked.

"Of course," Miles said.

"Don't tell Data. He'll only stress about this," Tasha requested.

Miles grinned.

"Don't you worry. I completely understand. He and Keiko are peas in a pod when it comes to that. You needn't bother thinking of it. Secret's safe," Miles promised.

---

Thirty minutes later, Tasha Yar stepped out of a hot bath.

She gripped the counter for support. Her vision blurred. Her stomach turned. Tasha clutched the counter and lowered herself to her knees.

She tried to focus on her breathing and the cool tile of the floor – anything except for the sense of weakness that made her want to slip from consciousness.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Damn blood sugar. She thought.

Tasha kicked herself. She really ought to have put something in her system before hopping into the bath. But she was so stiff and felt grimy.

She had only wanted to clean up before grabbing a bite.

Now Tasha found herself full of regret. She vowed from that point forward, she would make every effort to be mindful of her blood sugar and caloric intake.

Because this wasn't the first time.

Or even the second.

Tasha had increasingly felt faint at times – getting out of bed too fast, stepping out of a hot shower, after her workouts.

There was even an alarming incident where a wave of dizziness had hit during a training exercise on duty.

Being lightheaded on shift was bad enough. Having it occur while thirty metres up a vertical Jefferies tube ladder was a real problem.

Tasha was lucky she had been alone and that she'd managed to pull herself into an adjacent horizontal tube.

She had already upped her caloric intake. She was eating more whole grains, more protein, more complex carbs.

None of it seemed to make a difference.

She was keeping extra snacks just to find the energy to get through the day.

Worst of all, it was never enough.

She'd eaten an entire family-sized pan of baked ziti the night before and was still hungry.

Tasha was grateful for the weight gain. She'd been desperate to put on some pounds after the nanocytes left her practically emaciated.

But she was starting to worry that if she couldn't keep up with her workouts that weight was going to become a problem in a few months' time.

On cue, her stomach rumbled.

"Oh shut up. I know," Tasha grumbled.

Her stomach lurched again, almost like it was whining that if she wasn't fed soon she was going to make trouble for Tasha.

Tasha certainly couldn't afford to have Data come home and find her passed out on the floor.

"Quiet you," Tasha instructed.

Only her body had no intention of going silent.

"Oi. I'm not eating naked. You're not starving," Tasha said.

She stopped.

I'm talking to myself again. Tasha realised.

She shook her head. That too had been a new change in Tasha's routine. She thought for a moment perhaps stress had finally gotten to her.

Tasha pushed away the thought. If she had to ask the question, it probably meant she wasn't cracking.

"Alright. Yes. I know you want hasperat," Tasha said aloud as she glanced down at herself.

---

When Data arrived home, he found Tasha on the sofa in her quarters with her nose in her tablet.

He had provided Tasha with no shortage of information on events, activities, and information available on Føroyar. They still had no idea when they would get to go, but that didn't mean putting their wedding planning on hold.

In fact, both Data and Tasha had taken great pleasure in reading up on all the options available for their stay.

"Wedding planning?" Data asked.

Tasha grinned without looking up.

"Sort of," Tasha replied.

Data's neural net surged.

"I see," he said in a low voice. "Have you looked through what I sent? Couples massage? The natural hot springs? The ski chalet with the private balcony?"

Tasha nodded.

Data had bombarded her inbox with ideas for the trip.

"I did. But at the moment, I'm looking at something else," Tasha said.

"Did you see the brochure on the ice climbing? They also have deep-sea cold water dive spots and an afternoon fishing experience," Data said.

He plopped down on the sofa next to Tasha and titled her tablet so he could see just what she had in mind.

He blinked.

"Tasha, this is a menu," Data said, confused.

She nodded.

"My mind was on food," she said, glancing over at the empty stack of plates, bowls, and jars on the coffee table.

There were empty dishes from two plates of hasperat, a bowl of blueberries, pickle jars, a bowl of soup dumplings, sticky rice, a cheese and pickle sarnie, and a massive peanut butter milkshake.

Tasha's face flushed, embarrassed as she eyed the damage. It was like an out of body experience as she ate.

"You are embarrassed," he observed. "I do not understand."

Tasha shrugged.

"I've always had a healthy appetite. Sorry. I just felt like I hadn't eaten in three days," Tasha said.

Data cupped her face.

"You have no reason to apologise," Data assured her. "I am pleased to see you eating again."

For several weeks Tasha had been off food. But recently, her appetite had returned.

"And I will take you to every seafood restaurant on Føroyar if that will bring you happiness," Data said.

They were planning to split their time between the remote Skýr Point and the populated portion of the planet. Part of their trip would be roughing it in the wilderness. Then they were planning to return and celebrate their nuptials alone at one of the lavish resorts the destination spot offered.

The best of both worlds.

"In fact," Data began to say.

He swiped through the different brochures on Tasha's tablet until he found the right page. It was one of the resort options Data had forwarded – private luxury cabins with all the proper modern conveniences.

The picture in the advert showed an oversized tub with a breath-taking view of the coast.

"I quite like the idea of feeding you strawberries and sushi, champagne," he said as he gave her a look.

That look.

The one that made Tasha want to melt into a puddle.

Data set the table aside as he closed in on her.

"We do not even have to leave the room after we check in," Data whispered, his mouth hovering just inches above her own.

"I guess I won't have to pack much," Tasha teased with a nervous laugh.

"The less the better," Data growled before capturing her lips.

---

Data picked up a strawberry and plopped it into Tasha's mouth.

They were snuggled on the sofa – Data resting back and Tasha in his lap.

"Mmm," she said in approval as she chewed on the sweet fruit.

"Mmm," Data echoed, nibbling on her shoulder.

Without breaking contact between his lips and her skin, Data reached for another piece of fruit and offered it to Tasha.

She giggled.

"We should do this always. Every time," Tasha said.

"I quite agree," Data said.

Once again, they'd spent their evening in one another's arms. With little to do on the ship and travel restrictions in place, making love had fast become the hobby of choice for many crew members.

In a way, Tasha felt for those who were separated from their loved ones. She couldn't imagine getting through this without Data.

Tasha closed her eyes and let her head fall to the side, granting Data better access to her neck.

"You know, I have dreamed of this," Data said.

Tasha chuckled.

"Of getting naked and eating strawberries?" Tasha teased.

"Yes. In a way," Data commented.

He nuzzled against Tasha's neck and then rested his chin on her shoulder.

"I have often thought about moments like this," Data shared. "I let my thoughts wander. Theories about events that could come to pass. Things I would like to happen."

He had many thoughts about things he wanted to experience with Tasha.

"Daydreaming as you call it. I think about what it will be like someday. Doing this," Data said.

"We're doing this right now," Tasha said as she snuggled back against him.

"I think about what it will be like when you are pregnant," Data murmured.

Tasha's body tensed.

"Someday. When you are ready," Data added quickly.

Tasha held her breath as Data clutched her abdomen.

"What it will be like to know you are carrying my child. To have this time together, to bond with our baby while I feed my beautiful wife, massage your feet, sing to our baby," Data went on.

Tasha felt like she couldn't breathe.

She sat up suddenly.

"Whoa, Data I agreed to a family. Someday," Tasha said. "But. I don't know about… that is to say there are a lot of ways to make a family, Data."

Her hands were shaking.

"The idea of pregnancy is displeasing," Data realised.

His voice was even, but Tasha could sense his disappointment.

"To be honest the whole thing terrifies me," Tasha confessed.

She gripped his hand.

"I want a family with you, Data. I do. And we'll have one," she promised.

Tasha had to make that abundantly clear. She wanted to leave no doubt – she knew how important it was to Data.

"But not right away. Not for a long time. I'm not ready," Tasha said in a small voice. "And I… I don't think I'll ever be ready to carry a child."

The trauma of watching her mother – and many other women – die on Turkana was too deep for Tasha to overlook. Maternal mortality rates were high.

Too high.

And Tasha had spent far too many agonising years as a child desperately trying to avoid that fate. On Turkana, Tasha's sole purpose and value had been judged only on her ability to bear children.

She still shuddered to think about the men that would inspect her body, examine her teeth, poking and prodding and measuring as they evaluated what kind of offspring she might bear.

Even when Tasha had been taken in by a foster family after her rescue, they had seen her as nothing more than breeding stock to grow their numbers.

It was traumatising.

Her dream to have a family with Data only reinforced Tasha's decision that she never wished to birth children. It was a relief Data's DNA storage seemed to be an unfinished part of his anatomy.

"I would really like to adopt a child someday. And knowing Timothy has only strengthened that desire," Tasha explained.

Her heart sank as Data sat there listening patiently.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry to disappoint you," she said.

She dropped her gaze to her lap and began to pick at her fingernails.

Data slipped his fingers under her chin and gently lifted her head.

"Nothing would make me happier," Data said in earnest.

Tasha frowned.

"I want to have a family with you, Tasha. Whatever form that takes," Data said.

Tasha relaxed.

"I would never love a child any less. The circumstances of their birth are hardly important. I simply wish to have a family with you," Data continued. "And I would be thrilled to adopt."

Data pulled Tasha into a tight embrace.

"When you are ready," he added.

Data was concerned as Tasha started sobbing uncontrollably.

"Tasha? Tasha, have I said something wrong?" he asked, panicked.

"N-n-no," she snivelled.

Tasha clutched his shoulders, wordlessly conveying her deep appreciation for Data. For someone that had spent her childhood being taught her only value was in her uterus, it was a relief to find someone like Data.

He didn't see her as a means to an end. He saw and respected Tasha as a person.

And Data was only too willing to let her decide when and how she wanted children.

"I love you, Data," Tasha said.

"I love you as well," he replied.

Tasha sat back and reached for a tissue to clean her face.

"In any case, it's for the best," Tasha said.

Data cocked his head to the side.

"I'm sure I'd be a right terror," Tasha teased. "I've no doubt Beverly would put a stop to my training. I'd be frustrated about my job. I'd be disbarred from most away missions."

Tasha sighed.

"At least all the good ones," she said with a wicked grin.

"If you think for a moment you could get around that," Data warned. "I would not even permit you to walk from the bed to the bath."

Tasha raised an eyebrow, challenging that.

"I would carry you everywhere," Data insisted, joking.

"Uh huh. And I'm sure it would only get easier, right? The way I eat I'd probably balloon as soon as I stopped training," Tasha said. "I'll get fat. Lose all interest in sex."

Data pounced and Tasha instinctively backed away against the sofa.

He pressed a soft kiss to her abdomen and then looked up at Tasha.

"I would worship every inch of your body," he said.

He kissed the spot just below her navel before dropping down to press his lips against the inside of her knee.

"You are so beautiful," Data said, the mood instantly shifting from playful to tender.

Tasha took hold of Data's hand and pulled him close so they could cuddle.

Data closed his eyes and groaned as Tasha gently ran her nails across his back. He had no biological need to scratch his skin.

But it felt good.

"We certainly couldn't do this if I was preggers or we had a little one," Tasha remarked.

"Mmm. That is reason enough for me," Data replied.

---

"They're not here," Proventus said.

"Yet," Ghost said.

"We need to get moving," Proventus insisted.

Coyote and his band of rebels were waiting at the rendezvous point. Unfortunately, their comrades had not arrived.

The two men that were gone on a scouting mission had yet to show. With each passing second, tension on the Bridge only grew.

"They've probably got an entire division of the fleet combing the area for us," Proventus warned.

Thus far they had managed to evade several passing ships that were no doubt part of a search grid. The cloak helped, but it wasn't a guarantee.

And the longer they taxed their power cell, the less likely they were to make it to Freecloud.

"The Romulans don't know our plans. We can use that to our advantage. They think we're responsible for the outposts the mechs destroyed. For all they know, we could be on our way to take out another," Coyote explained.

"Let's give it a couple more hours, eh?" Roosevelt suggested.

Proventus was displeased.

"You'll be chatting up some bird at the Dabo tables on Freecloud in a few days," Roosevelt said.

"If we're still alive in a few days," Proventus retorted.

"Needs a shower first. The girls will smell him coming before we beam down!" Verax teased.

"We all do. Ugh. Been ages since I've had a proper shower," one of the men said.

"I too need to bathe," Sodan commented.

Roosevelt sniffed the air.

"No need to announce it, buddy. We all know," he said, elbowing Sodan.

Romulans considered bathing an art form. There simply hadn't been enough power to maintain using the bathing facility at the outpost.

So the team had been forced to make due with more primitive methods. At the very least, the waterfall never seemed to freeze – even if the water felt cold enough to.

The men were prepping themselves for their first real chance to enjoy civilisation. They joked and teased one another, boasting about their chance to get at the Dabo tables and all that Freecloud had to offer.

"There's a buffet. An Orion place. If it's still there, that is."

"I'm heading straight for the Vine district."

It was a well known area teeming with brothels.

"Those girls won't know what hit 'em," Verax declared.

"How do you even know it still works?" Ghost asked with mock seriousness.

Throughout most of their ordeal, the men had been forbidden any form of companionship and relationships were strictly forbidden.

Their Romulan overlords carefully controlled Morak's labour force and its population. He saw them as an asset. Occasionally, he would match certain workers for the purpose of copulation.

It was anything but a reward.

Rather, it was solely to grow numbers and Coyote and his men dreaded being chosen for that task. Many of them would rather feign injury or illness than risk fathering a child born in Romulan captivity.

And when they had finally escaped, the circumstances of their lives meant relationships, even sex strictly for pleasure was nothing more than a dream.

They didn't have time.

Or energy.

And in some cases, they had no desire to because they were hoping against all odds to be reunited with their loved ones.

Ahn had a wife. She was killed in the attack on Narendra III. He could never put aside that loss.

But as the men designed their plans for Freecloud, there was one man unable to join in the celebration.

Coyote found a quiet corner and sat down alone.

He pulled out the faded blue ribbon and ran it through his fingers.

"You loved her as your own child," Ahn said as he sat down next to him.

Coyote nodded.

"She was my child," Coyote said.

He knew General Morak would dispute that assertion. Coyote may not have done the deed, but he'd as good as raised her.

For a time.

"I just… I just wanted to get them out," Coyote said, breaking down.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he began to cry. How different life might have been had they not failed that fateful night?

How different would his girl have turned out if she'd managed to escape?

"Now she's dead," Coyote said in a small voice.

As far as he knew, they had destroyed her ship.

"She was the only thing I had left. The only reason I had to keep living," Coyote shared.

"Perhaps you will find new purpose?" Ahn said in his deep, soothing voice.

Ahn had once thought his life over only to find himself reborn. He gave his friend a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and then left him alone with his thoughts.

Coyote glanced out the window into the dark expanse. There were so few stars there was only a dim flickering far off.

It was like his beloved was fading.

"I failed you, Tuula," Coyote whispered.

---

"The House of Duras controls eight dilithium mines in the Danjaktan Sector," Duras said, boasting of his impressive conquests.

"Hmm," Senator Aulus said, feigning disinterest.

He lifted his wine glass, swirling the contents as he turned to his son.

"We've had problems with the quality of dilithium in that region of space," the Senator remarked. "Isn't that right, Arcturus?"

His son, Arcturus, was hardly paying attention to his father's words. For the better of dinner, he'd been feeding himself with his fingers – making a show of cracking the heavy shell of the Mulchek nuts with his bare hands before popping them into his mouth.

He slowly licked his fingers, dragging them across his lower lip as he eyed Sela from across the table.

"I said isn't that right, Arcturus?" his father repeated.

Senator Aulus slapped his son's elbow that was supporting his weight.

"Right. Yes. Forgive me," Arcturus said quickly.

His own father was scowling but General Morak couldn't be more pleased.

"Children," the General mused.

He reached to his left and gripped Sela's hand.

"Tell me, Arcturus, I believe the last time we were all together was at the Imperial Festival of Light," Morak said. "Sadly my daughter was not in attendance. She has recently completed her education at the Imperial War Academy."

Sela may have been granted that opportunity because of her father – but she had worked hard during her time there.

"Nineteen and with a command of her own," Morak said, beaming with pride.

Sela kept perfectly still as her father reached up to stroke her hair.

"My sole heir and someday she will be my successor," Morak went on.

Sela's chest felt tight. She suddenly understood precisely why her father had invited Senator Aulus and Duras to the same dinner.

Morak was dangling Sela like a carrot, pitting the two of them against one another to see who would make a better offer.

Morak didn't care about Sela – he only wanted to expand his power.

"You know if my nephew fails to produce an heir, Sela is next in line," Morak went on.

It was her birthright.

It was a terrifying prospect and one Sela had long ago convinced herself would never come to fruition. In any case, she didn't want it.

Romulan Emperors rarely lasted long.

And when they died, it wasn't old age.

General Morak chuckled.

"After me, of course," Morak said.

Senator Aulus laughed.

"And you think the Empress, or his sister would let that happen? You will have to walk over three graves in order to claim that title," Aulus pointed out.

Morak swirled his wine around in the glass in his hand, watching as it clung to the sides.

"Divines forbid," Morak said with a hint of sarcasm. "All I do is in service of my Empire. An Empire that will soon be expanding thanks to me."

His plan to infiltrate Starfleet was on track to destabilise the Federation. In another six months, the Romulans would be ready to make their final play – to strike right at the heart by annexing Earth.

"Supreme Commander of the Fleet, Proconsul of the Senate – surely you wouldn't have time," Aulus said.

His comment may have sounded light-hearted, but it was intended to signal he did not approve of General Morak's claim.

"One finds a way to make time," Morak replied.

He lifted his glass to make a toast.

"To friends," Morak said. "I promise that when I am Emperor I will always remember my friends."

Suddenly, three of the men at the table began to choke. They spluttered and coughed, grabbing their necks in a desperate attempt to breathe.

They were the three other Senators Morak had invited to dinner, members of the Senate Security Committee that had voted against increasing Morak's budget.

One of them knocked his wine glass over and clutched the tablecloth.

Senator Aulus and his son watched in silent terror. Duras appeared disinterred. Morak closed his eyes and relished in the sound of their death.

Sela was too numb to care.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen her father poison an enemy at dinner.

As soon as they stopped moving, Morak snapped his fingers. His staff quickly came in to refill everyone's wine glass.

Aulus was hesitant to drink.

"It's perfectly safe," Morak assured him. "If I wanted you dead, you would be. Already."

"What do you want?" Aulus demanded.

It was evident Morak was after something and that Aulus was still of some value to him.

"Sela, why don't you escort Duras down to Deck 9? You could introduce him to our guests," Morak said.

---

"As you can see, the host loses all independent cognitive ability. Within minutes of implantation, the parasite has complete control," Sela explained.

Sela and Duras were down on Deck 9 in an observation room overlooking one of the labs. Below, one of the human victims was in the first stages of implantation.

"It doesn't always take. Sometimes the host dies in the process. And once they've been infected, they're immune," Sela went on.

They had learned that after extensive testing. It was a disappointment. But as the parasite was nearly impossible to detect, they weren't too concerned with that fact.

"My team has managed to successfully implant more than two hundred of these little miracles," Sela said.

"And how did you accomplish this?" Duras inquired.

His brow furrowed as he knelt down to watch one of the parasites crawl around in a glass containment area.

"The idea originated based on an Iconian insect. We found several in preservation on Nel Unro III. They're similar to a modern species in that system. With some genetic engineering and crossbreeding we managed to create an offshoot of our Centaurian slug," Sela informed him.

She tapped the glass and smiled down at the disgusting creature inside.

"It took nine years of work for my father to create them," Sela said. "Now we can breed them. We have hundreds in cold storage."

General Morak wasn't just planning an overthrow, he was seeking to sell these slugs to other interested parties for their own nefarious purposes – namely his own advancement.

What he wasn't disclosing to buyers was that Morak retained all control through the master host.

He was preparing to slip his tentacles into the Breen, Klingons, Cardassians, and the Jarada.

"Something like this could easily tip the balance of power on the Klingon High Council. You wouldn't even need to depose K'mpec if you controlled the entire Council," Sela remarked.

Duras stood up and eyed Sela hard.

"And what would you know of the Council?" Duras snarled.

Sela kept her cool. She leaned back against the counter in the lab, resting her elbows there in a way as to intentionally display herself.

"Where would you like me to start?" she asked innocently. "The House of Jein's claims on the Lonar Colonies? Or would prefer to discuss the impact of the Lyran Trade Agreement of 2318 and its impact on textile production?"

Duras stepped in close.

Sela didn't flinch.

"You know quite a lot," Duras said.

"It's all I've been raised to do. Ever since I was a little girl. I spent all my time with tutors. Military history. Klingon politics. Federation diplomacy. Philosophy. Law. Navigation. Fencing," Sela went on.

She didn't have a childhood so much as she had a preparatory course for Imperial leadership. Sela was, perhaps, the most educated of all her peers among the children of the Romulan elite.

She spoke eight languages and could debate interplanetary affairs in every one of them.

"Then you have opinions. You enjoy conversing," Duras said.

"Enough to keep a man like you interested," Sela said as she glanced up at Duras.

Sela's fear of her father's reprisal was stronger that her revulsion for Duras.

"You are a clever girl," Duras said.

She smirked.

Duras leaned in close, his breath was hot against her ear.

"I hate clever women," Duras said in a low, dangerous voice.

Sela wasn't necessarily afraid. There were only two things that frightened her – turning out like her mother and the possibility of disappointing her father.

Again.

"Then what do you like?" Sela asked in a whisper.

Duras threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Suddenly, Sela felt like a child – a humiliated child wearing lipstick and a costume, pretending to be older than she was.

"Is there something that amuses you?" Sela asked, outraged.

Duras chuckled as he looked her up and down, clicking his tongue.

"Your father really does want a permanent treaty between us," Duras remarked.

Morak had been pushing for a formal alliance – complete with payments, dilithium, troops, ships, and promises of support.

General Morak also understood that in order to secure such an alliance with a Great Klingon House, the only way to guarantee it's lasting effect would be through marriage.

"So he dresses up his child to parade in front of me?" Duras scoffed.

Sela's fists clenched, her rage starting to boil over.

"I'm a Commander in the Romulan Fleet," she snapped.

"Did you daddy get you that posting?" Duras asked, mocking her.

"How dare you!" Sela roared. "I am an alumni of the Imperial War Academy. A member of the Imperial family. A direct descendant of Emperor Ezio Iconias!"

Romulans were always keen to share their alleged lineage to the Iconians – dubious at best.

"You're the bastard daughter of a human whore," Duras sneered.

"Forgive me for mistaking your revulsion for leering," Sela countered.

Duras didn't have a response and Sela knew she'd caught him.

"For you see my father mistook your intentions. He thought you had an interest in me," Sela went on.

Duras stepped forward and clutched the front of her dress in his fist. It was another attempt to intimidate her – but Sela was so numb she couldn't find it in herself to react.

"I would take great pleasure in breaking you," Duras threatened.

He snarled, baring his teeth as Sela remained motionless. She didn't react. Sela held his gaze, commanding his attention as she ran her fingers across her exposed collarbone.

Duras may have made her skin crawl – but Sela knew she had an obligation to perform for his benefit.

"Pity for you it will have to remain a dream," Sela said before slipping away.

She grinned to herself when Duras followed.

It was a game. And Sela knew how to play it better than anyone.

---

When Sela and Duras returned to the conference room, Senator Aulus and General Morak were discussing territorial claims on a province and whether the Senator would be willing to back General's Morak's chosen pick for an upcoming special election.

Romulan elections were always rigged – it just came down to a question of who was doing the fixing.

With her duties complete, Sela sought to slip away.

"Duras, please join us. We were just discussing politics," Morak said, offering him a seat.

He snapped his fingers and one of their servants rushed forward to Duras's cup.

"Fenthair, if I might be excused to return to my duties?" Sela inquired.

Morak nodded, giving his approval.

Sela wasn't more than two metres from the door when she heard someone behind her.

It was Arcturus, the son of Senator Aulus.

Sela just shook her head.

"Did my father send you?" she asked with a hint of amusement.

"Yes," Arcturus answered. "And if I return too soon, then both our fathers will be disappointed."

Like Sela, Arcturus was no stranger to this sort of affair.

"You see my father came here tonight for one purpose only and I suspect your father had the same intention," Arcturus said.

Sela couldn't help but smirk.

"What was the offer?" Sela inquired.

She wasn't just curious for the sake of curiosity. Sela wanted to know her precise worth to their family.

Because knowledge was power.

Arcturus laughed.

"I'm not privy to all the details but I know your father's hoping to gain support for this plan to destabilise the Federation," Arcturus said, stepping closer.

He looked Sela up and down, making no attempt to hide his intentions. His hand rested on her hip.

"They'll be expecting us to come back but not for another hour. What do you say we play along?" he suggested. "Why should they have all the fun?"

Sela was tempted.

He was devilishly handsome, and it would be fun to get back at her father in a small way.

She keened as Arcturus's lips ghosted along the side of her neck.

"You know if it all works out, we may be seeing more of each other," he purred.

"I suppose that wouldn't be so bad," Sela teased.

Romulan marriages were rarely about love. They were political arrangements, agreements in name only with strictly stipulated contracts.

Most people lived apart from their legal spouses, completely separate lives.

If one was lucky, they might find friendship or an attractive and tolerable spouse – at least enough to make the deed of an heir and spare bearable.

"I wouldn't mind," Arcturus murmured as he nipped the pulse point of Sela's neck. "You are certainly more alluring than Livissa."

Livissa? Sela thought.

Livissa was one of Sela's cousins – well below her in both her position in the Imperial family and social status. Her immediate family had neither the wealth nor power to compete with General Morak and his position as de facto head of the family.

"There's something almost forbidden about you," Arcturus went on as grabbed Sela.

Sela froze, putting up her hands to stop him. She was confused why her cousin was a part of this conversation and Sela didn't feel comfortable with the way Arcturus was talking about her.

"What do you mean Livissa?" she asked.

"Once I'm married to Livissa, perhaps I could request reassignment to your ship?" Arcturus suggested as he moved in to resume.

Sela pushed him away.

"Livissa?" she repeated in disbelief.

Arcturus took a step back and chuckled.

"Yes. Surely you didn't think my father was here to negotiate for your hand? I mean you're not exactly Romulan, are you?" Arcturus remarked, cutting straight to Sela's greatest self-doubt.

Sela had always been self-conscious about her human-like features. She'd spent much of her childhood taunted by her peers.

They never did so to her face. They were all too frightened of Sela's father. But Sela knew. She could hear them whisper when she passed in the corridors or forced her to eat alone.

It was isolating.

Arcturus could tell he'd touched a nerve.

"Oh it's not a bad thing. There's something exotic about it," he said as dove in again, necking at Sela's collarbone.

"Just not good enough for marriage though, eh?" Sela asked. "What would I be then to you? A conquest? A casual fuck? Tell all your friends you had Morak's daughter?"

"No," Arcturus said. "I was thinking something more long-term. After all, isn't it best we keep it in the family?"

Another Romulan adage.

Affairs were always best kept among non-blood related family in order to stop information leaks or changing allegiances.

"If you would have me, I would make you my consort," Arcturus offered.

Consort.

The very word made Sela's stomach turn.

Her mother had been a consort and Sela knew exactly what that life entailed.

Sela didn't want to be some fancy man's weekend entertainment. She wasn't about to trade away her rank or freedom to become a toy for his amusement.

Sela had designs on something far greater.

"You're a pig," Sela said, shoving Arcturus away.

He was stunned.

Sela was so put off by his remarks that she didn't care about her father's wrath – she simply wanted to get away.

"You don't know what you're missing! You'll regret this," he called after her.

Sela stopped.

Her mind drifted to the sage words of advice offered by her protector years earlier.

To survive, you must be twice as Romulan as the rest of them.

Sela whipped around and marched back to him.

"I hope you Lavissa will be happy together. Because someday when I inherit my father's position as is my birthright, your children will have to ask me to arrange their marriages," Sela warned. "And you can be certain that I will remember every word of this conversation."

Sela watched as the colour drained from his face.

"Look, I only… your mother's status makes it difficult to-" he tried to explain, scratching at the back of his neck.

"I am nothing like that whore," Sela declared.

Sela's eyes narrowed. She bit her lip, a simpering giggle escaped from her throat as she pressed against him.

"I'm going to fuck you, Arcturus," she said in a playful, seductive tone as she walked her fingers up his chest.

Sela dropped her voice.

"But not in the way you think," she said, offering a dark warning.

Sela took a step back and grinned.

"Was that as good for you as it was for me?" she asked.

---

General Morak threw his head back and roared with laughter.

"I did not expect that," Morak confessed as Sela recounted her experience with Arcturus.

General Morak had invited Senator Aulus and Arcturus because he needed to shore up support on the Security Committee. He also had to negotiate a marriage contract between Arcturus and his niece, Lavissa.

It was merely a matter of convenience to invite them the same night as Duras so Morak could make it look like he was dangling Sela between them.

He never had any real intention of offering her to Arcturus.

"Would you like me to have him killed?" Morak offered.

Morak and Sela were in his private quarters playing a game of chess – both physically and metaphorically – as they shared a nightcap.

"Not right away, of course. But after the wedding. Once the marriage contract is fulfilled, and Aulus releases his territorial rights to the Gzhengau provinces," Morak explained.

He slid his rook across the board to capture Sela's pawn.

"No," she replied in a lazy voice. "I think I'd rather watch him sweat at family functions."

Morak grinned, proud of her response.

Sela was relieved her father was pleased. She saw an opportunity and decided to strike.

"Not Duras," Sela said suddenly.

She looked up from the chess board, silently pleading with her father.

"Please not Duras," Sela asked.

"He's made quite an offer. You did well tonight," Morak said, ignoring Sela's request.

Morak reached across the board to claim one of Sela's bishops.

"Fenthair?" Sela prompted.

Romulans were not supposed to beg so Sela had to tread carefully in her request.

"Duras brings the weight of the Klingon High Council. He has enough support there to rule when K'mpec finally goes," Morak explained. "The dilithium mines, the control of the Klingon trade through the eight sectors. He will make a fine ally."

Morak could sense his daughter's disappointment.

"Many young Romulan women would kill for the opportunity I have secured for you," Morak said.

Sela knew it was true. But it did little to ease her anger. Duras was a cruel man and Sela was terrified of suffering the same fate as her mother.

"Once we complete the next phase of our plan and make our final move against the Federation, we'll reach out to Duras again and request that he sweeten the offer," Morak explained. "You'll have to give him something in return, of course."

Sela tried to not react for fear of upsetting her father, but it was difficult to hide how horrified she was at the prospect.

Sela had been raised in the Romulan way of superiority. While Klingons were above humans in her eyes, it was barely so.

The thought of having to give her body to one was disgusting for a xenophobe like Sela.

Morak laughed.

"I'm not asking you to bed him," Morak assured her. "Certainly not yet. We need to keep that in reserve. You know other ways to keep his interest."

Sela blanched.

Morak sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Must I hire a whore to teach you?" Morak groaned. "Divines know I've spent more than enough on tutors."

Sela remained tense.

"You speak eight languages, child. If all else fails you can fall back on your tongue. Klingon men aren't that complicated," Morak snapped.

"Couldn't we use one of the parasites instead?" Sela suggested.

Morak set his drink down harder than intended and Sela knew she was in for it.

"It took us eighteen months to get where we are with the Federation. I don't have time to wait that long to infiltrate the Duras," Morak said. "In any case, I'm rather fond of him. He doesn't squirm when our dinner guests drop dead."

Sela's heart sank.

Her greatest fear was turning out like her mother. Duras was a cruel man, not unlike her father. It was one thing to be the daughter of a man like Morak.

But to be the wife or consort of someone like that…

It made Sela shudder.

"Come now. He won't even look at you. Once you've fulfilled your obligation you can take a lover. Or spend all your time in your command posting. Until then, close your eyes and think of the Empire," Morak said. "It's what your mother did for years."

---

Tasha Yar closed her eyes, solely focused on the soft sounds coming from deep in Data's chest.

He was surprisingly untamed whenever he shut down the extraneous processes in his neural net and truly let himself go.

Tasha thought it was beautiful.

A moment later, Data's body jerked.

Then he stilled for a few seconds, breathing hard, before he collapsed on top of Tasha. He reached back to pull the sheet up and then pressed a lingering kiss at her hairline.

Data snuggled down under the sheets, spooning up next to Tasha.

Before their relationship had even begun, Tasha had asked Data for three things – gentleness, joy, and love.

There was passion.

And tears.

They shared more than their fair share of nail-biting trauma and moments they would sooner forget.

But in spite of all of that, those three requests had become the keystone for their love.

Tasha rolled over so she could look at Data. She tucked an errant strand of hair back behind his ear, studying his face with great scrutiny.

Her expression was strange.

"Tasha?" Data prompted.

"I love you," Tasha said as if it were somehow in question.

Data frowned.

"I love you too, but I believe we both know that," Data said.

Tasha offered him a small smile.

"I know. I just… sometimes I'm worried I don't say it enough," she confessed.

Data kissed the inside of her wrist.

"Is there something on your mind?" Data inquired.

Tasha wasn't sure how to answer.

"I don't know," she replied in complete honesty.

Data reached up to caress the line of her jaw, tracing the back his fingers there as Tasha mulled over her thoughts.

"You are so kind. You are so unfathomably kind," Tasha said.

Tasha snaked her arms around Data and buried her head against his chest. She was unusually affectionate and that had Data worried.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," Tasha said.

The world was full of cruel men. Tasha had spent most of her life around them.

"The feeling is mutual," Data responded.

Tasha grinned against him.

"You really are sweet," Tasha said.

"Perhaps the universe felt you should have shot at something tender given the misfortunate circumstances of your birth?" Data suggested, attempting to offer an interpretation of the Turkanan theology.

Tasha shook her head.

"I doubt it," she said.

"Then perhaps you did something in another life?" Data mused.

"Must have been something truly awful to get this turn of fate," Tasha teased.

"Mmmm, then I believe it is my duty to provide you with a lifetime of happiness," Data said.

Tasha sat up and looked at Data.

"A lifetime of happiness," she said in a soft voice.

"A lifetime of happiness," Data promised.

---

"A lifetime of work, Jean-Luc. That's what's at stake here," Donald Varley said.

Jean-Luc sat back in his chair and sighed.

"But the Neutral Zone," Picard said, shaking his head.

Captain Picard had been nearly ready to call it a night and retire to his personal quarters with a good book when an emergency call on a secure channel caught his attention.

It was his old friend Donald Varley of the USS Yamato.

And he had a tall ask.

"I can't delay my mission to go investigate. It's too important," Varley explained. "You're the only ship that's equipped to handle this and the only one I trust."

Varley looked exhausted.

He had opened to Jean-Luc (what little he could) that since their last meeting, Varley and the Yamato had been racing about along the Neutral Zone following up on leads as part of a special project.

There wasn't much he could disclose – only that it involved securing Iconian relics before the Romulans could get their hands on them and that the whole affair was being kept under top-level security.

According to Varley, it was all his team was working on.

And they were taking some big risks.

"Donald, are you telling me Admiral Henry's office authorised you taking these trips into the Neutral Zone?" Picard asked in disbelief.

He was having a difficult time accepting Starfleet would actually endorse such an idea and it only fuelled Picard's suspicions about the conspiracy that had taken root.

"If your mission is to extract these items before the Romulans get to them, I hardly see the Empire granting permission to cross into their territory," Picard pointed out.

Under the Treaty of Algeron, it could be considered an act of war.

"And what happens if you're captured? If they get their hands on the Yamato?" Picard asked.

On the rare occasions where Federation dignitaries had crossed into the Neutral Zone, they were always sure to use outdated ships in the event of surveillance or capture.

It was one thing for the Romulans to get their hands on technology that was forty or fifty years old.

But a top of the line Galaxy-class ship?

The thought made Jean-Luc shudder.

"I'm fully prepared to sacrifice the Yamato if it means keeping these Iconian artefacts from the Romulans," Varley declared.

Varley's brow furrowed as he eyed his old friend.

"It's that important, Jean-Luc," Varley said.

Donald Varley firmly believed that his work was the only thing standing between the Romulans and them rolling over the rest of the superpowers between the quadrants.

"You're asking me to disobey orders, violate perhaps the most important treaty agreement of the last century, and endanger everyone on my ship," Picard said.

"I can't trust anyone else, Jean-Luc. And Starfleet cannot afford for me to deviate from my mission," Varley urged.

"But how can you trust these orders? How do you know this isn't part of some Romulan ploy to start a war?" Picard asked.

He was deeply concerned about that possibility.

The Romulans would go to great lengths to make it appear as if the Federation was the instigator.

"These orders don't come from Starfleet. Like I said, I have a source in Admiral Henry's office. I can't tell you much – only that my source is aware of conspiracy," Varley said.

Lieutenant Commander Oh had insisted upon the utmost secrecy.

"That's why I'm on this mission, sneaking it in between our regular patrol runs, snatching these pieces before the Romulans can find them," Varley said.

"So what your team found before, the tablet you gave me-" Picard said, trailing off.

"Is only the beginning," Varley interjected. "Pieces to a puzzle, Picard. One that leads to Iconia."

Jean-Luc remained hesitant.

"Have you told your source about this signal? Are they aware?" Picard asked.

Varley chuckled.

"You're trying to suss out if this is a trap. If they want to send the Enterprise specifically in hopes of provoking a war," Varley mused aloud.

Picard bristled.

"If someone knew about your orders and knew about this signal, it wouldn't take them long to piece together who you would call," Picard argued.

Varley put his hand up.

"No one knows except you and I," Varley assured him. "I've had the entire ship under a communications blackout since we intercepted the signal."

Varley's request was that Jean-Luc take the Enterprise across the Neutral Zone into Romulan space to investigate an unusual subspace signal.

It was a Starfleet emergency code.

An old Starfleet emergency code.

And more surprising still, it had been transmitted directly to a Starfleet security beacon. It was an old trick used during the war with the Klingon Empire to confuse their cloaked ships.

The beacons allowed Starfleet vessels to transmit an emergency message to a wide area in code without revealing their own position.

It was one way to prevent ships from becoming sitting targets as they awaited rescue.

"That code hasn't been used since 2344," Picard pointed out.

"Locked out after the Enterprise-C disappeared," Varley said.

Standard procedure required all Starfleet general usage codes be changed following the loss of a vessel along the Neutral Zone. It was a preventative measure to ensure any information extracted from captives would be unusable.

"You don't think it's a coincidence," Picard realised as he studied Varley.

Donald raised his eyebrows once and then lowered them as if to consider the idea.

"I honestly don't know," he answered. "The thought crossed my mind. There were rumours-"

"Rumours, yes. Nothing more. But that was twenty years ago," Picard said.

"But not unheard of," Varley remarked.

From time to time survivors did turn up from lost vessels. The previous year, the Enterprise had discovered survivors seven years after the Odin was lost and presumed destroyed.

The year before, the USS Pamunkey had discovered survivors from the wreck of the Constant - alive and well and living on the moon of an isolated planet eighteen years after the ship had vanished.

"The code's old. Yes. We know that and so do the Romulans. They've got better ways to catch our attention – believe me," Varley said.

The coordinates in the message were close to the Neutral Zone. They wouldn't have to go far into Romulan space.

That meant there was less possibility of running into a warbird on patrol.

"And how do you suggest I explain this to Starfleet?" Picard asked. "What if we're seen on our side?"

"I'm practically the last ship left out here on the Neutral Zone," Varley reminded him.

With Starfleet reassigning personnel and dismantling their Neutral Zone line of defence, there was almost no one left.

"They just decommissioned the Halfin VI outpost last month. I've got go all the way to Yorktown for resupply now," Varley shared. "No one will even know you were here."

---

Tasha did her best not to breathe.

She was sandwiched between Data (who was puffing away at his pipe) and Miles (who had an obnoxiously thick Orion cigar pinched between his teeth).

"Alright, I've got a three of diamonds for the Doctor. Jack for the Counsellor," Miles said as he dealt the cards.

Deanna grinned, pleased with her deal.

"Ooo. Tough luck," Miles remarked as he flipped over the two of spades for Commander Riker.

"Just what I wanted," Riker teased.

"Let's see. We've got an eight of hearts for the Engineer. Six of clubs for you, handsome," Miles said, tossing cards to both Geordi and Worf. "Data's got a ten. Queen of diamonds for you."

He dropped the last card in front of himself and hissed.

"Ooo and big fat ace for the dealer. Sorry everyone," Miles said.

"We can tell you're really beat up about it," Geordi said with a hefty dose of sarcasm.

Before the game could get underway, there was a chime at the door.

"It's open!" Riker called out.

Captain Picard stepped into Commander Riker's quarters, and everyone was immediately on edge.

"As you were," Picard said, waving them back to their seats.

"Would you like to join us, sir? We can easily add one more to this hand," Riker offered.

Jean-Luc shook his head.

As tempting as the offer was, Picard had always tried to maintain a certain distance from the crew. It made it easier to make decisions in his position.

"I'm afraid I'm here on business. I apologise for the intrusion, but this matter cannot wait," Picard said.

His tone was serious. Deanna wasn't the only one that could sense the Captain's trepidation.

"I was going to call a meeting, but I saw you were all here and thought I would come to you," Picard began.

In a way, Picard felt like he had already asked so much of this team. Risk and duty were a part of any Starfleet Officer's life.

But this crew had gone to the ends of the Universe and back – quite literally in the case of the Traveller – for Jean-Luc.

"You have routinely given up your personal time, your sleep, holidays, even poker nights for this job. You've put your lives on hold. You give more of yourselves to this Starfleet, to this ship than anyone could expect," Picard explained.

He paused and frowned as a pained expression crossed his face.

"And now I am afraid I must ask you to trust me once again," Picard said.

---

Tasha sat down on the edge of her bed to put on her socks. She set her socks down next to her and paused.

The Neutral Zone.

For some unexplained reason, Tasha had a feeling they were heading into something… substantial. It didn't quite feel like danger, nor was she curious.

In fact, if Tasha had to put her finger on it, she would call the feeling dread. The kind of dread in peeling away a bandage to see the damage or uncovering a mess.

She would sooner ignore the whole matter if she could.

It had to be done.

But that didn't make the task any more palatable.

Tasha was so consumed with this thought that she didn't even notice Data in the doorway.

"Tasha?" he prompted.

She looked up at Data. For the first time in forever, she looked frightened.

Data sat down next to her on the bed and threw his arm around Tasha.

He said nothing – they were both feeling it.

Captain Picard had offered them all a chance to lodge a formal complaint if they wished. He assured them their request would be treated fairly and, in no one, be held against anyone.

In spite of the collective sense of concern about crossing the Neutral Zone, the team was behind Captain Picard.

Though that confidence in the Captain wasn't enough to erase the feelings that accompanied such an order.

"You are afraid," Data remarked.

"Yeah," Tasha said.

"I am as well," Data confessed.

It was late. The poker game had abruptly ended so everyone could return to their quarters and change into uniform before reporting to the Bridge.

Given the stakes, Jean-Luc wanted his senior officers on duty.

"We are due on the Bridge," Data said, reminding Tasha they had limited time.

Tasha caught his hand, looping her fingers through his.

"Data, whatever happens in the next twenty-four hours, or days, or… it doesn't matter – I love you," Tasha declared.

She pulled him into a slow, reassuring kiss.

When they broke apart, Tasha rested her forehead against Data's.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," Data echoed.

There was no telling what they would encounter. For all they knew, this could very well be their final moments alone.

"If… if we don't make it to Føroyar I need you to know that I have never wanted anything more in my life than to be with you, to make that life we planned a reality," Tasha said.

Data reached up to cup Tasha's face, gently caressing the side of her cheek with his thumb. The corner of his lip curved upward as he watched Tasha, his eyes full of love.

"And if this should be our last chance to speak alone, I want you to know that you have so enriched my life that I cannot adequately express my gratitude and love other than to say my final thoughts will be of you," Data said.

Data closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I will be holding on to the thought that we may be reunited in the afterlife of your people," Data said.

For a moment, they stayed like that.

"I must ask you to do something," Data requested.

Data struggled to make such a request, but he understood it was necessary.

"In the event there is a risk of capture, I must ask you to activate protocol 817. It is imperative the Romulans do not get access to my neural net or memories," Data said.

Protocol 817 was a self-destruct protocol coded into Data's system. Once activated, it would fuse Data's circuitry and melt his core to ensure there was no possible information extraction.

Tasha was familiar with this function. Data had asked her once before when it looked as if his trial was going to end in the captivity of Bruce Maddox.

Data's request was not one made for personal reasons or out of fear. Rather, he understood that he presented a unique security risk in the event of capture.

"I know the thought displeases you," Data acknowledged.

Tasha gripped his hand.

"I've already advised Captain Picard to destroy the Enterprise. Self-destruct. Two minute timer. Silent countdown if it comes to it," Tasha shared.

The very notion was horrifying.

But not as terrible as the alternative.

"We both know what they do to their captives," Tasha said.

The lucky ones were used as shock troops, cannon fodder for their enemies. Others were sent away for medical and scientific experimentation or put to work as slaves in the mines, the fields, or in industrial factories with appalling conditions.

Life expectancy was slim.

"We have to report to the Bridge," Tasha said.

But Data and Tasha had no desire to move.

There was so much they longed to say to one another. Data feared there would never be sufficient time to even scratch the surface of his feelings.

Such conversations were about to happen all across the Enterprise.

Data pulled her close as he denoted the moment to memory. Tasha clutched his shoulders as she felt Data's warm breath against her ear.

"In case I do not get the chance to say it again, I love you, Nastasiyla."

He left the rest unsaid.

---

Hand in hand, Data and Tasha walked together to the lift.

The ship's alert sounded, signalling an important message.

"Attention all decks," Captain Picard's voice rang out through the corridors and from every communications terminal.

The lift doors closed. As it hummed to life, Data clung to Tasha's hand.

Captain Picard felt it was only right to inform the ship that they were heading for a dangerous situation. The ship would remain at silent Red Alert for the duration of their journey. The ship would also be under a twenty-four hour total communications blackout.

Data could sense the turbolift as the speed dropped on approach to the Bridge. Each second felt like an age, yet it was over all too soon.

As the doors opened, Data and Tasha let go. A look passed between them as they broke apart to take up their positions at Operations and Tactical.

Captain Picard took up his seat in the command chair.

"Lieutenant Jae, lay in a course. Two seven zero mark one four," Picard ordered.

---

Coyote stretched his arm out. With considerable effort, he managed to drag his body across the floor.

His ribs burned. He'd taken a blast from the communications console when it blew, burning his torso and sending him flying into the wall.

The Bridge of their stolen ship was dark save for an occasional sizzle from one of the live, exposed wires hanging loose overhead.

Coyote hissed in pain as he drew closer to his target – the Operations console.

It was the best place to see an overview of everything from ship's systems to sensors. They'd taken quite a hit when a warbird decloaked.

The shuttle they were waiting to rendezvous with had inadvertently led the Romulans right to them.

The warbird had blasted them to oblivion and left them for dead.

Sodan was resting against the base of the Ops station. He was breathing hard in an irregular pattern. Across the Bridge, Ahn was already dead.

In the end, he'd managed to die in battle. Coyote hoped it was enough for Ahn to enter Sto-vo-kor. He'd more than earned it.

Roosevelt wasn't moving. Ghost wasn't visible – having fallen somewhere behind the helm. Even the seemingly unstoppable Verax was laying silent, bleeding on the floor.

In the wake of the attack, Coyote had managed to activate an emergency hail using the nearest Starfleet beacon.

He had no idea if it would be picked up. Coyote had even less hope someone would pursue it.

They were technically still on the wrong side of the Neutral Zone.

For some reason, Coyote hadn't been killed. He was still stubbornly clinging to life. He could practically hear his beloved telling him there had to be a reason the universe had kept him alive, a purpose he had yet to fulfil.

So Coyote was trying to reach the Operations console to get an idea of where things were at. It was unlikely navigation would be usable.

But he may be able to get out another message, to warn Starfleet of the mechs or the Romulan build-up on the Neutral Zone at least.

Only Coyote didn't have the strength to pull himself up.

He collapsed against the floor and managed to roll over onto his back. At the very least he could pass looking at the stars on the viewscreen. Coyote hoped that it would be close enough to reunite with his Tuula.

And as his mind began to slip and his body grew cold, Coyote was relieved to experience what he believed was the reprieve of death.

Finally.

It had to be.

He was seeing angels.

Because she was there.

---

As the crew of the Enterprise-D beamed aboard the stolen Harrier-class ship they were surprised to find it was full of dead and dying men – humans, Klingons, Betazoids, even Romulans.

"I am not sensing any airborne toxins," Data advised.

That was a concern whenever they found a contained space with a number of people down.

"This one's dead," Data advised, scanning one of the bodies on the floor.

"Two dead over here," Riker added.

"This man is alive, Doctor," Worf called out as he searched for survivors on the back of the ship.

Initial scans had indicated an unusual mix of people with weak life signs. Jean-Luc had decided to take the risk and beam aboard a team.

"None of them show signs of any implant or parasite," Lieutenant Adams said.

He'd come along as an additional hand to help Beverly.

"Who are they?" Riker pondered aloud as he took in the scene.

It was a fair question given the unusual makeup of the group they had discovered. None of them were wearing any sort of identifiable uniform – including the Romulans.

"I recognise this Romulan," Data said. "His name is Proventus. He was formerly a member of the Romulan Senate. The Anti-War faction."

This comment sent Riker's mind into a spiral.

"So we may be wading into an internal affair," Riker said.

"Perhaps. Proventus was part of the delegation that represented the Romulan Empire at the Treaty of Algeron," Data shared. "However, Federation records indicate that he has fallen from power in recent years."

"You think he was defecting?" Riker asked.

Defection may explain the ragtag bunch. They could be profiteers or smugglers.

"Unknown," Data answered.

Tasha knelt down next to one of the men that was clinging to life. He had a terrible burn on his torso and a number of serious injuries.

She put her field medic skills to use and began to triage the wound.

Without warning, the man reached up and clutched her wrist with one hand. For a several agonising seconds, he eyed Tasha.

He reached up to cup her face as if to test whether she was real or not.

"Tuula," he said.

Tasha was spooked.

She dropped everything and scrambled backward to put some distance between them. Her tricorder hit the metal floor with a loud clang, drawing the attention of everyone.

"Tuula," the man repeated.

He started to crawl toward Tasha. He was desperate to cling to the fair-haired angel that had lived on only in his dreams.

"I knew you would be here. I knew we would be together again. Azura luca galad," he said in a raspy voice.

To almost everyone on the away team, this sounded like nothing more than delusions of a dying man.

But Tasha was terrified.

She jumped when Data put a hand on her shoulder.

Beverly could see the man was going to injure himself if he didn't stop. She moved to intervene, injecting him with a hypospray to induce sleep.

"Tuula," he whispered, reaching for her before he lost consciousness.

Tasha felt like her brain was broken.

"Any idea what he was saying? Maybe a clue to who the hell these men are?" Riker asked.

Beverly looked up, stunned.

"Doctor?" Data asked.

Beverly frowned.

"I uh.. I got a hit in the Starfleet medical database," Beverly stammered.

She glanced around at the bodies littered on the floor.

"Doctor? What is it?" Riker prompted.

"We need to get these men on board the Enterprise immediately," Beverly declared.

Riker was irritated. He wanted to ensure the safety of the crew before moving anyone.

"Doctor, I'm not about to-"

"Commander, some of these men are Starfleet personnel," Beverly explained.

Riker put his hands on his hips. This news was concerning, particularly given the threat of the conspiracy.

"What the hell are they doing out here on a Romulan ship?" Riker wondered aloud.

Beverly fell silent. She looked as if she had difficult news to deliver and was unsure how to break it.

"Beverly," Riker said in a pleading voice.

"This man here," she said.

Beverly motioned to the man that had just been administered the hypospray.

"His name is Lieutenant Richard Castillo," Beverly announced.

She flipped her tricorder around so the rest of the team could read the file. An individual's current posting was identified at the top of every Starfleet medical record.

Data raised his eyebrows.

"Bloody hell," Lieutenant Adams remarked.

"Gyuh," Worf breathed, astonished.

Riker tapped his combadge.

"Riker to Enterprise, Chief prepare to beam over everyone on this ship. Including the deceased," Riker said.

It was an unusual order.

"We're bringing home the dead from the Enterprise-C," Riker said.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Sir, was that 'C' as in Charlie?" Miles clarified.

"Correct. It would seem there were survivors from the Enterprise-C," Riker said.

---

"We'll be back in Federation space in about seven hours," Riker said.

The team was assembled in the Observation Lounge. It had been nearly an hour since they'd recovered the survivors on the Romulan ship.

Now they were back aboard the Enterprise and headed for Federation space.

But there were now more questions than answers.

"Captain, I'd like to send a team over to look at that ship just as soon as we are," Geordi said.

They were carrying the stolen Harrier-class vessel in their tractor beam. It was a rare opportunity to study a Romulan vessel.

"After Security clears it. I want a thorough search from top to bottom to ensure this isn't a ticking time bomb," Picard said.

He turned to Beverly.

"Eight men survived the transfer to our ship. Two of those patients died shortly after we got them to Sickbay," Beverly explained. "I've got six clinging to life. But their wounds are severe."

She paused and made a face like there was something sour on her tongue.

"I started to examine the other men that had died. They show significant, prolonged trauma," Beverly announced.

"Are you saying they were tortured?" Picard questioned.

Beverly nodded.

"Yes. I would say they were extensively tortured at some point in the past. The wounds have closed, but there's scar tissue consistent with I've read about Romulan torture techniques," Beverly said.

There wasn't much to make a seasoned medical professional sick to her stomach. But Beverly had nearly tossed her dinner when she saw the magnitude of the damage on the bodies of these men.

Their backs bore the scars of years of brutal whippings.

Some of them were missing the tips of their fingers – another common Romulan tactic for the extraction of information.

"We recovered seventeen men total and have managed to identify eleven of them as Starfleet personnel that were declared missing in action from the Enterprise-C," Riker said.

Jean-Luc sighed and shook his head.

"I don't know what to say. I very nearly rejected the request to investigate that signal," Picard admitted.

He sat back and folded his hands in his lap.

They would be bringing eleven lost men from Starfleet home. He prayed the remaining six men would make it. If there was anyone that deserved a chance at life, surely it was these men.

Jean-Luc could only imagine they had endured incredible circumstances to have survived so long.

"Have they said anything?" Picard asked.

There had been over seven hundred people on the Enterprise-C when she vanished.

"I had to administer a sedative to one man. He was at risk of agitating his wounds," Beverly said.

She paused.

"It was like a mix of English and some other language I couldn't understand. He wasn't making much sense, but people rarely do in these circumstances," Beverly went on.

"He kept calling out for a Too-luh," Worf recalled.

"I ran a search through all crew records from the Enterprise-C including the final passenger manifest logged for civilians and found no iteration of that name or anything similar," Riker shared.

All eyes fell on Tasha.

She had said nothing during the briefing. She was still shaken from the encounter.

"Did he say anything to you before?" Beverly asked.

Tasha shook her head in the negative.

"No," she said in a faraway voice.

"Before?" Picard asked.

He had not been informed of any incidents.

Deanna could sense Tasha was disturbed. Beverly could tell too. When Tasha didn't answer, she stepped in to explain.

"Sometimes people can become delirious. He was calling out for this Too-luh when Tasha tried to treat his injuries. He must have mistaken you for someone. It's not uncommon," Beverly assured them.

"But he also said that he knew this Tuula would be there," Riker added. "What was that supposed to mean?"

"Probably just a delusion," Beverly said.

She had seen patients call out for their family or friends, even long-deceased relatives.

"Perhaps. Just in case, I want you to look into this Mr Data. Find out who or what this Tuula is," Picard ordered.

Only Data didn't need to do any research. He knew what 'Tuula' was. He had recognised the strange language.

Data turned to Tasha.

She kept her eyes fixated on the table.

He wanted to give Tasha a chance to answer the Captain first. But when Tasha remained silent, Data knew he had an obligation to be honest with Captain Picard.

"The language was Turkanan, sir. I believe he was speaking of a Turkanan religious matter. Specifically, the concept of an afterlife based on the context of his words," Data advised.

Jean-Luc knew that Data had been learning Tasha's native language.

"Lieutenant? Would you agree with that assessment?" Picard asked.

Tasha nodded without looking up.

"And this Tuula then? Was that part of it or could it be a person?" Picard pressed.

The notion this man was expecting a Tuula could point to danger.

"Could it be a Romulan name?" Picard questioned.

"Possibly," Data answered. "But I do believe in this case it is not. Tuula is a Turkanan word."

Jean-Luc was relieved.

"It means firefly," Data announced.

Jean-Luc's lips thinned as his sights closed on Tasha.

"Thank you. That will be all for now. Dismissed," Picard said.

His voice was terse.

"Please remain, Lieutenant Yar. I wish to discuss Security," Picard said, catching Tasha before she could slip away.

---

They sat in silence until the room was empty.

"I want the truth," Picard said.

"Sir, I don't know that man," Tasha replied.

Jean-Luc grumbled in frustration.

"Lieutenant," Picard said in a warning voice.

Tasha turned to Jean-Luc, wordlessly pleading with him to see reason.

"Captain, I don't know that man," Tasha insisted.

"I recognise that you have an obligation to follow protocol and I do not possess the proper clearance to know the full extent of your service records," Picard acknowledged.

Even Picard wasn't privy to the bulk of Tasha's time with Covert Operations.

"We are dealing with a conspiracy that has reached the highest levels of Starfleet Command. A conspiracy that threatens to destroy Starfleet and the Federation," Picard went on.

Tasha just shook her head.

"I don't know that man," she repeated.

"Then it is just a grand coincidence that he speaks Turkanan and knows your codename, Firefly?" Picard asked, seething at Tasha's refusal to open up.

During their service in G'kantal, the team had occasionally used Turkanan words for code. No one else on the team would know Tasha's code name or the use of Turkanan phrasing for their covert mission there.

Except Captain Picard.

He had been with her on G'kantal. He could put two and two together.

"I don't know that man," Tasha said slowly.

"Dammit, Tasha!" Picard barked as he brought his hand down on the table, smacking the surface with his open palm.

Tasha didn't flinch – only adding to Picard's suspicion that she was holding back.

"Then why do you look as if you've seen a ghost?" Picard demanded.

Tasha sniffled.

She couldn't help it – she felt completely overwhelmed.

"I don't know!" she snapped.

She pushed her chair away from the table and started pacing in front of the window as she vented to Captain Picard.

"I've seen the files. The 'Temporal Evidence.' The pictures of me on Romulus. But I… me," she said, beating her own chest. "I've never been there."

Tasha regretted looking through the files Captain Rixx had sent months earlier, the long-range surveillance that appeared to show her posing as a Romulan.

The theory was that it was some sort of temporal event – perhaps even a mission.

"I don't know. I don't understand. And I don't want to understand," Tasha stated.

She paused to compose herself.

"I have never told Data. I've been living my life, trying to pretend that I never saw that file," Tasha shared. "Because I can't think about it. I can't live knowing that at some point-"

She trailed off and took a shaky breath.

"At some point I'm going to leave," Tasha concluded. "And I don't know if it's tomorrow or the next day. A year from now."

Tasha shrugged. She turned away toward the window and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I've been pretending I could have a normal life. I've been lying to Data," she confessed. "I've never told him."

Jean-Luc got up from his seat and came to stand next to Tasha.

"You truly don't know how that man knew your codename," Picard realised aloud.

"Tuula doesn't mean anything. I mean, not in the sense of what you think. Sir, we don't choose our own codenames for Covert Operations. They're assigned at random," Tasha explained. "The sheer chance.. I can't explain it."

Tasha was struggling to wrap her brain around it.

"Tuula is what my grandmother called me as a child. It's like you would say sweetpea or darling. I've never shared that with anyone – not even Data," Tasha said.

Tasha groaned.

"Time travel? Romulans? I would never willingly take a mission like that. I mean – to walk away from my life, from Data? It doesn't make sense," Tasha said.

"If this Castillo wakes up, perhaps we can learn some answers?" Picard suggested.

Tasha's face soured.

"The Temporal Prime Directive be damned?" Tasha asked, reminding the Captain of that pesky fact.

Before Jean-Luc could answer, there was hail from the Bridge.

It was Lieutenant Hawk.

"Captain, your 22:30 is waiting in your Ready Room," Hawk announced.

Jean-Luc was perplexed.

"Lieutenant, I have no-"

"Guinan, sir. She said she had an appointment with you this evening," Hawk explained.

Jean-Luc's interest was piqued – so much so that he nearly walked out leaving Tasha in limbo.

"You're dismissed, Lieutenant. Go home. Get some rest," Picard ordered.

---

Jean-Luc swept into his office where Guinan was waiting with a drink in hand.

"I know you didn't come here just to drink my wine," Picard said.

"What makes you think this is your wine?" Guinan asked.

She pushed a glass full of amber liquid across the table.

"Whisky. Then this isn't a social call," Picard realised.

He sniffed the liquid and then took a small sip. He recognised the taste straight away.

"Oh dear," Picard remarked, leaning against the edge of his desk.

He held the glass up and admired the contents.

"The '43. One of only eight bottles to survive the Third World War," Picard said.

Guinan was an avid collector. Her wine cellar was rivalled only by her collection of fine and rare whisky.

"This must be serious," Picard said.

"Take a seat," Guinan instructed.

Jean-Luc slipped into the chair behind his desk.

"I came to warn you," Guinan said.

Picard set his glass down and raised an eyebrow, requesting elaboration. He took Guinan's warnings seriously.

But instead of offering an explanation, Guinan changed the subject.

Or at least it appeared that way.

"You keep promising to take me along for one of your Dixon Hill mysteries," Guinan said.

Jean-Luc shot her a look.

"I appreciate your sage advice and the drink. But can you spare me the moral lesson disguised as an anecdote and cut to the chase?" Picard inquired.

Guinan grinned.

"You're driven with this insatiable yearning to understand, to discover," Guinan explained. "Knowledge isn't always power. Sometimes it can be your downfall."

It was a lesson Guinan had learned the hard way.

"People often think that if they know the outcome of future events they can manipulate them to their ideal outcome," Guinan said. "But one often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it."

She had seen it happen time and again. It was a part of why Guinan was often reluctant to share information with others about the otherworldly feelings she experienced.

"Be careful what stones you turn over. You may not like what you find. And once you've looked – there is no going back," Guinan cautioned.

Jean-Luc longed to heed her warning. But he couldn't let it drop.

"What do you know?" he asked.

"This isn't one of your Dixon Hill mysteries. Very real people could get hurt," Guinan said, avoiding the question.

"Very real people are hurt," Picard countered.

It broke his heart to see Tasha so distressed and confused. There was nothing Jean-Luc could offer to help explain the situation. He knew just as little as Tasha.

Now it seemed Guinan was warning them off digging for answers at all.

"If you're going to ask a question, you must be prepared to receive answers you may not like," Guinan said.

She paused and took a sip of her whisky, turning her attention to Livingston's tank.

"A lot of people think that my listening is a gift. But knowledge is often a burden," Guinan shared. "Are you sure you want that burden?"

---

The walk back to Data's quarters was isolating.

Tasha felt like she was walking through a dream. Life seemed so surreal.

She had walked this route thousands of times in the last few years. Now she wondered how many more times were left.

"Alexandra. It's past your bedtime! Come back," Toya Doogan called out.

Tiny Alexandra zipped by, giggling with her arms outstretched as she tried to outrun mum in an effort to avoid bedtime.

Mum was just a step behind her.

Toya scooped up her daughter. A moment later, Alexandra's father came around from the opposite direction having gone that way to cut her off.

Tasha watched as Mr Doogan hoisted his daughter high before pulling her down into a warm embrace.

It was a cruel reminder of what she could never have with Data.

Not now.

Tasha was unusually quiet as she slipped into bed with Data. She spooned up behind him and wrapped her arms tight around his chest.

Data could sense Tasha was troubled though he couldn't know if it was due to her conversation with Captain Picard or the collective unease of the situation.

Everyone had been on edge.

Hell, they had poured out their hearts earlier – final goodbyes in case their mission had led to their demise.

So Data thought it would be best to direct Tasha's thoughts to one thing that had kept them going throughout the last few tumultuous months.

"We made it," Data said.

Tasha didn't respond.

"That means we will get our happy ending. Føroyar. Family," Data said.

Perhaps she had been too quick to push off the idea of a family?

She'd wanted to wait several years. Now there was a very real possibility she didn't have those years.

The theory (according to the file Rixx produced) was that Tasha Yar had travelled through time and was currently operating on Romulus in some unknown capacity.

Tasha would never willingly go on such a mission. She couldn't envision Starfleet ordering her to such a task if she had child.

There was a sneaking voice in the back of Tasha's mind that kept pestering her with uncomfortable questions – what right did she have to push this awful task onto someone else? To play with the timeline? To alter everything in the universe for her own selfish desire?

Tasha's chest felt tight.

It felt awful to lie to Data.

But she didn't have it in her to break his heart.

Her mind was racing.

Tasha clutched Data's torso as she buried her head between his shoulders.

She wasn't sure how many nights they had left together. Time was running out – but she was going to hold him as tight as possible for as long as she could.