Chapter 3
by Travis Anderson

P'Ris stared at the hologram displayed before her. It was a map, a map of every new Romulan outpost in the Beta Quadrant. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. It was quite the accomplishment and it was largely due to her efforts.

P'Ris leaned against the railing separating her from the astrographical display. She stretched her supple muscles. Her hair fell in ringlets across her shoulders. She had shed her accursed fleet uniform for her typical garb: a black bodysuit with a silver vest. She had been amused when her appearance had once been compared to the Ship's Counselor aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, Commander Deanna Troi. P'Ris herself found such comparisons laughable. It had been intended as an insult. It had been one made in poor taste, since it could not be supported by reality.

P'Ris had been raised by the Tal Shiar. It had been an instructive childhood. She had seen the limitations of her society in intimate detail. It had also granted her the tools with which to address some of these limitations.

Utilising secrets that had been long entrusted to the Tal Shiar, she had forced the Praetor to allow her her grand experiment. Recruiting from the disaffected elements of the Romulan Star Empire, she had enlisted scores of scientists, colonists and soldiers. P'Ris had virtually founded her own empire.

When the Tal Shiar had been broken during their abortive attempt to destroy the Founders, she had taken most of the remaining pieces and struck out in a new direction. Her position within the Empire was still tenuous, secured only through bribery and blackmail. Her enemies vastly outnumbered her allies. It was ironic that her strongest supporters were within the Federation. Having created a haven for dissidents, she had agreed to allow the Federation to house their unwanted within her territory in exchange for certain items she could not obtain within the Empire's borders.

Her use for her "allies" had almost expended itself. She had obtained the materials and information she'd desired. Her motivation to co-operate with the Federation cabal that had supplied those items was at an end. In the meantime, she had discovered a new reason to break from her erstwhile partners. She was founding her fledgling nation out of the very sort she of people that the Federation was handing her. Integrating aliens into Romulan society would have been a virtually impossible task. Although her colonists were Romulan, they were mostly young and impressionable. They could be persuaded to accept a thousand or so foreigners.

"Commander." The voice came from behind her. It was her second, Sub-Commander D'ionn.

Like herself, D'ionn had rejected orthodox Romulan society. D'ionn had abandoned more than Romulan fashion sense and politics. P'Ris had intimate experience in D'ionn's explorations into the alternative. They still engaged in occasional forays of discovery. D'ionn wore her short, far shorter than the average Romulan male. It was a spiky tuft upon her head. Her upswept ears protruded from the fuzz. Genetic holdovers from a human captured by an ancestor during the Earth/Romulan Wars granted her a smooth forehead, green eyes, and pale skin.

"Yes, D'ionn?" P'Ris responded.

"Commander Vetrik requests that you make contact with him," D'ionn reported.

P'Ris detected the sulky quality of her lieutenant's voice. P'Ris was disappointed. Vetrik had been enjoyable. She had detected D'ionn's growing possessiveness. She'd hoped it was a passing thing, apparently, her hopes were in vain. D'ionn's behaviours were infecting the crew. Most of them were now engaged in "alternative" relationships. Some had grown quite militant about it and were espousing their deviancies as the norm.

Although P'Ris enjoyed the occasional tryst with D'ionn, it was not "normal" to her. She found the affections exchanged between many of her male officers to be disturbing. She mentally sighed. Perhaps she was too traditional, but she still found those males less...masculine, less virile somehow. She shook such thoughts aside.

"Inform Commander Vetrik I shall speak with him directly."

She could see the disappointment in D'ionn's eyes as she bowed her acknowledgement of her command. Poor dear, P'Ris mused, she hasn't realised that I don't love her. What a little fool, she laughed.

The Odyssey remained in orbit over the moon newly designated as BU-479. BU-479 was a class M moon that supported a small, pre-warp industrial culture. The crew had hoped that it contained the internment camp they sought. They had been disappointed. It had looked promising after they had trailed a Romulan Warbird to the system and it had beamed several people off the ship.

"What do you think they wanted here?" D'art asked.

"A life," T'Kir answered sarcastically. "Or maybe a plain old roll in the hay. Why don't we ask someone in a similar predicament?" She gave D'art a pointed glare.

"At least I discriminate," D'art countered. "Unlike some."

T'Kir stuck out her tongue. There were chuckles across the bridge. They were silenced by a venomous glance T'Kir threw over her shoulder.

Macen wore a pained expression. "Children," he asked with strained patience, "are we through fighting?"

Danan snickered from her station. No one else dared.

Macen sighed loud enough for the entire bridge crew to hear. "What's the report from the surface?" he asked.

"The Romulans seem to engaged in a survey of the planet," T'Kir reported. "Either that, or they're the first Romulan tourists in history."

Macen closed his eyes for a moment.

"It was your idea to bring her aboard," Danan whispered.

"I heard that," T'Kir sing-songed.

If it's not her telepathy, he thought sourly, then it's her damn ears.

"I heard that, too," she said grumpily.

"What about system traffic?" Macen asked Derrico.

"No ships are moving within the system," he reported.

Macen took a breath. "Helm, break orbit. Plot us a course to the nearest solar system."

"Aye, sir," D'art replied, her voice less enthusiastic than it had been a week ago when they had set out.

Unless the Romulan border is a lot bigger on this side than it is in the Alpha Quadrant, then we're almost done looking. Macen assured himself.

"Anything yet?" Picard asked as the Enterprise slipped into the BU-479 system.

"We have a several warp signatures," Data reported. "One Federation, several Romulan."

"Were they here at the same time?" Riker asked.

Data shook his head. "The decay in the trails indicates that they were here at separate intervals. Based upon the evidence, I would say the Odyssey is discreetly tracking the Romulan ship."

Riker glanced towards Picard. "That seems likely. It's what we would do."

"Can you determine where they went?" Picard asked. "We must make contact with them as soon as possible."

"Sensors indicate that they entered the neighbouring solar system."

"Lt. Perim, plot your course. Warp factor eight," Picard dictated. Seconds later, the Enterprise was in warp space.

Derrico and Kort stepped out of the holodeck. Both wore traditional Klingon battle robes. Derrico was drenched in sweat. Kort smiled and slapped him on the back.

"You truly have the heart of a warrior, my young friend," Kort praised him.

Derrico replied through heavy breaths. "If that's your typical workout, no wonder you're in such good shape."

"I am in excellent shape!" Kort roared proudly. "Now, I think it is time to initiate you in the other virtues of the warrior."

"Other virtues?" Derrico asked sceptically. He'd just tried the first, and wasn't entirely sure if his body would ever forgive him.

"Yes," Kort replied, no room in his voice for argument. "We must proceed to the lounge."

"Why?" Derrico asked uneasily.

"For wenching and drinking of course!" Kort bellowed, "Why else?"

"Why else indeed?" Derrico muttered unhappily as Kort cajoled him along.

It was third watch aboard the Odyssey. Most of the regular bridge crew was on stand down. Macen, Danan, and T'Kir had opted to remain due to their greater than human endurance. Several junior officers nervously monitored their consoles. Lisea was assisting the ensign manning the Science station.

"Sir!" Ensign Manning shouted from tactical. "We have a vessel entering the system at warp eight!"

"Classification?" Macen asked, far more alert than he had been moments before.

"Sovereign class starship," Manning reported. "It's the Enterprise!"

"Raise shields," Macen ordered calmly. "Red alert."

Derrico and Kort ran for the turbolift. They accidentally bowled over a couple in the hallway. The doors of the lift barely had time to open before they flew inside. Derrico was surprise that the lift wall squeaked as he bounced off of it. To his chagrin, he discovered the "wall's" name was Hannah D'art.

"I'm so sorry!" he stammered. "I didn't mean to...I shouldn't have..."

"He didn't mean to offend, if offense was taken," Kort cut him off. "He is a man of action, not words."

D'art smiled. She was still a bit dazed, but thought she was in one piece. If she discovered otherwise, then she'd complain. Until then, it was best to smooth things over.

"No blood, no foul. Right?" she said as cheerily as she could manage.

"Right!" Kort bellowed before Derrico could react. "By Kahless, I like you people!"

"I'm so relieved." D'art muttered. Derrico smiled at her sarcasm.

"They have raised shields and manoeuvred to face us," Daggit reported. "But they have not powered their weapons."

"Hail them," Picard ordered.

"They're hailing us," Derrico announced.

"On screen," Macen ordered grimly.

Picard was startled to see the bridge configuration of the Odyssey changed since his last communication with Macen.

"Captain, I've been looking for you."

Macen gave him a wry smile. "I've sort of assumed that already. Any particular reason why?"

"To deliver a message from Admiral Nechayev," Picard answered. "I am ordered to invoke the Zenith Protocol."

Macen's face lost all trace of humour. "We'll lower our shields. You and your first officer can beam over in five minutes." The comm screen went blank.

"That certainly changed things," Riker commented with his usual ebullience.

"Yes," Picard agreed with some surprise. "It certainly has."

Riker and Picard stepped into the briefing room with apprehensive looks upon their faces. Macen supposed he couldn't blame them. He felt apprehensive himself. Danan sat at the table to Macen's right. They stood when the other captain and his first officer arrived.

Macen held out his hand. Picard took it firmly. Riker followed suit. Picard took Danan's hand in similar fashion, all business. Riker, though, took an extra second to appreciate her beauty.

Macen motioned towards the seats. "Please, take a seat."

No one objected. Macen adopted a laconic air. Riker did likewise. Picard and Danan remained serious.

"Captain Macen," Picard began stiffly. "I am pleased to be meeting with you and Commander Danan, but I am afraid you have us at a disadvantage. I have been instructed to assist you in any way possible, but I have no idea what your mission is."

Macen and Danan exchanged glances. Macen took a deep breath and began the story of their mission. He noted that the colour drained from Picard's face during the telling. Riker's visage transformed itself into a dark masque of outrage. Both men were suitably shaken by the story for Macen to feel comfortable with them as he concluded the tale.

Picard stood and walked to the other side of the room. He was a man in a state of shock. Riker glowered at foes he could not reach.

"All this time," Picard murmured. "All this time, we have been sending people to...gulags. We've convinced ourselves we've built an enlightened society. But at what price?" He turned to find Macen's cool eyes bearing down on him. "At what point does a free society close itself off and begin enslaving those that do not agree with it?"

"Is any society truly free?" Macen asked.

"We have the freedom to pursue our goals, to better ourselves," Picard defended. "We have rights that cannot be taken from us."

"They have been taken," Macen countered coolly. "Whether by war, fear, decree of the governors, or by the inaction of the citizenry, they have been taken. Our mission here is proof of that."

Picard looked somewhat taken aback as Macen continued.

"It's a simple problem really. During times of crisis, how much freedom of speech is allowable? What is acceptable, and what is a threat to morale?"

Picard was aghast. "You support this?"

Macen shook his head, "Support, no. Understand, yes. Far too well, I'm afraid." He leaned back in his chair. "All to often it is the choice of those with power to impose their views through force rather than employ a gentler means of persuasion."

"Sometimes during a crisis, it becomes necessary for that society to curtail certain liberties for the duration of that crisis," Picard countered.

"But to maintain a police force that actively investigates all forms of dissent?"

"There's no actual proof of this Section 31's existence," Picard pointed out.

"Nothing that would be permissible in court at least," Macen replied ruefully. Seeing Picard and Riker's puzzled looks, he shrugged. "I've...encountered Section 31 before."

"I take from your tone they did not appreciate your last 'encounter'."

Macen smiled. "You could say that." His eyes narrowed as they focused on Picard's. "You don't trust me."

"I don't know you," Picard admitted. "Trust is a precious commodity, especially of these allegations are true and members of Starfleet and the Federation are involved. The situation is compounded by your role, seeing how..." His voice trailed off.

Macen laughed. "Seeing as how I'm a Maquis?"

"Yes," Picard replied uncomfortably. "Seeing as how you were a Maquis."

"I still am," Macen replied with steel in his voice. "I always will be."

Picard started. Riker began to look edgy. They were unsure how to respond. They sat silently, awaiting a clue.

"Our methods may have changed," Danan's smooth contralto broke the tense silence. "But our goals remain unchanged."

"To destroy the Cardassians?" Riker asked provocatively.

Danan chuckled. "No, Commander, to try and insure freedom."

"By any means possible?" Riker wouldn't let go.

"Not at all," Macen cut in, his voice passionate. "We've learned from the mistakes of our past. We're learning from the mistakes of our present. Grave mistakes are being made right now. We need to put a stop to it."

Picard was nonplussed for a moment. "I'm impressed," he admitted. "I was afraid you might endorse a vendetta."

"I understand the need to punish wrongdoers," Macen confessed. "But people should not be locked away just because they disagree with you."

Picard smiled warmly and retook his seat. "Now that we have achieved a degree of understanding, let us discuss how we can address the situation."

"The situation may be even more complicated," Danan informed them. "I've had time to analyse many of the subspace transmissions floating back and forth around here. Most if them are Romulan."

"That makes sense," Riker commented. "We are near their border."

Danan shook her head firmly. "No, Commander. The transmissions are from this side of the border."

"You're saying the Romulan Empire is expanding further into the Beta Quadrant?" Picard asked.

Danan's voice was grim. "No, I'm saying the Romulans are expanding into the Beta Quadrant. There seems to be no sign of the Empire."

"Commander, we may have a problem," Vetrik's image said from the viewer in P'Ris' cabin.

"What kind of problem, dear Vetrik?" she asked.

"The Enterprise has tracked the Odyssey down. They seem to be in communication with one another. Our ruse has failed," he informed her.

The pessimistic tone in his voice saddened her. "Vetrik, we knew that they would sort their differences out over time."

"I think they know about us, P'Ris," he hissed.

"And if the do?" she asked lightly.

"Our colonies are not strong enough to counter a Federation invasion," he warned.

She laughed. "Vetrik, for shame. You sound like one of the Praetor's idiotic advisors. The Federation will not 'invade' us. Gods above, they'll likely support us in an inane effort to 'liberate' the Romulan masses and encourage better relations with the Star Empire."

"You don't find this threatening?" he asked, wearing a baffled expression.

"Vetrik, our people want greater exposure to aliens. The want to experience lesser lifeforms. We have to give them that chance," she said outwardly. Inwardly, she thought, And pray that they do not panic when they finally gain those experiences. If they do, the results will be far worse than anything the Praetor's lackwits could devise. It would be a crusade.

"Just monitor their activities, Vetrik," P'Ris ordered. "Report to me if they do anything unexpected or approach one of our colonies."

Vetrik bowed. "Yes, Commander."

"How can there be Romulans out here, and not the Romulan Empire?" Riker asked in exasperation.

Danan leaned forward, her eyes fierce. "I don't know that. What I do know, is that there are scads of subspace messages floating around here. They are in Romulan, they employ Romulan frequency modulation, and many of them are directed towards the Empire." Macen almost pitied Riker as she continued. "What they do not employ is Romulan fleet encryptions or terminology. In fact, many of them are quite inflammatory."

"Inflammatory in what way?" Picard asked.

"They are focused on political and social change," Danan answered calmly. "Denunciations of societal stagnation and mandated orthodoxy."

"So, they are the work of dissidents?" Picard asked with an ironic tone.

Danan thought for a moment, then smiled. "You could say that."

"You should feel right at home," Riker jested.

Picard gave him a longsuffering glance. "It does indeed appear as though our puzzle has grown in complexity," Picard commented.

"Yes, it has," Macen said, an edge to his voice. "It has also dictated that we should proceed more decisively."

"What do you suggest?" Picard asked.

Macen's eyes met Picard's. "I think you should return to Starfleet Command. Get them prepared for this information. Alert the Federation Council."

"What about you?" Picard asked, not wanting to accept what he was hearing.

"We'll find the camps, and try to gather conclusive evidence of who's responsible," Macen told him.

Picard recognised Macen's tone. It was the tone of a commander that had made his decision regarding his next course of action. Picard hated to leave him out here alone, but recognised the underlying logic behind the request. Macen needed an ally within Federation borders that could insure his arriving alive at Earth with the evidence.

"Very well, Captain," Picard consented. "We'll depart immediately."

They exchanged handshakes again before the Enterprise officers departed.

Lisea glanced towards Brin, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Was he what you expected?" she asked.

He snorted. "No. He surprised me. I can see why Guinan respects him."

She put her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I hope so. We may have just put our lives in his hands."

The chime of the comm drug P'Ris out of a fitful sleep. Blearily, she reached for the display next to her bed. Her hand passed before it, activating it. Vetrik's face lay within its confines.

"Yes?" she asked irritably.

"The two Federation starships have separated," Vetrik reported. "The Enterprise is headed back in the direction she came."

"And the Odyssey?" she asked nervously.

"Headed for Sybok III."

Damn them! "Understood. Set course for Sybok, but do not engage them," she commanded. "I am en route. I will deal with them."

She released an angry breath as the comm went dark. Why did the bastards have to go there? She knew what they were searching for. She was prepared to give it to them, as long as they pledged not to interfere in her plans.

She flicked the intercom on. "Bridge, disengage cloak. Set course for Sybok, warp eight."

"Yes, Commander," she heard in reply.

P'Ris settled back down in her bed, disturbed that she alone occupied it. None of the males aboard her ship were interested in "normal" relations. Curse D'ionn's influence! D'ionn would have been more than willing, but although P'Ris found their occasional forays enjoyable, they did nothing to...satisfy her.

The Odyssey dropped out of warp in the Sybok system. Intercepted communications had informed them that the Romulans were aware of their presence. No ships had appeared to challenge them yet, and no communications had been sent. Macen rubbed his beard while he tried to figure out why.

"Are sensors detecting anything?" Macen asked, perplexed.

"No, sir," Derrico answered. The wary edge in his voice was greater than his norm. He could tell the situation disturbed the Tactical officer as well. "I suggest we raise shields," Derrico announced.

"That won't be necessary," Macen replied. At least not yet, he added to himself.

"We are receiving a voice only transmission from the third planet," Derrico reported. "They are requesting that we hold position here."

"Very well," Macen replied with a frustrated air. "Full stop."

"Full stop, aye," D'art called out as she implemented the order.

"I wonder why here?" Danan wondered aloud. "We're too far away for planetary based weaponry. We'll be able to detect any uncloaked ship's approach. Any cloaked ship will have to reveal itself before they can activate weapons. It doesn't make sense."

"I agree," Macen replied. "But I also don't want an incident because we don't like their rules. We may very well be in their territory. Let's act like guests, not invaders."

"Warbird de-cloaking off the port bow!" Derrico shouted. "Raising shields."

"Belay that," Macen yelled. "Hail them, but do not power weapons or shields."

"I hope y'know what you're doing," Danan murmured.

"The enemy vessel is hailing us," Vetrik's weapons officer informed, then added incredulously, "They have not powered their shields or weapons."

Vetrik nodded calmly, "Receive transmission."

Brin appraised the Romulan that appeared before him. He was fairly young for a Romulan officer of his rank. He could not have been more than sixty or seventy years old. His expression was one of curiosity, not the usual haughtiness his race specialised in.

"Hello, Commander," Macen said in a friendly manner. "It is an honour to meet you. This is an unexpected surprise, since I was unaware of any Romulan settlements out here."

"You are correct," Vetrik replied with a tinge of aloofness. "There are no Romulan settlements out here."

Macen's face reflected the confusion he felt at the apparent paradox. "Commander, our sensors can detect several settlements upon the third planet of this system. Are you saying they are not Romulan settlements?"

"Again, Captain," Vetrik answered with the smugness of some teachers towards especially slow students, "you are correct."

"So whose settlements are they?" Macen cut straight to the point.

"They are ours," Vetrik replied cryptically.

Macen was tempted to have Derrico fire several quantum torpedoes up their aft. "And who might you be?"

"The Rihansu," Vetrik answered proudly.

Macen bit off his retort of, And who the hell are they? Instead he merely replied, "I see. I am sorry that we have encroached into your territory. If you will give us details regarding your borders, we will amend our navigational charts accordingly. I would also like to extend the hope that a diplomatic envoy would be received in the near future."

Vetrik leaned back in his chair stunned. This wasn't how Federation types were supposed to act. They were expected to act cocky, arrogant, and overly sure of their own superiority. This attitude of respect had taken him completely off-guard.

"Sir!" his weapons officer hissed. "We can't give them the charts. That will give them the position of all our colonies. They'll destroy us."

Vetrik motioned for the officer to be silent. He smiled for the benefit of the viewer. "I will pass your offer to my superior. They will be here shortly. You can discuss the particulars of your situation with her."

Macen took a deep breath. "Very well. We'll await your signal."

"Sir, I must protest," Derrico announced quietly.

Macen stood and faced him. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Derrico had the decency to flush. "Sir, I just don't think its wise to sit here with our shields down."

Macen nodded. "I understand, but answer me this: who's the invader here?"

"Sir! The Romulans are originally from Romulus."

"Actually, they're originally from Vulcan," Macen corrected him, then reminded him, "And I'm from the Delta Quadrant. Does that mean I'm less entitled to call the Federation home?"

Derrico became completely flustered. Danan broke the silence. "I think we need find out more about these references to the 'Rihansu'."

T'Kir sniggered. "Something you'd like to share with the whole class?" Macen asked with equal opportunity sarcasm.

T'Kir rolled her eyes. "It's simple. In the ancient Romulan, back when it was known as Ancient Vulcan, Rihansu was the name for the settlers that humans later named Romulans."

"When did you become an expert on Romulans?" Macen asked in surprise.

"Oh, please," T'Kir responded with false modesty. "It was an easy one."

Macen shook his head. "Whatever. Good work." He shifted his attention to Lisea. "We may have a Romulan "grass-roots" movement here."

She still looked dubious. "Maybe. We've seen stranger things."

"Like what?" T'Kir asked sceptically.

"Like the Unjoined Separatists, for instance," Danan replied.

"Never heard of them," T'Kir said, slightly confused.

"Be grateful," Lisea muttered darkly.

"Okay," Macen said gruffly. "Can we focus?"

A relieved titter spread across the bridge. Danan gave him an apologetic, if amused, expression. T'Kir almost always looked amused, but rarely apologetic. The same held true even now. Out of the corner of his eye, he realised that D'art's expression was rather lifeless. He shrugged it off. He had far more vibrant personalities to deal with at the moment. Something nagged at his subconscious, but he couldn't determine what or why.

"We don't know how long we have to wait, so I suggest we commence with the watch change," Macen announced.

There nods of agreement all around. Derrico scowled, but remained silent. D'art's expression remained inscrutable.

A loud, intermittent slurping punctuated the cafeteria. Every patron either stared unabashedly, or valiantly tried to ignore it. Brin couldn't believe that he and Lisea had volunteered to sit next to this culinary apocalypse. Tarrik hadn't begun his meal before they sat down, he reminded himself. If Tarrik had been eating, the odds of his sitting here would have been geometrically reduced.

Tarrik's small hands were capable of wielding utensils, but like most Tellarites, he abhorred them. A Tellarite believed that any task worth doing got one's hands dirty. A monumental task included getting one's face, arms, upper torso, and preferably the lower, as dirty as the hands. Consuming a meal was the most monumental task conceivable in the cultural lexicon. This knowledge did not make the witnessing of such an event any easier.

Tarrik was almost obsessive about his hygiene. Others aboard doubted it only because they applied their cultural standards to what a clean odour should be. Macen was inclined to agree with the critics where meals were concerned.

"So, Captain," Tarrik glubbed between mouthfuls. "How much longer do you think we'll be here under the Romulan nose?"

Brin looked to Lisea for support. She gave him a wry smile. Macen sighed. He was on is own.

"We're here waiting for someone to approve the transfer of starcharts containing the boundaries of these 'Rihansu'," he explained patiently.

"Well," Tarrik pondered aloud. "It's not as though we couldn't just steal the information out of their computers."

Macen sighed again. "We should at least give them the chance to co-operate."

"They're Romulans," Tarrik protested.

"Rihansu," Danan corrected.

"Romulans, Rihan...whatevers." Tarrik grew louder. "The point is, they can't be trusted."

"Why not?" Macen asked.

"Because they're Romulans!" Tarrik said in exasperation.

"Rihansu." Danan corrected impatiently.

"They refer to themselves as something different than 'Romulan'," Macen explained carefully. "Perhaps they act differently than Romulans."

"Once a Romulan, always a Romulan," Tarrik argued. "These Romulans are no different, skulking about with cloaking devices."

"Rihansu," Danan repeated with a dangerous edge to her voice.

"They haven't done anything threatening," Macen reminded him. "Why shouldn't we give them a chance to prove themselves?"

"Give them a chance?" Tarrik scoffed. "These Romulans are going to...aaaggghhh!"

Danan came out of her chair and grabbed Tarrik's collar. "They are Rihansu! Not Romulans, got it?"

Tarrik nodded weakly. Danan threw him back into his chair. She sat down with a huff. Tarrik glanced towards Macen who stared at him coolly.

"As has been pointed out, they are Rihansu," Macen said evenly. "Why shouldn't we give them the same chance we would any other race?"

T'Kir sought out Marc Berent. She found him buried in Hydroponics. He was copiously studying a fern of some sort. She found the way he constantly tapped notes into his padd amusing.

"Hi there," she said.

"Waaah!" he shouted as he leapt to his feet.

She laughed. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd heard me."

"No," he panted. "I didn't." Then suspiciously, "What are you doing here?"

Her eyes had a hungry look to them. "Why do you think?"

"Oh, God," He murmured, backing away. His eyes were wide with the fear of stalked prey.

T'Kir's eyes narrowed in the manner of the predator about to spring. When she sprang, he surrendered to her hungers without a single protest, although there were a few screams.

Kort stepped out of Sickbay. By Kahless, he thought, I hate it there. He disapproved of the humans that came in complaining over various ailments. If he were in the Empire, most of them would have been the laughing stock of the Mess Hall that evening for their insignificant whining.

If only, he mused wistfully, I was in the Empire. He was here as a repayment of an honour debt to Leonard McCoy. If it had not been McCoy that had summoned him, he would have laughed in their face. Although he had to admit to himself that McCoy's tale of a ship full of potential traitors had appealed to him.

He had made it a point to visit virtually every section and department on "medical" pretences in order to evaluate the crew. He had gained a great respect for Brin Macen. Both his acceptance of the ritual struggle between doctor and patient and his handling of the Romulan saboteur had won his approval. The Federation most likely didn't realise what a warrior they had in their ranks. He shook his head sorrowfully. They rarely comprehended such things.

Kort noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and stepped into an alcove. D'art was coming out of Auxiliary Control. That struck Kort as odd. The Helmsman was off duty, why would she be in a restricted area? He observed her as she glanced furtively down the corridors. He had to lean back, blocking his own view. He heard her footsteps as they went away from him. He looked around the reinforcing strut he had hidden behind. She was gone. Finally, he had something to investigate.

"Captain," Derrico's voice rang over the comm. "Please come to the bridge immediately."

Macen exchanged a glance with Danan. She gave him a wan smile and a shrug. Macen sighed. Derrico had stayed on the bridge when he'd ordered every to change shifts. He didn't envy the Tactical officer the reprimand he'd receive from Danan. Then, it would be his turn to rip the lieutenant a new orafice.

He stood and held out a hand for Danan. A few crewmen's eyes went a little wide at this. A few of the Federation's egalitarian virtues irritated Macen, and he made gestures like this in defiance of the popular impopularity of them. Lisea accepted his offer with a smirk and followed him out of the Mess.

"You need to stop playing with their heads like that," She chided. "You know very well that my society was even more ideologically opposed to differences between the sexes then humans."

Macen smirked in reply. "What you Trills opposed was discriminating between the sexes, not treating them with respect."

Lisea punched him in the shoulder. "That's Shiznit and you know it."

He laughed. "They don't know that."

"They can learn," she sing-songed.

They had reached the turbolift doors. Brin turned to face her. "You wouldn't?"

Her smile was positively wicked. "In a heartbeat."

"What do you want?" he asked with a sigh.

"Nothing you won't mind conceding to me," she said, shoving him into the lift as the doors opened.

Their embrace ended as the lift slowed to a stop. The doors opened and they stepped onto the excited furor of the bridge. T'Kir had beaten them here, but her hair was more unruly then ever and her uniform jacket was missing. Macen didn't even want to know how that'd happened.

"Sir," Derrico's snapped. The man looked like he'd just arrived on a parade ground rather than manning his station for the last eleven hours. "The Rihansu have made contact. They wish to speak with you."

"Very well, Lieutenant. Put them on screen."

P'Ris appeared on the screen. Macen was struck on how much she violated the stereotype of a Romulan. She wore a smile that couldn't be called warm, but at least it wasn't hostile. If they could avoid outright conflict, that would be a radical upshot for potential relations.

"Hello, Captain Macen," P'Ris began without prologue. "What shall I do with you?" Her voice rang with faint amusement.

Macen played up to this. "I suppose I could make a suggestion or two, but they would all be fairly moot points."

Her laugh was genuine. "A man that recognises the reality of a situation."

"What's not to recognise?" Macen asked. "I could vaporise your ship, and most of Vedrik's ship before either of you could damage my own."

Her smile became wry. "Yes. We scanned your armaments. Quite impressive. So, what do you plan to do?"

"Talk with you," Macen explained. "Can I come aboard?"

P'Ris looked a little flustered, then she relaxed. "You and your first officer can both come aboard."

"Thank you," Macen replied. "We'll see you shortly."

Macen turned to Danan. "Are you ready?"

"Sir..." Derrico began, but was cut off by a slashing motion of Macen's hand.

"Don't say it," Macen warned. He turned to T'Kir. "You're in command while we're gone."

T'Kir's eyes bulged almost as wide as Lisea's. A choking sound escaped Danan's throat.

T'Kir's eyes narrowed. "I heard that."

Danan held her hands up defensively. Macen gave a thin smile.

"Just don't do what he would," he ordered, jerking a thumb in Derrico's direction.

"Hey!"

"Stow it, Lieutenant," Macen said as he and Danan left the bridge.

They stopped the lift on C deck. They proceeded straight to Macen's quarters to pick up a few items. They emerged from his quarters wearing thigh holsters, each containing a pulsar pistol. Their next stop was Transporter Room Two.

They materialised into the midst of three armed Rihansu. They held disrupters on their "guests". A Rihansu woman stepped into the room. She had the shortest, spikiest hair either of them had ever seen on a Vulcanoid. Even more surprising was the fact it was died a peroxide blonde.

Macen resisted the urge to make a smart remark. He was studying her when he made an abrupt realisation: she was studying Danan. It was more than a professional interest. It was a blatantly sexual stare. Danan held the woman's gaze evenly. Her eyes showing neither interest or scorn. Macen knew of Lisea's own opinion regarding such things. She wasn't threatened, but she wasn't interested.

Trill society was much more lenient than most regarding homosexuality than most owing to the influence of most of the symbiots switching sexuality when they changed hosts. Danan had been unusual in the fact that the vermiform had decided it preferred female hosts exclusively. Previous hosts had dallied into such affairs before. Lisea had those memories at her disposal and had no desire to repeat them.

"We are here to speak with Commander P'Ris," Macen informed the female Rihansu.

Her eyes turned towards him. The cold contempt in them disappointed him. She'd condemned him without meeting him.

"This way," she snapped and led a path out of the transporter room.

Lisea gave him a shrug. They followed the churlish officer. The three guards followed them. They finally stopped at a door which Macen assumed led to the Commander's Quarters. The door opened, the officer motioned for Macen to stand back as she entered.

"The prisoners have arrived," she announced.

"They're not prisoners D'ionn. They're..." P'Ris' voice went silent as she looked up from her desk. "Gods above! What have you done to your hair?"

"You don't like it?" D'ionn asked, hurt shading her voice.

"I'm...just not used to it yet," P'Ris answered diplomatically. She shook her head, "Please show our guests in."

D'ionn snapped her fingers and the guards shoved Macen and Danan into the room.

"Stop that!" P'Ris shouted angrily. "Apologise at once!"

The guards murmured insincere condolences and left. They thrust the Starfleet officer's weapons in their direction after receiving a stern glare from P'Ris. P'Ris looked truly chagrined.

"I'm sorry. We are not used to having guests aboard."

"I had hardly noticed," Macen replied dryly.

P'Ris laughed at his undisguised sarcasm. "Point taken, Captain. Please have a seat."

She gestured at the chair across from her. D'ionn assumed a standing position with her hands behind her back slightly behind her commander's left. Danan did likewise behind Macen, but to the right.

"I couldn't help but notice that you are both armed," P'Ris commented. "I have never seen sidearms of that design. Where are they from?"

"They are from my homeworld." Macen answered. "El-Auria."

"You didn't seem quite...human," P'Ris commented.

"Thank you," Macen replied evenly. "May we get the negotiations underway?"

"Straight to the point, aren't you?" P'Ris asked with a trace of amusement. "Very well, you asked for starcharts laying out our territorial claims?"

Macen nodded. "Yes. I was also hoping to persuade you into revealing the location of the Federation prison."

D'ionn started at this. P'Ris remained impassive. She was impressed. Neither Macen nor Danan had given the faintest indication of this topic arising. She chided herself for underestimating them.

"What makes you think I would know anything about that?" P'Ris asked elusively.

Macen smiled. It was not a nice smile, she thought. It was the smile of a predator taunting its prey. He wasn't the typical Federation fool.

"The prison is located near Romulan space in the Beta Quadrant," he said nonchalantly. "I have a feeling that it lies near to your borders as well. I would further surmise that you have assisted its founders on occasion." His eyes grew cold. "Such as when you tried to dupe both the crews of the Enterprise and the Odyssey into thinking of each other as opponents."

"How could you..." D'ionn stammered before being silenced by a chopping motion by P'Ris.

"Commander Danan is quite accomplished at wresting details out of the sensors." Lisea gave the Rihansu a cold smile upon hearing Brin's compliment.

Demons below! P'Ris thought, they're a deadly pair. "If what you say is true," P'Ris began slowly, "why would you risk believing anything that I tell you?"

"Two reasons," Macen explained without a hint of victory. "First of all, your entire colonial movement seems to be based upon dissatisfaction with typical Romulan life. Based upon that, I'm willing to wager that you aren't prejudiced against foreign contact or co-operation." His smile was wintry as he amended, "At least not yet."

"And the other reason?" P'Ris asked, a sense of doom overwhelming her.

"I could blow both your ships out of space with marginal damage to my own," he stated matter-of-factly. "We both know it. Co-operation leaves both sides healthier and happier."

P'Ris weighed her options. There were too damn few of them. Macen knew it as well she did. She had to give him credit, he wasn't smug about it.

"Very well." She exhaled. "I will show you where they are."

D'ionn exploded at that moment.

"Any word from the away team?" T'Kir asked.

"No," Derrico growled.

Poor baby, she thought. He doesn't like being supplanted by the ship's "psycho". She smiled victoriously. Too bad, cupcake. Get used to it.

She knew Derrico wasn't the only one that was tense. D'art had practically become a board since Macen's departure. At first, T'Kir had assumed it was due to concern. In that she was correct, she surmised, but concern over something other than the captain. T'Kir had come to the conclusions she had been mistaken in her original assessment that D'art was attracted to Macen. She was far more complicated than that. T'Kir promised herself that she'd delve more into D'art's affairs after Macen and Danan returned. Hell, she mused, I hope I can prove young Ensign D'art does like him, just to piss Lisea off.

"Nooooo!" D'ionn screamed as she tore at her holster, liberating the disrupter secured within it.

Danan was slightly faster. She had her pulsar pistol out and fired at D'ionn before the enraged Rihansu could aim. The yellow flash of light caught D'ionn in the left shoulder.

Unfortunately, the disrupter was in her right hand. She squeezed the trigger reflexively, firing the pistol. An emerald beam of energy seared into P'Ris' side. P'Ris cried out in pain. D'ionn moved towards the door, using P'Ris as a shield.

Macen had gained his feet, pistol drawn. Danan was tracking D'ionn's movements with her pistol. The door to the quarters opened. The three armed Rihansu guards burst in, weapons ready. Lisea pivoted and fired. The first shot caught the lead guard in the chest.

"Kill them!" D'ionn yelled.

The two remaining guards opened fire. Macen and Danan ducked. Sparks showered over them.

P'Ris fell to the floor. She was still conscious. "Hold your fire!" she yelled hoarsely to the guards.

One ceased. The other aimed at her instead. Brin and Danan responded in unison. Both guards fell as yellow flashes of energy cut through them. Macen covered the door while Danan went to P'Ris and examined her.

"She'll live," Lisea called out.

"Are you certain?" P'Ris asked dryly through clenched teeth.

Danan's smile was warm. "It's a flesh wound. A regenerator will repair the damage."

"How did you beat D'ionn at firing first?" P'Ris asked in amazement.

Danan's face went red and she shrugged, "I knew she was going to do it. When she finally made the decision, I started to draw first."

P'Ris' eyes went a little wide at that, then she laughed. "You are very dangerous."

Danan's smile turned wry. "If you only knew."

"Can she move?" Macen asked sharply.

"I think so," Danan answered in a tone that stated that she shouldn't.

"Good," he said, looking nervously down the corridor. "We have about a dozen Rihansu coming straight at us."

"Close the door," P'Ris ordered. "Get me up to the desk."

Macen complied. Danan helped her into the chair. P'Ris toggled several controls. A distinct clicking sound announced the door's locking.

"That will take them some time to cut through. It is protected by several force fields," P'Ris explained.

Macen's face broke out into a daredevil grin. "What other surprises do you have?"

"Not many, I'm afraid," P'Ris answered in disgust. "I never exactly expected a mutiny."

"I suggest you start planning from now on," Macen replied mirthlessly.

P'Ris glanced towards Danan. "Is he always this way?"

Lisea chuckled ruefully. "You really have no idea."

"Are you two done bonding?" Macen asked impatiently. "We need to get out of this room so we can deal with D'ionn."

P'Ris gave him a feral smile. "Oh, I think we shall leave this room. D'ionn will pay for her treachery."

"Commander Vetrik," D'ionn shouted at the main viewer, "you must surrender authority to me. Commander P'Ris is being held hostage. I have assumed command of this vessel. Since this is the flagship of the Rihansu fleet, that makes me Commander of the fleet. In that capacity, I am ordering you to open fire on the Federation vessel."

Vetrik's response was a dry chuckle. "You really don't have any military experience, do you?"

"I don't see what that has to do with anything," she huffed.

"It means, little girl, that as the next senior officer in this sector, that I assume command of the fleet," he informed her. He made no effort to hide his derision of her. "Is Commander P'Ris alive?" he asked.

"Who knows what those monsters have done to her?" she answered irritably. "That Federation bitch shot me! I can only imagine what she's doing to the Commander."

Vetrik raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I am certain that you have quite an...impressive imagination in regards to what you yourself would do to the Commander."

D'ionn's emerald flush told him what he wanted to know. P'Ris' predicament was a result of this trollop's jealousy. He vowed he would kill her personally if her impetuousness caused P'Ris' death. She would die even if P'Ris lived, just for daring to presume ownership over the woman he craved.

"My first order, Sub-Commander, is that you stand down and contact the Federation captain."

He saw the defiance in her eyes and could have spoken the words she uttered before she said them.

"I am afraid I cannot comply. I must destroy those that harmed my Commander."

The view screen went blank. She would now undoubtedly fire on the Federation starship. The question was, would they both fire on him. The Federation ship surely would after that slut fired upon them. He had no idea if she would fire on him.

"Communications," he said, making a decision. "Raise the Odyssey. I wish to speak with her acting commander."

"Captain!" Derrico shouted. "The lead Warbird is raising shields and locking disrupters on us."

Oh, hell! T'Kir snapped off orders. "Raise shields! Power weapons. D'art prepare for evasive manoeuvres."

A shudder ran through the cabin. P'Ris stood up, horror on her face. "That stupid...c'elnt!" she shouted in outrage. "She's firing at someone."

The Odyssey shuddered as her shields shrugged off a disrupter blast. T'Kir held on to the armrests of the command chair. The only good news she'd received in the last few minutes was that only one of the Warbirds had opened fire. She wondered how long her fortune would last.

"Captain, incoming message," Derrico announced.

Not very long, she thought glumly. Aloud she said, "Put it through."

"This is Commander Vetrik. I am the commander of the Warbird that has not initiated hostilities with you. Please target your weapons on the coordinates I will provide," a disembodied voice spoke.

"Why should I?" T'Kir asked caustically.

"Because I wish to stop the other ship with minimal loss of life," Vetrik explained patiently. "It may also spare your captain and executive officer."

"All right, we'll do it," T'Kir growled. "Send us the coordinates."