[With the tragic events during the recent conference on Khitomer, there is no time like the present to put history aside to find allies in those who you'd normally not. The danger posed is incredible, and it's time to rise up against the threat that presents itself. But one question remains... who will you ally with and why?]
Personal log: Tylha Shohl, officer commanding USS King Estmere NCC-92984
The dark-haired young woman sits down on the other side of my ready room desk, her face impassive.
"Subcommander T'Laihhae, is it?" Her full name is a typical Romulan jaw-breaker. She replies with a minimal nod. She wears no rank badges, and her green and brown clothing barely looks like a military uniform at all. Her bridge crew, from what I've seen of them, are similarly informal - particularly the hulking thug who's her science officer, and the spectral Reman woman at her main engineering station. The Starfleet liaison officer on her ship, a junior lieutenant of a species new to me, looks startlingly out of place in his red tac-division uniform.
"The RRW Octavia has been seconded to us by the Republic for assistance in this mission," I say, for the sake of breaking the silence more than anything. "I gather your people found some evidence...?"
"Yes," she says. Her face is still studiedly blank.
"Nimbus III is... quite a way from the known activity radius of the Tal Shiar," I say. "Are you sure your information is reliable?"
"No," she answers. "But we are as sure as we can be. The Tal Shiar has a long arm, Vice Admiral."
I look pensively over to the viewport, where the dismal grey-brown curve of the "planet of Galactic peace" is visible. It was founded with the best of intentions... but none of the three great powers wanted to give up an economically viable colony world to the peace project, and so this marginally habitable hell-hole was chosen. And the open-door, free trade, no-regulations policy made it, in a very short time, a haven for smugglers and traffickers from all over the quadrant. Today, the place is a running sore. I've been here before, and I've never enjoyed it.
And chasing up a rumour of forbidden weapons smuggling... is difficult and dangerous enough, without having to deal with my monosyllabic supposed ally here. I glance down at the PADD with her personnel file. "I gather you were close to the Tal Shiar yourself, at one point."
"Imperial military. Not Tal Shiar. Though I admit the distinction grows blurred, sometimes."
"But you've managed to impress D'Tan, since then.... I see you were at the negotiations on Khitomer."
"I was." There is nothing in her eyes; she's as impassive as a Vulcan. Khitomer... sometimes, I think we should give up on Khitomer. The mere mention of peace talks at that place seems to bring all the worst fanatics and assassins out of the woodwork. The next round of negotiations ought to be held somewhere safer and quieter. Nukara Prime, maybe.
"All right," I say. "Well, you've brought this data to us... I guess we have to take it from here. Will the Octavia be remaining in orbit while we send our search team?"
"We will." Abruptly, she stands. "I would advise caution. The Tal Shiar will not leave a weapons depot unguarded. We will assist as required."
I look up at her, at the near-civilian clothes, at that carefully neutral face. I can't work out what wheels are turning inside her head. Is there some way I can get a handle on this woman, find out what motivates her? "I notice," I say, "that you don't have mourning tattoos. So many Romulans seem to wear them, these days... I've seen several of your crew...."
"Yes," she says.
"But you don't... have anyone to mourn?"
Her lips thin, slightly, just for a second. "There is one I would mourn," she says. "But I do not have the right."
And with that, she turns, and stalks out.
---
"I don't know," I mutter. I'm talking to myself, but Bulpli Yulan picks up on it. That's what makes her a good telepath and a good security chief.
"What don't you know, sir?"
"The Romulan. T'Laihhae. I just don't know what to make of her." I glance around the transporter room, where my team is making ready. "I can't help thinking she's got some... some sort of angle. But I don't know what it is."
"Her security checks out," says Bulpli. "And D'Tan's people vouch for her. You trust D'Tan, right?"
"Oh, I trust D'Tan." The Romulan leader has made a name for reliability. "I'm not too sure about everyone around him, though. Obisek, for instance. I would trust Obisek... up to a point."
Bulpli smiles. "What point?"
"The point where there was an overt threat to Reman interests. We know he will break any rules to defend his people. And, well, if this supposed weapons cache includes thalaron weapons - well, who do we know who's tried to get his hands on those before?"
"T'Laihhae is Romulan, not Reman," Bulpli points out. "Though maybe that makes less of a difference, in the Republic... but is that a bad thing?"
"Probably not." I sigh and scratch my head. "Maybe it's just old prejudices dying hard.... But I want you to keep a weather eye on the Octavia while we're planetside." At least the odds are in my favour if it comes to a fight; the Octavia is a barely-modified Mogai warbird, and King Estmere's firepower should be able to shred her in seconds.
"Keep an eye on the sneaky Roms?"
"Romulans are sneaky. They'll tell you that themselves." I step onto the transporter platform; my team assembles around me. Tactical officers, Lolha and Soledad Kleefisch; engineering support from Thirethequ; science officers, Klerupiru for her cyber-security expertise and Three of Eight with... all the resources a former Borg drone has. Ready for anything. I think. "Energize."
---
We're half the planet away from Paradise City, but this part of Nimbus III is, if anything, worse. A desolate landscape of tumbled rocks, the relic of some past volcanic upheaval; the rocks are scabbed with the tough lichen which is among the planet's highest forms of native life. There is no immediate sign of civilization. I look around, my eyes narrowing, my antennae twitching in the hot, bitter-tasting air. "Are we in the right place?"
"Scanning," Three says, his gravelly voice empty of expression. Beside him, the Ferengi Klerupiru has her tricorder out, too. "Verifying readings," Three continues. "There is a duonetic field in operation."
"It's spoofing some of our sensors," Klerupiru adds. "We're, umm, about three kilometres off our intended landing point... the coordinates the Romulans gave."
I purse my lips in thought. "At least that confirms there's something here.... Well. Our options are, beam back to the ship and try for a better lock... or, just hike overland."
"Without more detailed scans," says Three, "I cannot confirm that we would be able to establish a better transporter fix."
"So we hike," I say. "Which way?"
Three consults his tricorder again, then points. Uphill. Of course, it would be uphill.
It's tough going, too, among the broken rocks, and in that omni-present Nimbus heat. As an Andorian, of course, I'm worst hit by the heat; as the group's leader, equally of course, I have to try not to show it. And it's near midday on this part of the planet, too. A stone turns beneath my boot, and I stagger, swearing under my breath. Then something zings past my face, something moving almost too fast to see, moving with a high-pitched, nearly hypersonic hum.
Thirethequ snarls and slaps one purple hand against his face, setting his keratinous forehead crest rattling. "A murrain upon these pestilential insects!" he says.
"Got that right," Lolha says sourly.
The non-mechanical side of Three's brow furrows in thought. "I will attempt to set up a sonic field to repel the creatures," he says. "I must review the planetary species files." Another buzzing mote flickers through the air nearby.
"Could be worse," I say. "They're not as bad as New Romulus vihranen."
"Ow!" Soledad is rubbing her wrist. "Are you sure about that, sir?"
"I am establishing the sonic field," says Three. A thrumming sound comes from his tricorder, adding an unsettling, bone-jarring feel to the air around us. "These are not a native species," he adds. "I do not have a precise match in my database for them."
"I didn't think there were native flying insects on Nimbus III," says Klerupiru.
"Imported vermin off some space freighter, probably," Lolha mutters.
"We are all safe, medically, are we?" I ask Three.
"Our standard immunizations will protect us from any infections or local toxins," he answers.
Lolha turns on him, her broad Tellarite face turning angry. "You just said these things aren't local!"
"Broad-spectrum immunizations will block just about anything," Klerupiru reassures her. Lolha knows this already, of course, but Tellarites are argumentative, like Romulans are sneaky.
"Let's just keep moving," I say. "The sooner we get this job done, the sooner we get back to the ship." I squint up at the harsh sun in the desolate, cloudless sky. I really wouldn't mind being back on the ship right now.
We resume the trudge up the steep hillside.
---
It's about ten minutes later when Thirethequ collapses. His stumpy legs abruptly fold up beneath him, and he is face down on the ground. I rush towards him, beating the others by a few seconds.
He is still conscious. "Your pardon, noble commander," he says, "for this momentary weakness. Let me but gather my resources, and I shall redouble my unworthy efforts...." His voice trails off. Close up, I can see markings on his mottled purple skin, markings which shouldn't be there.
"Scan him," I order Three, though I already know things are very wrong.
"Body temperature elevated from Jolciot norms," Three rumbles. "Epidermal cell structure degrading, blood oxygenation depressed... I am reading indications of bio-toxicity." A pause. "Not natural. A tailored biological agent."
Those damned insects. Soledad reaches towards Thirethequ, touches his shoulder. "Stay still," she says, reassuringly, "we'll get you back to the ship."
Thirethequ convulses, his stocky body stiffening and shaking, his long arms flailing; a febrile seizure? One arm hits Soledad, and she stumbles, loses her footing, and is suddenly rolling down the hillside. "Stay with him!" I snap at Three as I chase after her. I don't reach her in time. Her head hits a stone with a crack that seems to echo across the hillside, and her body goes limp.
I slap my combadge. "Medical emergency. Toxic biological exposure, and a head injury. Transport us, now!"
There is an agonizing pause, and nothing happens. Then I hear the cool professional voice of Anthi Vihl, my exec - only, even she sounds strained. "There's a jamming field in operation," she says. "We can't get a transporter fix in your vicinity, sir."
The duonetic field Three detected; it must have stepped up a notch. "Prep a medical shuttle with full decon gear," I order. Then I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. "Wait. Belay that order!"
Things are moving on the hillside, things that aren't us. Rocks are sliding, rattling down the slope, as black shapes rise out of concealment; automated weapons batteries. Air defence turrets; a dozen of them at least. No way a shuttle will make it safely through a barrage of fire from those. The Romulan was right; this weapons dump wasn't left undefended. "Signal the Octavia," I say, "ask them if they've got any ideas."
"Sir," says Anthi's voice, "we've lost contact with the Octavia - they're no longer on our sensors."
So much for that. I get to my feet, looking down at Soledad's limp form, the trickle of blood coming from her temple, the worrying pallor of her face. I turn to the others. They are coming down the slope, Three and Lolha supporting a still-spasming Thirethequ between them. Klerupiru's expression is anguished as she consults her tricorder.
"We're all infected, aren't we?" I ask. She nods.
Damn.
---
I'm sure my own symptoms are mostly imagination. It's just knowing that I'm infected that makes my skin itch; it's stress and worry - and the wretched heat - that make my ears buzz, my antennae tingle, and my eyes blur.
"Well, our options seem pretty limited," I say. "We can't get a transporter signal through the jamming field, or a shuttle past that defence grid - and, with the sensor jamming, an orbital strike from King Estmere might hit us before it hits the turrets. So, we've got to press on. Get to the weapons dump, find the controls, turn off the defences."
"You make it sound so easy," Lolha mutters. She waves a hand at Soledad and Thirethequ. "What about them?"
Soledad is still unconscious, and Thirethequ is shivering, delirious and incoherent; the bio-toxin seems to have hit him hardest. I think, furiously. "Someone's going to have to stay and take care of them," I say. "Three, you're probably the least affected of us, you've got most medical expertise, and you're probably strong enough to handle Thirethequ if he has another seizure."
"I concur," says Three.
"So you stay with them," I tell him. "Klerupiru, Lolha, you're with me, so let's move. Three, transmit all your data to King Estmere - if you can develop a cure, all well and good." I call that last over my shoulder, already moving up the hill.
"A tall order," Three's voice calls after me, "but I will do my best."
The three of us scramble on up the slope. I check the coordinates on my own tricorder. We are maybe two hundred and fifty metres from the spot where we should have arrived. The slope is lessening; we have to be nearing the top of this hill. That's one small mercy, anyway.
The back of my left hand is itching. I scratch it, and skin comes away under my fingernails. That is not a good sign.
Lolha motions with her hand; I drop down into a crouch. "Something up ahead," she whispers.
More defences. I run through options in my head; it's getting hard to think through the buzzing in my ears. No way to transport equipment through the duonetic field, but I have things in my personal transporter buffer, including a seeker and a support drone... that should be enough. They'll have to be.
I send the seeker on its way. It skims up towards the top of the hill - and there is a snap and a flash of green light, and the drone explodes. Plasma-disruptor fire. Romulan, without a doubt. I spare a second to wonder about my supposed Republic allies....
"Draw them out," I murmur to Lolha, and she nods. Klerupiru has her phaser in her hand. There are spots before my eyes, now... no, it's a row of sores, regularly spaced, along the rims of her huge Ferengi ears. I'm itching all over, starting to shake. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, try to calm myself. I consult my tricorder. The hilltop is broad, and concave; we are approaching the ridge that runs around it, and then there is a dip in the middle. If we get to the ridge, we can hold the high ground... assuming we have the resources to do it. There is movement ahead of us, but the readings aren't clear. Or maybe they are, and the problem's in my vision.
Lolha sidles off to my left, while Klerupiru and I make our way forward, sliding on our bellies across the rocks. Rough stone grates on us, and I'm leaving sticky blue patches of blood and serum where my bare hands touch the rock. This is bad. We reach a massive boulder, and I fumble at my transporter buffer, bringing up the stuff I need....
Lolha stands up, her phaser rifle at her shoulder. She snaps off a bolt, and ducks answering fire from several different directions. Not an automatic system, I think; there are actual people out there. An instant later, my guess is confirmed, as four humanoid figures charge up from the central hollow. Gaudy uniforms, bristling with decorations; Tal Shiar.
My remaining support drone, and my phaser turret, open up on them as soon as they cross into the line of fire.
Two of them fall at once; Klerupiru picks off a third as he turns, startled, to face the new threat. The last one is a heavily armoured officer, but caught in a crossfire between me and Lolha, he drops in seconds. I get to my feet. If this is the only live defence the weapons dump has, we might have a chance. I run for the central hollow -
And I stop. It wasn't the only live defence. Not even close.
---
The Tal Shiar weapons dump... is an actual base, a camp of some kind, mostly subsurface, with only a few protruding subspace aerials, defence turrets, and hatches. But there is a whole squad of troops outside it, now, at least twenty armed soldiers, weapons ready, pointed at me.
One of them steps forward, now; a senior officer, his jewelled harness gleaming, his short cape fluttering in the breeze. He is sleek and poised and impeccably groomed; the picture of a Tal Shiar leader. I wince at the thought of what I must look like, compared to him. He comes towards me, and there is something in his hand.
"A valiant effort, Vice Admiral," he says. "I must admit that you have caused us some... inconvenience. It was desirable for us to have a base of operations on Nimbus III, and this place, we thought, was secluded enough."
"Sorry to have troubled you," I say.
"No matter." He holds up the thing in his hand. It is a medical hypospray, a transparent tube filled with cloudy amber liquid clipped into it. "I imagine you will be happy to assist us in relocating... among other things. Yes, this is an antidote to the highly efficient bio-toxin with which, I see, you are already acquainted. I imagine you would be ready to do a great number of things, in return for this."
There is a blur in my vision; I blink. I say nothing. There is a blur, all right, but not all of it's in my eyes....
"Come now, Vice Admiral," the Tal Shiar leader says. "You are in no condition for protracted negotiations, I do assure you." His eyes narrow for a moment, and he sighs. "And, please, don't try that hoary old trick. There is nothing behind me but my loyal troops."
Then, behind him, orange-white light flares with intolerable brightness and a noise like the end of the world. A finger of fire lances down from the sky and draws a line across the hilltop, and where it passes over those loyal troops, they flare and burn to nothingness in an instant.
I move. Romulans are stronger than Andorians, but surprise and desperation give me an edge. My foot lashes out, kicking him hard enough to imprint his raptor medallions on his chest, and he goes down, hard, his face full of nothing but astonishment. I grab the hypospray.
The phaser shot was enough to decloak the Octavia; the warbird hangs exposed in the sky above us. The defence turrets are opening up on her - but they are designed for shuttles, not to bring down a fully-armed warship. Octavia's shields shrug off their fire, as her phaser arrays slap them into rubble.
The Tal Shiar leader gets to his feet. Then he freezes, as a beam lances down from the Octavia's prow to burn a neat circle, four metres in diameter, around his feet. I feel the heat of it as it wafts past me.
"Very nice shooting, Subcommander T'Laihhae," I mutter.
"Thank you, vice Admiral." Both the Tal Shiar leader and I jump as T'Laihhae's voice comes from his combadge. "We've taken over their communications net, and we'll have the duonetic field down directly. Ahh - in the meantime, I'd advise against injecting that, until we're sure it's the antidote."
---
Columns of green light sparkle across the hilltop, resolving themselves into the Romulan's scruffily-dressed crew. At that, they probably look better than I do, right now. T'Laihhae's hulking science officer lumbers over to scan the hypospray. "Checks out," he says, after a few terrifying seconds. "You'd better take it."
It feels like my face is falling off. The hiss of the hypospray doesn't bring any immediate relief. But knowing my people are safe, now, that does....
T'Laihhae herself steps out of a spray of green light. "Sorry for the delay," she says. "It took a little time to hack their remote access codes." She spears the Tal Shiar leader with a coolly contemptuous glance. "Only a little time, Major D'Ersan."
D'Ersan snarls. "Centurion T'Laihhae," he says. "Colonel Vorkov would want you to know how disappointed he is in you."
For an instant, T'Laihhae's control drops, and her face becomes a mask of sheer fury. "If you ever get the chance," she spits, "tell him how glad I am of that!"
Then she is all urbanity again, as she turns to me and says, "Vice Admiral, the Romulan Republic makes formal request for the custody of this prisoner."
"No!" D'Ersan howls with rage. "We do not recognize the legitimacy of D'Tan's treasonous so-called government."
"Tough," I say. "The Federation does. Take him. With my blessing. Though I suppose we might need to have him extradited back at some point...."
"To stand trial for illegal bio-weapons deployment in a Federation court? Not unreasonable," says T'Laihhae. "And I understand you have facilities for the custody of Romulan prisoners - there is an empty cell at Facility 4028, for instance.... Hmm. Perhaps it's better if we take him... and keep him."
I'm in no mood to argue.
---
King Estmere's sickbay is a welcome sight. More welcome still is the sight of Thirethequ sitting up cheerfully in bed, exchanging polysyllables with his fiancee Jeroequene - and Soledad, pale but conscious, in the bed beyond his.
"Hold still," Samantha Beresford mutters, as she applies what feels like another square metre of dressings to my skin.
"I'm almost scared to ask how bad it is," I say.
"Not pretty," Samantha says. "But it's all superficial - standard dermal regeneration will take care of it all, there'll be no permanent damage, no scarring." She glances at the side of my face. "No more scarring."
She picks up a spray applicator and covers my antennae in some medical foam. I bite down hard on a protest.
"Filthy stuff," she says. "Three's internal systems kept it mostly in check, but even he wouldn't have survived more than a couple of days.... It affected the people with the higher metabolic rates first and fastest, of course. That's why it hit Thirethequ so hard."
"why didn't it hit me so badly, then?" I ask. "Andorians have higher metabolisms than Ferengi or Tellarites...."
"True," says Samantha. "But, apparently, some Andorians are just too bone-headed and stubborn to realize when they're seriously ill. Now, hold still, I've got to put some more dressings on. Oh, and you are back in your Mirror Universe uniform for a while, I want as little as possible rubbing on your new skin while it firms up."
I sigh. No point arguing with the doctor while she's in this mood.
---
I still feel ridiculous, though, wearing a short skirt and a skimpy top over my bandages and dressings, the world around me dim and fuzzy because of the covering on my antennae, when I meet T'Laihhae at the transporter room later. She is still dressed informally, but she looks a lot more military than I do.
"I just wanted to say thanks," I say, "before you left."
She gives a quick smile, just a fraction of a second's flash. "We will be returning to New Romulus within the hour," she says. "We've already submitted a full manifest of the Tal Shiar base's facilities to Starfleet. In accordance with D'Tan's policies of openness.... Even though we are sneaky Romulans."
"Sometimes," I say, "a bit of Romulan sneakiness comes in handy. How did you get the Octavia down through atmosphere with the battle cloak up?"
"With great care." Another millisecond smile. "I hope you appreciate, now, the need for caution when dealing with the Tal Shiar."
"I do," I say, with feeling. "Also... the need for dealing with them."
T'Laihhae nods. "Quite."
There is a brief silence. Then I say, "Should I ask who Colonel Vorkov is?"
"Someone from my past." She pauses, then adds, "He is not important... in himself. If anything, he is... a symbol. And a reminder."
Of something, I guess, she doesn't want to discuss. We are, after all, allies, not friends. Perhaps that might change? Too early to tell.
"One thing he reminds me of, though," she adds, in a soft voice, "is the need... not to let people down."
"Well," I say, "thank you, again. I can't say it's been entirely a pleasure, working with you...."
She actually laughs; it looks and sounds strange, from someone who looks so like a Vulcan. "We must do better, next time." She steps onto the transporter platform. "Energize."
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