Tyrothan’s mottled grey skin was streaked with a dull ochre. He tried his best to scrub it off, undeterred by the futility of the task. Perhaps this time would be different? This sonic shower was certainly new. Since entering the mines, the only respite from the filth and choking dust was the ice cold shock of water from the communal bath. He scrubbed and scratched and tore at the thick, keratinous epithelium around his eyes. Here the deep yellow stain was most concentrated. Operating mining beams, scaffold welders and simple picks for decades had given the arathamite ore ample time to work its way through to the living flesh below. The molecule’s ten valence electrons, crucial for the construction of warbird singularity chambers, formed a chemical bond with any organic matter it touched. Romulans, returning home to the surface each night, would simply strigilate themselves to remove the stain. The Remans were marked forever. 

Clothed in a rough sack, he bowed his head as he was led from the holding area beneath the dock. He cast down his sunken eyes to the slekwood floorboards that creaked and groaned under the weight of his massive frame. The shackles that bound his hands were themselves tinged gold with arathamite. His heavy boots clomped up the steps and into the central cubicle. His eyes burned, his chains rattled as he heaved an arm up to shield them from the light. Dim by Romulan standards, to Tyrothan it was like looking directly into the flare of a cutting beam. Eyes scrunched into thin slits, he grunted. 

Tyrothan could barely make out the Romulan who presided over the room. He seemed typical in appearance; a smooth-haired, sour-faced figure sat in the elevated chair, holding his nose high as if reacting to a terrible smell. His pale greenish skin was clerically smooth, and it was with well manicured fingers that he held the datapad containing every detail of Tyrothan’s meagre existence.

“Miner 2841B, I am Chairman Tr’Eann. You currently stand before the Imperial Labour Inquiry Board. You will answer our questions quickly, concisely, and to the point. Understood?” 

It was the first Tyrothan had heard of any ‘Inquiry Board’. Like anything Romulan, he doubted it was real. The light shone solely from behind the Chairman, obscuring anything in the shadows that fell on either side of the room. Lie or not, Tyrothan had no choice but to go along with it. He knew what happened to those that didn’t. 

“Yes,” he called out in a hoarse growl.

“Hmm,” the Chairman flicked through the datapad, “you were seen not far from another group of miners. More than two were congregating for purposes other than work. They have been dealt with accordingly. Were you aware of this meeting?”

“No.”

The Romulan sniffed, “Have you been aware of any such meetings taking place between miners?”

“No.”

“Have you overheard any discussions regarding the Romulan Free State?” 

“What is the Romulan Free State?”

The Chairman leant forward, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smile, “Indeed,” he gave a dismissive wave of his hand, “Miner 2841B, you’re aware of the punishment if you are found to be withholding information from the Inquiry Board?”  

“Disintegration.” Tyrothan answered as if there were any other punishment. 

“You may go now.”

Tyrothan bowed his head, shuffling his ankle chains to the side before descending the wooden stairs. He allowed himself a deep sigh as soon as he was out of the Chairman’s line of sight. To even admit the existence of the Free State meant certain death. 

The lift lowered him back into the mines. No less than seven other Remans had been crammed into the small cage that juddered down from the surface. The rhythmic clank of ancient, obsolete pneumatic tools thudded in the distance, punctuated by the deep booms of ore blasted from veins and rocky crannies. Tyrothan could already see thick dust suspended in the single shaft of light that filtered through from above. It was an almost golden colour, floating and spinning in the currents of the void to which he now returned. His eyes became used to the black once more, and he was comforted. The miners around him twitched, eyes darting here and there, inscrutable if they wanted to survive. 

The chains slid off. Tyrothan flexed his arms and legs.

“Shift’s over,” the Romulan guard growled, key in hand, “back to your cells.”

They trudged in pairs through the vast entrance cavern. Their mood, subdued at the best of times, was particularly dour that evening. Their transport to the surface for questioning had taken the entire day. Yet their mining quotas remained the same. The rest of the week would be a brutal, relentless slog.  

The cells lined either side of the tunnel. Despite near total darkness, each Reman found theirs. The doors were not locked, for there was nowhere to run to in the sealed mines. Tyrothan touched the sensor and the metal shutter slid open with a rattle guaranteed to wake the others. He anticipated the resentful glares he would receive in the morning on their way out to the ore-face. 

The bed was a smooth metal block that jutted from the rock. Tyrothan first sat, then lay down to stare at the familiar patterns and cracks in the ceiling. The tiny cave had been his home for eighteen years. He turned his head, looking across to his cellmate. Norvult had lived here longer still, yet his friend slept the peaceful sleep of someone who had hope. Together, they could feel the ripples of change drifting down from the surface. Norvult’s eyes snapped open, but he did not move. His eyes locked with Tyrothan’s. Those dense, black eyes had absorbed all, and it was time to share what they had learned.

The voices were few at first. One or two, here and there, sharing the day’s trials and successes. Before long, more filtered into Tyrothan’s mind. Try as the Romulans might to police the thoughts of the Foshiran Remans, they would not succeed. Decades in the dark had honed their minds. Long into the night, all was told; the Inquiry Board, the instability of the Star Empire and the disintegrations. Then Tyrothan’s pulse began to race. A clamouring roar ripped through their link like nothing that had come before. He calmed himself and focused, clearing away the chatter until he found the thread. He sat bolt upright. Norvult followed. Free State forces were bound for Foshir. 

話說天下大勢，分久必合，合久必分。

“The Empire, long divided, must unite; long united, must divide. Thus it has ever been.” – Luo Guanzhong

The krala beetles whined. The sun rolled round. Its rays filtered through the mangrove leaves and baked the swamp earth into cracked clay. Skipping fish flopped in the salted mud, water evaporating around them.

Therran sat, leaning back in her rattan chair. Sweat beaded on her forehead, running down into her eyes. She wiped it away with a cloth, checked the chronometer, then took a long, slow drag from her vaporiser. Smoke trickled from her nostrils as she returned to looking out over the swampy creek.

The priggen herb focused her vision, the ambient noise of her surroundings fell away. From the platform in front of the rickety wooden cabin, Therran scanned the brush that extended as far as her eyes could see. A rustle from the far side of the brackish, stagnant pool drew her focus. An erboar stumbled into view, its snout snuffling the ground for worms and morsels that wriggled in the silt. Its tiny ears pricked up, darting back behind its head. Sensing danger, it leapt back into the bush, three white stripes on brown fur streaking through the air as it ran.

Therran smiled. The thicket shook and, not far from where the erboar had stood, a familiar Romulan came into view. Tall and stern faced, the khaki vest she wore clung to her narrow frame in the humid air. Her shoulder length hair was tied back out of her eyes, and it flew from side to side as she checked the path ahead. Six irregularly spaced steppingstones spanned the patch of water in front of her, and she took a run up before making the crossing. Her canteen and scanning device jangled from her belt in time with each leap. Over the stream, her feet planted themselves in the mud. She looked up.

“Given today’s importance, I would have expected you to have made better time,” Therran admonished, looking down from her vantage point on the wooden deck. The crow’s feet around her eyes deepened as she squinted into the sun.

“Took me a while to get out of the settlement unnoticed,” the young woman replied, “I was definitely being watched.”

“Their suspicion grows by the day,” Therran mused, “come, have some tea.”

The newcomer stepped up to the platform. Therran could see specks of puddle splashed dirt across the dark combat trousers that climbed the steps. The gloves that gripped the railings were torn and the face of their wearer was scratched red from grasping thorns that exacted the jungle path’s toll.

“Wait,” Therran’s command stopped the younger Romulan in her tracks, “something’s on your shoulder.”

“Tracking device?”

“No. Stay there,” Therran ducked inside the shack, bringing back a length of kindling wood from the stove. A flame burned at one end, and she held it out to the weary traveler as she approached, “hold still.” Therran gripped her arm, and there was a hiss. Burning embers made contact with pale skin. A grunt of pain was followed by a small thunk as a squirming, twisting worm dropped to the deck. It fell between a gap in the wooden boards, “J’Iral, you have to be more careful. Once these things get on you, they’ll attract more.”

“Ugh. I cannot abide this world.”

“What news of the settlement?” Therran returned to the stove where a tin kettle had come to the boil. Its whistling diminished as she poured it over the strainer.

J’Iral had followed her inside, “The administration knows something’s wrong,” she unclipped her belt, slinging it over the back of a chair along with the disruptor pistol, scanner and empty canteen. She accepted the tea gladly from J’Iral, “they’ve got their informants working overtime. The whole town’s suddenly minding their own business. I don’t think we’re under any direct suspicion. There was definitely someone, though… I don’t know.”

“You won’t until it’s too late,” Therran’s tone was not reassuring, “just stay focused on the mission.”

J’Iral slowly paced back out to the deck. She gave the door a light push with her shoulder, both hands steadying the cup and saucer as she walked. She sat down in the rattan chair and took a sip. The steaming, lightly spiced aromatic herbs did nothing to abate the muggy heat of the day.

Therran followed her out, dragging another chair. She eased her aching bones into it, pulling again on the vaporiser. Reaching into a pouch, she produced a small device that fit easily within the palm of her hand. It had no obvious features other than a speaker grille at one end, a line of vertically printed Romulan script, and two luminous input controls. She placed it on the railing in front of them, and they sat together in silence. Only the chirping of finches and dull hissing of the leaves broke the stillness of the air. Occasionally, a bullfrog’s warbling rose from the murky water they looked out upon, growing more frequent as the sun lowered in the sky.

The device lit up, springing into life with a sound like whooshing air.

“Here we go,” Therran leaned forward, “got the cypher?”

“Right here,” J’Iral fished her own device from a hidden pocked in the seam of her trouser leg, “still phase-shift key six?”

“Yes,” Therran confirmed, just as the monophonic melody of a Romulan nursery rhyme began to sound from the device.

J’Iral smiled, recognising the tune as Five Thrai Walk By. Memories of a happy childhood on the grass plains of Ralatak faded quickly as a female robotic voice took over from the tune. She began to punch a string of numbers into the cypher’s keypad as quickly as they were announced.

“Lli. Fve. The. Kre,” a pause, “Sei. Hwi. Mne. Fve,” Therran inhaled from the vapouriser again, “Kre. The. Hwi-” garbled subspace static cut through the message. J’Iral strained to hear the numbers.

“Try another frequency,” she said, apprehension creeping into her tone.

More static whooshes and pops came from the device as Therran worked the controls, “No good. They’re all jammed.”

“Imperial Veruul,” J’Iral hissed.

“Ten repeats,” Therran reminded her, “if we can’t piece it together before then, we go with the original date.”

***

The USS Ahwahnee floated as still as it could relative to the ever-present gravitational pull of the galaxy’s central supermassive black hole. Approximately one light year ahead lay the Federation’s coreward border with the Romulan Free State. Since leaving Deep Space 17, an uneasy calm had befallen the crew as they learned of the chaos engulfing the Velorum Sector. Their orders placed them far from the fray, and for that some were thankful. Others felt pangs of guilt for not being present as their Fourth Fleet comrades raced to the aid of their emergent new allies. A small cohort were disappointed, wishing to be front and centre of any effort to free a people from the yoke of imperialist oppression. No matter their thoughts or leanings, all now stood ready. They listened. Despite being days travel at high warp from Velorum, it was impossible to judge how far the effects of an event like the Rator coup would reach. Like the Romulan sun of three years prior, this political supernova would send shockwaves throughout the quadrant. Now, the Ahwahnee looked on as those shockwaves approached. Stationary in an endless cosmic sea, the sands of history shifted around them.

“Captain, Listening Post Echo IV-Alpha just picked up an encrypted subspace transmission from the Taman system,” Delfino quickly digested the salient details of the comm. Panel readout, “its being directed spinward, sir. Towards the Star Empire border.”

“Taman…” Felrak turned to Tursk.

“Free State system, not far from here,” the Tellarite had already accessed the intelligence archives from his armrest, “likely to be a Tal Shiar installation.”

“Any chance of decrypting?” Felrak dutifully asked with barely a glimmer of hope.

“Not fast,” Delfino quickly extinguished that glimmer, “IV-Alpha are relaying the signal on to Starbase 718. They’re the only ones with enough computing power to crack it.”

Felrak shifted in his seat, “Alright. Steldon, take a look at the transmission waveform. Even if we can’t get the content, there might be something in the metadata.”

“Aye sir, accessing now,” the blonde-haired science officer brought up the undulating graphic on one of the rear terminals.

“Makes you wonder why we’re here at all,” Tursk leaned over to Felrak. His voice was hushed, “some of those planets at Velorum are reconstructing their entire ecologies. Food production, political structures, economies… And we’re a mobile relay station.”

“I suspect,” Felrak turned to face his First Officer, “command has decided we’ve seen enough action for a while.”

“It’s been six months since-”

“No, Tursk. We’ve seen enough action for a while.”

Tursk rolled his eyes. Felrak couldn’t help but grin and shrug his shoulders, “Book yourself some holodeck time if you must.”

Steldon interrupted, “Looks like the transmission data is coming through in quick bursts. It’s matching a phase shift key signature used by the Tal Shiar. Even if 718 decrypts the content, it’s likely to be quantum ciphered.”

“Troop movement orders,” Tursk surmised, “or field agents.”

“Yes,” Felrak rapped a scaly hand on the armrest, “and you’re feeling bored, Commander?”

The Tellarite made a low growl, “We’re still in the dark.”

It was Delfino’s turn to interrupt, “Captain, Echo IV-Alpha is now reading massive subspace interference across the transmission channel. Looks like a jamming signal.”

“Yeah, it’s just noise now. I can’t make anything out,” Steldon announced, frustrated.

“Huh. Star Navy’s not happy about this one,” Tursk pulled at his beard, “Steldon is there any way to narrow down the intended transmission target?”

“Not with much accuracy, sir. But maybe… Judging by the EM wavelength and hyperchannel strength, and if we cross-reference with habitable star systems in the sector…” there was a pause as Steldon made the inputs, “My best guess would have to be somewhere in the Foshir system.”

“What do we know about Foshir?” Felrak jumped in.

Delfino reeled off the library entry, “Mining colony. Population: 8 million Romulan, 24 million Reman, 63 million indigenous Foshirrans. Imminent ecological collapse from intense strip mining. One of the Star Empire’s main sources of arathamite ore. Fun place.”

Tursk ignored the wisecrack, “That’ll be it. Arathamite’s rare. Free State’s making a move on that ore.”

Felrak contemplated his own move, “Well, if we’re stuck here, might as well cause some trouble from out of harm’s way. Could make things a little more interesting for you, Mr. Tursk?”

Tursk growled again. He liked what he was hearing, “We could give the Free State a signal boost. Help them punch through that interference.”

“I could coordinate with the listening post, have the signal route through the Ahwahnee’s comms array. There’s no way they could jam a transmission from three locations,” Steldon added.

“Get it done,” Felrak said, “the more Star Navy resources tied up outside Velorum, the better.”

Tursk grumbled, aprrovingly, “I’ll put that holodeck time on hold.”

***

Therran tapped the vaporiser against the side of the chair. A crashing waterfall of static still poured from the subspace receiver.

“We must be on the 8th repeat by now,” J’Iral’s frustration grew with each passing second.

Therran was silent. Both pairs of eyes were fixed on the device in front of them. The whooshing intensified into a high-pitched whistle, then dropped low. A loud “BZZT” then shot out of the unit, just as the white noise began to fade away. As if rising from underwater, the familiar monotone voice phased back in, “Hwi. Lliu. Fve. Hwi…”

J’Iral snatched up the cypher, her hand almost trembling as she stabbed at the numbers.

Not even Therran’s decades of Tal Shiar service could contain her curiosity as the voice finally ceased, “Well?”

J’Iral held up the cypher. The thin display at the top of the device lit up green as the text scrolled across:

Neutralise administration command structure. 72 hours. Landing zones 18.32’38”, 17.04’52” – 68.11’47”, 17.28’13” – 56.05’15”, 89.34’53”. The Free State will triumph.

Arms cannot span

This mountain distance

-it is thornbush

And grey, and vast,

But stones cast,

Do rattle and clap,

Far into the deep earth,

One for you, one for you,

All of this for you,

Flung from the bottom to the top,

Through the sun

Sirens blared a wounded howl. Orange skies were pastel hued from skyline furnaces, obscured by thick dusty haze. Jungle carbon returned, entropic, to the atmosphere. Animal calls drowned out by the tear of impulse engines called a retreat, and the slithering, crawling, flying and scuttling flow of creatures from the bombardment zones began.

Antimatter blasts erupted green. A ripple of earth thundered across alluvial plain. Souls and structures swallowed by walls of heaving clay.

Under cover of darkness, their crouched bodies made a different kind of flood. Buildings, the ones still standing, were swarmed. More flashes of green, smaller now. Precision strikes. Executions, planned for months, carried out. Some came from the drop ships. Others came from the interior.

Vast forgotten realms, networked by forest tracks, had grown their own societies. Opinions and cultures, histories and philosophies had formed under the canopy mists. They watched the outsiders come with a wary eye. Factional differences remained, and there were even advantages to be had. Their technology was useful. But those who called themselves the “Tal Shiar” had come, too. They spoke of subjugation, of rightful ownership and control of the land.

Now it was time for the outsiders to go. The Tal Shiar, friends of the Foshirrans, had promised to help. Today, that help arrived.

***

“They’re coming,” the Imperial Commandant’s back was braced against the massive wooden doors.

The Adjutant’s face looked back, taught with fright, “We must surrender.”

“Free State filth will NOT control these mines!”

“We’ve lost the settlement, sir,” the Adjutant implored, “no one’s coming. Everything’s tied up at Velorum.”

“We’ll activate the singularity chamber then,” the Commandant controlled his anger. His mouth, like a wound torn across the skin of his face, spat the words, “pathetic opportunists will pay with their lives.”

An incoming communication alert chirped from the conn.

“Sir,” Delfino called, “it’s Starbase 718. They’ve finished the decryption.”

“Alright Lieutenant,” Felrak stood with his arms behind his back, monitoring the transmission waveform. Two days had passed with seemingly few developments on the Romulan side of the border. Meanwhile, reports from the Velorum sector had poured in. Ad hoc starship engagements, diplomatic wranglings, and increased Klingon involvement presented a situation that was muddy at best. Felrak put these things to the back of his mind. He would focus on what he could, “Let’s hear what we’ve been boosting.”

“Looks like coordinates,” Delfino’s eyes darted back and forth, scanning the transmission’s contents. She relayed them back to the Captain, “landing zones, and orders to neutralise the administration”.

“So they’re doing it,” Tursk said with a harrumph, “their people must’ve been there a good while.”

Delfino continued, “718 further reports several warp signatures were detected in the Taman system. They’ve dropped off long range sensors, presumed cloaked.”

“Oh yes they are,” Felrak thought out loud.

“They took their damned time,” Tursk complained.

“Patience, Mr. Tursk. Patience…”

***

It began as a quiet trickle, then a dull roar rose in the distance like a faraway army of marching feet. Norvult awoke first. Tyrothan slept on his side facing the cell’s cold stone wall. His chest lifted and fell with each peaceful breath. Then, in an instant and sensing fear, he was upright. Norvult stood in the middle of the cell, one leathery grey hand outstretched as if ready to shake Tyrothan from his slumber. There was no need. The roaring from outside grew louder, and Tyrothan’s eyes grew wide. He reached beneath his smooth rocky perch; his grasping hand closed around the device. The metal pole came loose from its bindings as he ripped it from its hiding place. Tyrothan brandished the crude tool as he stepped towards the cell door, a magnetic depolariser had been plasma welded to its tip.

“Get back,” voice calm, he waved Norvult away. Then, gripping the device with both hands, he thrust it into the door’s locking mechanism in a shower of sparks. Metallic clicks and groans sounded and the thick duranium scraped open. At once, they were ankle-deep in black water. Tyrothan’s corrugated ears pulled back and he shared a look of horror with Norvult.

“Open the cells,” Tyrothan said, “I’ll find a way out.”

The water pushed against his shins as he fought against the flow. Each step was accompanied by a plunging galoosh, echoing off the tunnel walls. From behind, he could hear each electromagnetic discharge as one by one Norvult forced open the doors. A column of Remans was formed. Tyrothan at his head, Norvult at the rear. With dim lights extinguished, their eyes adapted quickly to the cavernous pitch. Refined by millennia of darkness, solemnly they pushed on towards what for them was merely the next trial.

The central chasm yawned wide and deep. Forcing their way doggedly towards the chains that hung down in the centre, the Remans now waded through icy waist deep water that bit into Tyrothan’s skin. He looked up. Above them, a halo of light marked the spot from which only a few days ago he had descended from the Labour Inquiry Board. The caged platform hung halfway between the water’s surface and the ceiling. Three Romulans looked out from it as best they could in the gloom. Another struggled with a jammed winch mechanism.

Tyrothan held up a hand. The other Remans, reading his thoughts, held still. Barely a ripple escaped the column as their eyes all tracked the same spot. Seconds passed. The plan was formulated. Barely a breath passed their lips. Then the same thought resonated. Go.

The first half of the column, Tyrothan leading, surged forward towards the hanging chains. Eight Remans threw themselves against the rising tide, half swimming, half pushing themselves off from the uneven rocks that jutted from the ground. The second group divided in two. Four bore left, three right. They made for the steep walls that loomed up out of the rising flood. The Romulans in the cage lift fell silent as the splashing noise reached their ears, “Get it working. Now!” came an urgent hiss.

Few rays of light from the distant cave ceiling diffused into the depths. Most were absorbed by inky nothing. Norvult, reaching the rock wall, looked up again to the cage. The light caught his eye with a glint. As if in reply, a searing green disruptor bolt exploded through the dark. Blinded, the Remans by the walls shielded their eyes as debris and dust rained down. Norvult’s hand scrabbled against the ledge behind him. His spindly, clawed fingers closed around a jagged fragment just bigger than his palm. With the full force of his torso and the full leverage of a long, burly arm, he catapulted the rock towards the cage. A scream of pain reverberated through the mine. A disruptor rifle fell from above, and the Romulan who’d fired it clutched at his face that now ran green with blood. More projectiles followed. Loud clangs sounded as they connected with the cage bars. The whomp and flash of disruptor fire came thick and fast. A Reman disappeared in a particulate cloud.

Tyrothan seized his chance. He dived towards the dropped rifle, disruptor bolts whizzing above his head. Now directly beneath the platform, the Remans who had moved with him waited for the signal. The water had reached their armpits, only heavy boots preventing air pockets in their work gear from floating them away. Tyrothan resurfaced with a gasp, rifle raised above him. The Remans’ eyes turned to the chains that dangled not two metres from the water’s surface. Summoning all his strength, Tyrothan pushed off from the submerged workfloor. His free arm stretched out ahead of him, carving a path through the void and for a moment, he flew. The chain was slippery. Long fingers slid over each link as the weight of his sodden clothes dragged him down again. Only three remained between him and the end before he found his grip. He swung out, twisting as he steadied himself. His black eyes turned down to meet the other Remans. For a split second, triumph flashed across them. They jumped.

Disruptors fell silent. The Romulans peered into the dark through battered visages, but there was nothing to see. The fourth of them jimmied the seized-up lever a final time, and there followed a loud clunk. The platform shuddered to life. They looked above, at the light that edged closer, “Where did they go?” one snarled through gritted teeth and broken nose.

“Drowned, I bet,” another nursed a deep gash that cut perpendicular across his lips, “I hope the kresht eels shred their corpses, the kllhe.”

“Should’ve sealed ‘em in sooner.”

A high-pitched whirr became audible over the clanking winch that hauled them up. Confusion swept the first Romulan’s face, “Who’s got their disruptor on-”

The platform erupted beneath them. Wooden planks were vaporised in an instant, causing two of the Romulans to tumble away into the darkness. The remaining two clung to the bars, faces contorted in horror. Tyrothan looked up through the splintered remains, disruptor in hand. He compressed the trigger again to no effect. One Romulan lunged forward but was stopped in his tracks as the white hot barrel of Tyrothan’s disruptor rifle slammed into his face. Another Reman leapt up onto the platform remains, only to be vaporised instantly by a quick draw from the second Romulan. Tyrothan heaved, arms locked in a dogged grapple. He felt the heat of a disruptor bolt shooting past his ear. His opponent, teeth gnashing, inched slowly back towards a gap in the cage rails. One last shove, a strangled cry, and the Romulan disappeared over the edge. More green bolts discharged into the murk at wild angles. Tyrothan whirled round to see another Reman, determined to avenge his fallen comrade, struggling to loose the disruptor pistol from the final guard’s death grip. Tyrothan gripped the metal bars as he sidestepped across the platform’s edge. He crouched down, picking up a rock that had hurled from below. He hefted it once, twice. Through the centre of it ran a yellow vein of arathamite ore. He shot forward. The rough stone slammed into the Romulan’s temple with a sickening crack. Then again. Then again. The Romulan’s body fell limp.

The platform reached the surface. For the first time, unshackled, Tyrothan emerged from the mines of Foshir. The Remans followed, dragging their way up the chain and into the above ground corridors of the mining facility. A tinny alarm sounded at regular intervals, only the Remans were there to hear it. Plasma explosions cascade with methodical booms, shaking their bones and the very ground on which they stood. Tyrothan tossed the disruptor pistol to Norvult, “We need more.”

***

The Adjutant pored feverishly over the controls. Before him lay the chamber; last resort of the Foshir colonial administration. Officially built to test the singularity containment efficacy of mined arathamite, all knew its true purpose. After a few jabs at the panel, the angular Romulan script invited him to enter his codes. Slowly, he acquiesced. A final confirmation. A brief pause, and the huge spherical apparatus groaned into life. Concentric tritanium rings began to rotate gyroscopically around a central core. The Adjutant stepped back, the cold blue light radiating from the opposing quantum suspension fields clashed with the terror in his eyes, “S-singularity, activated. Sir,” he announced through the intercom.

The only response was the sound of disruptor fire, followed by a muffled yell. The Adjutant turned slowly to the door behind. The singularity core hummed a low note at first. Another alarm sounded an angry garble. The humming increased, growing into a piercing wail. The rings were blurs, and streaks of white light now lashed out from the centre of the containment field.

The door’s outline shone for a second, before exploding open in a fountain of molten metal. Norvult stormed through, flanked by Remans with disruptors raised. The Adjutant raised his hands.

“Deactivate it!” Norvult roared.

The Adjutant flinched.

“NOW!” The Reman’s face was now inches from the Adjutant’s, who winced as flecks of spittle splashed against his skin.

“I-if you’ll let me live,” came a meek stammer.

Norvult grabbed the Romulan by the scruff of his quilted uniform, dragging him over to the controls. The two Remans followed, tracking the Adjutant with raised rifles every step of the way.

The Adjutant worked quickly. The high whir fell to a low buzz, which gave way in turn to the steady whomp whomp of the gyro rings. He turned, “There. It’s done.”

Satisfied, Norvolt looked on. His gravel voice, low and hoarse, rumbled, “Bring him to Tyrothan.”

***

Another alert, faster and more urgent this time. It was Lieutenant Steldon’s turn to brief the Captain, “We’re getting massive spatial distortions emanating from the Foshir system, Sir,” the young Science Officer called out, “it’s matching the kind of readings we’d be seeing if there were a quantum singularity in the region. There’s nothing like that for lightyears-”

“A warbird?” Tursk interrupted, “That’s their power source.”

“Negative, Sir, from what I can see it’s coming from the planet’s surface.”

“How…” Tursk mused, “It’d swallow the whole planet.”

“Which might be exactly the Star Empire’s aim,” Felrak finished, “I think the Free State’s invasion may have been a success.”

“They’ve miscalculated,” Tursk followed, “if the Star Empire burns, Free State’s gonna burn with them. No one’s getting that arathamite.”

Delfino turned from the conn, “And 63 million Foshirrans get to burn too,” her hazel eyes bore into Felrak’s, framed by the jet black of her pulled back hair.

Felrak looked down to the deck, “Mr. Tursk, the wait is over,” he looked up again to meet Delfino’s gaze, “I believe the Fourth Fleet’s current activity in the Velorum Sector satisfies General Order 13’s requirement for Starfleet orders before violating territorial sovereignty. Lieutenant Delfino, please inform Starbase 718 as such. Should they disagree with my assessment, note that they are welcome to send anyone they can to intercept us.”

Tursk laughed. Steldon, liking what he overheard, grinned too.

“With pleasure, Sir,” Delfino composed the message.

“Excellent,” Felrak leaned forward, “Now set course for the Foshir system. Maximum warp.”

There are decades where nothing happens, and there are weeks where decades happen. The USS Ahwahnee travels at high warp into the latter; an imperceptible turn in the cogs of time, or the latest stroke hammered out on one typewriter of an infinite continuum that tells our story. The past becomes a shadow, frozen and inaccessible to all save the few that flit through this universe unconcerned. The future; an array of quantum unpredictability, anchored to the real by the actions of the now.  

We have surpassed relativity. Space twists and warps around us. Our spatial coordinates are fixed; our coordinates in time constructible. Intermix chamber annihilation, and the departure of matter from this universe, in turn annihilates possible coordinates for the unfolding of time. Yet still more, later destinations, are created. Branching quantum realities, ever fluid across infinite tributaries continue to open and close. Pulsating like mycelial nodes, they weave a gossamer web enmeshed in the fabric of existence.  

The continuum retains a viscosity. Slingshots, causality loops, wormholes all provide a spyglass through which the distant shores are seen. We possess the means to traverse these waters. To affect the past, to witness the future, unspooling uncertainty into concrete reality. What, then, would be the mystery of life? Locked on our path through the fourth dimension with the abilities that we possess, we could know all. New realities might be tailored, new paths woven.  

Temporal wars, the flapping wings of deterministic chaos, and the lived experiences of beings beyond our dimensional realm all show us that to alter our continuum is folly. Change must come from within. Through our philosophies and celebrations of progress, we control our present actions. We build on the past, and improve our future not through surgical alteration, but through steadfast adherence to our guiding principles.   

Foshir is reached. Two D’deridex class warbirds decloak; troop carriers. Thus we find ourselves at the mercy of events. We accept the monkey’s keystroke. The whims of the cosmic joker and capricious entities may prevail. For this reason we must remain the masters of our fate. We are, after all, the captains of our souls.  

Therran and J’Iral wore black. The patterned Tal Shiar field uniforms were accented with dark sashes, resting across their torsos with imperial pomp. Rank insignia glinted on each collar. Their boots clomped as they strode between two columns of Romulan soldiers. Each stood to attention as they passed by, shouldering their disruptor rifles. The two operatives turned smartly upon reaching the head of the lines, giving them a direct view down the aisle towards the landing pad. Behind them rose the smooth adobe walls of the administration compound. Its central turret looked down over all, emblazoned with the imperial eagle. One taloned claw clutched at Romulus, the other Remus; embattled symbols of the old ways hanging beneath the raptor’s vengeful glare.   

There was no more need to remain in the shadows. Free State control was unchallenged. Arms behind their backs, they waited as the shuttle entered the upper atmosphere. It began as a dot. Growing steadily to a dark green ball, two small wing-like protrusions became visibly silhouetted as it descended through fluffy white clouds. Coming in at a steep angle, the craft arced low and wide, settling at an altitude shared by the native hawks and buzzards that hovered in search of prey. Thick jungle outside the settlement swayed in the morning breeze. The shuttle’s engines compensated, tiny maneuvering thrusters firing as it maintained a position above the landing pad. Therran and J’Iral’s eyes tracked down in unison as it lowered gently. With a hiss, the rear door inched open, forming a ramp as it touched the smooth earthen surface beneath.  

His huge frame stood bulky and wide, blocking the entirety of the shuttle’s interior from view. Dressed in the typical grey tiled uniform of the Free State, darkened shouldering emphasised his general officer rank in the epauletted style of an old-Earth military. A corpulent form stepped forward, following Therran and J’Iral’s path between the guard of honour still snapped-to and at the ready.  

They each knelt on one knee. As he approached, a self-satisfied smile formed across his bloated features. Creases in the corners of his eyes, grew larger like the folds in the loose skin of his neck as he looked down at them. His teeth stuck out in all directions, accentuating the vicious form of his angled eyebrows and prominent forehead ridge.  

“General Prelyat, we stand ready to serve the Free State,” Therran obsequiated, not looking up. 

“Arise, good officers of the Tal Shiar,” he made a sweeping gesture, beckoning them towards him, “You have done well.” 

Despite being on their feet, still their necks craned as they looked up at the imposing Romulan, “Thank you, General,” J’Iral bowed her head once more for good measure.  

“Tell me,” Prelyat took an indulgent pause, “has the entire Star Empire contingent been expunged?” 

A sudden gust took hold of Therran’s white hair, “Almost. A few have scattered to the forests. Trackers on all continents have been activated to root them out.”  

Prelyat’s eyes lit up, “Mmmm, very good indeed! I hope to see them terminated within the day. Now, what of this singularity business, hmm? Why were we not told to expect this?” 

“That…” J’Iral began, her young eyes betrayed her as she immediately broke eye contact. 

“Took some work to get under control,” Therran finished. 

“Some work, hmm?” Prelyet scoffed, “Subcommander Spolodor informed me that it was the Remans who deactivated it! Is this true?” 

“It is, sir,” Therran gritted her teeth, “fortunately, the Remans saw a way to improve their situation by aligning with us. We have their leader and the Empire veruul who activated the singularity.” 

“Bring them to me,” the General commanded. 

“As you wish,” Therran bowed her head again. She nodded towards J’Iral, who activated a device produced from a uniform pocket. Norvult and the Adjutant materialised before them in a shimmer of green, the latter wore manacles forcing his hands behind his back. 

Tyrothan stood motionless, the wrinkled grey skin of his face showed no sign of emotion. His own formidable height allowed him to meet the General’s gaze. Prelyet looked away, down to the Adjutant who had collapsed in a heap before him. 

“P-please, I beg of you,” came a whimper, “I had no wish to activate it. They forced me. The Free State is the future of the Romulan people! Long live the Free State!” his words became lost in a frenzied, choked cry. 

Prelyet cocked his head to one side, as if curiously imagining how a being might be reduced to such a state, “Oh, and I suppose you’ve harboured these rebellious thoughts throughout your service in the Star Navy, hmm?” his expression hardened, the Adjutant’s words no longer recognisable, “No. I suspected not. You can die on your feet, or sniveling as you are now.” 

“Please! I had nothing- they made me-” 

A disruptor beam lashed out as Prelyet fired the pistol from his hip. Therran and J’Iral couldn’t help but flinch as the Adjutant disappeared. The fine carbon dust of his atoms floated for a while before settling, indistinguishable from the smooth orange clay underfoot. 

“So it is for all who cannot break from the old ways,” Prelyet looked up, meeting Tyrothan’s gaze once more, “Will it be the same for you, Reman?  

“Will the old ways change for us?” Tyrothan, unruffled, asked back. 

“That depends on what you can do for us,” Prelyet returned to a glib tone, smoothing a displaced hair across his brow, “The Foshirrans are a problem.” 

“Sir,” J’Iral interjected, “the Foshirrans have been crucial to this operation’s success. Without them we could have never deactivated the planet’s defence grid.” 

“You say this as if we have an endless supply of resources. You’re surely aware of the chaos at Velorum, our broken supply lines have already limited available food for Romulans, let alone the others,” he waved a hand vaguely in Tyrothan’s direction, “These Foshirran creatures are merely hungry mouths sitting on top of our arathamite.” 

Therran continued the protest, “General, the Foshirrans have a history of sustainable agriculture. With minimal assistance they could easily-” 

“NO!” Prelyet’s affable demeanour dissolved instantly into red-faced rage, “You two,” an accusatory finger wavered from Therran to J’Iral, then back again, “Have clearly spent too much time amongst the lesser beings of this planet. LEAVE MY SIGHT and wipe them out,” spittle flew past his crooked teeth and wobbling chin, “Or meet the same end as that dyypan,” his finger whipped down to the patch of dirt before them, still churned up from the Adjutant’s groveling. 

The Tal Shiar pair needed no further encouragement to leave. As they turned, a buzz from Prelyet’s communicator gave them pause, “Sir, a Federation Starship has just entered the system,” came the disembodied voice from orbit, “it’s a light cruiser. Cheyenne-class,” there was an incredulous pause, “Should we destroy them, sir?” 

“Negative, hold position. Await my orders.” Prelyet cursed under his breath and closed the channel, “Why are you still here?” he barked towards Therran and J’Iral, “Go!” he turned to Tyrothan, “As for you… Would you rather be of use to the Free State, or another mouth to feed? I suggest you have an answer for me by the time I get back,” he raised his finger once again as if lecturing the Reman, “Think very carefully about what that means for you and your people. Prelyet to Gereldas, begin transport.” 

Tyrothan, statue-like throughout the entire exchange, remained expressionless. His eyes met the General’s for as long as they could before Prelyet faded from view. Two shallow footprints in the dusty earth marked where the Romulan had stood. Tyrothan took two steps towards them. For a second, an angry twitch flashed across his face. He leaned forward, face angled towards the ground, and spat.  

Not yet in orbit of Foshir III, the Ahwahnee edged tentatively forwards at half impulse. The planet grew bigger on the viewer, lush emerald continents specked with mountain ridges. Ice caps gave way to swirling grey-blue oceans peeking through tempestuous blankets of churning cloud. The Foshirran sun cast the small starship into an abyssal shadow. Its running lights blinked out through the inconsequential nothing. Now within the planet’s gravity well, she crept further.

A whirl of bending light distorted the view ahead, another behind. Two warbirds revealed themselves, looming over the Ahwahnee, casting her into shadows deeper still. Hulls of brownish green formed accusatory spikes that leapt forward like the poised claws of mantises ready to tear their hapless prey asunder.

On the bridge, the red alert siren punctuated frantic reports. Every station was manned, every face tense apart from one, in the centre. Captain Felrak Vordenna, knowing full well the tactical inferiority of his vessel, scratched at the moss that grew on his wrist, “Report on those warbirds,” he said simply.

Alex Lupulo stood behind the curved beam of the tactical station, eyes glued to the sensor information as it populated the screen. The dimmed lighting cast a ghostly pallor over the tall man’s sallow skin. More colour drained from his face when he read out what he saw, “Both Dhailkhina-class, shields and weapons powered up. Looks like they’re arming plasma torpedoes too, sir.”

Felrak didn’t look away from the viewer, “Hail the lead warbird.”

“Channel open,” Delfino replied.

“This is Captain Felrak Vordenna of the Federation starship Ahwahnee,” the Argosian rattled off the standard greeting in a cordial tone, “we have detected a level of spatial distortion from the surface of Foshir III indicative of a quantum singularity,” He paused, inviting a reply from the other side, but there was none. He glanced at Tursk. The Tellarite shrugged in response. Trying valiantly to dispel the sarcasm from his voice, Felrak continued, “Might you be in need of some assistance?”

Immediately the main viewer flicked over to a warbird’s bridge. Turquoise panels backlit the figures of its crew, concentrating on their work every bit as intently as the Ahwahnee’s own personnel. In the middle of it, a prideful complacent smirk adorning his face, sat the commander of the Romulan invasion force, “This is General Prelyet of the warbird Gereldas,” he sneered, “Captain you have violated the territorial sovereignty of the Romulan Free State. The Federation has no reason to be in this region. I suggest you leave, immediately.”

“General,” Felrak stood, “a singularity represents a significant danger to all life on the planet. Just under a hundred million people from what we can see. As friends of the Romulan people, we only wish to help avoid a catastrophe occurring.”

Prelyet grew visibly irritated, “Your concern is unnecessary, Captain. As is your presence here. Leave now.”

Felrak smiled, “I’m afraid I must disagree. We understand there is currently a power struggle ongoing in this system. If the singularity is somehow a result of this conflict, if it is perhaps to be used as a weapon against forces opposing you, then it is my responsibility to ensure such a war crime does not take place.”

A peal of mocking laughter shot from the General. He took a while to collect himself, “Hah! And how do you hope to achieve this with an ancient light cruiser? Captain, you embarrass yourself,” abruptly, the mirth vanished from his eyes, “Leave now, or I will crush you like a shavab beetle.”

“Captain,” the urgency in Lupulo’s voice cut through the air, “reading a power surge in the Gereldas’ forward disruptor cannons.”

Felrak considered the General’s words, “I need not remind you, General, of the Starfleet operation in the Velorum sector.”

Prelyet, about to cut the channel, stopped in his tracks, “And what of it?” he glowered.

“The precedent is clear. The Federation stands ready to support the self-determination of any oppressed people. I ask you, General, if a Starfleet vessel is destroyed here today, what do you imagine the response would be? Can the Free State to make another enemy on another front?”

“This is an internal Romulan affair,” Prelyet spluttered.

“On the contrary, this concerns the rights and wellbeing of an entire planet. On which, I’m reliably informed, the Romulan population forms a distinct minority. What of the Foshirrans? Or the Remans? Are they not entitled to some say in the future of their home?

The Romulan rolled his eyes, “You talk and talk of representation and rights and self-determination. You Federation types will always talk. What will you actually do, Captain?”

“I won’t be doing anything. My atoms will be scattered across the system alongside pieces of my ship,” Tursk threw a nervous glance Felrak’s way, “Just look at Velorum if you want to see what happens if you do subjugate these people, though.”

“You have made your point,” Prelyet made a petulant sigh, “Seeing as I cannot seem to rid myself of you as I’d like, you are free to stay. But you will not interfere with Free State governance in this system. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, General.”

“Very well, then. Have a pleasant visit,” the General’s mouth twisted into possibly the most unnatural smile Felrak had ever seen. Less than a second passed before Prelyet was replaced by the red winged symbol of the Romulan Free State.

“Well, we’re not dead,” Lupulo looked up from tactical, “for now.”

Tursk growled, “So we’re here to observe. They don’t wanna start anything now. What’s to stop them carrying on with whatever they were doing as soon as we leave?”

Felrak returned to the centre chair, “Tursk, do we have any telepaths on board?”

***

J’Iral leant against a storage pod in the administration compound’s shuttle bay. She kicked a long leg out in front of her, exhaling loudly, “I’m not doing it.”

A look of alarm came over Therran, “It would be most unwise to defy the General,” she continued prepping the shuttle for launch.

J’Iral’s gaze dropped from the ceiling, zeroing in on Therran with frustration, “So you’ve done worse for the Tal Shiar? Not your first genocide?”

Therran stopped, lowering the datapad to her side she looked at J’Iral intently, “The Foshirrans are a security threat to the Free State. We must prioritise our resources for long term survival. If they must die to ensure the arathamite remains in our hands, then so be it.”

“So be it?” J’Iral balked, “I’ve done covert ops, I’ve gone undercover as a Klingon, I’ve assassinated people, but nothing like this. We’ve been here for three years, Therran. Have you ever had an unfriendly exchange with a Foshirran?”

Therran was silent.

“So no then. They’ve treated us with respect from day one. We ate their food. They taught us how to grow treplet vines. When you got sick, the healer from Seraco forest ground up your root powder and got you back on your feet. We lived on their planet. And now what? We just kill ‘em and move on to the next assignment?”

“You’re compromised,” came the calm response

“Ah, khoi-udt you heartless hnaev.”

“Listen!” Therran’s voice was high and her lip began to quiver, “I know what you think, and I’ve seen what happens to those who refuse orders. There’s… Unimaginable pain. I just want to go home, J’Iral.”

“This is your home.”

“My children…”

J’Iral’s tone softened, “They would look into your eyes and see a murderer. The butcher of Foshir.”

A low moan came from Therran’s throat. She backed away, coming up against the cold metal of the shuttle’s nacelle housing. A single sob escaped her lips. J’Iral approached slowly, reaching out a hand, gingerly placing it on Therran’s shoulder, “We can stay here. We can make this our home, with no more blood on our hands.”

Therral slumped motionless for a time. Then, with mustered strength, the lifted her head, “Let’s go,” she said.

An electric jolt shot through J’Iral, “Where?”

“To Tyrothan.”

***

The forest clearing formed an irregular shape. In its centre was a large grassy mound damp with evening dew. A great fire had been lit, the smoke from which floated lazily up free from the dense canopy’s obstruction. Through the firelight orange, stars began to emerge from their daytime hiding places, as the Foshirrans were want to describe the passage of dusk into night.

A helka deer rotated slowly on a great spit. Seasonings and rubbed-in fat dripped with hisses onto white hot ash beneath. Its skin had hardened into thick crispy morsels, raised along lines scored with the hunting knife that had taken the animal’s life. They gave thanks to the land. Their land, that had brought forth all that enabled their culture, customs, and way of being. Every evening the Foshirrans made a choice not to forget this.

Alch leaves were laid out in a long row along an earthen rise. Upon each one was placed a measure of bayla grains, grown along clearwater tributaries and streams. These converged into a channel that sluiced through the clearing’s upper edge. From it, water was drawn and placed in wide-bottomed cauldrons, themselves placed over the fires to steam vast quantities of edible roots and bulbs. Some were mashed, to be placed within the leaves as a complement to the grains and meat. Others were taken whole, mixed with green leaves and fermented beans before being set out across the great long tables.

The air that night was clear and temperate. Foshirrans arrived slowly at first, lumbering out of the dense brush in groups of three and four. Their thick, trunk-like legs thudded along the ground, compressing sandalled feet into the flattened vegetation. Their clothing was modest, barely necessary given the protection from the elements offered by their thick mauve hides. Young and old, separated by height and facial wrinkles, they trudged over to the food. Each wrapped a leaf around the mixture and moved to the tables. Neighbours, workmates, and trading partners joined. Conversation meandered from the day’s labour to the weather, the growth of the current crop to what the Romulans were up to. Bulbous blue noses and sunken eyes grew animated on hearing of green fire that had poured from the sky. Some of their number had helped subdue the Romulan government in the preceding days. For their troubles, they had now received a new Romulan government. These Foshirrans of the interior maintained a stoic demeanour as they reported the news. The mining settlements mattered for little but gossip. A change in power there would no doubt affect the prices their food commanded, however.

That night, in the forest town closest to the arathamite mines, something different would happen. As thousands of hungry Foshirrans began to eat, the conversation stopped. The sounds of chirping insects and rustling leaves were all that filtered through the silence. From the far edge of the clearing, the Remans appeared. They walked neatly, as was their habit, in two quiet columns. Their dark features found comfort under the stars. Tyrothan was comforted, too, at the thought that this would be the end of their slavery one way or the other. Norvult was to his right, Therran and J’iral behind. The four of them climbed the earthen rise as the Remans, hundreds in number, fell back in a semi-circle. Not a single Foshirran rose. They instead looked on with curiosity at the first off-worlders to venture so far into the forests.

There was a heavy pause. Tryothan looked out over uncountable unblinking eyes. He stared back, rooted to the spot, the humid air tightening around the collar of a black coat that was far too thick for this climate. He looked to Norvult and thought of what the Remans had endured. Then he began, “Friends, we must apologise for disturbing your sacred meal. My associates,” he gestured to Therran and J’Iral, “told me I could find you here at the time you celebrate the fruits of your labour. We Remans wish to celebrate the fruits of our labour, too. Like you, we work day after day. In return we get nothing. The Romulans take what we produce and use it to build machines of war. Like you, we were told this new Romulan government, the ‘Free State’, would be different. This was a lie to secure their control over the arathamite mines.”

Therran stepped forward, “Some of you have met me. You’ve trusted me. I believed the Free State would build a better life for Foshirrans. But I was lied to all the same. The Free State is not your friend. The Tal Shiar has ordered your extermination,” a murmur shook through the audience.

“The time has come to take Foshir back from the colonisers,” Tyrothan was sure his voice had only reached the first few rows of those who sat before him, yet the eyes still tracked him from as far as his own could see, “they see you as a burden, more mouths to feed. The truth is they’re scared. With Remans in the mines and Foshirrans in the forests, why do we need them? If they want the product of our sweat and toil, they can pay us a fair price! I’m told your tree network can communicate this to Foshirrans across the planet. We can use it to spread the message that the future of Foshir lies with those who produce what’s needed to sustain our home.”

Another murmur rumbled through the Foshirrans, and Tyrothan stepped back. The quiet was eerie. Many had stopped eating their food altogether, and it was as if every Foshirran now looked to him with a sense of expectation. From the front row, a single child rose. She stepped towards Tyrothan, climbing up the rise on her stout legs. Her hand reached out to his, three thick prehensile fingers extended. Tentatively, he lifted his own hand. The fingers quickly wrapped from his palm to his wrist, and he almost pulled away. His vision flashed white, “You’re… Telepaths…” he gasped.

How do we know they won’t obliterate Foshir. The singularity has been activated once.

We move quickly. At dawn we move on all Romulan facilities.

It’s not enough. We want him.

Who?

Vordenna.    

***

Transporter room one had seen the coming and going of many delegations over the past week. Now, for the final time, the forms of two Starfleet officers materialised on the platform, “I must thank you for your assistance again, Lieutenant Aurel. A stroke of luck indeed to have someone of your abilities aboard.”

“And for the Foshirrans to be so receptive,” The young Betazoid hoisted the container strap over a teal shoulder, “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to communicate with so many at once.”

“An extremely efficient way to establish a planetary government,” Felrak smiled, “or the beginnings of one at least.”

“Well, I’ll be in sickbay if you need any more governments establishing. Good luck with the Romulans, sir,” she gave a quick nod as they parted ways.

A turbolift ride later, Tursk rose from the Captain’s chair as soon as Felrak entered his field of vision, “Welcome back, sir. How go the negotiations?”

Felrak raised his eyebrows, self-satisfaction shining through, “The Romulan Free State has agreed to grant a ‘high degree of autonomy’ to the newly formed government of Foshir III.”

“So the Velorum situation did get to them,” Tursk surmised.

“It seems the Velorum sector’s independence has rattled a few cages, yes,” Felrak agreed, “Now it seems the Free State can be quite flexible when it needs to be.”

It was Tursk’s turn to raise an eyebrow, “Once genocide’s off the table, of course.”

“Hmm.”

“Captain,” Delfino interrupted, “we’re being hailed by the Gereldas.”

“Here we go,” Tursk muttered.

“On screen,” Felrak called after a quick side-eye.

“Captain Vordenna,” General Prelyet could barely conceal the contempt that dripped from his words, “your continued interference in the sovereign affairs of the Romulan Free State has ridden roughshod over galactic norms. If you had half as much respect for the legal principles as you claim, you would leave our territory at once.”

“General,” Felrak sighed, “as I have explained to you many times, I was invited to oversee the formation of Foshir III’s Legislative Assembly. As such, the Ahwahnee is now here at the request of a Romulan Free State member world. We’ll leave when we want to. Further to this, I believe President Jm’Belb’s first decree was for all Tal Shiar assets to be removed from the system. If we’re talking about legality, Prelyet, then it is you who needs to be leaving this system now. Oh, and another thing. If there is so much as an attempt to erode Foshir’s autonomy, militarily or otherwise, you will find yourselves on the wrong side of a Velorum situation very quickly. You can have all the arathamite you want, General, but not at the expense of the Foshirran people.”

“I can see you are impossible to reason with,” Prelyet huffed, “In different times you would have been dead before you even crossed the border, Vordenna. Don’t get too smug, force feeding us your Federation ideals. Times can change.”

The channel closed. Tursk and Felrak watched silently as the Gereldas spun away from its position facing the Ahwahnee. The warbird pulled up from Foshir III, accelerating while a rippling cloak descended upon it once again. In an instant the ornithine green hull disappeared, as if it were never there.

“Enjoyed that, didn’t you?” a wry smile crossed Tursk’s face.

Felrak ignored him, “I think it might be time for us to be on our way too. Lieutenant Delfino, inform the Foshirran government of our departure. Set course for Deep Space 17. Warp six.” he then leaned across to Tursk with a sparkle in his eye, “Far too much,” he said quietly.

END