Star Trek: Outerzone
Episode 8:
Erowoon - Part 2
by Peter Wildash
(PWildash@Channel4.co.uk)

Erowoon - Part 2

EP 8 "EROWOON: PART II" - TEASER

"Yeoman Lirik, Personal Log. For once, it's good news all round.

"Most significantly, Warnerburg, Hedrik, Yip and a team of mostly Helan and Vulcan assistants have managed to supplement power by power-phasing between plasma circuits and back up generators.

"Having worked around the clock, my own search teams, supplemented by a surprising number of other civilian volunteers, have covered nearly all of the Command Section, deck by deck. We've found no evidence of arachnids - live ones, at least - in this part of the ship, although some sections still remain sealed to us.

"The Captain had told us that the android stated she had placed one of the spiders on the hidden deck. As the only other sighting has been on the Passenger Section, we believe there may be no creatures on our side of the Beta Section bulkhead at all. We remain vigilant, but as each hour passes we remain more hopeful.

"There has been no indication of any vehicular activity beyond our nebula hiding place since the unidentified vessels passed some time ago. Nonetheless, we're taking no chances. Warnerburg has spent much of her time arming the weapons systems on the Command Section, a labour intensive task if ever there was one, while I've helped to make those space vehicles that are armed and in working order be ready for take off should it become necessary. Thankfully that task was much simplified as all the ships we found are fully maintained and in full working order.

"An added bonus of the recent proximity alert is that Struckchev has reconsidered his thinking on confining the survivors to the standby shuttle bay. I think that may have been the reason the volunteers were so eager to pitch in and help out this time.

"It's had an effect on the Commander. As so much work has been done in such a short space of time, and as things have been quiet for the last couple of hours, Struckchev finally ordered the Beta Section stand down from red alert and furthermore suggested everyone get some rest while they could. At last he's showing signs of being a good leader. But my personal relationship with him is far from harmonious, sadly. Perhaps this cheap contest he's suggested might help to clear the air...if not establish who indeed is the better officer.

"With the downtime ordered, Fraxon's Penratta ceremony can go ahead. I'm curious to find out more about these Helan. For a well travelled people, not many know much about them. And I'm still puzzled as to why they were shacked up on the Fantasy way out in that, presumably prohibited, K'Tani storage hangar on Helub."

Lirik exited access shaft 73 at deck 25, just as instructed by Fraxon. The emergency lighting was golden here, muting colours and giving the whole area a feel of warmth and comfort. If he wasn't mistaken, the local temperature was set slightly higher than in the rest of the ship.

Lirik chuckled to himself. He wasn't sure if Commander Struckchev was aware that the Helan appeared to be tapping into the power supply and manipulating local environmental controls. In truth, Warnerburg's power-saving protocols had extended their supply of energy by days - more than enough time for the Captain to return with fuel. Even so, Struckchev had decided to stick with the Captain's original decision to conserve power to the absolute minimum, despite agreeing to allow basic life support on most decks. The Yeoman considered this a blatant act of defiance by the Helan, which he sort of approved of, mostly because it was against Struckchev. But this revelation also left him with a bit of a problem - if they were this devious, how on Earth could he truly trust them?

Lirik looked around. It was a corridor similar to others he had seen on the vessel; so far, Lirik had counted over 20 different standard interior designs. Each could be grouped into one of four general classes - elite, premier, standard and second class, the latter being the style reserved mostly for crew areas, save those frequented by passengers such as the Captain's deck and the Infirmary.

Here, though, there were no artworks, no carpeted flooring or fancy fittings. Bare, stark walls and floors, with only a series of oval mesh lighting covers to give any hint of style.

"Proceed right, then second left and take the stairwell down one level," Lirik recited the directions he'd been given.

Struggling to remember which general area of the ship this was, the Yeoman then identified several supply store symbols beside sealed doorways - each with a white line chalked diagonally across it to indicate they had been searched by one of his survey teams.

As he turned left into a dead end corridor, he noticed the green and white 'EXIT' sign across a large door near to the far end. As he touched the door it reacted to his presence, releasing the auto-seals and peeling back, granting him entry to the pressurised stairwell. Immediately he could hear a faint, distant chanting of many voices - a low, eerie set of inaudible proclamations. Lirik gingerly descended to the next deck, straining to hear better and wondering what to expect from his alien shipmates. The chanting grew slowly louder as he walked down the next short flights of stairs and past three sets of escape pods - he must be very close to the Command Section's hull. Turning onto the third flight, the chanting suddenly stopped.

Lirik paused, then heard the suck of air as a door to the stairwell was opened below and footsteps came running up toward him. He swallowed hard and tensed in readiness, increasing his shield field by thirty per cent, even though he had no reason to feel threatened or fearful of something unexpected, other than a spider. It was just the way he'd been trained.

The Helan males Malakin and Renerva, twins in every respect, turned onto his flight and greeted him with identical wide smiles. The men were slightly younger than Fraxon, and spent nearly all their time with him, Lirik had noticed. They were dressed in simple boots, baggy trousers and open shirts.

"You are most welcome, Lirik," Malakin took his arm unflinching. It was rare for the Yeoman to be touched so he greatly appreciated that this race of Helan did not seem concerned by his Medusan energies.

"Fraxon is expecting you," Renerva patted Lirik firmly on the shoulder and skipped ahead to open the door below.

Lirik felt a little overwhelmed - and puzzled as to why Fraxon had sent a greeting delegation. Normally he didn't mind attending unfamiliar gatherings or holding court among strangers in his capacity as a diplomatic aide. But he preferred not to feel schmoozed by people who were unfamiliar to him. He shook his head at his controlling nature and decided to just go along with whatever was to happen.

Stepping into the (brightly carpeted) corridor of deck 26 he noticed drapes of metallic material had been strewn along the walls and floor in an attempt at decoration. Lirik was hurried along toward a set of closed doors on the far left. He just managed to read the signage above the door control panel before he was pushed inside: "Jungle Gym 3".

As the doors parted, the mass of multi-hued ramps, slides, ladders, platforms, rope swings, hidey-holes and 'tree' houses assaulted his vision. The colours were garish, bold and clashed horribly. More drapes festooned the construction, slightly muting the sickly sight. The room must have been seven metres high and about 25 metres square, heavily padded on all sides. Lirik imagined what the noise must be like when the place was filled with excited children.

Right now, though, about two dozen Helan adults were mixing and mingling in loud groups of joviality and conversation on and around the play area - no children here, Lirik observed. There was occasional laughter, fuelled it seemed by the consumption of small vials of clear liquid and some form of finger food. It reminded Lirik more of a Diplomatic Reception than a coming of age party - at least, that's what he assumed this occasion was (in truth, he had no idea).

Curiously, there were no other non-Helan here either. In fact, it seemed only the younger adults of the Helan were in attendance. There was no sign of any of Ganhedra's ancient cohorts, though he soon spied Fraxon's elder sister Vostaline who gave him a friendly wave from the inside of a lime-green cube embedded half way up the wall.

A delicate glass vessel was thrust into his hand by Malakin. "Enjoy!" he said and bounded off, leaping with super-human skill onto a rampart two metres off the ground in front of them. It seemed he was immediately chastised in jacket-tugging whispers by the group of friends he had joined. Malakin back somersaulted off the rampart and landed on the soft floor in front of Lirik, flushed with embarrassment.

"Like my moves?" he asked nervously. "In case you couldn't tell, I am a trained acrobat. Using this room for the party was my idea, of course." Malakin cartwheeled to a rope and quickly scaled it using his arms only to reach the rampart, giving a flourishing bow as he joined his over-applauding friends.

"Of course," Lirik mused, a little confused by the man's behaviour. Was he trying to impress Lirik? Or stop him from wondering about his obvious display of supreme athleticism. Perhaps, Lirik wondered, the Helan were all adept gymnasts, but it was considered impolite to show off in front of less proficient races? An old question suddenly popped into his head: why had the Helan been segregated along with Ambassador Narli when the K'Tani security holographic programme had been activated? What set them apart from the rest? Lirik began to think of other possibilities, but not for long.

Renerva led him to a small crowd gathered around a miniature mock-up of a shuttle made of plastic with big openings in the sides. Oversized fake controls were at toddler standing level inside. Its flat topped hull was currently being used as a makeshift buffet table on which were laid several platters of Crep meat and vegetables.

"I'm afraid you missed the ceremony," Renerva rolled several green and purple sticks of vegetable into a thin slice of meat and shoved the lot in his mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing. "But the party has only just begun! This poor fare is all we can spare given our circumstances, but the licquour is plentiful, I can assure you." The young man winked and led Lirik underneath the main jungle gym structure where several more sedate groups were talking.

"What is it, anyway?" Lirik sniffed at the drink. It didn't smell of anything.

"We call it Ayppolf," the Helan drained his own glass in one gulp.

"Ayppolf..." the Yeoman tried the word for the first time and steeled himself for a sample sip. No flavour either, but the consistency and cool temperature reminded him of a good quality schnapps. As he swallowed, he had a near blinding head rush and his knees almost buckled underneath him. Steadying himself by gripping onto a padded strut, Lirik laughed uncontrollably. "This stuff is lethal," was all he could manage, deciding not to have any more in case he embarrassed himself publicly.

Through the crowds he glimpsed Fraxon's face...and bare chest. The skin kept on going down. Was he naked? Lirik tried to focus, the drink overpowering his perceptions. A couple of people around the alien shifted, as if in slow motion, and Lirik saw that he was actually wearing a loin cloth of some sort. His arms and back had been daubed in a glittering paint. His antennae were festooned with all manner of adornments tied in place with string, silk or leather strips. It looked most odd.

"Lirik!" Fraxon glimpsed the wobbling diplomat through the crowd. He spread his arms wide, his nude chest and stomach rippling with smooth, tanned muscle, and strode forward to greet him.

Lirik smiled but couldn't return the gesture, still gripping onto the pillar for support. "I only took a sip, I swear," he managed to say. "But I feel very..." he swayed slightly.

"It's not for sipping. You'll get drunk very quickly that way! Here," Fraxon took a root vegetable from a passing guest's plate and pressed it against the Yeoman's lips. "Suck on this and you'll feel a whole lot better."

Lirik took the bulbous-ended, fleshy root and smiled, then grinned and practically fell over from laughter. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said between gasps, shoving the root in his mouth and trying not to descend into laughter again. "Sorry..." He chastised himself but sucked on the sweet root as directed. It tasted like honey.

Fraxon smiled, watching the Human-Medusan regain some composure. "Oh, that's better," Lirik found his focus again. No blurred vision, return of body control, logical thought patterns. Yes, everything seemed fine again, but the root had turned a nasty taste in his mouth - sour almost.

"Phleaugh," Lirik pulled the root out - it had gone black and limp.

"The Maupus Karanthasaria Root is a parasite on a bog-dwelling lower life form on one of our home worlds," Fraxon explained, rudely discarding the 'root' onto someone else's plate, much to Lirik's surprise. "We make the Ayppolf by fermenting the whole roots in water. But in its raw state, the root's natural juice has healing properties that counteract the alcoholic toxins. Kind of like an antidote."

"Fascinating," Lirik said, wondering if O'Hara would be able to keep a supply on hand in the future for late night revellers. Lirik mentally kicked himself. What was he thinking? He couldn't imagine having a good night out for a great deal of time to come given their perilous situation. He decided then to make the most of this evening - there might not be another chance for some time to come.

Fraxon slipped an arm around Lirik's shoulders and the young man grinned widely.

"So, what's involved in this coming of age ceremony, then? Do you get the key to the door, or something?" Lirik asked.

Fraxon, frowning heavily, walked them over to a pile of inflatable cushions and flopped down, easily steadying himself. He gestured to Lirik to join him, but the Englishman felt awkward and didn't feel confident he would flop well. Sure enough, though he landed squarely his synthetic uniform skidded him straight off the shiny cushions and he flipped over with his legs in the air, the plastic bubbles seeming to open like a chasm and bury him in an ever-bouncing mound.

It took several akimbo movements to rectify his alignment relative to his host. Fraxon and several others were doubled over in fits of laughter at the Yeoman's ungainliness. Lirik's hair and uniform a mess, he appreciated the 'funness' of the drinking venue.

"Oh, ha ha," he said wryly and grabbed a passing vial of Ayppolf. "Bottoms up!" he joked and sank the lot, smiling to his new friends as they followed suit.

* * *

"Lirik," Fraxon placed a hand on the Yeoman's shoulder as he calmed from an amusing joke told by Malakin's younger cousin. Shruna was a petite red-head who'd unfortunately lost the end of one antennae apparently in a farming accident when she was a little girl, causing her to disbalance and walk with a slight limp. Her humour and knack for telling stories was entirely captivating, however, and Lirik felt instantly that he'd found a soulmate. "It is time."

Lirik glanced up at Fraxon, still smiling, but bemused by the statement coming from the youngster's serious face. "Time? For what?"

He noticed the group he had joined swiftly got up and moved away. Lirik rose to his feet and looked around. Although casually moving off to join others it was clear that they were intentionally leaving them alone. Shruna caught his eye and winked, smiling mischievously.

The Yeoman couldn't read the situation and turned to face Fraxon. "Have I misunderstood something? Forgive me if I've said the wrong thing." Over Fraxon's shoulder Lirik could see Vostaline glancing over to the two of them. Her expression had changed to a mixture of concern and contempt.

"There is a small ritual I must perform. It requires the assistance of one other, preferably a stranger," Fraxon seemed a little nervous.

"And you consider me to be the appropriate stranger?" Lirik asked carefully. Fraxon nodded. It was very possible this choice was what irked his sister so, Lirik wondered.

"Well, let's get on with it then," the Yeoman didn't know at all what he was committing to, but couldn't resist showing diplomatic bravado. It was a trait that had led to the death of many an over-zealous Diplomatic Corpsman, but also one that singled them out as the most suitable for the challenges of diplomacy. Risk was just as much - if not more - a part of the Corps than it was for regular Starfleet.

Fraxon took Lirik's hand and held it aloft. "Kindra henai, I declare my Phanni!"

Lirik snorted to himself, both celebrating and chastising his love of the ambiguous nature of the universal translator, then felt the hands of Rinerva and Malakin pulling at his clothes. "Hey!" Lirik tugged away from them.

Shruna stepped forward bearing black robes in outsretched arms. "You must wear these if you are to perform the ritual," she explained.

Lirik swallowed - he wasn't exactly proud of his body and didn't like to display it in general public. He decided he could probably keep his shorts and vest on - it was a good job he was actually wearing them on this evening. The Yeoman allowed the twins to help decloth him as everyone else looked on, feeling both a sense of anticipation and dread. He spied Vostaline take Fraxon aside and have a private and intense debate. Fraxon kept shaking his head as Vostaline sliced the air with her hands. Could they be discussing him?

Momentarily, Lirik was snugly swathed from head to toe in black. The garment reminded Lirik of the much-stereotyped Ninja garb with black loose-fitting material tied more rigidly at the wrists, ankles, waist and neck - even the front of his chin was contained. Leather slippers had replaced his boots. A tight hood like the ancient Earth Balaclava was pulled over his head and started to make him feel toasty.

Fraxon pulled away from a frowning Vostaline and led the Yeoman swiftly out of the Gym. It seemed the other guests turned back to conversation and laughter, forgetting the two of them, though the Yeoman could feel Vostaline's gaze burning into his back as he disappeared into the corridor.

The Helan pulled a weapon. "In case of multi-legged creatures!" he joked then guided Lirik at great speed through corridors, up flights of stairs, and finally through a very narrow set of maintenance passages that passed between the monstrous devices that kept the ship's engines working. Lirik couldn't help running a gloved hand along the outer casing of a partially exposed huge deuterium tank. He was sweating under the weight of the material.

Finally, Fraxon popped an access hatch open and stepped into a standard class corridor. He walked ahead of Lirik, who tried to work out their location. There was barely enough light to see, though other environmental systems seemed in place. The corridor curved aftward according to the door numbers, and finally opened out into a large foyer. There were turbolift doors opposite a wider entrance ahead of them - much like the design outside the Infirmary on the Passenger Section. Fraxon speeded up, walking quickly across the foyer and through the entrance where two flights of stairs bled left and right, a high wall blocking their way directly forward.

At the top of the long left hand flight of wide stairs they turned right, through another set of double doors and found themselves at the top of a large auditorium. The semi-circle of seats was about fifty flights down to an orchestra pit and large, deep stage beyond.

"Wow," Lirik couldn't help but gaze in awe at the stage's backdrop - a massive wall of pressure glass that would have looked out onto open space. Only it was now mostly painted over with the same black surface as the rest of the ship. Just a small patch lay untouched, or perhaps scraped away, and beyond the thick glass were the bright, swirling mists of the dalmation nebula. He glanced up and saw the adjustable sound mushrooms that naturally increased sound refraction towards the audience - far better for Human ears than artificial manipulation.

"Come on," Fraxon led the way down to the stage. Lirik couldn't help but turn towards the seats as he made his way up onto the large stage. He wondered at the number of 'star' performers who might have played here, noticing the holo-projector strips all over the place. He dreamt quickly of his favourite singers whom he might be able to listen to in such a venue, then noticed that Fraxon was kneeling on the stage, facing out through the patch of clear glass deep in concentration.

"This place is symbolic of the journey I am making through life," Fraxon spoke quietly. Lirik crouched down beside him in the shaft of coloured light to listen better. "As the path of this ship continues, the places it has been to disappear into the distance, so my life continues on and my life to date retreats into memory." He turned to face Lirik and half-smiled. "These ornaments are symbolic to my experiences with each of my people. They tie them to my ... antennae and I carry them through the celebration until I am ready to pass over."

"Pass over?" Lirik didn't like the sound of that. He hoped this wasn't the prelude to the Helan version of the Klingon suicide ritual.

"I have reached the age where I am able to make my own decisions," Fraxon explained, much to the relief of Lirik. "Please, remove each one of the ornaments and place them before me. I must recognise each and every one for what they represent. If I do not, I must keep them in a pouch and devote special time to each of these individuals until my next passing."

Lirik sank into a cross-legged position beside the near-naked alien, realising that this 'ritual' could take some time.

* * *

In the warm quietness of the darkened Captain's Office on the secondary bridge, slumped in its high-backed chair, Struckchev stirred from his sleep. It was as if someone had called to him, but there was no-one else present in the small room. Slow realisation followed - there had been no comm system interruption, so he must have been dreaming. He checked the timepiece on the desk: 0324 hours. Half asleep, he hauled himself up and drank hungrily from the flask that contained his water ration and rubbed some into his eyes.

Something nagged at his memory, as if he was forgetting to do something. He looked through the smoked glass onto the bridge. The night-shift lighting was mellow, the atmosphere quiet. Warnerburg sat at engineering station, quietly working and a couple of the older Helan dozed at other bridge stations.

Struckchev walked quietly out of the office and entered the turbolift, staring at the control panel. The doors hissed closed. Where was he going at this time of night? His hand reached forward and tapped a destination sequence. He couldn't remember what it was after he had done it, it was almost as if he was acting under another's control - but he felt peaceful and unviolated and somehow knew that things were all right.

The turbolift presently halted and the doors parted to reveal a dim foyer. Wide open doors across the way beckoned tantalisingly. The Commander entered, turned right and walked up the long flight of stairs. As he passed through the pressure doors to the left at the top, he was amazed by where he was. The theatre was large, silent and empty, a shaft of the rich glow of the nebula lancing through a patch in the otherwise blackened window. Struckchev scanned the space, his eyes drawn toward the stage - what was the black object on the stage bathed in the nebula's light?

The Commander slowly stepped down toward the stage area, all the while a vague dream playing around his mind. He felt afraid, drawn toward the black object on the stage. He reached the man-sized shape and crouched down. Touching a shoulder he nervously rolled the figure over.

His mouth dropped and his hand flinched away. "Lirik!" he couldn't understand what was going on. Was the Yeoman injured?

* * *

The rain beat down hard, soaking Lirik instantly through to the skin. Lightening flashed around him and thunder shook the ground and trees. He couldn't work out where he was at first, but then he saw the K'Tani fleet in the sky, coming out of the clouds and flashes of light coming from their nose mounted spikes, turning into an attacking dive.

The Yeoman spun away from them and ran toward the Orlega One storage facility. Confusion muddled his thoughts of escape. What was it doing here on...? Lirik remembered this was Vekaria in the middle of the violent squall. Orlega One should not be here, but on the no-atmosphere surface of the dusty moon above. Spears of phaser fire lashed the ground around him, erupting the earth in molten splashes, but they didn't seem to touch him. The storage facility was suddenly hit and exploded in a shower of sparks and white light.

Lirik whipped his head around searching for somewhere else to shelter and saw a line of trees off to his right. A figure dressed in a Starfleet uniform was beckoning to him with exaggerated gestures. The rain and wind slowed his pace to almost slow-motion. It seemed to take an eternity to reach the tree line where he stumbled and fell splat into mud and leaves. A black boot appeared in front of his dirty face and a strong, vein wriddled muscular hand flecked with golden hairs reached down to him.

As he was pulled to his feet, Lirik looked up at the collar and rank pins of a Captain's uniform. Expecting to see Christian, the Yeoman physically shook as he found himself staring at the smiling face of Fraxon.

"Lirik," he said sweetly. Lirik's vision blurred. No matter how hard he tried to focus, the light was getting dimmer until he could see or even feel nothing.

He was waking up. Something was poking at his chest. Lirik's eyes flicked open and he looked up at Commander Struckchev.

"Oh..." He licked his lips and glanced around the large, empty theatre, his immediate surroundings bathed in pink and green, his body feeling stiff and cold. "I must have fallen asleep."

The Yeoman noticed Struckchev seemed confused. "What are you doing down here anyway? Looking for me?"

The Commander's expression was almost contemptuous. "Not exactly," He stood and walked towards the huge window. "What's been going on? Why are you dressed like that?"

"I was assisting Ganhedra's son in a Helan ritual," Lirik raised himself to a sitting position and looked around again, pulling the Balaclava off his head with a relieved huff. His head had become very warm - probably what lulled him into a sleep earlier. There was no sign of Fraxon or his artefacts. 'Why would he have left me here', he wondered?

Struckchev huffed and hung his head. "I don't know, Yeoman," he said, almost to himself.

"Commander?" the Englishman sensed a strange mood about the big Kosovan.

"For some reason I woke and felt compelled to come down here. But now, I can't even remember how I got down here. It strikes me as very odd that what I should find is just you," he barely glimpsed Lirik's half smile as he paced over to the viewing ports and placed a hand on the cool glass. "Are you telepathic?"

The Englishman stood and removed his headgear with a relieved huff. "Not as you interpret it, no."

The Commander turned, intrigued. Lirik's paunch showed in this garb. He made a mental note that the Yeoman should be part of a special group he had identified as needing intensive physical training to bring them up to what he believed to be acceptable standards for a crewman under his command.

"I am Human-Medusan hybrid," Lirik wiped his mouth and joined the Commander beside the massive window wall. "My physical make-up is both Human and Medusan - but as the latter energies are contained under my skin and remain invisible, most of the interaction I've had throughout my life has been Human-based."

Case in point, Struckchev could feel the ambient Medusan energy emanating from the Yeoman. Even at this distance it made him feel a little nausious - almost like mild travel sickness.

"So, what was this ritual about?" Struckchev asked, changing the subject, feeling uncomfortable talking about Lirik's past.

Lirik explained the process as best he could, the Commander also thinking it strange for the Yeoman to have been left to sleep alone on the hard, empty stage.

"Hm," Struckchev nodded after the Yeoman had finished. "If this were a normal ship we would have learned much more about the Helan before allying ourselves to them," he turned to Lirik, noticing the wonderment on the man's face as he stared out into the swirling gasses. "But, this isn't a normal ship. I don't know. There's just something about them that I don't trust. But they seem to trust you, or at least this Fraxon does. You should use that to our advantage, find out all you can about them."

Lirik nodded absently and faced the Struckchev, for the first time seeing mutual respect in his eyes. "I had already intended to." He hesitated before asking the next question. "Care for a nightcap?"

The Commander raised his eyebrows, then nodded and almost smiled.

As they were about to leave, the heckles on the back of Lirik's neck shot up. He whirled around, looking out through the patch in the massive windows into the mists.

"What?" Struckchev asked, intrigued and worried.

Lirik walked quickly to the glass and placed his hands upon the cold surface. "I'm not sure. Stand back," he ordered.

The Commander complied, but still felt the radiant energy wash over him as Lirik extended his Medusan perceptions. The Yeoman immediately pulled away.

"Ships!" he hissed. "I can sense ships, on the edge of the nebula."

EP 8 "EROWOON: PART II" - ACT I

EROWOON STATION

Docking Level 3 started presentably enough. Large bays contained a wide variety of stylised, middle-range vessels and equally well dressed people busying in and out of airlocks.

"If time is of the essence, why didn't we take the travel car?" Reb griped.

Leonard huffed, he was fed up of this argument. "I'm not paying all that money just for the privalege of saving my legs a bit of effort. It isn't that far, we'll be there in no time."

Leonard followed Reb's lead, passing the consecutively numbered bays. Reb didn't reply - his mood had fallen since he'd heard the K'Tani were again closing on them. What the heck was so special about the ship after all, he wondered?

As the two men stepped over bulkhead 753, the corridor narrowed significantly and the lighting dimmed. Each bay entrace now seemed a lot closer together and the general décor a good deal more run down.

"Two two oh, you say?" Leonard tried to work out how much further they would have to walk.

Reb continued in silence. Presently they arrived. Reb pressed the call key and fearfully glanced around the corridor. Several murky types supervised the loading of long heavy cylinders from a hover-trolly by station workers opposite.

Leonard wished he had brought a phaser with him at least. Who only knew what Reb was leading him into. The door shunted open, but there was no one in sight.

"Hello?" Reb called, nervously. He glanced back at the aliens opposite, but none paid him or Leonard any attention. The Starfleet engineer exchanged a look of concern with Reb who merely shrugged and entered. The German officer hesitated - this was crazy and against all protocol - but he had no choice but to back Reb up.

Inside the door a short passage ended in a low archway, leading the pair into a bay 20 metres square and about 30 metres high. A rig carrying a multitude of general repair equipment was suspended from the ceiling above Bel's ship.

"Wow," Reb commented. Leonard nodded in silent agreement at the sleek white vessel floodlit below the rig.

It seemed too small, too dainty for space travel, but given the relatively short distance to Bel's facility, Reb decided it was clearly more than adequate transportation for her needs. The gently contoured ship hovered above the deck by a metre or so. She had a long, sleek, tapering nose that swept back into curved wings and ended in a couple of powerful looking, integrated warp nacelles - or this sector's equivalent. The fuselage was just wide enough for two people to be seated at the helm and for compact storage and accommodation behind.

Bel herself was standing to the rear of the vessel, hands deep inside one of the impulse engines. An open tool kit was at her feet. She had shed her jacket, so both men saw her arms were streaked with grease - recent and ground in. As she tossed a hand tool clattering into the box beside her feet the bay doors closed behind the two men.

"Welcome," Bel grinned and held out a hand in greeting.

The men stepped forward into the bay. Instantly a blue beam passed across and over them from above. An alarm sounded from Bel's tool kit and a restraining shield suddenly surrounded them. Bel quickly retrieved a weapon from her toolbox along with the small sensor device, still beeping its warning, and approached, scanning them more fully.

"Hey! What's this all about?" Reb demanded, unable to move his limbs.

Bel strode over and past them, shooting Reb especially an aggrieved look. She sealed the door then shot the lock, fusing the controls, ignoring Reb as he burned himself loudly on the force shield. "Hey! Bel! What's going on?"

"You were tagged," she said in a condesceding tone. "Fortunately for you I guessed as much. Just stay still, we haven't much time." She was busy stabbing her sensor device and the forcefield changed density and colour to an intense green. "This might hurt a little," she said.

Before either man could react, the forcefield shrank and passed through them, causing both to double over in agony. Reb fell to his knees from the pain, though it subsided quickly. Bel grabbed his arm and hoisted him to his feet.

"Come on," she pulled him across the deck toward the far wall, picking up her jacket and tool set as she did. There, she opened a crawlway tube and deactivated the security seal just inside.

"What's this all about?" Reb pleaded.

"Indeed, madam," Leonard massaged his legs, still sitting on the deck. "You seem to know a lot more than you're letting on."

Bel clattered her way over to Leonard, agile if noisy on her high heels. She offered him her hand, which he carefully took and allowed her small but sturdy frame to help pull him to standing. "For a handsome guy, you're pretty stupid," she said. Leonard raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Now come on." She crouched to crawl through.

"But what about your ship?" Reb asked.

"I wish!" she scoffed, and disappeared inside.

* * *

Having crawled and crouch-walked for some ten minutes, the three presently descended several levels via a rusting, slightly precarious mainentance funnel and emerged onto another docking level. Here, there were throngs of people in the anti-corridors, along with much noise and smell. No-one seemed to take any notice of their conspicuous arrival. Leonard and Reb followed Bel through the crowds, shouldering their way toward a horizontal cylinder shaped corridor marked 'Private!' that was blocked by a shimmering forcefield. Bel pointed a small pencil-thin object to the side of the corridor entrance and the forceshield de-activated.

"Here we are then," Bel chirped and led the men through, re-initiating the shield behind them. Leading down the darkening passage, Bel used the same code key to open the third door on the left. A long, very narrow corridor led down a flight of gently sloping steps to a set of double doors. Reb felt well and truly lost now. He wondered, if something went wrong and he had to get back to the ship, would he make it before the K'Tani arrived? His heartbeat increased apace.

Beyond the bulkhead doors, yet another docking bay awaited. This was substantially larger than the last they'd been in. Indeed, there was room for two other vessels alongside the main hulk of a starship parked in the centre. The ship, essentially a number of large, different sized cubes locked together, was encased by a dense metal rigging of some kind, the whole affair sitting on four squat landing pad cubes. The yellow and black paint of the grid structure was chipped and skuffed, but otherwise the ship was a gleaming midnight blue and peppered with oddments of alien technology beneath. It looked mightily intriguing to Leonard - and to Reb, the engineer noticed. The would-be helmsman studied every surface, every piece of equipment to assess its worth.

Movement caught their attention. From behind the landing pads, six huge men half-dressed in traditional docker gear emerged and milled around the steep gangway coming from the underside of the vessel.

"Bel, where have you been?!" the oldest of the group said emploringly.

"Peach, I want you to meet Mr Rebbik and..ah.." she gestured to the dumbfounded Fantasy crewmen.

"Er, Leonard, Lieutenant Commander Leonard, of the ... Starship Fantasy," the German said, not quite believing the massive, hairy hulk greeting him was called 'Peach'.

"They're our new clients," she said.

"Er, actually we haven't made an agreement yet," Leonard corrected and launched into reading from his padd a number of negotiating notes Jackson had supplied him with. "Now, my Commodore has allowed me a budget of-"

"Yes, yes, yes - by now you know what this station would charge you. Rest assured my bill will be much lower than you'd find elsewhere," Bel said.

"But I'd hoped to discuss terms, set an agreed price," Leonard frowned. "I don't even know what facilities your dry-dock has. Would you at least let me see some blueprints or schematics?"

Bel glared up at him and spoke through bared pearly white teeth. "Trust me, Lieutenant Commander, we have everything necessary for a full Premium Class Refit and shake-down, even for a ship of your size. You won't find any better in this sector."

"Then can I at least set a pricing ceiling that-" Leonard began.

Bel's head was already shaking rigidly from side to side. "No can do, partner. Not until I get a good look at your ship and see what's involved."

"That's understandable," Reb nodded in agreement. Leonard shot him a look.

"But..." Leonard felt he was being coralled into a decision to go with Bel rather than checking out any other vendor. He looked at Reb, who pulled a face that denied any assistance in this decision making. Time was of the essence, Leonard knew, and they would be very unlikely to find another dry docker before the K'Tani arrived.

The big man stepped between them roughly. "What do you know about them?" Peach eyed Reb's faint lobes suspiciously, then gave Leonard the once over. "This one looks like he's wearing some kind of uniform."

"What I do know is they have the money to pay for a major overhaul," Bel tempted her crewman with the concept of a decent amount of work for a while.

"And where are they from? He's made it clear he doesn't know about local economy, and I don't recognise that one's race," Peach folded his arms and took a defensive stance, his penetrating eyes flitting between each male.

"Er.." Bel toyed with her belt. "Where did you say were from again?"

Peach and the others sighed with fatigue at what they considered to be their mistress's too trusting nature.

"The other side of the Vekarian wormhole, that's now gone, thanks to the K'Tani-" Reb was interrupted by Leonard's firm grip on his wrist.

"So do we have a deal or not?" Leonard asked impatiently - but more out of nerves.

"That depends," Peach looked around at his co-workers, for moral support. An unspoken stand-off appeared to be taking place.

Leonard suspected there was some kind of ongoing tension between Bel and her crew. She appeared to want to hold back, but they would not give in it seemed. Bel tapped her feet in frustration. Still the men continued to wait for an answer.

"Okay!" Bel finally threw her hands up in angry frustration. "They're in trouble - possibly! It appears that - maybe - they're being pursued," Bel said.

"Fell Councillor?" a thin, pinkish hued man asked nervously.

"Bounty hunter?" a squat man with no neck grumbled.

"K'Tani," was all Bel said, and hung her head.

Peach's face fell, and immediately they all began shouting stern protests while nodding in agreement with each other. It took Bel a few moments to calm them.

"Look, I know what I've said in the past," she nervously lit a cigarette, blatantly ignoring the protocols of safe docking. "About helping people in trouble, getting involved in conflicts that aren't my business. But frankly we need the work. You know that as much as I do. And by all accounts, boy, do they need some work doing."

"I ssay if the cash is right, then sso is the cusstomer," a thin, wretched looking creature suddenly appeared from behind the men to join in the debate.

"You would, vile Cuss," Peach spat. "That's all you ever care about."

The creature hissed at the big man.

Bel indicated the new arrival to Reb and Leonard with a look of amused contempt. "My accountant, just ignore him."

"Among many other thingss," the creature corrected her and slithered back into the shadows, offended.

"Listen, boys," Bel pretended to ignore her odd but faithful employee and adjusted her tone a little. "Something in my heart tells me that these people are special-"

"Oh, here we go," the second largest oaf along with the others began to protest again. "Another sob story. Save it, Bel. We've heard it all before."

"No, no, I mean it," Bel shouted above the din, quietening them somewhat. "They've got this big ship, and a whole bunch of people and little orphaned kiddies-"

"Whoah, whoah, whoah!" Peach held out his giant hand. "Stop with the tale of woe. Trouble is one thing, Bel, but the K'Tani?"

The shortnecked man spoke again. "The whole reason we trade out here is because of the K'Tani, Bel." This note struck a cord, Reb noticed. Bel seemed almost tearful.

"Come to think of it," Peach was deep in thought. "If these people are from the other side of the wormhole, then they're now refugees, aren't they?!"

"A wormhole that's no longer there," Reb reminded everyone again. "Which means we're kind of trapped here on a ship currently in desperate need of a repair facility such as yours?"

"But why would the K'Tani be interested in pursuing a bunch of refugees beyond the Qovakian border?" Peach was trying to guess the answer. "They must be after something. Or someone."

"The truth is, we're not sure of that either, sir," Leonard stepped forward and stated honestly. "It could have something to do with our ship. Although originally from our corner of the Galaxy, the vessel somehow came to the Outer Zone and fell into the hands of the K'Tani. It's been coated in a strange substance that renders it effectively cloaked-"

"You should see it, guys," Bel cut in and leant towards them with more than just an interested glint in her eye. And it seemed to be more convincing to Leonard than her previous sentimental reasons. "I've never seen the like. It's really worth us getting a closer look." She tossed a discretely deposited scanning device she'd used to take images of the Fantasy over to the thinnest of the men, taller too with a shock of frizzy black and orange hair. His clothes were covered with small pockets, tools were thrust into these and larger items were hooked onto an ample utility belt. The men all looked over his shoulder at the scanner's readings with interest.

There was a pause - unexpectedly, Reb thought. Why would the cloaking substance make any difference to these men if they were so fearful of any trouble coming their way? Particularly from the K'Tani? He wondered if the substance was valuable, whether Bel was planning on studying it, perhaps trying to replicate it for her own profit? Was it really worth more than being trounced by the K'Tani?

"They were tagged," Bel shrugged, disclosing the fuller story, "which means they're being observed on the station."

"Then we could already be in danger," the big haired man said.

"Yeah, who did that to us, anyway?" Reb probed.

"I guess we're already committed, then," Peach nodded solemnly to Bel, ignoring Reb. "But it would be in everyone's interest if we keep our contact to a minimum from now on."

"Agreed," said Bel and turned to Reb sympathetically. "I mean, I know you're paying customers and all. And we'd really like your business. But we'd feel a lot safer dealing with you back on our ship than here."

"Well, ah, that's where things get complicated," Leonard said. "You see, we were actually hoping for your help. It's just, my Captain and a fellow shipmate have been taken hostage by the crew of another ship docked on this station."

"Hostage?" Bel frowned, taken aback. "Who by?"

"They're called Romulans," Leonard didn't want to go into too much detail. "They're also from our side of the wormhole. Suffice it to say, their intentions are not honourable, and we need to get our people out as quickly as possible. K'Tani ships will arrive here in just over two hours' time."

"And you don't want to get station security involved," Bel guessed. Leonard nodded. "Wise move."

"Look, I don't like any of this," Peach stepped forward and gripped Bel's arms. "But you're the Boss. You know we'll back you up. When have we ever let you down before."

The other men nodded in macho agreement.

Bel looked visibly moved. "Thanks, guys," she said. They turned and went back aboard the ship.

"So," Leonard asked sheepishly. "Can you help us?"

Bel dropped her head and clasped her hands together, sighing deeply. After a moment's pause, she looked up into Reb's eyes - with such compassion, to Reb it felt like talking to someone who'd been close to him for years rather than the brash femme fatal he'd just met in the bar.

"Now I want you to understand me very carefully," she said, speaking slowly and quietly. "These are dangerous times for everyone. There aren't many people in ...The Outer Zone, as you call it, who are unaffected by the K'Tani, whether now or as a result of their previous reign," again there was the almost tear, Reb noted.

"Did something-" Reb began to ask but Bel merely talked over him.

"Peach is right. It's a big risk to take on, but as you've heard, my men are prepared to take that risk. I'd love to help, but in short, we're out of here. Right now. Without delay. Here," she handed a dumbfounded Reb a small pocket-sized padd-like device, its tiny display screen showing a set of 3 dimensional grid references and a countdown, brightly and quietly whirring away.

"What's this?" Reb asked.

"These are the coordinates where my dry dock will be for the next two days," Bel said. "Don't take the direct approach. And don't bring any unwanted guests. I'll be watching from a long way off. If you do, you won't see me for spacedust. Remember, two days, and if I don't see you there before the counter reaches zero, I'll consider our deal null and void."

She turned to depart, leaving Reb agog with astonishment.

"But wait!" Leonard called desperately. "Our Captain..."

"Is your problem," she gave a short smile and wave and disappeared inside her ship. For a moment, Reb thought she seemed too small and dainty a creature to be commanding such a huge ship and so many roughnecks. The hatch closed with an ominous thud-click-hiss.

Reb half expected the ship to take off and depart right there and then, but it just sat there on the deck. Eventually, Reb turned to Leonard who was still looking towards the ship with an imploring expression on his face.

"Come on," Reb nudged the engineer. "No point in wasting time here."

* * *

ROMULAN VESSEL

Murak worried that he may have been seen talking to the station urchin. He had managed to put on a convincing charade of compliance with his fellow Romulans thus far, and even managed to not betray important information about the Command Yacht and the people upon it, appearing to despise them for their 'humanity' instead. He had not been lying, merely failing to mention the entirety of his journey and his feelings on the matter, so the scanners the Tal Shiar officers had used on him had not detected anything untoward.

It wasn't the first time he'd knowingly - and successfully - deceived his colleagues. Although he did not share their feelings, he had known for some time that his parents were sympathisers with the reunification cause still in its infancy on his home planet. On shore leave shortly before his departure to the Outer Zone, his mother had even confided in him that she had met with Ambassador Spock on several occasions. This outraged Murak, who felt they had no respect for his position in the Romulan star fleet and the danger they were putting him in. It led to a huge family row and his storming out of the house two days earlier than arranged. He'd since calmed and become more understanding of their own feelings, yet it nagged at him knowing that he would now probably have to wait many months, if not years, to make his apologies.

He thought perhaps that by helping the Captain and Tactical Officer of the Fantasy to escape, he'd feel a little less burdened. Certainly witnessing the callous behaviour of his kin, he had become convinced that it was the right thing to do, even if it was treasonous.

There were only 17 survivors of a crew of 43 - he had pitched in immediately, helping to keep the engines from dying too soon and so winning the confidence of the very small crew. The ship's predicament was terminal, there was no doubt about it, but it seemed its impending demise only sought to drive Chahleth and the other Romulans forward in their plan to capture the Fantasy's Command Yacht.

It had only been several hours since he had snuck outside of the ship with a number of Romulans to bring a number of vital engineering components aboard. In the busy trading area in a passage behind a sleazy bar, he had managed to slip away briefly from his colleagues and make the illegal exchange. Murak had given the scruffy alien boy the equivalent of more than a week's wage as a cargo handler in the form of coralite crystal which he'd stolen from his ship's stores. This, along with the two communicators he had retrieved from Chahleth's office and the promise of more money to the boy if he made the delivery to one of the Fantasy crew. Murak had only hoped that the child wouldn't pocket the money and run, and more importantly, that they would understand the message and act upon it.

Feeling more daring with each risk he took, Murak had then urged his immediate superior, Rokesh, a stern science officer just a few years his senior, to reassign him to repair a ruptured baffle plate. Murak's reason was that he felt if left to deteriorate further, the seepage would soon give the station authorities cause for concern. He showed her false readings that indicated low levels of bertold rays leaking out into space, and could permeate the ship's hull and harm them in a matter of hours if it went unchecked.

Murak was surprised when she agreed, given the likelihood of total engine failure in several days and their expectations of being on the Yacht well before then. His alterior motive, of course, was that it was only three corridors away from the Captain and the Ensign's cell. More than anything he wanted to assure their escape - even if it resulted in his own death. They had shown him such kindness and open acceptance since the K'Tani invasion, and he felt his greatest efforts was the least they deserved after their mistreatment.

As Murak resisted the temptation to check on them, he continued with the deception, actually repairing the baffle plate which had merely buckled rather than breached. For once he was pleased that his task would last several finger numbing hours as it would keep him away from prying eyes and allow him to be ready to act as soon as the opportunity arose.

Murak wondered how the Fantasy crew would liberate their shipmates, if indeed they had got the message. Furthermore, he wondered whether if Jackson would allow a rescue mission given her obvious over-concern for the safety of the survivors.

As he focused on his work, he heard the distant shouting of the Ensign, and felt a sick, sinking feeling in his belly. Souveson was convinced he was a traitor, perhaps also the Captain and maybe the rest of the crew once they found out? No, he told himself, he trusted the Christian. Then it dawned on him with a terrifying feeling - for the first time he realised that by committing such a grave act of treason against his people he would be putting not only him self, but also his family in grave danger. A moment of doubt washed across him. Only the thought that the Romulans were doubtful to get any message back to Romulus any time soon reassured him. No, he thought, he must make the rescue attempt succeed, no matter what.

EP 8 "EROWOON: PART II" - ACT II

Commodore Jackson stood at the rear of the Yacht's Officer's Mess, staring out into space. With her enhanced vision via the spectacles she wore, she could just make out a faint green-pink dalmatian nebula, the area of 'local' space where the Fantasy's Beta Section was parked. She felt a pang of responsibility for the passengers she'd left in Commander Struckchev's charge, and a little guilt at their probable state. She hoped that they were all safe, at least, and that the Kosovan wasn't giving people too hard a time. No doubt Lirik and the big man had clashed once or thrice already, but she assumed that Lirik would handle the situation - probably by keeping a low profile.

The doors hissed open behind her - it was O'Hara, flustered but trying to keep a lid on it. "Forgive me, Commodore, I just wanted you to know that our search teams are back. There's been no sign of the Captain and Souveson anywhere. Isn't it time we contacted the Romulans?"

"What about Reb?" Jackson asked, her face deadpan.

"What about me?" Reb entered the room at warp speed with Lieutenant Commander Leonard, Narli and Ganhedra hot on his heels - his hearing had obviously grasped the words even through the thick bulkhead doors of the mess before they opened ahead of him.

"Where the hell have you been?!" the Commodore boomed, her face contorting into the consummate disciplinarian. "Mister Leonard contacted you nearly an hour ago, you knew we had a situation."

"They're being held on the Romulan ship," Reb panted, explaining quickly.

"Duuh!" O'Hara snapped sarcastically.

"But why do you say so with such conviction?" Ganhedra asked suspiciously.

Reb reached into his pocket and showed them the two Starfleet comm badges. "When Leonard called me, I ...," he fidgeted nervously, flushing red and blotchy around his faint lobes, "well, the truth is I didn't want to come back to the ship completely empty handed so I went back to the bar where I'd started off.

"'M'?" Ganhedra frowned.

"Murak," Narli concluded.

"The boy said that a pale thin man with pointy ears wearing a square shaped jacket had given them to him in the docking level corridor where the Romulan ship is sited. He told the boy that if he found anyone from the Fantasy they would give him a substantial reward in return," Reb swallowed, not wanting to disclose just how much the alien child had managed to extort from him before getting the badges.

"Well, not knowing where their loyalties yet lie, I'd rather not alert station security at this time," Jackson bit her lip.

"Commodore!" the Helan thick-necked man called Midrian bounded through the door, face flushed. "Commodore! We have just monitored on the station's arrivals information network that a flotilla of K'Tani ships are on their way here."

Everyone either sighed in despair or gasped.

"About three hours before they are scheduled to dock," he said "But they could already be in range of the Beta Section." A few more gasps and one 'tut' at this.

"There's one other thing," Reb grasped Jackson's arm to impart his sense of urgency and make her focus on him rather than the innocent civilians she always seemed so overprotective towards.

The Commodore paused, taking everything in.

"About as much as I trust anyone, Ma'am," Reb said honestly. "But given the circumstances, we don't have a lot of time to find an alternative. My gut feeling is she's okay."

"Does she require a down payment?" Narli asked, checking his padd which held their current balance of funds available.

"No, but I have to go and meet her in person to finalise the deal," he said.

Jackson nodded her head slowly, considering the timetabling of the next three hours. "Then we had better act quickly. Mister Leonard, you'll accompany Reb, make a few enquiries, see that she knows her stuff."

Leonard nodded, glancing at the others, and at Reb who looked a bit deflated by the Commodore's over cautiousness.

"Meanwhile, I'll brief everyone on the rescue plan," she said. Then, as they thought there was more detail to come: "Be quick, gentlemen."

Leonard nodded and slapped Reb on the arm, hauling him away. Everyone else looked nervously at the Commodore, each uncertain about her ability to lead them in what was essentially a risky tactical mission against Romulans.

EP 8 "EROWOON: PART II" - ACT III

Thirty volunteers were gathered on the sub-bridge of the Fantasy yacht with Jackson addressing them from the top of the short flight of stairs on the upper main bridge.

"Okay, so you know the plan. Now for the teams," people quietened, most in anticipation, some from excitement and just a handful knowing all too well that this mission could prove instantly fatal to any or all of them. "Lieutenant O'Hara, you will be our point person," she watched as all the blood seemed to rush out of O'Hara's face. She appeared to immediately compose herself.

"Something wrong, Lieutenant?" the Commodore didn't want there to be any mistakes, so she couldn't have someone who hesitated or fearful of the task required of them. Knowing her profile well, Jackson had thought that as an ex-marine with field experience, O'Hara would be exemplary in carrying out her duties.

"No, Sir, you can count on me," O'Hara said with pride. She then cast her eyes down before looking up at the Commodore again. Was there some kind of distrust, or was it hate in the Nurse's eyes? Jackson wasn't sure.

"Karless, Narli and Madison," she continued, nodding at the three big men, "you will provide cover, should you need to, and pull the Lieutenant out if it becomes necessary. Kluless, Lessing and Quatro, you will be in the secondary assault team under the orders of Mister Car Pernalias-"

"Perrnahlius," the gentrified brute corrected. The resin skinned humanoid had been told repeatedly to shut up, but his race had an affliction for speaking their mind, and correcting others of any and all mistakes. It was impossible for them to resist - only their clerics could manage that, and then only after years and years of training.

Nevertheless, he was a real find for the Commodore. He was not only a former soldier in the Sharleyzi People's Army, but he was honoured four times over for combat duty while serving under the United Planets Reserve Force. They were a back up peacekeeping force for the UFP, most often despatched to far flung places of conflict to take over when Starfleet forces and the Marine Corps moved out.

"Whatever," Jackson wasn't about to enter into another debate. "In the meantime, Commander Leonard with Crewman Able and Mister Dronus will disable the Romulan ship's systems. I will make our settlement with the station's clerk for a designated departure and coordinate things from here with the Helan, who will be on standby to bring you out if things go wrong."

Ganhedra puffed and shook his head at this, the other Helan seeming to hide behind him.

"Won't the station authorities try to stop us?" Dronus called out.

The German engineer replied for the Commodore. "Only if they know it's happening. Right, Reb?"

"Right," the half-Ferengi didn't smile, as he thought his task was the most dangerous of all.

* * *

"Oh, my head," Christian moaned as he came to and managed to haul himself up to a sitting position. Ensign Souveson was crouched in the corner of their 'cell' in shadow. "Ensign?"

She didn't react at first, but then lifted her head. "How are you feeling, Sir?" Her voice was cracked.

"Come here, Fabrice," he said warmly. "Come on." He was speaking to her the way a parent would to a hurt child.

As the Ensign shuffled over, he could see she had been crying. She also sported a black eye, presumably from a beating while he'd been unconscious.

"Were we not together when the K'Tani holograms took over the ship?" he asked.

"You know we were," she said, almost disrespectfully.

"And we survived that one," he said.

"Barely!" she snapped, thinking of her injuries.

"We'll be fine," he reassured her, but without any foundation. He hoped Murak would help them, or that Jackson would manage to pull something off. Certainly he knew no-one would give up the Yacht without a fight, but then most of them weren't used to the metal of the Romulans.

The Ensign wasn't convinced of his reassurances either. Her thoughts had turned to all those horror stories relayed to her class about the Romulans while studying them at the Academy. Initially she put them down to mostly superstition, but when shown actual archive recordings of Romulan torture and interrogation tactics during her Tactical Risks classes, she saw the race for what they truly were. In a sense, this was her worst nightmare - having been proud of joining up, eager to get out into space and explore, her fate was only to die in terror and humiliation with a man who barely knew her.

* * *

Yeoman Lirik had done his duty. His mind was still reeling from the data obtained on each and every ship in the Marina. Access to the maintenance bay above was cut off due to substantial rupturing of that deck's inner hull and insufficient protective shields were in place. Although they'd found a transport conduit large enough for runabout size vessels to move from the maintenance deck up through the Command section to beneath the main shuttle bay, this was firmly sealed at either end. Entry had not been possible so far.

So with time being of the essence, Lirik had inspected only those ships stored in the many bays of the Marina. Seventeen of the 37 vehicles were all differing types of Fantasy launch, mostly for the purposes of ferrying passengers and cargo, or for touring. The twenty others turned out to be either 'classics' en route to the Federation Archive or private vehicles left behind from the penultimate owner. Only twelve of these turned out to be space-worthy, and only 8 of the 12 had shields and tactical capability.

Over a hurriedly installed temporary intercom to the M Deck, Struckchev had requested that they meet to assign crew to the vessels for a recon and possible assault on the unidentified craft beyond the nebula, and could Lirik please report to Deck 7 Corridor 'Zero'. The turbolift took him the full distance to the uppermost, rear-most area of the Command Section where the Yeoman exited into a very narrow corridor. This ran even further aft to a T-junction with steps going down on either side.

"To your right, Yeoman," came the echoing voice of Struckchev. Lirik descended the steep stairs holding onto the guide rail, then along a short, spot-lit passage with small doors spaced occasionally either side. Another flight of steep stairs took him back up and into a corridor that curved anticlockwise. Almost at the midpoint, the corridor opened onto a circular room about 8 metres in diameter. The corridor then continued opposite, presumably back round the opposite side of the section and back to the T junction, just like on Deck 1.

Half of the low domed room was panelled with black struts arcing from floor to ceiling. This forward part of the circle to his left was interrupted across the middle by a large, also curved, smoked glass observation window. One of the volunteer Helan engineers was beyond this in what looked like a control room together with Hedrik. Both seemed to be concentrating on something out of his vision.

To his right the aft-most circular wall was painted white and made up of five small hatches, spaced slightly apart, and two observation portholes at each end. The portholes revealed a brightly lit chamber beyond. Lirik worked out that each hatch led to a small 'pod' - peering through the hatch observation windows, he could see the pods had some kind of padded interior.

Beside the opposite corridor and next to the farthest observation porthole, Struckchev was reaching inside an opened panel, attended by two of the Helan assigned to Engineering. Lirik, not wanting to disturb the tense concentration, walked to the nearest pod hatch and peered inside. The pod, it seemed, was similar to a four person lifeboat, only it was more egg shaped, with the upper half made almost entirely from plexiglass. The interior was plush. The wide seat immediately in front of him extended back into a day bed of sorts, surrounded by a low shelf which contained a small food replicator and lcars panels to control lighting, heat, atmosphere and music. Lirik smiled looking at the small studs across and around the inside of the pod - incredible, he thought, even HERE there was holographic capability.

He realised these were the famous 'Love Bugs' he'd read about in one of Leonard's reports - private egg shaped rooms for passengers to be winched out into space for total privacy. They could be towed - presumably not at warp! - behind the Fantasy, surrounded by nothing but the stars. What on Earth, Lirik wondered, could the Commander be doing here?

Struckchev finally withdrew from the maintenance pipe and closed the panel. "Okay, open her up," the Commander yelled.

Lirik instinctively turned to watch the engineer behind the glass reach out and press an unseen control. The lighting around the pods in the brilliant white airlock died and slowly a single bay door slid down into its housing behind the pods. Some gasses were leaking inside the airlock, but Struckchev activated some kind of fan to disperse them outside again. This caused the nebula just outside the ship to swirl more actively, and quickly he shut the fans off for fear of the billowing movements to reveal their location to the K'Tani.

Slowly, Lirik saw that a small device was being winched out on the end of a thin cable into the nebula outside. Some kind of energy field kept the line taught and pointing straight out. It was now clear, the device was some kind of sensor node. Struckchev was winching it out to the perimeter of the nebula where they could obtain clearer sensor data of the space (and the vessel or vessels) around them.

"Very good," Lirik smiled and nodded his approval.

"Have you ascertained which vessels we should employ?" the Russian Commander rubbed his thumb and index finger down his lengthening moustache.

Lirik handed Struckchev the padd which gave small three dimensional skeleton images of each ship and the primary statistics and parameters for each. The Commander nodded his way down the list, approving them all - a couple caused a raising of eyebrows, clearly impressed.

"What about the pilots?" Struckchev asked.

Lirik knew who he would choose and was curious to find out if the Commander would choose the same. "I wanted to ask your opinion, actually."

The Commander smiled, but didn't mind being tested by the Yeoman. As far as he was concerned, their bet was still on - he was determined to show the Englishman he was better than him.

"Well, myself and you, of course, Warnerburg, that Akabarian woman Trigg, and the Berodan merchant," the Commander gazed into the nebula, watching the line disappear into the mists.

Lirik voiced his immediate concern. "As the commander of this vessel, your place is here, on the ship."

Struckchev knew the rule book, but he felt in this instance he should bend the rules - there was no other pilot he knew of, and there was also no one he could leave behind in command. Lirik could see the mental whirring in the Commander's expression. Was he scared? Or did he realise Lirik was correct? He couldn't believe Struckchev would stand to be corrected in front of others.

"You are right, of course," Struckchev backed down, to the Yeoman's amazement.

Struckchev had decided it would look better to the Captain if he followed protocol, even though he wanted to prove his piloting skills to Lirik. He smiled to himself - perhaps Lirik might perish and the contest would then be a moot point - and then he chastised himself for such an awful, wicked thought. "Well, we're all set then. Now, it's just a waiting game," Struckchev walked away into the far corridor and adjoining passage leading to the control booth.

Lirik remained where he was for a while, he would return to the M Deck to make preparations momentarily, but wanted to take the opportunity to reflect on their current situation.

He paced the perimeter of the deck, but as he neared the window he was distracted by a movement inside the booth. The Helan engineer, facing him, could not see that behind, Struckchev was gazing luridly at Hedrik's rear end as she was leaning over a console. The Russian continued to ogle her for over a minute, all the while the Yeoman watching him. Finally, Struckchev looked up, saw Lirik watching him and quickly turned away to do something else.

Lirik smiled. The guy was a letch of the worst kind. No wonder it had led him to such an indision.

* * *

Lieutenant O'Hara checked herself in the glass of a shop window, closely studying the slightly distorted reflection. To make their plan work smoothly, she had ditched her foul stained uniform and borrowed a colourful blouse and pair of slippers from the Helan. She had used a scarf as a skirt and wrapped it around herself in a way that would expose most of one leg up to the thigh. She untied her hair and bunched it into a loose, flowing pony tail. As a parting gesture, the Commodore had unbuttoned more of the Lieutenant's blouse to reveal her ample bosom. O'Hara wasn't sure how she felt about that. Her intention was to look enticing, but her feeling was just of looking 'cheap'.

Leonard had swallowed hard as he saw her walk down the ramp into the station. She had given him a wise crack, something like "What, never seen a pair of boobs before, Commander?" and regretted her words since. The German was clearly perfectly shy, and there she had gone with her big mouth upsetting an innocent again.

Safely housed in her knickers was the lock scanner as provided by Reb - he'd asked that no-one tell Lirik that he'd 'borrowed' it from the Hudson - as well as the medical scanner, enhanced to almost tricorder capability. Her phaser was strapped to her hidden thigh, set on wide beam maximum stun, just in case. She figured she could haul the Captain easily, and Souveson wasn't exactly large. At that moment she remembered her findings that morning and hesitated.

She pressed on through the crowded corridors of the station's docking ring, glancing over her shoulder though not seeing the back up team following stealthily some way behind. Leonard should be at the pylon docking arm by now, she thought. O'Hara knew she should easily spot the disguised secondary assault team amongst the throngs once she reached the main docking entrance.

Sure enough, there was Quatro and the three men - strangely playing the part of drunks having a good time on bales of plas-sheeting someone had ditched opposite the airlock to the Romulan ship. To try and make them look more convincing, they had taken up their position some time earlier. O'Hara afforded a glance over to them - Quatro was either truly inebriated, or a damned good little actress.

O'Hara's luck was in. From the way ahead, two Romulans approached carrying two large sacks each. The rough material bulged slightly, indicating containers within. She stepped in their path and gave them her best sexy smile, thinking that she wished Hedrik were here instead of her - she would be far more convincing.

One of the Romulans nudged the other and grinned a crooked smile. The other shook his head. "Come on, we have duties."

The roguish one stopped and walked over to O'Hara.

"Hi," she said, coyly.

"Hello," the man was leering at her less than several inches away. She tried hard not to let her repugnance show.

"Tamif!" the older Romulan barked.

The Romulan shrugged. "Sorry," he said. As he pulled away, O'Hara caressed his face with her right hands, leaving a trace of glitteriness behind.

"Maybe later, then," she said and blew him a kiss as he went into the gangway.

The moment his back was turned, O'Hara reached for the lock scanner and pointed it at the Romulan airlock. The lights all flashed green as the door opened then closed behind the two men.

O'Hara turned and quickly tossed the lock device over to Quatro, who deftly caught it in one hand and returned to her inebriated behaviour. The Lieutenant took a deep breath and walked up the gangway to the Romulan airlock. Fixing a dumb look on her face, she knocked on the door.

Presently it opened, this time another guard was there - a female, and wearing a light purple and grey tunic. O'Hara's face dropped, she realised there would probably be no getting around this one. Her mind could jump to only one alternative - she only hoped the others in the rescue mission could adapt to it.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me," O'Hara bellowed, imagining the immediate tension in the two groups in the corridors to her rear as they saw it was a Romulan female and not a male.

"Oh, really?" the woman had a deep voice, and a thin lipped sneer.

"My husband and sister, they brought you a Romulan man in good faith," O'Hara said.

Quatro was panicking. What was O'Hara saying? Why didn't she just retreat? She was about to signal in to the Commodore, as ordered if something went wrong. Pernalias gripped her wrist softly shaking his head while following the conversation across the way intently.

He was staring at the Romulan intently, trying to 'read' her. "Our Nurse believes this woman wouldn't fall for the planned response, and it was too late to withdraw - she was committed," he whispered.

"So she's given a ridiculous story instead?!" Quatro was incredulous.

Lessing turned his head toward the pretty Alpha Centaurian. "All she needs do is get inside and keep them occupied. That was her main mission - how she does it is really up to her now."

Pernalias frowned. "But why do I sense she is so fearful for her own safety?"

Quatro glanced back toward the airlock as the Romulan drew a weapon and urged O'Hara inside. She remembered back to her studies of the Romulan Star Empire with horror while at the Academy and interpreted the uniform and collar insignia with surprising ease. "Tal Shiar..." she whispered.

* * *

Leonard, Able and Mister Dronus, a Vekarian colonist and orbital farmer of the Ororan moon Urvadon in outer Qovakia (the other side of Qovakia), stood beside the access port to the primary docking latch maintenance shaft. Leonard checked his tricorder, using it as a timepiece - Reb should be done about now.

Able glanced nervously at the Commander. "How exactly is he going to distract station operations from our activities?"

A small boom sounded from some way off, followed by the sound of heavy rain on glass. A second later, the corridor they stood in shuddered and klaxons sounded from the inner part of the station. A nearby display lit up with the message: Hull Breach Section One Nine Fifty, All Emergency Personnel Respond, All Others Proceed Beyond Alert Area Perimeter.

It was an uninhabited, automated section of the station Leonard had identified as being non-critical and easy to sabotage, a target that would cause no harm but a great many power problems and such all over the station if damaged. He figured it would keep security stretched thin and operations busy for the next forty minutes or so while they carried out their mission.

Leonard jemmied the lock and cut through part of the surrounding casing plate with a small laser cutter - the whole hatch, lock still intact, came away without raising alarm. Quickly inside, the three scaled the fifteen metre shaft to the operations booth. The booth was used for manual docking, sensor downloads and maintenance checks - it also provided access to the arm's mechanisms.

Through the small portholes Leonard could see the Romulan ship, large and green at this proximity, as it was immediately in front and below the booth. An array of finer docking arms at rest in the top of the main clamps on either side of the vessel's nose - clearly the booth could also manipulate these arms for minor external repairs.

"Here goes," Leonard activated the arm mechanisms and placed a surface sensor cup on the hull of the ship. Everyone waited for several heartbeats to see if the action would be detected by those on board. An affirmative beep came from the computer and all sighed with relief. Crewman Able, below him, was assisting Dronus in accessing the data interface.

"We're in," Able said. "He's accessing computer control-"

Dronus coughed lightly. "Er...this may take some time, there are many security measures in operation."

"Try going via an obscure system, one that's least likely to be protected," Leonard suggested. The Lt Commander occasionally glanced down at their progress as he rigged the arm for a number of counter measures should things go wrong.

* * *

O'Hara was guided along a corridor with the phaser in her back, observing the damage and guessing what her chances of escape might be. The more she saw, the better she felt the odds.

Turning a corner into a wide area, she realised this was a crew mess of sorts.

"Sit," the Romulan woman said. O'Hara did so. Presently, two other Tal Shiar officers entered the room and proceeded to search her. They retrieved the phaser and medical scanner.

"Is this a Tal Shiar covert ship?" O'Hara asked, sizing each officer up. "What's it doing in the Outer Zone?"

No-one spoke. It seemed they were waiting for someone.

"Look, don't you think our two crews would be better working together against the K'Tani?" she continued.

A large, old Romulan wearing regular military garb entered. "At this rate, we won't have to ambush their ship for they will all be here instead," he laughed heartily. The Tal Shiar couldn't bring themselves to smile, just leer.

"Look, you're clearly in need of our help," O'Hara began, nodding at the extensive damage.

The man laughed. "We don't need your help. As I told your Captain. Or is he really your husband as well?" Chahleth chuckled. "With our ship disabled, it's simpler to just take yours and regroup with our Romulan forces."

"What forces? They're all gone," O'Hara frowned.

"Not all of them. We escaped. So will others have. And we will use your ship to find them," he looked delirious.

"The Fantasy? Against the entire K'Tani fleet?" O'Hara scoffed. She shifted to reveal a little more leg, hoping to distract Chahleth, or failing that, interest him in her.

Chahleth bent close to her face. "You make it sound like it's impossible. Despite the fact that is clearly what you and your Captain have been doing for the past few weeks."

The Lieutenant was stumped - he was right. They had outwitted the K'Tani at every turn, if only by a hair's breadth. The ship suddenly juddered. The intercom called Chahleth to engineering at once.

"Put her with the others, stun them for the next few hours," he said and went to march out. O'Hara unexpectedly launched herself forward and grabbed his hand with her right fingers.

"Please, let me go," she wailed. "I ... I can help you get the Fantasy."

Chahleth pulled his hand from hers, not noticing the glittery substance on them and belted O'Hara across the face, bloodying her nose. Her head pulsated with pain - there had been a slight whiplash, though she had turned to absorb a little of the weight of the blow.

"Weaklings..." Chahleth commented and marched out of site. The Tal Shiar female lifted her to her feet and hauled her away, closely followed by the two other armed men.

One deck below and now resisting against the two Romulans, O'Hara spotted Murak crouched just ahead, keenly working on something beyond the wall.

"You!" O'Hara shouted angrily, pulling forward.

Murak was shocked, but also intrigued as to why the Nurse was winking at him while trying to get closer.

Wriggling free of one Romulan's grasp, O'Hara pulled her foot back and kicked Murak hard in the ribs - winding him and sending him and a dozen tools scattering across the floor.

The two men securely grasped O'Hara and hauled her forward with renewed agression. The Romulan Tal Shiar woman hung back, standing over the prone form of Murak smiling - she had enjoyed seeing the female Human kick this little pup who had allowed himself to be captive of the Starfleet people.

EP 8 "EROWOON: PART II" - ACT IV

Reb was surprised that only two Helan remained just inside the entrance to the Fantasy's airlock. Both urged him to proceed to the bridge immediately, though Reb wanted to know what was going on.

As the half-Ferengi proceeded, he thought himself extremely lucky to have escaped detection. With the gall of a...well, a Ferengi...Reb had found his way to Sissador's office with a gift courtesy of Commodore Jackson (a trinket from the Captain's booty room). The Security Officer, unaccustomed to visitors in his fortified hideaway on top of the station, had been delighted and charmed by a personal visit to thank him for all his assistance, and indeed for the magnificent gift. As he entertained his guest, Reb gained access codes and security information to the power and security net on the station. The data he obtained would make his sabotage not only safe and simple, but also almost untraceable.

The Commodore's plan was flawless, Reb found to his surprise. The desired key mechanism was easily tampered with and subsequent chain reaction adequate to allow him enough time to retreat. As he had set the charge, the Commodore had filed her departure details and settled their account. There was no hanging around now, the authorities would eventually trace the perpetrator after extensive analysis, but by then the Fantasy would be long gone with the Captain, the Ensign and the rest of the crew aboard.

Bounding onto the bridge he senses something was very wrong.

Jackson was biting a fingernail as if to express her own concern. She turned as he approached. "Take your station, Mister Reb, be prepared to take us out on my command."

"Already?" Reb knew the rescue mission couldn't have been completed in such short time, but looking at the viewscreen he could see why. A group of three K'Tani vessels were approaching the station. Two were similar to the fighter's they had already seen. The third, lead ship, was much larger, bigger than the Yacht, and more curvacious in its design. He wasn't even sure if it was K'Tani, perhaps some other ally.

"When are they due?" Reb asked.

Jackson was deep in thought, so Ganhedra, seated at Operations, replied for her. "Twenty minutes."

* * *

Kluless, Quatro, Pernalius and Lessing crouched beside the airlock, weapons at the ready. Quatro held the lock picking device and waited for an indication that Leonard had done his job. It was taking an age.

"Should we go ahead anyway?" Quatro whispered.

Kluless narrowed his eyes slowly. "Patience, patience."

Quatro couldn't be patient. She was an buyer, not a security cadet and the whole situation scared her half to death. Focus, she reminded herself. What was taking so damned long?

* * *

"Anything?" Able urged Dronus. He merely glowered at her and continued to work.

Leonard was fidgeting with anxiety. This was all taking far too long. Something blipped in a corner screen, attracting his attention. It was a console slaved to the station's main navigational display, showing the approach grid up to the legal perimeter of the station's space. Three blips were on the outer marker and sending a signal. The small, inch-square readout made him feel nervous.

The German flicked his blonde hair and pressed the image enhance key and saw three K'Tani ships on a direct heading. "How much time?" he called to the two helpers below.

Able looked into Dronus' eyes for a response but saw none. "Not long," she called, lying. The Qovakian continued regardless.

* * *

Having passed Murak, O'Hara was led around another corner and saw the man she had touched earlier folded over in agony being sick. A shipmate was helping him along.

"You should all report to the triage," the other man said. "There's some kind of virus aboard."

The Nurse smiled, the Tal Shiar officers didn't respond. Turning another corridor, O'Hara realised the next doorway was their final destination given the walking trajectory of the officer in front. This was the moment she had dreaded.

The Romulan entered several commands into the panel and the door turned slightly opaque - O'Hara was surprised to find such technology on a Romulan vessel. Beyond the door, she could see the Captain and Souveson, both bound, and propped up against each other back to back in the middle of the unfurnished cell.

The Romulan hit several more commands and the door slowly shifted open. As she stepped across the doorway, O'Hara unleashed the movement she had been rehearsing repeatedly in her head. She surged forward, pulling free of the woman's grip on her right arm and shoving with her left the Romulan in front further into the room.

As she stepped in behind, pushing him further she reached into her bra with her right hand and pulled out a flick knife. She knew the Romulans behind her must have had their guns trained on her by now, and hoped she could be quicker. She launched herself forward on top of the stumbling guard, twisting her body and releasing the opening knife as she did.

A disrupter blast lanced just above her head, a split second later the knife impaled itself in the woman's firing left shoulder with a loud wail. She instinctively dropped the weapon and reached for the knife to pull it out. The man underneath her had been winded, but was now moving. The third guard was nowhere in sight, hadn't even entered the room, but then she saw a doubled fist come crashing down on the Romulan woman's neck from behind. It was Murak.

Christian and Souveson were using their combined pushing pressure to stand, but they were too weak and bound to help. The man beneath O'Hara heaved her off, but the Nurse, sensing what he was doing, managed to kick his dropped weapon away just before he reached it. They were both in a crouch, facing each other in pre-combat ritual, and rose slowly to their feet.

In a roaring rage, the Romulan threw a fast right hook, but the Nurse deflected it with her left arm and brought her right leg through into his 'open' area, her foot twisting into his solar plexus, sending him stumbling back. Twisting her body she quickly unwound, throwing the same foot in an upward arc, striking the man's head and sending him unconscious.

Souveson looked dumbfounded at the Nurse as she helped release them. Christian, wobbling on his feet, had locked eyes with Murak, who was dragging the Romulan woman into the cell.

"Ouch, that looks painful," O'Hara commented at the Captain's appearance. He dumbly flinched as she touched his wounds, but he was clearly badly injured and fit to pass out. Suddenly the lights flickered and dimmed and then rose again. O'Hara smiled. "Mister Leonard," she explained to Souveson.

The Ensign was having trouble with her bindings. Murak pulled the second unconscious Romulan into the cell and helped her. Though she still felt distrust, she realised he had helped them, just as the Captain said he would. Murak caught her eye and she instinctively smiled in thanks. He practically beamed back at her, relieved to have apparently rekindled their forming friendship.

"We've not got long," O'Hara said. "Murak, lead them out."

"Where are you going?" Souveson asked.

"Like the good Commodore told me herself," the Lieutenant said, arming herself with a disrupter, "on a House Call."

"Ge ba here!" Christian weakly called after her. "Tha's anordrrrr..." and passed out.

* * *

On the way back from the Romulan ship's docking area, Leonard's team had passed Narli, Karless and Madison rushing toward the vessel, pushing their way past people and through groups with little politeness. He assumed something had gone wrong with the rescue, hence the direct approach.

Juxtaposed to the commotion they had just passed, Leonard was even more surprised to see Ganhedra standing just outside the Fantasy Yacht's airlock talking to a station official. Leonard couldn't overhear, as the clerk bowed and turned to head their way.

Leonard gestured for his team to slow and walk casually past them. If only the official knew what they had been he would call security immediately. As it was, he was bowing, telling them what a pleasure it was to have them aboard and sorry about today's incident - he hoped it wasn't the reason they were leaving and welcomed them back soon!

Leonard hurried Crewman Able and a very contented Mister Dronus over the threshold into the Fantasy. He was under very strict orders to proceed directly to engineering, and he fully knew why. He turned to watch Ganhedra come aboard and was startled to see that, for an instant, the old man's eyes had turned pitch black. The engineer stopped, and walked toward him, but as he approached the old Helan stepped out of the shadows and his eyes were normal.

"Yes?" the old man asked quietly.

"Nothing," Leonard said. "Just a trick of the light."

* * *

The shimmer across the surface of the Romulan airlock indicated a disruption in power. Quatro, ahead of the others, quickly placed the lock pick, with a shaky hand, and popped the lock. The lock opened, but too fast she realised there was a Romulan guard laying in wait. He firmly grasped onto her hair.

The Alpha Centaurian daddy's girl wailed, even more when she felt his arm wrenching backwards, pulling her unceremoniously across the airlock inside the vessel. The door was closing again, as if about to trap her body, but simultaneously the grip released on her hair and the door was fully open again. Standing above her were Kluless, Lessing and Pernalius.

"Thank you," she said.

"Come on," the shiny deep red skinned man commanded, leading the way inside.

Just two corridors in, they collided with Murak and Souveson, hauling Christian whose head was lolling in semi-consciousness.

"Down!" Pernalius shouted, targeting behind and beyond the rescue team's heads and firing - whether they were out of the way or not. He had felled three Romulans with a single blast but they were only stunned.

The rescue team took over from Murak as he guided them back toward the airlock. Chahleth suddenly leapt in front of them and fell over, writhing on his back while holding his stomach. He saw Murak and croaked: "You traitor...you will pay for this with your life."

The threat didn't appear to phase Murak as Quatro, with tears in her eyes from her hair pulling, said: "You have Romulan Tree Virus, it should pass in several days with no side effects." It had been the only pathogen Nurse O'Hara could simulate that would only affect the Romulans and so instantaneously. In its dry skin application it was perfectly harmless to anyone not Romulan. Once inside their bodies, the virus would mutate to an airborn type and spread rapidly through the crew.

Murak sneezed, feeling the first effects - this didn't bode well for him right now. Reaching the airlock, they found Karless, Narli, Madison and the others carefully laying several more unconscious Romulans in the inside corridor.

Pernalius was glancing around. "Where is Lieutenant O'Hara?"

"She said for us to go on," Souveson said weakly - feeling out of sorts for abandoning a shipmate. But O'Hara outranked her.

"What the hell is she playing at?" Madison looked inside the ship, as if able to see through solid walls to where she was.

Karless spat and walked inside. "I will get her."

"No," Kluless yelped. "I will go."

"No," the Captain managed to say weakly. "Everyone back to the ship. That's an ... ordugh....." he was out cold.

"That is a feeble way to win an argument," Narli commented and walked off inside the ship. Souveson didn't feel she had the right or the ability to stop him.

"Wait!" Murak called to him. "I know the ship's layout better than anyone."

The Andorian hesitated, then nodded and let him lead the way.

* * *

"Damn!" O'Hara muttered under her breath. She was pinned down, as far as she knew, with her only means of escape cut off. Between shots, she could hear the coughs and sneezes of the Romulans who were fast catching the fierce virus. She fired a shot back, to no avail.

The holdall she carried represented a great deal of significance, stuffed as it was with medical equipment and drugs stolen from the Romulan's triage. The few injured and distracted people there had posed no threat and she easily stunned the lot with the lowest setting possible. She couldn't help but feel pity - as a medic, she had a duty to help people in need. But this was war, she reminded herself, and the Romulans had been about to take over their ship and abandon them to K'Tani mercies from what Chahleth had said.

There was a scuffle of movement in the distance, some shouting and more shots fired. In the murk of smoke and low light, the Nurse finally made out the unmistakable antennae of Ambassador Narli. She made towards them but he spun her around as several 'normal' lights and control panels flickered to life.

"That way out is blocked, I'm afraid the Romulans will regain total control in just a few minutes," he pushed her forward, urged on by Murak behind.

"Then where are we going?" O'Hara asked. She was slightly concerned about all of the physical exertion she had undergone today and hoped there was little more to come - for her own sake as much as anyone else's.

A short crawl later, they were in a small transporter room. Murak leapt over to the door and sealed it while Narli got to the controls.

"Well?" O'Hara could see from their expressions their uncertainty about this course of action.

"Only two at a time, I'm afraid," Narli said. "Go on."

Murak glanced at O'Hara, about to offer to be the one to stay, but Narli's look was determined. They climbed aboard the platform and Narli made a lock onto the lower, unexposed decks of the Command Yacht. Beaming aboard the station wasn't an option because of their transport inhibitors. He had the same problem with most of the Yacht, but the unpainted lower decks were perfectly 'visible'.

He initiated transport, watching the curvey, curled print of the Romulan displays. He knew quite a bit of Romulan, and could see the pattern locks, the dematerialisation sequence, the physical profiles for both individuals and their physical make-up - something attracted his eye.

"Well, I never," he said, catching O'Hara's worried look as she disappeared. Transport was complete.

Then part of the console suddenly went blank. Narli re-routed primary systems and isolated them from outside control, smiling to himself with relief once successful - another second and the controls would have been permanently disabled. He fixed an auto transport and jumped onto the platform. Momentarily the Fantasy erupted all around him in gleaming white - they were somewhere in the cargo intake section, many crates lay stacked high all around.

"Well done," O'Hara patted him on the shoulder and jogged to a nearby comm panel. "O'Hara to bridge, myself the Ambassador and Murak are safely aboard."

"Acknowledged, and well done," came the clipped response of the Commodore. O'Hara turned away and noticed Narli staring at her. He broke into a sickly smile as if he was hiding something.

"I've got to get to the Captain," was all she said as she left.

* * *

The thunderous sound of boots made the two Helan by the airlock nervous, but they were relieved to see it was the crew running down the corridor, holding the Captain aloft. Souveson was out of breath - they had fair sprinted back to the ship, and it was only her youthful determination that had kept her ahead of Madison and Quatro, despite her injuries. Madison was wheezing quite heavily as he tried to control his exertion, but he hadn't once faltered from his objective. Not bad for a barred judge, she thought.

They all trundled up to the airlock and it was with great relief when the two Helan finally closed and sealed it. They had all returned safely. Karless pressed the comm panel. "Rescue team all aboard," he said.

* * *

On the Yacht's bridge, Jackson dropped into her seat - the tension of others carrying out her orders out of her sight or influence had been difficult to endure.

"Control tower reports ready for our departure," Reb reported (she had left him to communicate directly with tower control while she concentrated on other matters).

"Release docking clamps," Jackson said.

Reb forwarded the request and they complied. "Clamps released," he said with great relief. Even now he wondered if the sabotage would be traced back to them more quickly than the Commodore anticipated.

"Station-most thrusters, one quarter," she said, recalling the departure sequence with ease.

"Docking unit clear," Reb had skipped an order, but it didn't matter. "Turning to port heading 345 mark 165."

The Command Yacht halted its reverse, nosed down and to the left and rippled forward.

The tell-tale sound of the communicator hail sounded.

From the turbolift, Christian staggered onto the bridge, O'Hara, still dressed suggestively, holding a Romulan dermal regenerator to his head, loudly complaining that if he didn't hold still he would pass out again. Narli and Murak also exited, both taking their bridge positions.

"The station is hailing us, Captain," Narli said.

Jackson turned her head and the Captain smiled at her. He looked almost Human again.

"On speakers," Christian grunted. "This is Station Security Officer Verfar," the stern female voice boomed. "You are in violation of the station's Rules of Conduct, please halt where you are immediately."

Christian replied: "This is Captain Christian, I am not aware of any violations. Our account has been paid in full and now we are on our way."

"Captain Christian," the voice had turned gentle. "Several infractions have come to my attention, and until I investigate them I must insist you return to port immediately."

Christian looked worried but the Commodore rose and patted him reassuringly on the arm. She signalled mute to Narli. He complied. "Bridge to Engineering. Mister Leonard, are you ready?" she asked confidently

"Systems are standing by," Leonard replied.

"Activate now, Commander," she said. Jackson pointed at the main viewscreeen and Reb switched the display to show the K'Tani vessels approaching their position. Suddenly, disruptor fire from the Romulan vessels lashed out at the unshielded K'Tani.

One escort was severely disabled, the main ship instinctively pulling away. Another couple of volleys were all Leonard could muster before the Romulans regained control of their weapons systems. The comm system was alive with multiple channels screaming and shouting as Reb coasted the Yacht ever forward, away from the fracas.

"Are we clear yet?" Jackson asked nervously.

"Almost, another few seconds," Reb said.

Jackson turned to Christian. "They have a warp inhibitor field to fifteen kilometres," she explained. "We had hoped it would be disabled in our earlier action, but they must have a damned good repair crew."

"Captain!" Quatro and the others had joined them on the bridge. She was pointing at the largest of the K'Tani vessel - it began to break apart. Not damaged, but rather several ships that fastened into one. Four of the six parts were now heading straight for them.

"We have to go! Now!!!" Ganhedra urged from behind. "PLEASE!" his tone was positively desperate.

"Just a few more seconds," Reb said, glancing at the old man's words with intrigue.

Wham! Wham! Wham! Three shots fired at their only partially shielded ship rocking it port and starboard. Sparks flew and the ship continued to judder until the stabilisers made sufficient adjustment. Reb held onto his console and said a prayer with eyes tightly closed, expecting the worse. When he opened them, he saw that, remarkably, warp capability was still at his command. Just one more second - there. They were clear.

Reb picked a random trajectory and jumped the Yacht to warp. Several seconds later he dropped out of warp, vented some plasma, turned the ship and warped in another direction. There was no way the K'Tani ships could find them on short range scanners now.

He knew they would have to double back to reach the Passenger and Command Sections, but essentially they had prevented immediate capture.

Murak felt surprised at his own emotions. Sadness and guilt he knew he would have to deal with, but not pity. He said his own private prayer that the Romulans on board would only get what was just. While some were clearly nasty people, a few were also just doing their duty. He wondered at himself - how could he have committed to these Humans as he had done? No. His mother and father had taught him the differences between right and wrong, and he knew he had done the right thing.