Special Investigations Division
Pax Romana Part 4
by Travis Anderson
(michelluthien@hotmail.com)

Pax Romana - Part 4

CHAPTER 10

Macen wondered if the Romans knew what they were getting into. Despite a lack of formal training with edged weapons, Daggit's enhanced reflexes and strength would make him utterly devastating in the gladiatorial pit. Dracas' people still routinely settled disputes with their blade/picks. The man had been a knife fighter since adolescence.

Macen himself was no piker when it came to swordplay. Though little known in the Federation, El-Aurians routinely practised with a sword-like instrument. It was a neural rod, meant for stunning an opponent. It was quite a popular sport on El-Auria before its assimilation.

Combining elements similar to fencing and Zen swordplay, Farish would have been easily learned by an enthusiast of either technique. Macen himself had been an apt pupil with the Fari, but he had fared poorly with the Farii. Essentially a charged quarterstaff, Macen had stunned himself as often his opponent. He hadn't handled either in nearly ninety years but muscle memory took a long time to fade. He had little doubt he would acquit himself nicely with the traditional Roman shortsword.

Macen could only foresee Daggit or T'Kir being deadlier with a blade. Grace's inhuman reflexes would give her a tremendous advantage but her willingness to plunge her blade into another being's flesh remained untested. The others, Macen included, had already been tested and tried many times. Although Macen loathed the taking of life, he wouldn't shrink from it either. In his line of work, it was necessary far more often than not.

One bright note was that he was about to be reunited with Daggit and Dracas while hopefully not T'Kir. The guards' reference to rejoining his friends undoubtedly referred to the Special Ops expert and the engineer. Macen had an intuitive feeling T'Kir was still loose and affecting their release. He also had a gut level hunch he wouldn't like the arrangements of said release. Macen doubted even T'Kir could free them on her own. This meant she'd have to enlist allies.

The only enticement she had to offer was the team's superior technical skills. Any enemy of Rome would gladly jump at the chance to equalise Rome's technological superiority. The same superiority achieved through accidental and intentional alien intervention. Whoever elected to accept T'Kir's offer would have access to a knowledge base far more advanced than the assimilated Beagle crew and the wreckage of their craft.

The strange alien with Star Admiral Alaric would prove the ultimate key to success in defying Rome. What kind of technology transfers had these mysterious aliens granted Nova Roma? What kind of tech base were the aliens coming from? What were their ultimate plans for this beleaguered world?

It was these kinds of questions that nagged at Macen as he followed the guards to the Gladiators' Armoury. Once inside, the guards spread out while the armourer kitted Macen out. A trip to the dressing room revealed Daggit and Dracas had already been here. Their clothes lay neatly tucked and folded on the bench seat.

Macen removed his clothes and donned the traditional Gladiator's garb: a grey tunic and pants. Exiting the dressing room, Macen was swiftly measured by the armourer. He was given a traditional leather breastplate and finger-less gloves. He declined the offered helmet but accepted the shortsword, which he immediately began sharpening. Once done, he followed the lead guard towards the Armoury's other exit.

"Go in peace, and die with honour." the guard intoned sombrely, placing a closed fist on her chest.

"Strength and honour." Macen replied gravely, surprising the guard.

Macen walked up the small ramp that led to the arena. Kirk, Spock and McCoy had described the Nova Romans' arena as a set with cameras all around it. This had dramatically changed over the last century. The new arena played to the live spectators as much as the broadcast audience. Roughly half the size of the Coliseum on Earth, it still had seating capacity for twenty thousand rabid fans.

And rabid they definitely were. The auditorium was less than half-filled by the noise inside was deafening. Fans held placards decrying the "alien scourge". Ironic, since the commander of the Praetorian Guard was himself (herself?) an alien. Macen spotted two armoured figures standing silently on the field, taking in the sights.

Macen walked over and Daggit gave a mock salute, "Glad to see you alive, sir."

"Same here Rab." Macen turned toward Dracas, "Are you all right Chief?"

Dracas gave him a wry smile, "I wish I could say, 'never better' but I can think of friendlier moments."

"They do seem eager don't they?" Macen mused, "I suggest we don't give them the satisfaction they want. To victory!"

Macen raised his sword in the air, as did Dracas. Daggit had opted for a trident with a dagger for his coup de gras weapon. The crowd cheered wildly at the sight of the aliens waving their weapons about. Most of the Federation prisoners had dropped their weapons at the first sight of their opponents and had been subsequently slaughtered. They detected a different sort of animal in the ring now.

"Whatever they throw at us, no mercy and no surrender. Understood?" Macen's tone was fierce as the message.

Three men emerged from the Gladiator's Armoury. All three were armoured and helmeted. Two swords and a mace made up their weaponry. They slowly approached the spot were the SID team members stood waiting.

The three gladiators warily sized up the team, their grips tightening on their weapons.

"Let's take them now!" Dracas hissed.

"No." Macen's voice restrained him as effectively as a limb; "The game hasn't started yet. See the men and women in the stands sporting phase rifles? They'll kill us where we stand if we don't adhere to the rules."

"Which are?" Daggit whispered.

"Fight against a single combatant unless in a team event, do not assist your fellow gladiators and do not attack the crowd." Macen explained.

"How do you know any of this?" Dracas asked in exasperation.

"Kirk made some fairly thorough notes about the arena and its codes of conduct." Macen replied, "I brushed up on my way here just in case."

"Could've warned me." Dracas muttered brusquely.

Privately, Macen wondered why it was taking so long to begin. When he saw the young figure surrounded by Praetorians and the hulking alien from his interrogation. Alaric followed along, as well as a female servant that seemed to be sporting the biggest freckles Macen had ever....

"Isn't that..?" Daggit hissed.

Macen slowly nodded, "Lisea Danan. Now we know where she ended up."

"Yeah, but how hard did she have to try?" Dracas mumbled.

"Stow it Chief." Macen warned in a growl, "Or I'll do it for you. Danan's no traitor."

"Didn't she dump you?" Dracas asked, Macen nodded, "So why are you defending her?"

"Because I know her." was all Macen said.

Trumpets blared and the young noble, presumably the Emperor of this backwater world, rose, "Welcome once again to the Imperial Arena. I wish you happiness and health as we watch virtue tested once more."

With that said, Romulus sat down motioned for Danan to attend him. She was slow off the mark because the sight of Macen and his fellows on the field transfixed her. A Praetorian delivered a sharp nudge to her ribs, urging her on. She stood alongside the young Emperor while he ate fruit from a basket she held. She felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Macen wouldn't be here if our ship hadn't been captured, she thought. I don't see T'Kir down there. He wouldn't travel without her, so she must be running around loose. I wonder if there's any way I can contact her?

The Arena's Master of Ceremonies stepped up to the mike Romulus had just abandoned, "Lords and Ladies throughout the Empire, tonight we bring you a true spectacle. No more weaklings or striplings, this evening we bring you the true scourge of the heavens. Alien infiltrators who by appearances alone cannot be separated from the average citizen. We bring you these otherworldly killers so that you can share his Imperial Majesty's pleasure in seeing them brought to justice. Our local champions will face a match that has been unheralded since the demon Kirk and his Starfleet devils fought our valiant warriors and lost. Tonight we fight not only for sport but for the Empire itself. Are you ready?"

The crowd answered with a deafening roar, "I thought as much." the MC smiled smugly, "Death and Honour gentlemen, the match has begun."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the three gladiators attacked the team. The Mace came at Daggit, whirling his bludgeoning tool through the air. Unexpectedly, Daggit found the trident wrest from his grasp on the very first blow. He leapt back into a crouch and pulled the dagger from his boot.

Dracas was assaulted by the second of the two shortsword wielders. The other man's stabbing thrusts were easy to deflect but tiring all the same. Retreating, he tripped over Daggit's lost trident and went down hard. No sooner had the dust lifted then the swordsman was upon him.

Macen engaged in a game of dodge, thrust, and parry with his foe. Both combatants were holding back, waiting for the other to reveal a weakness. Macen obliged by lowering his sword slightly and leaning off to the side. Sensing his opponent's over-balanced position, the gladiator attacked with all his might.

Macen deftly returned his full weight to both feet and rolled off to the side as the opposing gladiator over-extended his thrust. Macen carried his roll to completion and swung the sword in his grip. Having the blade face downward from its previous position, he jabbed it into the gladiators exposed ribs. Macen slowly turned to face his enemy and snatched the man's sword from his grasp. Macen withdrew his own sword from the man's gullet then slashed both blades across his throat.

The crowd gasped as Macen calmly turned to watch Dracas' struggled. The Chief had managed to place a double-legged kick into his opponent's chest, propelling him backward. While separated from his enemy, the gladiator watched Macen dispatch his partner. With a guttural cry of rage, the gladiator charged Macen. Macen flipped both swords in his hand, held them by the blades, and then threw them.

The two swords struck the rushing gladiator in the chest before the guards could fire a single particle blast. He slowly sank to his knees, then keeled over. Dracas rose and dusted himself off while Macen pulled his two swords from the other man's chest. Dracas shook his head as he approached.

"I thought you said we couldn't help one another."

"We can't." Macen replied grimly as he wiped sweat from his brow, "He attacked me. That changes everything."

"Whatever." Dracas dismissed the notion, then waved towards the crowd, "We've certainly garnered their attention."

"Yup." Macen agreed distractedly, the Mace was still chasing Daggit around, "Imagine of we were a trio of Klingons or Andorians."

"Ye gods, man." Dracas chuckled, "We'd be the star attractions for years." . "Maybe decades." Macen amended.

"So, do you think we should help out Rab?" Dracas asked with a touch of nervousness.

"Despite your feelings or fears, Daggit's a big boy. He slogged his way through both the Tarsian and Dominion wars." Macen reminded him, "After facing off with Jem'Hadar, I think he can handle a mere human gladiator."

Dracas reacted with stony silence, then spoke in a hushed voice, "How long have you known?"

"Since before the Andergani captured you." Macen shrugged, "Rab doesn't have a clue. That part is up to you."

Dracas pondered that for a moment before replying, "I she open to the idea?"

Macen chuckled, "Who knows? He's open to a lot but the tricky part is getting passed his guilt over what he is. That'll be the major hurtle if you decide to pursue things. Even if you don't, you'll find we'll protect you from your home government. So feel free to pursue whomever you will. You deserve happiness in your life, not fear."

Dracas was stunned, "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything." Macen prompted.

Dracas nodded in silence and watched his friend dispatch the third gladiator.

* * * * *

Daggit rolled out of the way as the mace descended. He slashed outward with the knife and nicked his opponent's calf. Daggit could have severed the tendon but chose not to. If he ended this match too swiftly then his full abilities would be revealed. But as he rose out of his crouch, he watched Macen slay two gladiators in under a minute.

That surprised him. He'd have never guessed Macen for having any skill with a blade. Yet his commander took to the sword like a natural. He hadn't even tried.

The mace was swinging again. This time in an arc designed to catch him under the jaw. Daggit spun away, still not engaging. This was repeated once, then twice, and a third time before the crowd grew restless.

"Kill him!" an audience member shouted and it spread through the seats like a mantra.

Now came the swing and the miss. Daggit stepped in and stabbed his opponent through the heart. He recognised the death rattle in the gladiator's lungs as the man fell to his knees. Daggit lifted the mace off of him and then smashed it down upon the gladiator's helmet. The bone jarring impact hastened his death.

Daggit jogged over to where Macen and Dracas stood waiting. Judging from Dracas' face they'd been having an interesting discussion but now they'd both fallen silent. Dracas seemed introspective while Macen... Macen studied the crowd and the Emperor's Box with an expectant look.

* * * * *

"Destroy them!" Ezexial hissed into Romulus' ear. "My troops can cut them down where they stand."

"Don't be so hasty." Alaric cautioned, "By law and custom, they've won the match and the right to live another day."

"Alaric is right." Aurelius mused with a smirk, "They've shown courage, and that must be rewarded. They will face the games again tomorrow. Perhaps their fortunes will turn."

Danan's shoulders sagged ever so subtly with relief. Neither Romulus nor Ezexial noticed but the corner of Alaric mouth quirked upward in a lopsided grin. She cursed inwardly. Letting her emotions, any emotions, show before the enemy was a stupid mistake. What if they were to use her against Brin? That chivalrous idiot would probably accede to the Roman demands.

Romulus rose and approached the mike, "Citizens, we have new champions. Join us tomorrow when they again face the rigours of the arena in a new test of stamina and courage!"

What 'test of stamina'?" Dracas whispered.

"How long does it take them to die." Macen replied clinically, "We'll face a new match every day until all of us are dead."

"Wonderful." Dracas muttered bitterly.

The arena guards approached them while the Emperor and his entourage rose and left. Macen spared one last glance towards Danan. Her face was rigid and set. Seeing Alaric grinning conspiratorially down at him, Macen had a good idea why Lisea was upset. Despite his misgivings, Macen automatically trusted Alaric and knew that the Admiral's deductions wouldn't be used against him or the team.

* * * * *

"Status?" Riker asked.

From Ops, Lucarno double checked his displays, "All systems green."

"Engine room?" Riker asked via intercom.

"Ready, sir." Thool answered.

"Grace," Riker intoned gravely, "take us out."

"Course heading once we're free to navigate?" Grace asked with a pang of guilt over earlier.

"The Sigma Iotia system." Riker explained, "We're going shopping for allies."

"The Iotians?" Grace asked.

"Yes." Riker replied smugly.

"Who the hell are the Iotians?" Radil demanded.

"A race of gangsters and thugs." Riker replied glibly, "You'll love them."

"Thanks." Radil replied caustically.

* * * * *

Back in the cell ward, Macen was now placed in a common cell with Daggit and Dracas. The cell contained four bunk beds, which meant there was room for five more prisoners. No one seriously expected any native gladiators to be placed with the "alien scourge" and no one held out any hopes for there being any more alien prisoners.

"So now what?" Dracas asked once the guards had departed.

"We survive until we can escape." Macen replied matter-of-factly.

"And if we can't?"

"Survive or escape?" Macen inquired, "Because one of those questions has a fairly obvious answer."

"Escape of course!" Dracas nearly exploded.

"We may have friends out there." Macen hinted without saying names, "Who have a vested interest ion our release. They'll work on our behalf."

"How can you be certain?" Daggit asked quietly.

"Because I feel it." Macen tried to explain, "I'd know if we were alone."

"Okay then." Daggit agreed, "We have friends out there."

"You're both delusional." Dracas accused as he lay down on his chosen bunk.

* * * * *

In the Security Office, Ezexial replayed their conversation. He noted that Macen never mentioned who his friends were. He undoubtedly suspected monitoring devices. Ezexial's job would be a lot simpler if the Romans recognised who their masters were.

They will soon enough, Ezexial reminded himself, then they'll march to my orders.

* * * * *

The Eclipse was challenged by a Constitution-class analogue upon reaching the Iotian border. Although the ship design predated the starship refits Starfleet underwent during the 2270's, the ship displayed the same power signatures as a post-refit Constitution-class. When the viewer came to life, however, it displayed a bridge setting from the 2260's.

The starship commander also wore the gold, command department tunic/miniskirt popular during that period; "This is Captain Jamie Kirk of the Iotian Starfleet vessel, ISS Enterprise. Place state your identity and purpose in our sector."

Riker straightened his tunic before replying to the blue-eyed blonde, "I'm Captain Thomas Riker of the Federation privateer SS Eclipse. We've travelled to Iotia to discuss a business opportunity with your leaders."

When the original Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise came across Iotia, he'd found a world modelled after a book left behind by previous Earth explorers. That book, Gangsters of the Roaring 20's, had become The Book and every facet of Iotian life revolved around its contents. Kirk had eventually secured visitation rights for Federation sociologists by unifying the planet's various gangsters into a world government. The Federation visits were ostensibly to collect their "piece of the action", a percentage of the gross planetary product dedicated for Iotian education and reformation. What no one had counted on was Dr. McCoy leaving his communicator behind.

This act allowed the Iotians to dissect the transtator and build a subspace communications array. Tapping into the Federation relay left behind for the use of the Federation observers, "Overbosses", the Iotians were able to peruse Federation records and technical data. Discovering that the Federation Charter protected their previous lifestyles, if not actually promoted by it, they happily translated their mobster mentality into spacefaring terms. Using the pirated technical details, they built their first warp engine a mere fifty years after Kirk's visit and the Federation's introduction to the planet.

As a warp culture, they were no longer bound by the restrictions of the Prime Directive. They were also not eligible for Federation membership. Making another technological leap, the Iotians launched three NX-class analogues. These ships began charging "protection" money to hapless traders plying the local spacelanes. Next, they travelled to nearby, and less advanced, worlds and began charging them for defence contracts whereby the fledgling Iotian Starfleet would defend their worlds from outside attack.

Fifty years after their launch into space, the Iotians now had fourteen client worlds and had tripled their borders. The Iotian Starfleet currently consisted of six Constitution-class analogues, three NX-class ships, twelve Mercury-class cruisers and six Daedalus-class recreations. Although a century behind Federation standards, these ships demonstrated a two hundred year technological leap that occurred in a mere fifty years. Once the Iotian taps into the Federation relay were discovered, the relay was cut off from the Federation datanets but the damage had already been done. The Iotians had been loosed upon an unsuspecting Quadrant.

Riker had looked all of this up before deciding the Iotians were the perfect candidates for helping taking down the Nova Romans. They weren't members of the Federation, and therefore not subject to the quarantine surrounding the 492 system. They were also adventuristic and hard to intimidate. And best of all, they could be bought with little fear of betrayal.

"I'm here offering a large contract with substantial profit potential." Riker added.

"Follow my ship." Kirk instructed dubiously, "We'll discuss your offer at Starfleet HQ."

"Lead and I'll follow." Riker replied jovially, if only all my 'allies' looked that good.

CHAPTER 11

The Iotian Starfleet's HQ proved to be an orbital installation. It was a pyloned structure reminiscent of the Federation's K-7 station rather than Earth's mushroom-like Stardock. The Enterprise took up station alongside the facility. The Eclipse was directed to one of the station's smaller docking ports.

Once the docking clamps took hold, an umbilical secured itself to the Eclipse's docking hatch. This provided an access gantry as well as the power and life support connections to the station. When the primary hatch opened, Riker wasn't surprised to see Kirk waiting for him with her arms crossed across her chest.

It was an understatement to say Riker found Kirk attractive. Despite his professional demeanour, he'd been smitten by her since first viewing her on the Eclipse's screen. Her hair fell to her shoulders, having been released from the tight bun she'd worn aboard her own command. For once, Riker was at a loss as to what to say.

Kirk spared him the agony of trying to determine what to say next, "C'mon, we don't have all day. Follow me and we'll see Admiral Oxmix."

"I'd like to bring my senior officers as well." Riker informed her.

She gave him a curt nod, "Very well, two unarmed officers would be acceptable."

Riker tapped his comm badge while ignoring the classic Type I phaser hanging on her belt, "Radil and Kort, report to the docking hatch."

"Right behind you Skipper." Radil casually replied.

"How..?"

"Didn't take a genius." Radil remarked with a victorious grin.

"Very well." Riker sighed, "Fall in behind me."

"As my Prefect commands." she gibed.

Riker let it go, choosing to focus on a bemused Kirk, "After you."

* * * * *

T'Kir pulled her hood tighter about her head as she disembarked from the train. She'd purchased the fur-lined coat before setting forth from Nova Roma. Every aspect of the coat presented an atrocity to Vulcan sensibilities. It was little wonder she liked it so much. She'd always been more akin to a Romulan than a Vulcan. Perhaps it came from growing up on a mixed colony of Vulcan dissidents and Romulan defectors.

The province of Germania officially ended at the southern bank of the Rhine. Greater, or "Free", Germania lay north of that. The ostensibly pacified Germans hosted the Romans' Armies of the North. These armies watched over Norseland, Greater Germania, and the Roman Provinces of Brittania and Eire. Rusland also fell under their jurisdiction by default. In actuality, the Home Legions of Nova Roma kept a sharp eye on Britania and the unruly Scots that filled her northern region. It was at the very heart of the Northern Armies' Command that the secret transmissions originated at.

Also included in the recipients' list were Chung Koa, and Persia, as well as the Zulu Empire of southern Africa. A regular Who's Who of Rome's enemies. Only the North and Southern American continents were left out since the strongest empires there had been ravaged by disease brought by the invading Romans. Now the Mayans and the Incans offered mere token resistance. Neither was strong enough to garner the attentions of the Council of Free Peoples.

Every inhabitant on this Earth lived under a monarch's heel. Rome's affluence only strengthened her enemies' resolve. T'Kir knew enough of Earth's history to know that this isn't how it happened there. It was similar enough to send chills down her spine.

If Earth had followed this path, would the Federation be an Empire instead? she asked herself. Perhaps this is how the Terran Empire of the Mirror Universe began. She'd never know. Interaction with the Mirror Universe was strictly proscribed. Doesn't seem to stop the crew of DS9, she thought crossly.

T'Kir collected her bags and stopped at the local ATM. Inputting her credit line's code, she withdrew a small, but sizeable enough, sum to put her up for the night and finance her search for the Northern Armies' HQ. She'd make another withdrawal on another account tomorrow before hiring a ride to the base. After seeing last night's gladiatorial bout on television, she knew she didn't have much time.

T'Kir almost couldn't bear to watch the televised broadcast on the train. Then she'd remembered Macen telling about Farish. After that, she knew he'd be fine. It was still a brutal spectacle and it had turned her stomach.

And wasn't the rich irony? After years as the Psycho Vulcan in the Maquis, she was getting squeamish. After a moment's reflection, she realised that her objections stemmed more from the danger to Macen than the actual combat. Reading a Vulcan text was more than enough to inure one to the concept of bloodsports.

Now was not the time for such considerations. Now it was time to find the mysterious rebels. She hailed a passing cab. Getting in, she asked to go to the nearest border checkpoint.

* * * * *

Not for the first time, Riker wished Radil had opted to wear a more conservative version of the Outbound Ventures uniform. Typically, everyone wore black utility pants with either a black T-shirt or a surplus grey turtleneck. Macen often wore a surplus Starfleet Captain's sweater. Radil wore black shorts and tank top coupled with her double holster.

She drew stares as Kirk led them through the Iotian Starfleet Command's station. It wasn't due to her weaponry either. Every Iotian Starfleet officer they passed wore a century old Type II phaser on their belt. Not that the staring was exclusive, Kort drew nearly as many glances as Radil.

"We're here." Kirk announced suddenly. Riker chastised himself for being so caught up in his own thoughts.

"Thank you Captain." he smiled with all the considerable charm he could muster.

Kirk gave him a curt nod in return and motioned towards the door, "After you."

"Ladies first." Riker continued to lay it on.

"No." Kirk replied with a cold smile, her hand dropping to her phaser, "I insist."

Unsettled, Riker stepped forward, triggering the door's actuator. It slid aside, revealing a large office within. Admiral Oxmix sat behind a large oak-like desk and smiled like a well-fed sehlat. He motioned for Riker and the others to step closer. The door slid shut behind Jamie Kirk.

"Well, well, what kind of strays have you brought me today, Jamie?" Oxmix chuckled. Riker guessed him to be between 50-60 years in age.

"Feds, sir." Kirk replied crisply, "And they claim to have a job opportunity."

"A job, eh?" Oxmix mused with a twinkle in his eye, "What kind of job?"

"Just your type." Riker grinned with new confidence, "Like yourselves, we're what you might call private security 'consultants'. The Feds hired us to investigate and neutralise a planet called Nova Roma in the 492 system."

"Never heard of it." Oxmix replied.

"We can provide star charts." Riker said dismissively, "The point is, we're a small outfit and the jobs too big for us."

"How big?" Oxmix asked dubiously.

"Twelve starships." Riker answered, "And several terrestrial armies. They won't pose much of a threat after their so-called 'Star Legions' are knocked out."

"What kind of profit margin are we talking here?" Oxmix rose, interest piqued.

"You'd be supplying the lion's share of the manpower, so you'd get the largest percentage of the contract." Riker seemed to count figures in his head, "Say, 75%, that's factoring in a finder's fee for my team, and whatever reparations that you slap Nova Roma with."

"Reparations, huh?" Oxmix mulled this over, "Tell ya what, draw up the figures and whatever info you have on these 'Nova Romans' and my staff'll look `em over first thing."

"So you'll consider it?"

"That's what I just said." Oxmix insisted, "You got a hearin' problem pallie."

"He merely misunderstood your... dialect." Kort clarified.

Oxmix appraised him, "A Klingon huh? Never met one'a you bruisers before. You the Security Chief?"

"I am the Chief Medical Officer." Kort growled.

"Really?" Oxmix's surprise was plain to see, "Go Figure. What about you dollface? Communications?"

Radil snatched Oxmix's wrist and bent it unnaturally; "I'm a Tactical Officer. Communications is just one part of the job. Squeezing disrespectful little pimples like yourself is the other, more enjoyable, part."

Kirk snagged her phaser off her belt and aimed it at Radil, "Let him go!"

Kort withdrew a Type I phaser from a nook in his armour, "Surrender your weapon."

Riker's head slumped into his hands just before Oxmix managed to chuckle through the pain, "Okay sweetheart, I give."

Radil released him but Kirk's aim remained steady as the Admiral rubbed his injured wrist, "Nice moves Darlin'. I think I can work with you folks."

Kirk's surprised, "Sir?" raced with Riker's stunned, "What?"

"You people know what you want and don't take any crap." Oxmix grinned, "I respect that. Kirk here will help you gather up the intel and draw estimates and then you two can present it to my staff, let say in two hours?"

Riker nodded, "Easily."

Kirk holstered her phaser with a stunned expression, "Yessir."

"You can put your gun away now, Sonny." Oxmix told Kort.

The doctor snarled as he complied.

* * * * *

T'Kir crossed the border without incident. She was now ostensibly outside the Roman Empire. Upper Germania had been occupied since the late 15th century as converted into Terran timekeeping since the Provincials, Legionnaires and various peoples gathered by the Preservers had maintained their traditional calendar dates. There had been unrest since that time. The "free" Germans chafed at having to host the Armies of the North and at being their Scandinavian cousins' primary target when striking at Rome.

It was an arrangement, like most Nova Roma entered into, where the Empire received any benefit. The medical and technological advances that had been promised during the surrender were largely suppressed as in other client nations. Rome was to remain penultimate in every facet of life in order to force all other to bow before her. Even the knowledge that Nova Roma was a pale shadow of a long fallen empire did little to quell this drive. It had, however, inspired hope within the breasts of Rome's enemies.

T'Kir desired to bring even more hope. Her offer of weapons designs superior to those of the Romans would undoubtedly enable the varied embattled and beleaguered nations a chance to overthrow the colossus. T'Kir's research had revealed that many of Rome's rival empires weren't much kinder or gentler but at least they were indigenous. It also depended on the plans these erstwhile allies had already made.

Rome had remained superior for centuries by playing her enemies off of one another like a puppetmaster. She'd even throw in with one side or another when it suited her purposes. If the subspace communication logs were any indication, someone had finally gotten them past all of that. T'Kir had monitored the amount of correspondence while on her way here, and the traffic was increasing. Events were coming to a head and she had to move quickly in order to capitalise on the opportunities presented

Finding transportation to the Armies HQ proved easier than she expected. Local produce vendors and butchers sent shipments to the encampment on a daily basis. 60,000 Legionnaires had a lot of stomachs to fill. T'Kir merely purchased a seat aboard one of the transports headed out the next day.

With that taken care of, she sought a room for the night. Again, this proved far easier than expected. T'Kir's accent may have marked her as a foreigner but it also marked her as a non-Roman. The Germans were far more accepting of anyone not wearing the stench of Rome.

T'Kir had traced the signals back to the personal transceiver of the General of the Northern Armies, Livia Germanicus. Two things were surprising about this: 1) a woman had reached staff level command in the Legions, and 2) she was from the southern German Province of the Rhineland. Both factors should have limited her to the rank of Brigade Commander.

Livia was fortunate in that her family were long associates of the Imperial family and that her brother, Alaric Vandalius, was the first Admiral of the Star Legions. These attributes had opened doors that would have been otherwise blocked by ferrocrete. On top of it, Livia was an outstanding commander. She'd never lost an engagement, even as a junior officer. She was an inspiration to the relatively few women serving in the Roman Legions.

All that and a traitor to boot, T'Kir thought gleefully, Can't wait to meet her.

Now all she had to do was wait and endure Macen's second gladiatorial bout. .

* * * * *

"So, their technological base is roughly equivalent to ours?" Kirk asked.

Riker nodded, "Actually, your Constitution and Mercury-class analogues are slightly superior. They, however, do have cloaking technology."

"And they bested your ship even though your technology exceeds them?" she asked sceptically.

"There were six of them, with more on the way." Riker explained, somewhat defensively.

Kirk nodded, "Understandable."

Glad you agree, Riker though sarcastically. Jamie Kirk was becoming less appealing all the time.

She studied the pictures of Macen, T'Kir, Daggit and Dracas displayed on the briefing room's main viewer, "So you left your commander and his team behind?"

"In order to get help." Riker replied, his nerves getting on edge.

She scrutinised Macen's image; "He seems very... complex. I wager there are depths to him that no image could ever convey."

T'Kir was next under the microscope, "The same with her. They know pain beyond description."

Riker was stunned as she returned her attention to him, "What?"

He shook his head, "I don't know. That analysis was very... poignant. How did you do it?"

She looked at him as though he truly were alien; "I'm a starship commander. It's my job to know people, to think like they do. Is this really such an alien concept to you?"

"No," he grudgingly admitted, "but it's more an art than a science. I have to admit I've rarely met a more gifted artisan." Namely Deanna Troi.

"I guess I should thank you, but all I really want to say is that you should brush up your own skills." Kirk said pensively.

Riker shook his head, "I can't believe I'm getting a lecture from you."

"Why?"

"You've wanted to be like us." Riker struggled to explain; "I guess its just weird wanting to be like you."

Kirk pondered this then nodded, "Sounds like a long overdue lesson."

Riker opened his mouth to reply then shut it. His jaw muscles worked as he formulated his next response. Finally, he settled on nodding back, "I guess you're right."

"The Federation Starfleet isn't really trained for these sort of encounters." Kirk added, "So it's a good thing you came to us."

Riker managed to smile, "I guess it is."

"We'd better get back to work." Kirk replied curtly, "The Admiral's expecting us."

"And I'd hate to disappoint." Riker grinned playfully.

"You'd better not." Kirk warned, "Otherwise you'll be looking at some pretty hefty fines besides transit fees."

Stunned, Riker chose the better part of valour and busied himself with data collation.

* * * * *

The presentation was a smashing success. Oxmix forwarded summaries of it to the rest of the Admiralty and Hereditary President Kracko. Since Oxmix was the Iotian Starfleet's Commander-in-Chief, the decision was already made. Orders went out and starships' were diverted. Jamie Kirk was temporarily bumped up to Commodore and appointed Fleet Commander.

Oxmix clapped Riker on the shoulder, "Looks like you've got yourself some allies."

"Thank god." Riker breathed, "After watching your people in action, I'd hate to have you as enemies."

"Don't you know it." Oxmix rumbled heartily.

Kirk gave Tom a conspiratorial wink. Suddenly she seemed much more attractive again.

* * * * *

As with every other aspect of life since entering Germania, T'Kir's trip to the Northern Armies HQ went astonishingly easy. Upon arriving at the gate, however, that all changed. T'Kir had forged a convincing courier packet marked "Eyes Only" for Livia. Despite containing all the proper codes and verification markers, it was still challenged at the gate. She sat in a bivouac alongside the main gate while sentries made the necessary calls.

It took nearly an hour, but she was finally cleared and escorted to Livia's tent. As counted on, the "Eyes Only" label had cleared away Livia's aides and moved their meeting to a private location. T'Kir was not disappointed by what she saw when she entered the General's tent. Livia was in her mid-thirties with chestnut hair, sea-blue eyes, and unmistakably German facial features.

"Well?" Livia asked in accented Latin, "Give it to me."

T'Kir handed over the package and waited while Livia opened it. While she did so, T'Kir assessed the silliness of wearing both a sword and a phase pistol. She wondered if the breastplate Livia wore was protection against particle weapons or merely blades. Macen and the boys had certainly proved last night how little protection the armour truly offered.

"There is nothing in here." Livia glared, hand reaching for her pistol.

"Ya might want to reconsider that." T'Kir advised.

"And why would I want to do that?" Livia's eyes narrowed as her grip on her pistol's grip tightened.

T'Kir threw back the hood of her coat, revealing her ears; "I don't know. Just a thought."

Livia gaped as her grip lost all tension, "Gods above." she whispered in slowly dawning comprehension.

"See, I know about your chats with what may be termed, 'enemies of the Empire'. I also know that if I can figure it out, so can someone else. I, however, can ensure that never happens."

"But why?" Livia stammered, still unnerved.

"I need a favour." T'Kir grinned, "Some friends of mine have been arrested. I need you to break them out."

Livia blinked in surprise, "Go on."

T'Kir's' smile grew wider, "General, have I got a deal for you. First off, you'll get weapons..."

* * * * *

The Iotian fleet was assembling. Four of the five other Constitution-class ships had gathered alongside the Enterprise. They were, in order of arrival, the Kracko, the Chicago, the Capone, and the Kelly. The Federation was still due to arrive. Half of the twelve Mercury-class ships were still en route to join their brethren.

While the Constitution-class ships amounted to heavy cruisers, the smaller Mercury ships were their lighter cousins. Slightly over half the size of the larger starships, the light cruisers also sported a nacelle configuration not seen again in the UFP until the advent of the Excelsior and Ambassador-class ships. The Iotians, although gifted at mimicry had done nothing to improve or alter their "borrowed" designs.

Tom Riker watched the work with a growing respect and awe for Jamie Kirk. Like her infamous namesake, she was the youngest captain on record with her service. She'd acquired her rank with the same attention to detail that she'd demonstrated earlier. Her keen insight enabled her to often circumvent problems before they arose. It was a talent Riker was grateful for as the fractious Iotians gathered together.

It was plain to see they still had far too much of the gangster mentality in their culture. Riker wondered how they managed to accomplish anything. The only saving grace was that they also accepted a CO's word like mob law. Disobedience could carry equally harsh penalties as well. It was a situation that made Riker doubt his earlier decision to incorporate the Iotians in his rescue plans.

CHAPTER 12

Dracas' shoulders remained slumped as he, Daggit and Macen re-entered the Gladiator's Armoury. They'd survived their third bout in the arena. The guard's had laughed as they told them that this was their last night of single combat. Starting tomorrow evening, they would collectively face five armed opponents.

Dracas knew, just knew, that Macen and Daggit would each hurl themselves into combat with two assailants. Dracas was the oldest, and least skilled, swordsman among. Both factors had nearly gotten him killed on more than one occasion. Dracas was still twenty years younger than Captain Scott was when he finally retired, but that still ranked him as the "old" man of the ship. Macen and T'Kir both were older chronologically, but they were both younger in relative terms. Relatively speaking, they weighed in at half of Dracas' sixty years and right now he could feel every year.

"Hang in there Chief." Daggit said encouragingly, "We'll get through tomorrow."

Only because you and Macen will carry the day, Dracas thought bitterly.

"Dracas," Macen broke his silence, "you're facing men half your age and you're overcoming them. That's nothing to be ashamed of. Neither is Daggit's enhanced abilities or my years of training with a sword. We each have our strengths and weaknesses out there. What we can't afford is despair or doubt. Either of these will kill us."

"Too late." Dracas grumbled.

Macen strode over to him and pulled him up of the bench he was sitting on, "We're going to make it, Chief. Each of us, each doing our part. As long as stand together we'll be fine. We just have to hold out until they tire of this or help comes."

"All right." Dracas mumbled.

"I can't hear you mister!" Macen shouted into his face."

"All right!" Dracas yelled back.

"Good." Macen said with a nod, "Stay angry, it'll keep you alive."

* * * * *

T'Kir leaned over the display table, a beret perched atop her head, "So let me get this straight, your allies from Persia and the Middle Kingdom will simultaneously attack, driving through Rusland and the Near East, and assail Rome's eastern borders. The Scots will rebel in Brittania while supported by an invasion of Eirelanders. The Zulus will lead an uprising in central Africa and drive northwards while the Norse and the Free Germans gather around the elements of the Northern Armies loyal to you, and descend down Nova Roma. And you estimate 45,000-50,000 of your 60,000 troops will follow you, that about right?"

Livia nodded, replying in accented English, "Essentially."

"Ballsy." T'Kir whistled, "It has more potential holes in it than Swiss cheese, but ballsy."

"What do the Sweiss have to do with this, or anything?" Livia asked, "They were conquered long ago."

T'Kir sighed, "You people are too damned literal."

Livia's trusted subordinates bristled at that. Livia shook her head; "We are what we are alien."

T'Kir's eyes narrowed, "Then listen to this: to me, you're the aliens. Oddity is in the eye of the beholder. If you keep putting me at arm's length here, I can't help you. If I can't help you, you won't contact your Crusader allies in Nova Roma and I won't get the help I need."

Livia took a sharp breath, "Who told you that?"

T'Kir rolled her eyes, "C'mon, it wasn't hard to figure out. You need someone outside the military to observe conditions in the city and to revolt within the city, keeping both the Praetorian Guard and the Home Legion busy while you're rushing in to invade. The Crusaders are the only faction left within the Empire that hasn't already been tapped for your little plan. What did you offer `em, religious tolerance?"

Livia nodded, "That and autonomy within Britannia. They have made major inroads inside the Isles of Britannia and Eire. Perhaps letting the Crusaders and Catholics set up their own kingdoms will stem the tide of their expansion."

"Doubt it." T'Kir remarked.

"As do I, but such was the price of their co-operation." Livia shrugged, her eyes then narrowed, "Remind me again, why are your companions so valuable that I should risk the security of my plans in order to liberate them?"

T'Kir grinned, "Dracas is an engineer. Not just any kind of engineer, but a weapons expert. He can design a fabrication unit that will produce molecular disrupters. These will outmode your current phase pistols and allow you to 'generously' turn a supply of them over to your 'allies' after you've secured a stockpile of the newer weapons. Weapons, I might add, Starfleet no longer produces."

Livia nodded, "Proceed."

"Daggit is a soldier. Your star forces are long on theory and short on experience. Most of your boarding doctrine is based upon close quarters fighting inside buildings. Daggit can teach you how to deal with forcefields and gas as well as other obstacles you'll face on a modern starship." T'Kir explained.

"And the last?" Livia asked, "This 'Macen'?"

T'Kir tried not to sigh forlornly, "Macen is the leader. Although he hates to admit it, he's an excellent operations planner. He can examine your plans and fill any gaps in the current contingencies and help you exploit opportunities you haven't spotted yet. He's the lynch pin to the whole deal."

Livia smiled knowingly, "And now I understand you. You have been an enigma. Now I know what motivates you. It is not money or power, it is love. From what you have told me, you rebel against the norms of your people. I can relate to this. You are also accustomed to acquiring what you desire. This too I understand. You desire this man and you will not suffer his loss lightly. This I can appreciate. I will assist you, not because of your promises, which may prove false, but because I respect you. You have opened my eyes to new possibilities. Not all aliens are as untrustworthy as the Emperor's Omricons. I thank you for this and will endeavour to help you however I can."

T'Kir swallowed hard, "Thank you. You have my gratitude."

Livia smiled, "Only your camaraderie is required."

* * * * *

"How many more days?" Riker asked in disbelief.

"Two." Kirk replied grimly, "The Leonard McCoy has developed a matter/antimatter intermix flow problem. It will require twenty-two hours to repair. After that, it'll take her four hours to get here. Calculate two hours to update her orders and acquaint her captain with our operational orders, six to eight hours to replenish her stores, and you're looking at roughly a forty-eight hour window."

Riker shook his head. Rather than marvelling at the similarity of the Iotian and Terran day, 24.7 hours vs. 24 hours, he was fuming over the unexpected delay, "Is there any chance of using another ship?"

Kirk shook her head in the negative; "The McCoy is one of our Montgomery Scott-class ships, based upon your own Mercury-class designs. We need her speed and firepower. The only other ships that could be freed up are Jonathan Archer and Benjamin Stiles-classes."

Riker knew those to be NX and Daedalus-class analogues. The Nova Roman Eagles, so dubbed by Grace, would chew those ships up The thought of Grace momentarily made Riker uneasy but he shrugged it off as "hurry up and wait" jitters. So far on this mission, the helmsman had performed above and beyond the call of duty.

"I'm sure your Starfleet could manage something more, but this is the best we neo-barbarians can do." Kirk retorted impatiently.

Riker held up his hands in surrender, "I didn't mean to seem judgmental. I'm just concerned about my fellow officers, it makes me a little impatient."

Kirk nodded sympathetically, "I understand. I cringe every time a member of my crew is being held by a hostile power."

"Does that happen a lot?" Riker wondered.

"All the time." Kirk sighed, "The universe really is an antagonistic place to live."

Riker nodded, "That thought crosses my mind every day."

Kirk suddenly looked inspired, "Have you ever thought about quitting covert ops and starting up a new life? One out on the frontier?"

Riker grinned like a schoolboy, "Every day."

"Join the Iotian Starfleet!" Kirk suggested, "You'd be a conch for your own command. We're about to launch the new James Kirk-class, based on your own Constitution-class refits, and you'd probably be the first to receive one."

"You don't even know what kind of commander I am." Riker demurred.

"I know people." Kirk defended, "I know you. I think this would be a wonderful idea."

"Why?"

"You're not happy in the Federation." she explained, "You're especially not happy with how Starfleet has treated you. You can't mention them without a slight sarcastic sneer. You want to be somewhere where you can be free. That place is here."

Riker shook his head, "We'll see."

"The offer will always be open." Kirk assured him.

* * * * *

"I have contacted the leader of the Crusaders, as well as my political patron in Nova Roma, they have agreed to assist you in your endeavour." Livia reported to T'Kir, "You will leave immediately in order to catch the midnight train back to Nova Roma." she held out a packet of documents, "Here are your rendezvous instructions and your travel documents. You will find a credit voucher included. This is billed to the discretionary funds of the Armies of the North. Use it wisely and with prudence."

T'Kir nodded her thanks, "Okay. What about clothes?"

"Garments will be provided to better make you appear as your chosen role as a military courier." Livia explained, "We had best hurry and get you fitted."

"Thanks." T'Kir expressed honestly.

* * * * *

Hannah Grace found her life reduced to a constant state of paranoia. She kept waiting for Kort to confront her over Riker's throat trauma. It had been a couple of days now yet the accusation hadn't appeared. Kort doubled as the team's forensic specialist. It shouldn't have been too hard for him to detect the fingerprint-laced bruises on Riker's throat. Why the hell hadn't anyone approached her?

"Grace?" she hear Kort's bass rumble as she exited the Eclipse's mess hall.

She turned to discover Radil standing alongside the troubled looking physician.

Radil, as usual, looked spoiling for a fight. Wunderbar, she mentally groaned in a native language of Magna Roma, they're actually going to try a takedown. Fat chance!

"Yes?" she palmed the attuner in her pocket and depressed the activation stud, "I know there's no trouble because you have no evidence to suspect me of anything. Isn't that right?"

Both Kort and Radil nodded dumbly as Grace continued, "You were just coming to ask how I was feeling since you've noticed I've been looking a little peked. That was unusual enough to worry you."

Kort and Radil snapped out of their trance and spoke in stereo, "Is everything all right?"

"Yup." Grace answered with a sigh, "Just worried about T'Kir and the others. She's my best friend and all, so knowing she's in danger is wearing on me."

"Never fear." Kort snarled, "We shall be rescuing them within a matter of days"

Grace nodded, "I know, but it doesn't stunt the jitters."

"Buck up." Radil suggested, "You'll get your chance to bust some heads soon enough."

"Thanks you two, but I really should be headed back to the bridge."

Kort and Radil nodded and headed into the mess as Grace proceeded towards the lift. The things I do for the Kelvan Empire.

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later, Grace was weaving the Eclipse in between the assembled Constitution and Mercury-class analogues. The Iotian fleet was almost completely gathered for their planned invasion. Nearly two-thirds of the entire Iotian Starfleet would be committed to this plan. If the Romans somehow mustered a more advanced force than the one the Eclipse had faced while escaping Magna Roman orbit, then Iotia would be left destitute.

Kirk stood alongside Riker as he sat in the command chair, drinking in the view, "Impressive."

Kirk nodded, emotions straining her throat, "The pride of Iotia."

"I can see why." Riker admitted, "They're beautiful."

"You ship is also a beauty." Kirk replied quickly, "It's so nimble."

Oh, please, Grace almost gagged, take her to your quarters and be done with it.

A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that Radil felt ill as well. Grace shook her head and wondered if the two commanders knew how blatant their mutual attraction was. More to the point, did both of them realise how doomed their feelings were from the start? Riker's life was far from normal and precluded any regular visits to anywhere in the Federation much less Iotia.

It'll all be over in a couple of days, Grace fervently wished, and everything will get back to "normal". Even as she thought it, she tasted the lie behind it.

* * * * *

T'Kir checked her gear one last time. She'd endured another broadcast gladiatorial bout while waiting for the train. Macen and the others were now the featured attraction. They were attracting a lot of attention and well as a lot of fans. It also meant a rise on the calibre of opponents. Daggit and Macen had visibly struggled while Dracas had floundered.

They won't be able to keep this up much longer, T'Kir realised with despair. At least now she was on the midnight mag-rail to Nova Roma. She'd be in the city in a few hours. Representatives of the Crusaders would meet her at the train depot.

Even in her private berth, T'Kir kept her coat's hood up. She'd be grateful to leave this bloody planet and be able to show her ears again. Livia's provisions alleviated most of the worries of her previous trip. Now it was just mobilising before one of the other members of the team died in the arena. T'Kir wasn't certain it could be done in time. She turned off the berth's lights with a discontented huff and tried to take a nap.

* * * * *

T'Kir woke with a yawn. She checked the status screen and discovered they were pulling into Nova Roma's northern train depot. This was her stop. She gathered up her belongings, fixed her hood, and exited for the main passageway. She joined the queue at the car's exit and waited for the train to come to a complete stop.

The wind lifted T'Kir's ankle-length coat to her knees as she stepped off the train. The platform was filled with many people despite the early hours. She moved away from the crowd in an effort to better identify her contacts. All she knew was that they had her description and would meet her here.

A minute passed, then another. T'Kir rocked back and forth on her heels as her patience wore thin. She noticed two labourers, judging by their manner and quality of dress, watching her. Had Livia's security precautions failed?

She knew Macen would never willingly give her up but what if he didn't know he was? According to Livia, these "Omricons" that were advising the Emperor could wrest any information from someone if given enough time. Who knew what manner of tortures Macen and the others endured in between gladiatorial bouts? Then again, Livia's tales could simply be fear driven hyperbole.

T'Kir tensed and began identifying escape routes as the two men approached her. They stopped just short of arm's reach and fidgeted a bit. Seen up close, T'Kir could tell they were just as uncomfortable as she was. They were definitely her contacts, and amateurs at that.

"T'Kir?" the bolder of the two whispered at last.

"Yes." she replied confidently, trying to inspire her would-be caretakers to show a little bravado.

"We're supposed to take you to see the Pontiff." the same speaker informed her.

"I'm assuming that's your leader." T'Kir responded dryly.

The two Crusaders exchanged a wary glance, "Yes, Lady. Please follow us. Transportation is awaiting us."

Transportation proved to be a six-passenger aircar. Utilising magnetic repulsors rather than thrusters and impulse drivers, the car was far quieter than anything T'Kir was used to. It landed before the front portico of a rather sizeable manor house. It bespoke of money and influence; two commodities she'd assumed the Crusaders had in short supply.

Her expectations and assumptions elevated, she stepped out of the car and allowed herself to be guided to the house's entrance. On Earth, the style would have been labelled neo-classical. On Magna Roma, it was referred to as post-Republic. Architecture had remained stagnated in the name of orthodoxy for nearly two thousand years. Facades remained the same, only the interior fixtures and plumbing advanced.

The manor T'Kir was being led into outwardly followed the norms of the day, but its interior was a technological marvel only decades behind most Federation colonial dwellings. The DMZ had been filled with dwellings comparable to this one. A number of them, most notably Dorvan V, were less advanced. Needless to say, T'Kir felt right at home.

Only the decorating needed alteration. Portraits of past emperors and tapestries displaying the Roman eagle abounded. It seemed strange for the leader of the Crusaders to indulge in such "idolatry". Perhaps her research had misled her or she'd misinterpreted some vital clue.

"Ah, here's our guest." a middle-aged Roman in loose pants and tunic descended the spiral marble staircase that led to the living suites, "Show me you ears, dear, then we can get to business."

T'Kir recognised the man from a photo Livia had shown her. This was Germanicus' political sponsor, Flavius Brutus. He served as Livia's contact with the Crusader's Pontiff. T'Kir suddenly suspected he was far more than that.

"Does Livia know you're actually the Pontiff himself as well as a Roman Senator?" she asked.

Brutus stopped, nonplussed, then laughed, "Very good, dear girl. I sincerely pray you are who you purport to be or we shall have an issue betweenst us."

As Brutus reached the last of the stairs, T'Kir threw back her hood. Brutus gazed at her in wonder then clapped his hands in delight.

"How fortunate." he relaxed as he spoke, "I truly would have hated to have you executed for 'trespassing'."

"You and me both." T'Kir admitted, "Shall we discuss our little jailbreak now?"

"In the drawing room please." Brutus indicated the way with his head, "We can have coffee and a light breakfast served in order to stave off the bleakness of the wee hours."

T'Kir nodded and smiled, "I'd like that."

"Always a pleasure to serve a Lady."