Ch 5 S [ D02 | 0800 hrs.] No One Left Behind

December 11, 2024, 05:14:28 AM

[ General Terrh Jeiai | Internal Security Division Offices | Citadel Val’Theldun | Romulus ] ATTN: @ra @Pierce @Dumedion @P.C. Haring @chXinya @Griff

“General, we have the infiltrators.”

Terrh Jeiai looked up from his console, barely masking the surge of delight that rushed through his veins at the news.

“How many have you captured?”

“We have five Starfleet infiltrators, the traitor from the Sunheart Incident, and one Romulan double agent, reported dead or missing while on a mission on Qo”nos.”

Terrh Jeiai smirked. “That would be the young tr’Aimne. Either he is a well-made lookalike from Starfleet of a man reported dead on Qo’Nos, or there’s been some duplicity.” The general caught his aide’s smirk and mirrored the woman’s amusement with one of his own. “Separate them from one another. Pair up the Starfleet infiltrators with some of our present guests and take tr’Aimne and the traitor to the High Examiner. I believe she will have some questions for them.” The aide nodded, turning to do as he’d instructed when Terrh Jeiai called her back. “Does anyone else know of these captures?” He could only imagine the delays in his fun if the Military Division, the Intelligence Analysis Division, or even the Special Operations Division caught wind of the capture.

“At the moment, no general.”

“Let’s keep it that way. Transfer the infiltrators to our holding cells discretely, and inform me when you have them secured.”

His aide nodded, saluting him before ducking back out of his office. Terrh Jeiai smiled to himself as he turned his chair to face the wall of windows behind his desk. From here, he could see most of the capital city; with this view, he felt the heady thrill of power. With what he was about to accomplish through these infiltrators, it was only a matter of time before he became the Director of the Internal Security Division, and from there, it would again only be a matter of time until he found favor with the Praetor and was chosen as the next Chairman of the Tal’Shiar itself. After all, the last three Chairmen had been from the Internal Security Division, as Tal’Aura favored this division as uniquely vital at this time of unfortunate division.

Terrh Jeiai chuckled, loving it when a plan came together.

[Hathev |Random Tavern| Merend by by District | Romulus]

Although the tavern had been mostly empty when Hathev first arrived, it had since filled in, leaving the Vulcan relieved that she had taken a corner booth that gave her a clear line of sight to both the bar and the main entrance to the establishment. She had been grateful for the crowd as the additional patrons diverted the bartender’s attention away from her. For her part, Hathev focused on the Romulan PADD she had been reading. Lieutenant Johnston was late to their scheduled rendezvous, and with each passing minute, she grew more concerned that he too, had been captured by the Romulan Military. If that was the case, then there might not be any hope for the team. Although technically in command, Hathev lacked the tactical experience necessary to address this scenario properly. Johnston also lacked experience, but as a member of the intelligence department, he had certain insights she lacked and, in the hours since she had come to rely upon his counsel when determining their next steps.

The decision to split up had been his idea. If they were being pursued, splitting apart had been intended to draw out that pursuit. No one had approached Hathev since her arrival, so she was confident no one was following her. Johnston's situation might be more precarious. His role required him to keep moving while maintaining a low profile. He would be more exposed, but might draw out anyone observing him.

The tavern door opened, drawing Hathor's attention as three more patrons arrived and bellied up to the bar. None of them were Johnston. Inadvertently, she met the eye of the bartender, who misinterpreted the look as a request for service. Fortunately for the Vulcan, it took her less time to determine an order than it did for the server to cross over to her. A quick request to refresh her drink and an order of the Romulan equivalent of edamame sent the server back on her way.

Her PADD fell from the table, and Hathev turned her attention to picking it up. When she straightened, she realized she was not alone at her table.

“Johnston,” she said, her neutral Vulcan tone keeping the surprise out of her voice. “You're late.”

“My Apologies, Hathev,” he responded. She did not object to the informality between them, as they had decided to keep the rank protocol unspoken. “It could not be helped. But I found where our friends have gone.”

He reached into his pocket and produced his own PADD, and within seconds, she received a data burst. She accepted and watched as the map and coordinate data as well as the limited specifications, cycled through her display, and her expectation of success dropped. Logic dictated that the chances of them seeing their colleagues again were neigh on impossible. Yet the look on Johnston's face told her something different.

“I take it you have an idea?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Given the subject location, it would defy logic that you would show this to me if you didn't have an idea in mind.”

“Guilty.”

Johnston then proceeded to explain his idea and outline this plan. It was ambitious, arrogant, and audacious enough that it was likely to get them both killed. And yet, it was so desperate that it might be so unexpected that it might just work. Plus, something PO3 t'Jellaieu had told her came back to the Vulcan and just might be useful.

“You realize this will likely end up getting us both killed?”

Johnston met her eye. “You realize this is probably the best chance we have of seeing them alive ever again!”

Hathev let out a sigh, knowing just how right they both were.

[Abandoned Storehouse| Merend District | Romulus]

Hathev concentrated as she continued her work. Even unconscious Romulans could prove difficult. Still, once she was confident in her success, she broke the mold and sat back.

“Well?”

Johnston looked at her. To his credit, he had remained silent during the meld, keeping watch while she joined with the sub-commander's mind. It was fortunate they had spotted him and that Johnston had been able to get the drop on him.

“His name is Galan, a sub-commander stationed not too far from the Citadel. Apparently, he was on his way to report for duty when you intercepted him.”

Johnston nodded. “Anything we can use?”

Hathev turned. “Yes. He is terrified of the Tal Shiar. More so than most Romulans. Any objections if we modify our plan?”

The way Johnston's eyebrow raised was uncannily Vulcan “What did you have in mind?”

Hathev set about explaining her idea, and despite his understandable nerves, Johnston remained enthusiastic.

“Good.” without further word, Hathev turned and swung at him. The blow connected, and the lieutenant fell to the ground. “Are you all right?”

She offered her hand to help him back to his feet. He took it, blood dripping from his jaw.

“Yeah. It was a good hit.”

It took a few moments to properly rough Johnston up and then apply the necessary restraints to make the rouse seem plausible. But when they were ready, Hathev sensed a certain confidence as she backhanded Galan awake. It only took a moment for him to regain awareness.

“Where am I,” he asked. Then he looked at Hathev “and who are you?”

“You are in an empty storehouse in the Merend District. We will get to who I am in a minute, but first, I have a question for you, sub commander...”

Replicating Romulan arrogance in her voice was far easier than Hathev had initially thought.

“Galan,” he said, answering her unspoken question. At least he wasn't lying to her yet.

Hathev offered no direct acknowledgment. “And is that,” she pointed at Johnston, “the man who attacked you?”

Galan looked at him before turning back to Hathev. “Yes. Do I have you to thank for saving my life?”

“Yes, I saved you from him, but given the magnitude of your incompetence, I suspect you will come to prefer that this human,” she emphasized the word, “had killed you.”

Galan's eyes widened. For a Romulan. there was very little worse than failing to stop an enemy spy. In fact, one of the few things that was actually worse was a card Hathev was set to play.

“As to your second question, I am Major Nalah of the Tal Shiar, and I am quite displeased by the lack of loyalty I have witnessed. If I didn't know better, I might think. you were his accomplice.”

That, she knew, would terrify him, and she allowed herself a subtle, perverse smile. To him, she must have looked like a predator about to feast.

“I am a loyal soldier of the empire, Major,” he protested. “I have never seen that human in my life until today. I swear it.”

“Assuming I believed you, the fact that you allowed yourself to be subdued by our sworn enemy speaks to a lack of vigilance on your part and smells of incompetence.”

She let that sit there for a moment, deciding not to push too hard lest she overplay the role. As a rule, Vulcans did not lie, and given her own circumstances, if someone successfully uncovered her deception, they would all die. It helped that she had implanted the suggestion of her fake identity during the mind meld. But even that had its limits: For his part, Galan remained mostly frozen in fear.
“However,” she said, allowing a certain warmth back into her tone. “There may be a way you can re-earn my confidence and possibly earn my gratitude and that of the Tal Shiar.”

For the first time since she had identified herself, he looked up.

“How may I serve?”

“I am on a mission of vital importance to the empire. I cannot divulge the details, but I can tell you that this human is part of a larger group of Federation spies who have come to Romulus.” There was little risk in revealing this bit, she knew. Everyone else, so far as she knew, had been captured, and it served her purposes to share. “Accompany me. Act as my personal guard and see to it no harm comes to me or the human. Escort us to the Citadel so I may interrogate this prisoner properly. Do this successfully, and I will overlook your earlier failures.”

Galan hesitated for only a moment. “Where the Tal Shiar leads, I shall follow, Major.”

[Citadel Val’Theldum | Romulus]

Galan proved even more used than Hathev had expected. Not only had he followed her instructions to the letter, but he had also procured ground transportation that made the trek to the citadel much easier. He had suggested they simply transport over, but Hathev could not risk a transporter registering her as Vulcan.

As expected, the three of them were stopped at the guard house. Again, Hathev introduced herself as Major Nalah of the Tal Shiar. The centurion seemed even more nervous than Galan had and immediately arranged for her to be escorted to the commanding officer while Galan escorted Johnston to an isolation cell.

“Ensure no further harm comes to the human,” She instructed. She was escorted to the office of General Jeiai, and once both arrived, her centurion escort took the liberty of introducing them.

“General,” she said after the Centurion left them. “The Tal Shiar commends you on capturing the spies and the traitor. That said, by order of the Tal Shiar, you will immediately turn the prisoners over to my custody.”

[ General Terrh Jeiai ]

The Centurion who left him alone with this woman, whoever she claimed to be, would not live much beyond this day. Or, Terrh Jeiai inwardly smiled, he would be richly rewarded for bringing him another piece to this Starfleet infiltration puzzle.

“The Tal’Shiar commends me?” Terrh Jeiai’s lips pulled upward in a cheshire smile. “Either you have received a terrible blow to the head and have forgotten much about the Tal’Shiar,” he put added emphasis on their agency name, “or you are an incompetent fool.” Leaning back in his chair, Terrh Jeiai clasped his fingers together, resting his hands on his stomach as he regarded the woman. “By whose orders, Major?” Again, he put deadly emphasis on her supposed rank. “As I’m sure you know, there are many branches to the tree that is the Tal’Shiar, and my branch does not have to answer and will not comply with just any branch. So,” he reached out and pressed the button to call his aide, “unless you can supply the proper documentation from the appropriate branch that would supersede me, I’m afraid this meeting, such as it was, is over, and you may follow my aide.”

The door slid open, and his aide stepped inside. All Tal’Shiar branches have their own set of wordless gestures used to convey orders while in the presence of potential enemies or spies.

“My aide will guide you to a console where you can arrange the documentation I require.”

Terrh Jeiai used these gestures to order his aide to take this woman to the High Examiner, who, by now, would’ve already gotten hold of the Romulans among the Starfleet group. Considering her timely arrival, this “Major Nalah” was undoubtedly connected.

[PO2 Kino Jeen | Corridor within Main Interrogation | Citadel Val’Theldun | Romulus]

She came to on the run; half carried, half dragged by the last person she expected. The Reman was wounded, panting, either from the injuries sustained or annoyance – Kino didn’t get a chance to ask. They were stumbling down a corridor lined with seamless doors, leaving a trail of green and red fluid behind them. The Trill found her feet and tried to support herself but slipped. Tiramex hauled her up, then shuffled to the wall to rest for a moment. Amber lights pulsed through the hall, and she could smell something burning.

“Finally,” Tiramex groaned, “recover quickly, I need your help.”

Kino winced – her entire body felt like one big bruise. “The hell happened,” she slurred, “Where –“

“Treachery, of course,” the Reman rasped, “now they have us, though I hope not where I think. Whatever they had in mind for us, I managed to outplay that fate for one of our choosing, but I cannot go on alone. Can you stand? We must fight our way to a control node, gather intel, and plan an escape,” he held out a compact disruptor pistol for her in one huge clawed hand. “Here. It’s too small for me.”

Kino took it. “And I’m jus’ s’posed to trust you, huh?”

The Reman grinned at her, all fangs and little mirth.

“Right,” Jeen grimaced at the sight, then stepped away from him. “I’m with you, but we find my people first.”

“That…may be difficult.”

“Yeah, well, we’re doing it anyway,” Kino told him over her shoulder.

The Reman blinked, then nodded reluctantly.

“Outstanding,” Kino quipped sarcastically. “After you.”

The Reman shrugged and stalked off but then froze in a crouch after a few paces, sniffing the air. “Ambush,” he hissed and charged off at a dead sprint to the intersection ahead. Kino followed a second later, just as three guards rounded the corner, disruptor rifles shouldered. Kino dropped into a slide, firing, as the Reman collided with the first guard, armed only with claws and teeth. Emerald blood sprayed the stone walls. The second guard dropped to his knees with a smoking hole in his head. Kino swept the legs out from the third as Tiramex shouldered him bodily into the wall, cracking the Romulan’s skull against the stone. A massive boot came down on the prone figure’s throat to finish the work.

“Tal’Shiar,” Kino asked as she got to her feet.

Tiramex shook his head. “Just fodder. Security forces, Imperial Army. If you crossed blades with an Agent, you’d be dead. They are mercilessly efficient killers.”

"Yeah, I’ve seen one in action," Kino nodded, thinking of Valyn as she bent to secure another disruptor pistol as well as a combat blade from the bodies. She tucked the blade into her belt, then raised the disruptors with another nod. “On you.”

“A moment,” Tiramex paused to rip open one of the guard's uniforms, procuring a small tablet device. “Access disk,” he grinned.

“Groovy.”

[Some time later…]

Kino’s vision grayed out as the Romulan holding her aloft by the throat throttled her. She fought through the failure of her oxygen-starved body regardless – kicking out in futility. Desperate, with her back to the wall, she slammed her feet back against it and pushed with everything she had left, as her hands clawed at his blurred features. It was enough to break his hold, and Kino seized the chance to drive her head down into his; once, twice, three times. On the third, she felt and heard a crunch of abused bone and cartilage – as they both fell into a rolling melee. Blood and bodies lined the floor. Both of them rolled over and slipped on the slick emerald trails of fluid, each seeking to outmatch and overpower the other. Kino pinned an arm and cracked her elbow down into the side of his head, only for a fist to smash into hers, which sent her sprawling. Then he was on top of her, fumbling for another choke hold. She couldn’t see, but instinct and training found his wrist, locked, as she shrimped to the side and wrapped a leg up around the back of his head. The arm folded in a satisfying snap.

Then his weight vanished as Tiramex hauled him up by his hair and clawed his throat open. Jeen lay on her back, coughing. They were both smeared in blood, most of it not their own. “They…they’re sending everyone,” she panted, trying to wipe her eyes clear.
The Reman nodded. “We’ve only gone through a dozen or so. There could be an army garrisoned here,” he rasped. “Get up. We can’t linger,” he hissed over his shoulder.

Kino groaned and rolled onto her hands and knees, searching for her weapons. She had to roll a decapitated corpse out of the way to get them. “Remind me…to never piss off…a Reman.”

“That would be unwise,” Tiramex agreed. “Come,” he intoned from where he stood before a computer console. “Look,” a clawed gestured.

Fuck, gimme a minute, Kino panted, then hauled herself upright to stagger over to him. It was a three-dimensional layout of the complex, a massive circular structure with a solitary monolith jutting from its center. Tiramex had pointed to another screen, though, one with thousands of file images scrolling past in a blur.

“What am I looking at,” Kino asked through bruised and bleeding lips.

“Prisoner dossiers.”

“What the fuck…what is this place?”

“This is where the Tal’Shiar keeps an entire Empire subdued, silent, and controlled. This is where both Romulans and Remans are sent to disappear. They call it the Citadel.”

Kino shook her head in disbelief. The files kept scrolling. Hundreds. Thousands. “Yeah, fuck that,” she muttered, then wiped the blood from her nose. “This place needs to burn in the worst way.”

“As it happens, I agree, yet there is no option to do so that will not incur significant collateral damage. These files are updated every twelve cycles. Currently, there are 3,487 prisoners held within the compound, hundreds of which are held in the isolated ultima-grade security wing, requiring the highest level of clearance to access. Securing their release is beyond our capabilities.”

“Bullshit,” Kino shook her head. “There’s always a way. Emergency evac, biohazard containment protocols, decontam, something – move over,” she shouldered him out of the way.

“You comprehend these systems?”

“I spent three lifetimes as an engineer, big guy. Lemme see what I can do.”

[Hathev]

As a Vulcan, Hathev found herself in both poor positioning as well as strong positioning against this Romulan. On the one hand, he was right to be suspicious of her as she held neither the credentials nor the full knowledge she boasted. But on the other hand, her intellect would allow her to deduce the most likely scenarios and appropriate responses. Her compromised emotional control would, she determined, be a benefit in this scenario, and she suspected she could outwit this Romulan general. Arrogance was the Romulan’s own worst enemy, and she suspected she could use that to her advantage as well.

She, of course, suspected suspicion and duplicity on the part of the General and, between her own observations of the General’s hand gestures, clearly a form of unspoken communication to the aide, as well as various features within the office itself, it was quite clear that he was not going to take her to a console. She had not been caught per se, but if she showed weakness now, she would be.

She stepped deeper into the office, away from the generals ‘aide’

“Do not insult my intelligence, General. We both know that such documentation could be easily accessed from the console behind your desk. But we also both know that there is no documentation to retrieve, as the very existence of such data would be the antithesis to the nature of certain operations that must be run discreetly.”

She let that sit for a moment. Yes, she had just named the division from which she was attempting to pose but thought she had been subtle enough that it would pass. Still she would need to spin it.

“Or are you so foolish to believe that a group of Federation spies could make their way to Romulus without our knowledge? We have been monitoring their activity since they entered the system.”

"Not at all, Major; I have no doubts that every branch has its own informant keeping tabs on their comings and goings. My question for you, however, is where will you take them? They are already secure in the Citadel, which is where they would be regardless of division, and they are already being interrogated, another standard procedure for all divisions. I am struggling to understand why you would want to risk your life and career, whichever is more precious to you, to disrupt a process that we all must follow."

“Dismiss your Aide, and I will discuss it.”

He offered a small smile and sent his Aide out of the room with another set of silent signals. Hathev suspected he was planning a contingency and made a note that even if she convinced this Romulan, she should keep her guard up.

“Tell me, General,” she said, adopting a more conversational tone when the door closed. “Have you ever experienced Theth?”

"I've employed this protocol in the past, Major, and to great success in ridding the Empire of its enemies. However, it requires direct endorsement from the Praetor in session before the senators can take action. I know from experience the dangers of acting before such an endorsement is made. Until then, it is mere threat of smoke." he cocks his head to the side "There has been no government session with such an endorsement made of late, so what is your point?"

Her Vulcan mind raced through the calculations to weave a convincing enough story, including enough truth and obfuscate detail. Give enough but not too much. The calculations were imprecise, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

“My point, General,” Hathev replied. “Is that we are trying to prevent a new endorsement.” Again, she paused. “You may not be aware, but this group of Federation spies is not the only one that has landed on Romulus. The Tal Shair gave the responsibility of tracking their movements to Military Intelligence. Unfortunately, the interlopers managed to elude their surveillance. We are unsure as to why this happened, but an investigation has already begun, and evidence is indicating treachery within.”

She let that sit for a moment, but put her hand up to forestall any protest from the general.

“The Tal Shair currently has every confidence that while your interrogators could extract the truth of the matter from the prisoners given enough time, that is simply a luxury we do not presently have. So we find ourselves with two options: Either the Praetor endorses Theth protocol and a campaign unlike any before it flushes these spies and traitors out of our midst. Or we find them ourselves and avoid such a prolonged public disturbance against our own populace. To that end, I am to insert into their group covertly and maneuver them into leading us not only back to their comrades but also their local support while at the same time ensuring they will fail in their objectives. I will use the existing security alerts,” she motioned to the monitors behind him indicating security alerts in and around Main Interrogation, “as a cover for their extraction. All you need to do is cooperate with me and send enough troops to make the ‘escape’ look convincing to my targets.”

She let the General mull it over before she went for the inevitable Romulan threat.

“General, your involvement in this incident, no matter how inadvertent or tangential it may be, has already been noted. Your cooperation is expected, and given that most of your division is currently under investigation, I suspect you would not want your role in this to be misconstrued as providing safe harbor to spies.”

[Alana Pierce] and [Ashley Kerina]

A Romulan interrogator paced in front of Alana, eyes cold and calculating. Alana, dressed in Romulan attire, maintained a stoic expression though her heart pounded in her chest. Her cover as Subcommander T'Rina, a disgruntled Romulan officer, was wearing thin.

"Your story has holes, Subcommander," the interrogator sneered. "Your knowledge of Romulan customs is... dubious, at best. And your access codes, while valid, are for low-level personnel. Not what I'd expect from someone of your supposed rank."

Alana's mind raced. She had to adapt, to shift the narrative. "My knowledge is... need-to-know," she retorted, injecting a hint of defiance into her voice. "I was assigned to a covert mission requiring a different skill set. As for my access codes, they were intentionally limited to avoid suspicion."

The interrogator raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A covert mission? And what was the nature of this mission, Subcommander?"

Alana hesitated, then leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It involves... the Tal Shiar. Internal corruption, a threat to the Empire itself. I was tasked with gathering intelligence, exposing the rot from within."

The interrogator's eyes narrowed. Alana had struck a chord, tapping into the paranoia that ran deep within the Romulan psyche. The Tal Shiar, the feared secret police, was both revered and reviled. Accusations of corruption within its ranks were not uncommon, but they were rarely spoken aloud. "And what evidence do you have of this... corruption?" the interrogator demanded.

Alana smiled inwardly. She had anticipated this question. "I have data," she said, reaching into a hidden pocket within her uniform. "Encrypted, of course. But it can be decrypted... with the right codes."

The interrogator's interest was piqued. She gestured for Alana to hand over the data device. Alana complied, her heart pounding. This was a gamble, a desperate attempt to turn the tables. But it was her only chance. As the interrogator examined the device, Alana watched him closely, gauging his reaction. The Romulan's brow furrowed as she tried to access the encrypted files. Alana had planted false leads, enough to entice but not enough to incriminate herself. The key was to sow doubt, to create a sense of unease.

"These codes..." the interrogator muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "They're... complex. I'll need assistance from our decryption experts."

Alana nodded, feigning relief. "Of course. I understand. The data is... sensitive. It must be handled with care."

The interrogator hesitated, then made a decision. "Very well, Subcommander. You will remain here, under guard. I will return once I have... consulted with my superiors."

As the interrogator left the room, Alana let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She had bought herself some time, a precious commodity in her current predicament. Now, she had to wait, to see if her gamble would pay off. The fate of her mission, and possibly her life, hung in the balance. Meanwhile, she didn't have to wait long as the Romulan re-entered as quickly as he left.
The Romulan's fist connected with Alana's ribs, a sharp pain radiating through her body. She slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. Her Romulan disguise had been meticulously crafted, but it hadn't been enough. They had seen through her, and now she was paying the price.

The interrogator, a hulking figure with a cruel sneer, loomed over her. "You thought you could fool us, Federation scum?" he spat. "You underestimated the Tal Shiar."

Alana coughed, blood trickling down her chin. "I underestimated your... brutality, you smug son of a bitch," she managed to say, her voice raspy, with a smirk on her face.

The interrogator laughed, a harsh sound. "This is just the beginning," he promised. "We have ways of making you talk."

Alana closed her eyes, bracing herself for the next blow. But instead of pain, she heard a voice, soft and hesitant. "Are you... alright?"

Alana opened her eyes and saw a young woman, half Romulan, half Orion, peering at her through the bars of the adjacent cell. Her name was Ashley Kerina, a fellow prisoner and an unlikely source of comfort in this hellish place.

"I'm... alive," Alana replied, managing a weak smile. She pushed her crimson hair from her face before looking back at the other woman. She noted how beautiful and clean the green woman was, wondering why she was unharmed but nevertheless too in pain to care at present.

Ashley nodded, her eyes filled with concern. "They're... ruthless," she whispered. "They won't stop until they get what they want."

Alana knew she was right. The Romulans were masters of interrogation, experts in extracting information through pain and fear. But she couldn't give in, couldn't betray her mission or her crew. Not now. "I won't break," she vowed, her voice stronger now. "I won't let them win."

Ashley reached through the bars, her hand brushing against Alana's. "Stay strong," she whispered. "We'll get through this." Alana squeezed her hand, drawing strength from the unexpected connection. She was not alone in this fight. She only hoped the others were faring better than she was.

The Romulan interrogator's footsteps faded, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Alana leaned back against the cold, damp wall, her body aching from the recent beating. Ashley, her green skin a stark contrast against the gray stone, watched her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "You're Starfleet, aren't you?" Ashley whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alana nodded, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Lieutenant Commander Alana Pierce, at your service," she replied, trying to inject some levity into the grim situation. "And you?"

"Ashley Kerina," the Orion woman replied. "I’m technically a civilian right now but I am on leave from Starfleet. Lieutenant Junior Grade Ashley Kerina. I was... in the wrong place at the wrong time." She stated with a slight grin with an attempt to make light of the situation they now found themselves in.

Alana's eyes narrowed. "That's what they all say," she joked quietly, suspicion creeping into her voice. Ashley's eyes showed fear. "It’ll be okay. You're just... caught in the crossfire. Although I do have questions on why you’re on Romulus and off-duty to begin with but that can wait. Just glad that you’re someone that can be of some help."

Ashley nodded silently. Alana felt a pang of sadness for this strange, innocent bystander who had been dragged into their mess. Yet another sadly she’d noticed as it seemed to be a trend with the Theurgy crew. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the bars that separated them.

"We'll get out of here," she promised, her voice firm. Releasing her fingers, she returned to her tunic. Unbeknownst to Ashley, Alana's fingers weren't just offering comfort. She was secretly manipulating a tiny device she’d hidden within the folds of her Romulan uniform with her spare hand. It was a makeshift communicator, cobbled together from scavenged parts during their mission. Its range was limited, its signal weak, but it was their only hope. Alana pressed a hidden button, her heart pounding in her chest. A faint static filled the air, followed by a crackle of voices. Now she simply had to wait for rescue.

[ Lt. JG Nysarisiza “Nysari” zh’Eziarath | Prison cell | Citadel Val’Theldun | Romulus ]

Over the past few days, Nysari had become familiar with her headache, the constant companion her Romulan disguise had inflicted on her native Andorian physiology. She’d actually become used to it, acclimatizing to the pain just as her sense of balance had adjusted to lack of antennae, letting the ache fade into the background. Unnoticed. Therefore, she was particularly annoyed to wake up to a whole new pain in her head, a sharp stab that immediately became the focus of all her attention.

With a groan, she moved a hand to her forehead in search of the source. It seemed to take forever to get there. The tips of her fingers barely touched the open wound, wet with fresh blood, before flinching away. Nysari opened her eyes slowly, a blurry wash of gray greeting her. She remained where she was, curled up on the hard ground, until the picture began to sharpen. The finer details did nothing to help the aesthetics of what could only be her prison cell. Great.

She couldn’t remember exactly how they had been captured, but considering the head wound, that wasn’t overly surprising. Rather than worry about it, Nysari decided to focus on the problem at hand instead of wasting her time with the cause.

Sitting up was easy enough, and from there, she made it to her feet with only a minor bout of dizziness. Maybe her concussion wasn’t as bad as she feared. The cell was a small box. And by the looks of it, the place had never seen a cleaner. Three bare walls and a fourth made of bars. Actual metal bars. Not a forcefield, not a locked door. Just bars. She couldn’t even see any hinges. Did they recess into the floor?

As she moved closer to search for a mechanism of escape, Nysari felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise, antennae twitching against her scalp beneath the prosthetics. Someone was watching her. Now that she was aware of it, it didn’t take long to locate the man in an adjacent cell, his eyes filled with that clever inquisitiveness that seemed inherent to Romulans. Even though they were both prisoners, there was something about him that led her to distrust him instantly.

“Jolan tru,” Nysari began cautiously, sticking to her disguise.

The man laughed, which only served to throw her further off her game. “A good day to you as well,” he replied in pitch-perfect Federation Standard. Without waiting for her to reply, he continued, “Unless that’s blue paint covering your face, you’re not a Romulan. Not a bad disguise, otherwise.”

“Ah, that.” She looked down at the hand she’d probed the wound with earlier, noticing the blue stain. “I don’t suppose Romulans have any blood conditions that could cause such a change?”

“Not so much, no.”

“How unfortunate.” Nysari shrugged, letting a small, self-deprecating smile play across her face for a moment. “They already had us made anyway.” Had they? Interesting. Was that a bit of memory finding its way back? “And you, what are you in for?”

“D'Aev tr'Amarok,” he introduced himself with a flourish, even adding a little bow, which looked even more ridiculous through prison bars. “I’m a purveyor of high valued objects, entertainment for the wealthy and powerful, which bring only joy and harm no one. However, the Tal Shiar took notice of my normal work and slightly… misunderstood.”

“You are a smuggler.”

“If you want to be technical about it, yes. Though I’ve never enjoyed that description.”

“And you smuggled in something dangerous enough–”

“I resent that accusation, as I said–”

“Fine, I recant. You purveyed something foul enough–”

“What part of harmless entertainment wasn’t–”

“Throughout history, the wealthy of many worlds have taken part in entertainment that is harmless to the audience, but hardly so to those forced to take part.”

“Holograms aren’t sentient; they don’t have the capability to care about what is done to them.”

Nysari paused to stare at him for a moment. “You expect me to believe that the Tal Shiar imprisoned you for smuggling holoprograms?”

“Ferengi holoprograms, Klingon silks, Andorian ale, Vulcan tea, and more. There was a fortune in that ship. I’m broke without it, and I’m sure the ship that took me custody is greatly enjoying the spoils.”

When he listed them all at once, Nysari finally understood. Now it was her turn to laugh, a quick sharp sound that earned her an annoyed look from the other prisoner. “There are historical examples for that too. When the culture of your enemy is widely available and accepted, they don’t feel that much like an enemy anymore, do they?”

“Great, just my luck to get stuck with a philosopher. This might surprise you, Federation, but I couldn’t care less about your culture.” He rolled his eyes. “There’s a demand for something, I get it, then I get paid for it. Do you have any idea how much people will pay for Vulcan Love Slave?”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“So you travel frequently to the Federation and our allies, and now they think you’re a spy.”

“They think I’m a spy,” he confirmed.

Nysari was almost enjoying the conversation. Searching for a way out of her cell might be a better use of her time, but it was far outside her realm of expertise. Befriending a cellmate was something she could do, and she was never going to get out of here without allies.

“Then why don’t you just offer to spy for them–”

This time, Nysari wasn’t interrupted by D’Aev, but by the banging of the door at the end of the hallway. The two prisoners were automatically silenced, both breaking eye contact. Nysari took a step back as two Romulan guards entered her view. Her heartbeat rose, the sound thrumming in her ears, but the guards completely ignored her, their attention focused on the opposite cell.

“Is this the one?”

“That’s him,” the other confirmed, reading off a tablet, presumably loaded with prisoner information.

The first nodded, placing his fingers on a patch of wall near T’Aev’s cell that looked no different to Nysari’s eyes, but must have been a biometric lock, since a set of bars automatically swung open into a door. “We’re taking you to interrogation.”

D’Aev exited the cell silently, letting the door swing shut behind him as he took his place between the guards. Nysari had to keep herself from sighing. There went her potential ally. She went back to looking at the bars of her cell, trying to find the outline of the door she now knew was there.

With her attention shifted, she missed it when he moved. It was all over in a second. By the time she looked back to the group, both guards were falling to the ground, green blood falling from deep cuts at each of their throats. D’Aev stood in the middle, a wickedly sharp dagger in his hand.

“They’d never trust me to turn spy for them when I’m already allegedly a spy for someone else,” he continued their conversation as though it had never been interrupted, all while kneeling down and beginning to saw off one of the guard’s hands at the wrist. To get him through other doors, most likely.

Nysari couldn’t answer him. She was too busy trying not to throw up. She had to close her eyes, tilt her head towards the ceiling, and take a few deep breaths. “Where– where did you get that knife?”

“Hidden daggers are good for protection. There are only a few good places to put it, it's not hard to slip it off someone. His-” Nysari still wasn’t looking, but she assumed he was pointing to one of the now dead guards, “was in the first place I checked. Lucky me.”

When she dared look again, his grisly work was finished, the Romulan standing back up with his bloody prize.

“Could you open my cell too?” She asked, daring to hope.

“Now, why would I do that?” He waved at her with the severed hand, then turned to walk away.

Nysari scrambled for a moment to find an argument, coming up with and discarding multiple ideas before shouting after him, “If you survive, you’re going to need new merchandise! My ch'te – husband – runs a restaurant on Andoria. He can get you another supply of Romulan ale. Free of charge. He probably has some holoprograms laying around too.”

There was only silence, leaving Nysari with the uncomfortable thought of what would happen to her when the dead guards were found right outside her cell. Then D’Aev came back into view, and her heart lept.

“What’s your name?”

“Nysari zh’Eziarath.”

He stared at her, evaluating. Then he tapped the wall next to her cell with the guard’s hand. “Try to keep up.” The door swung open.

[ Lillee | Prison cell | Citadel Val’Theldun | Romulus ]

Lillee awoke suddenly, in a start, her heart hammering painfully. She looked around the room frantically, only for her wrists and ankles to ache as she moved. Seeing Hirek across the room from her, held in an identical position, the true horror of what was happening hit her, and she froze, her breathing becoming short and panicked. Hirek was held aloft in front of her, arms held up above by taut chains, feet secured a few centimeters off the floor in an X position, wearing a loose black smock that only just preserved his dignity.

Difficult though it was to move her head, Lillee’s own aching body told her that she was in the same position, wearing a similar smock. Tears started to form. This was it. This was the end. The enormity of her own foolishness, believing that they could evade the Tal Shiar on the homeworld itself, was staggering. The others had no way of knowing, not even Ives, but she did. Hirek did. Why hadn’t they made the others listen? How could they have been so arrogant, so moronic? Anhlai, Monoui…both parents lost to foolishness and that stupid sense of duty.

It was possible that the Allegiant hadn’t been found and destroyed yet, that some of the others were still out there, but Lillee knew better than to hope for a miracle. She knew where they were. There was only one escape from such a place, and the Tal Shiar were clever enough to make even that final act impossible for the prisoners to attempt. Still, knowing what her fate would be, Lillee privately vowed to die long before she got anywhere near the Tricameron. Her babes would not watch her execution. She had let them down in so many ways, but this…she could do this for them.

Increasingly annoyed that Hirek was still asleep, his head lolling, Lillee grunted. At the lack of response, anger growing, she grunted again, louder. She didn’t even remember being captured, never mind how it had happened, so she knew that Hirek wasn’t staying asleep just to spite her. They could’ve been stunned, anesthetized, whacked into unconsciousness; there were any number of reasons why she might have awoken before him. He might even have been injured more severely while defending her unconscious body. Still, her irritation with the arrogant ass grew stronger than her Vulcan logic, steadily building. Lillee knew better than to shout or scream, though.

“Wake up, you moron,” she said furiously. “I am not doing this alone!”

[Hirek tr'Aimne| | Somewhere he'd rather not be | Romulus]

A furious female voice cut through his meditative sex dream, eliciting a muffled groan from the barely clad Romulan, suspended like a sensual snack from the ceiling. It was perhaps not the “healthiest” of coping mechanisms when subjected to physical and mental torture tactics, but it had always (or nearly always) worked for Hirek before, and he’d fallen into it quickly enough soon after they’d knocked him senseless the first time.

He’d always known they would be apprehended. From the moment he’d been recruited to the mission and briefed on the objective, Hirek had bided his time, awaiting the inevitable. For him, it’d been more a matter of how many of them would die in the process of being successful, if they could even be successful than it was getting in and out unscathed. Far too pragmatic to have something silly like “hope” get in the way of mentally preparing for when they’d get captured. The apprehending process had still hurt like hell.

Hirek knew without having the charming male Trill doctor back on Theurgy assess him that at least three ribs were broken and a lung pierced (making breathing a damned torturous thing), a collarbone was also broken, and he had a hairline fracture on the portion of his skull the Romulan guard had used to open the door they’d tried to hide behind. Whether his skin was already checkered green with the multiple contusions over his abdomen, legs, and back the earlier beating would create had yet to be determined since he’d yet to open his eyes. Had yet to know if they still worked.

The High Examiner had managed to get Hirek to open his eyes using a few of his “questioning” devices, but he’d only left the room more frustrated than when he’d entered when Hirek’s responses didn’t match what he wished to hear. This had given them reason to “tickle” Hirek a bit more while the High Examiner took a tea break before he came back to restart the “questioning” with Lillee. During this “tickling” process, one of the guards had gotten doubly creative and sent a few pronged shocks directly into Hirek’s eyes. Ever since then, he’d stubbornly retreated to the land of sexual delights and preferred to remain there as long as possible.

It was Hirek’s intention to aggravate the old bastard enough to keep the bulk of the man’s physical ire on him and away from Lillee, but Hirek already knew he could manage this for only so long. He would be no good to the fellow Romulan dead, and now that they’d done him a favor and buried him in the middle of the Citadel, he’d rather live a bit longer if only to destroy this facility around his own head if possible.

Sticking to his earlier intention of keeping eyes closed until the High Examiner returned to “bask” in his presence, Hirek sighed before responding. “Last time I checked, panic attacks could be managed just fine on an individual basis.” He lifted his head, twisting it toward Lillee. “Dying, too, can still be accomplished in a solitary fashion. If, however, you’re proposing we come up with a plan on how to turn the tables, I’ll remain conscious long enough to hear you out.”

Part 1 of epic JP! Let's go!