“Are we clear of it?”

“Negative, Commander. The rift’s random subspace effects will probably stop and reverse our drift sometime over the next severalveraku . Even at our current distance from the event horizon, we are still well within the Bloom’s strongest zone of subspace interference.”

So sending a distress signal would be an exercise in futility,Donatra thought glumly. Even if we had a functioning comm system.She had begun hoping that the appearance of her fleet in Neyel space meant that there was at least somechance that Riker and his Starfleet vessel had made it here intact as well. But without a fully operational communications system or sensors, there was no way to tell.

“How soon can we effect repairs and resume a course away from the Bloom and its interference zone?”

Liravek paused briefly before responding, which was unusual for him. “Commander, we’ve vented so much coolant due to the power-circuit failures, that I’m not even certain engine repair is even possible without access to spacedock facilities.”

Donatra looked back toward her Neyel “guest.” Frane hadn’t moved from where he lay on the infirmary bed, apparently in a well-advised effort not to alarm his two armed guards—both of whom had maintained their poise as well as a tight grip on their weapons.

The sight of the still-prone Neyel—whose presence here had resulted entirely from a chance encounter with something that lay beyond the Valdore’s battered hull—suddenly gave Donatra an idea.

Perhaps I should continue looking beyond my vessel for solutions to its problems.

“Thank you, Centurion,” she said aloud. “I’ll be on the bridge shortly to go over our options. Donatra out.” She thumbed the comm circuit closed.

Dr. Venora approached, the diminished lighting accentuating the deep lines and hollows of her wise, patrician face. “Well, Commander. What now?”

Donatra offered a lopsided smile. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve entirely figured it out.” Turning toward the guards, she instructed them to return Venora’s patient to his quarters—albeit under close watch—as soon as the doctor declared it safe to do so. Then she turned on her heel and exited into the dimly lit corridor.

“So you need my help, Commander,” Tchev said. He sat across the table from Donatra, where the faint lighting did little to obscure his snaggly brown teeth. “And rather desperately, too, I gather. Delightful.” His voice dripped with a liberal mixture of sarcasm and smugness.

Donatra wanted to get out of her chair and kick those vile teeth straight down his throat. Instead, she contented herself with silently grinding her own molars. Why did I permit Venora to persuade me to grant these Klingon animals the dignity of guest quarters? They deserve nothing more than to be penned like the beasts they are.

Of course, each of those guest quarters was being guarded very carefully by the Valdore’s vigilant security officers. And Donatra had made no effort to conceal that fact from the Klingons, who would doubtless have tried to move against the Valdore’s crew had their confinement depended upon the ship’s currently de-powered security forcefields. Further, granting them the status of untrustworthy guests, rather than prisoners, at least kept them from attempting ritual suicide, as their sense of honor demanded.

Leaning forward across the table, she said. “You would appear to have little choice other than to cooperate with us, Captain Tchev. Otherwise, both the Dughand the Valdorewill slowly spiral into the center of the spatial rift. My staff is all but certain this would destroy both our vessels.” Or what’s left of them,she amended in silence.

He grinned as he leaned back in his chair, hooking his thumbs in his ornate metal baldric. “And that frightens you.” It was not a question.

Ofcourse it frightens me,she thought, wondering yet again how such pathological people had been able to build and maintain their civilization, such as it was, for so many centuries. Akhh, who but an imbecilicdha’rudh wouldnot fear and seek to avoid an entirely unnecessary and completely avoidable death?

“The strain of rescuing your vessel in our current damaged state has cost us most of our power couplings and virtually all of an already-depleted coolant supply, Captain.”

He made a single “tsk” sound and glowered from beneath his heavy brow. “A shame.”

Donatra mustered every iota of determination she possessed to keep her tone calm and even. “We cannot hope to safely maintain our singularity drive without additional coolant supplies. And our scans show that your ship still has large quantities of the materials we need in order to get under way.”

Tchev leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. His unfriendly grin broadened further. “So why tell me? Why not simply board the Dughand take what you need?”

Donatra felt her anger nearing its boiling point. “Because I wouldn’t know in advance where all the booby traps are, Captain.”

He looked impressed, though his insufferable grin remained. “You surprise me, Commander. Not that I didn’t expect you to beg for my assistance. However, I had assumed you would insist on discovering our antipersonnel countermeasures the hard way.”

She stood. “That’s still an option, Captain. If both gentle persuasion and our mind-scanning equipment prove ineffective, that is. But in that event, I think I would have to insist that you and your people walk the rest of the way home from here.”

Tchev’s grin collapsed into a more appropriately businesslike expression. After all, there had to be somerational limits to the innate Klingon propensity for empty bluster.

“Very well, Commander Donatra,” said Tchev, a gratifying growl thrumming beneath his words. “Only a fool fights in a burning house. And only an idiotic Duy’would meekly allow that house to burn down around his head.”

Frane was relieved to discover that the almost lightless cabin to which the guards had escorted him contained all four of his fellow Seekers After Penance. Though each of them appeared justifiably apprehensive, none appeared to have suffered any serious injuries. Even the multipartite Lofi seemed to have all but completely recovered from the shock of having been teleported piecemeal from the evacuation capsule.

He was surprised, however, when the guards returned within a few hours to escort him away yet again. At least they had let him recover and don his pilgrim’s robe. And they had made no attempt to take the story bracelet from him again. Still apprehensive that the guards might change their minds about that, he kept the bracelet out of sight, tucked into the front pocket of his robe where he could feel its stones and shells and beads whenever he felt the need. For some reason, it reassured him, as though its very presence could somehow keep him safe. Of course, that notion hadn’t worked very well for his father.

Soon Frane was even more nonplussed to discover himself being escorted into what could only be the main control room of this vast ship of war. Commander Donatra was seated in the raised, thronelike chair at the brightly lit room’s center, while at least half a dozen dark-haired, pale-skinned elves— Romulans,he corrected himself—busied themselves at various duty stations. The wide viewer that dominated the front of the chamber displayed a broad, brilliant image of the energy tendrils that made up the mysterious substance of the Sleeper.

Donatra turned her seat toward him, perhaps alerted to his entrance by her sensitive-looking pointed ears. “Ah, Mr. Frane. Welcome to my bridge.”

He nodded to her, hoping she would regard the gesture as a courteous one. “Thank you. It’s very impressive.” His tail switched behind him involuntarily, until he forced it to remain still.