A stray thought coalesced into a theory, and he turned to S'Parva. "As soon as he's ambulatory, go ahead and release him. In the meantime, I'll be down in the captain's quarters." But his brows furrowed as he looked more closely at S'Parva. "How long have you been at this anyway?" he asked at last.

The Katellan shrugged, switching off the vid-scanner and moving to Christensen's side. Already he was beginning to awaken. "I forget," she replied finally, managing a smile for the doctor. "But I'd really like to stick it out till the end."

McCoy bounced on his toes. A stubborn Vulcan was bad enough—but S'Parva was, in many ways, the captain's equal. "Well, just don't fall apart on me now," he said with a smile. "I'm going to need your help when the computer spits out a theory on this thing."

"Any theories, Leonard?" S'Parva wondered.

McCoy's brows narrowed as he glanced at Christensen curiously. "Maybe," he conceded, rolling a computer tape over and over in his hand. "But it's still too early to tell." His eyes locked with the Katellan's. "Why don't you shut down the equipment, grab a few hours of sleep, and we'll go at it fresh in the morning." He glanced back at Christensen … and a shiver crawled down his spine. Like looking at Death himself. Still … no point starting a panic. No proof … yet.

He slipped into the corridor, then began to run toward a vacant lift.

Chapter Eight

COMMANDER TAZOL WAS not a patient man.

As the flagship Ravonemerged from hyperspace, approaching the Empire's central command post on Romulus, he tried to suppress the nervousness which had been building steadily in the pit of his stomach since the mission began. He wondered what they would find when the records of First History—the history which had existed beforeintervention into Earth's past—was compared to Second History—the altered history which existed now that the mission was completed.

Already, he could feel the beginnings of a most peculiar displacement as he tried to imagine what the Fleet could be facing if Sarela had been right—if the Empire was as drastically altered as the Federation was supposed to be. If she had been even remotely correct in her theories concerning alteration of the Empire, he wasn't at all certain he wanted to view the Second History records which would be available at Post One. Since the base itself could not be protected from those hypothetical changes, First History would have to be carefully compared with records of the Empire's "now-natural" Second History.

As the Ravonentered orbit, Tazol almost sighed in relief; after Sarela's horror stories, he'd half expected to discover that the Empire itself no longer existed. But the familiar droning voice of Command Central provided orbiting coordinates, welcoming the Praetor's flagship back "home." At least that much was in his favor, and Tazol took the moment to pray to all Romulan gods that his wife had been in error.

Another matter which continued to plague Tazol, however, was that in the six standard days the Praetor had been aboard the Ravon, he had gotten only a glimpse of the legend—and that had been nothing more than a quick glance at a robed and hooded figure. It couldhave been anyone. Carefully surrounded by attendants, slaves and advisers, there was no way to determine who remained anonymous inside those black cloaks. And to add to Tazol's personal misery was the fact that the comparative analysis of First History to Second would require weeks to complete before conquest of Federation territory could even begin. For though alteration of the Federation should subsequently have resulted in the automatic alteration of Romulan territorial boundaries, the Praetor's scientists had pointed out that the paradoxes of time tampering would only open up the possibilities. Conquest—to suit the current needs of the Praetor—would still be required. Tazol scoffed aloud, rubbing a hand through his beard and cursing the intricacies.

It would be a long wait.

Temporarily resigning himself to his plight, he glanced at the young navigator. "Rolash, inform Command Post One that we require a direct tie-in from their main computer system to ours," he said, boredom highlighting his gruff tone and stabbing fiercely through ebony eyes. Mundane scientific duties were best left to mundane scientists; he wondered where Sarela had disappeared to. "But say nothing of the fact that our Fleet has been in hyperspace," he added as an afterthought. "We must not allow our true nature to be discovered until the historical data is analyzed on board this vessel."

Again, he paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "If, after that analysis, we discover no major changes within the Empire, we will follow standard procedure." A devious smile came to his lips. "The Warriors are in need of a diversion, Rolash," he continued at last, "and I can think of no place better than the brothels of Tamsor."

The navigator's expression bordered dangerously on disgust. "Your orders shall be implemented, Commander," he acknowledged nonetheless. As his hands moved over the control panel, connecting the ship's computers in with the central system on Romulus, the bridge doors opened to reveal Sarela.

Without glancing at Tazol, Sarela moved to the science console, slipped into the chair, and inserted the decoding nodule into one neatly tapered ear as she studied the visual readout.

"Our operatives were marginally successful, Commander," she relinquished presently. But a look not unlike fear slowly came to dwell in wide black eyes. "However," she added, "certain changes havebeen affected in the governmental structure of our Empire."

Tazol felt his blood chill. Forcing himself to move at an unconcerned pace, he rose from the command chair and came to stand at his wife's side, gazing down at the data-feed and experiencing an emotion he recognized as anticipation slither through his stomach.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Apparently," Sarela began, "the operatives' success was limited at best. Starfleet does indeed exist … but not as before." She scanned the visual information as quickly as possible, allowing it to advance rapidly over the board. There would be ample time for the Praetor's scientists to analyze it in more detail later.

"One hundred years ago, calculating Romulan time," she recited, "our ships attacked a planet in the Eridani system—Vulcan. However," she added, "due to the fact that minimal research went into the nature of the Vulcans before this Second History attack, it was unknown that they were also a conquering species in their distant past.

"Though their violent tendencies had been curbed with logic and emotional temperance, the survival instinct remained intact. The Vulcans were the first race in Second History who were capable of withstanding the Empire's attack, their scientific knowledge having been in an advanced state at the time of our initial assault. After six months of battle, the Vulcans were successful in infiltrating our attacking forces and seizing control of several Romulan surveillance vessels." She paused, eyes locking with Tazol's fixed stare.

Slowly, the commander's expression mutated to one of denial. Yet he knew he could not dispute what was clearly written in the books of a history he had never experienced. This, then, was Second History.

"Is there more?" he barked, momentarily forgetting to play the role of arrogant disbeliever.

Sarela nodded, eyes returning to the small screen on her panel. "Though their own ships were larger than ours, Vulcan-built vessels were designed primarily for interplanetary travel rather than interstellar. However, they were quick to adapt Romulan stardrive and contact neighboring systems to aid on pushing back warships still being sent from our Empire."