As he rose to go check on Lieutenant Grinager, movement on the viewscreen—amazingly still intact and functioning—caught his attention. The viewer, continuing to track Daami,showed the Romulan vessel approaching Dakota.Harriman knew that the freighter carried no weapons of any kind, and that beyond navigational deflectors, it flew essentially undefended. The ship’s crew of thirty-nine men and women had met danger here because they’d had the simple misfortune of traveling the same flight path they’d plied dozens of times previously, without knowing that the Romulans had decided without warning to claim the surrounding space for their own. Nor had the crew of Dakotabeen permitted to correct their unwitting trespass, their vessel striking a Romulan mine and losing warp capability in the process. Hunleyhad responded to their distress call, but Daamihad arrived on the scene before long, declaring the two Federation vessels to be in violation of their sovereign territory. Captain Linneus had not disputed the unforeseen assertion, instead asking only for the opportunity to repair Dakotaand escort it back to Federation space. The Romulans had replied with the full force of their disruptors on Hunley.

The ensuing battle had been relatively one-sided, the light cruiser Hunleyoutgunned and outperformed by the larger, faster, newer Daami.The Starfleet vessel had also been hampered by the need to protect Dakota,Harriman knew; fortunately, Captain Linneus had been wise enough to transport the freighter’s crew off of their ship, although lowering Hunley’s shields had cost the ship some disruptor-inflicted damage. Only the command and combat skills of the captain had prolonged the confrontation for as long as it had lasted. Hunleyhad even managed to inflict its own share of damage on the Romulan ship.

Harriman watched as the blue pulse of disruptor bolts flashed across the screen. Dakotatook hits amidships first, in the middle of its long cylindrical cargo container. Then Daami’s assault widened, blasting at the small control structure at the bow of the ship, and at the lone warp nacelle. Harriman saw the control center break off from the ship, followed by the warp engine. The great bulk of the cargo container split in two, and then an explosion flared, encompassing all of Dakota.When the light dimmed, only Daamiand a field of wreckage remained.

Harriman tore his gaze from the viewscreen and moved toward the supine figure of Lieutenant Grinager. As he approached her, he saw blood seeping from her nose, but he also saw her chest rising and falling: she was alive. He bent down beside her and tried gently to wake her, but she did not stir. He got up and went over to the tactical station, where he touched a control to open a communications channel. “Lieutenant Harriman to sickbay,” he said, his voice sounding strange to him on the still bridge. He waited for a response, and when none came, he tried again. “Harriman to sickbay.” Then: “Harriman to engineering,” and “Harriman to environmental control.” Nothing.

He looked over at the viewscreen, and saw Daamiturn and start back toward Hunley.

His mind raced as he bent to scoop up Grinager in his arms. Pain exploded in his left shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore it. He felt sweat cold on his face as he carried the lieutenant to the port turbolift. He wanted to get medical aid for her, but more important, he wanted to get to the rest of the crew and help them find a means of repelling the Romulans. At the Academy, he had studied the mysterious and secretive empire in depth, furthering a curiosity first provoked by his father’s stories of the Earth-Romulan war; Blackjack had heard the stories himself from his own father, who had lived through the conflict as a boy.

Stepping carefully past the body of the dead woman, Harriman stopped short at the turbolift doors, which did not open as he neared them. The lifts would have shut down automatically, Harriman realized, once the bridge had been compromised. Without hesitation, he turned and kicked at the knockout panel beside the turbolift. The small emergency door swung open on its hinges, revealing an access tube beyond it. He knew he could not carry Lieutenant Grinager in the cramped shaft, so he squatted and laid her back down on the decking, the pain in his shoulder easing dramatically once it had been freed of its burden. As soon as he could— ifhe could—he would send help back to her.

Before Harriman entered the access tube, he took one last look at the viewscreen. Daamidrew nearer. The Romulan crew would not destroy Hunley,Harriman knew; they would want the Starfleet vessel for their own. Doubtless having jammed Captain Linneus’s messages to Starfleet, the Romulans would count on Hunley—and Dakota—being presumed lost, with no apparent causes.

But Harriman also knew another fact about the Romulans, something he had heard numerous times, not just aboard Hunleyand back at the Academy, but throughout his entire life. Even back in his childhood, Blackjack had uttered the phrase to him.

Romulans don’t take captives.

Vokar sat in his command chair, raised above the level of the bridge around him. On the viewscreen, the Federation vessel slowly rotated, more or less along a line running from port side forward to starboard aft. The ship looked dead, a dark, worthless carcass, easily defeated by the might of the Empire, and now a mute witness to the superiority of the Romulan people.

Except that Hunleywould not be worthless. Collected and taken home to Romulus, the Starfleet vessel would provide insight not only into Federation technology, but also into the culture of their military. The Empire had waged a war against Earth more than a century ago, but contemporary contacts with the Federation had been few; reliable information about the UFP was therefore considered a valuable commodity. Vokar had even heard rumors recently that there had been deliberation at the highest levels of the Imperial Fleet about capturing Starfleet personnel, should the opportunity arise, for the purpose of prolonged interrogation. But no such orders had come down to Vokar, and he would carry out his duty as current fleet policy dictated.

“Still no response, Admiral,” announced the communications officer, who had been attempting for several minutes to open a channel to Hunley.“I can’t be sure that they’re receiving us because of the radiation.” When Daamihad returned to the Starfleet vessel, sensors had revealed low-level radiation distributed throughout much of the ship, likely a result of the disruptor strikes. Just as the radiation inhibited sensor scans, it might also be interfering with communications.

“Voldat,” Vokar said, calling to his first officer. The elder, graying centurion, slightly thick through the middle, appeared immediately to Vokar’s right, almost as though he had transported there.

“Yes, Admiral,” Voldat said crisply.

“How many are still left alive aboard that ship?” Vokar asked, preparing the endgame with Hunley.

“Indeterminate overall,” Voldat said. “Our scans cannot penetrate the radiation, which has spread through ninety percent of the ship. But prior to our last assault, sensors detected two hundred thirty-one life signs.”

“And how many would you estimate now?” Vokar asked.

Voldat peered at the viewscreen, clearly to assess the damage that Daamihad inflicted on the Starfleet vessel. Numerous dark patches marred the silvery-white surface of the ship’s main body, a circular structure twelve decks deep, and the bridge had been opened to space. “I would approximate twenty-five to seventy-five dead.”

“Leaving at least one hundred fifty,” Vokar said. “Section the cargo holds to confine ten to an area, then transport them over. Identify the highest-ranking officers so that I can question them before we put them to death.”