For probably the tenth time, Harriman checked the setting on his phaser, then adjusted the tricorder he carried on a strap over his shoulder. Fifteen of his crewmates stood in a semicircle beside him, and another, Ensign Gabe Márquez, stood studying a console a few meters in front of him. They all waited for the signal that they hoped would come from Lieutenant Bexx or one of her engineering crew.

They did not have to wait long.

Ensign Márquez said nothing as Harriman saw him suddenly move into action. The ensign rapidly and silently worked the controls of the cargo transporter.

A moment later, Harriman dematerialized.

“Admiral,” the tactical officer said, “the radiation on the Starfleet vessel just dissipated.”

Vokar sat forward in his command chair, concern unfurling within him like a flag before the wind. “All at once?” he asked.

“No, not all of it,” the officer said. “There continues to be radiation around where our disruptor bolts landed. But the rest of it—”

“Shields up,” he yelled, understanding the deception that had taken place. “Lock weapons on the Starfleet ship. Destroy it.”

“Admiral,” the weapons officer said, “our boarding parties are over there.”

“Do it,” Vokar yelled.

But then the whine of a transporter filled the Daamibridge.

As soon as he saw Romulan personnel, Harriman felt a powerful urge to squeeze the trigger of his phaser. His desire for retribution almost overwhelmed him, the image of Captain Linneus being thrown into space a haunting memory that he knew would never leave him. But vengeance would not serve the captain, Harriman understood, or any of the others who had lost their lives aboard Hunley.What Captain Linneus would have wanted, more than anything else, would have been the safety of the rest of his crew.

At the far end of the bridge, a Romulan officer dashed toward a door. “Stop,” Harriman called, and he leveled a phaser shot past the man, careful to aim away from any consoles; he could not risk damaging the bridge controls he would likely need. The beam streaked into the bulkhead beside the door and erupted in a shower of sparks. The Romulan stopped.

Harriman’s crewmates quickly fanned out. Four took up positions beside the bridge exits—two monitoring each door—and the others covered each of the seven Romulans present, moving them away from their stations. One Romulan did not sit at a console, but in a large, raised chair at the aft end of the bridge. As he stepped down onto the decking at the point of a phaser, Harriman strode over to stand before him. “Are you the captain of this ship?” he asked, even as he noticed the uniform insignia denoting the rank of admiral.

“I am,” the Romulan said in a voice unambiguously defiant. “I am Vokar.” Much shorter and thinner than Harriman, the Romulan nevertheless cast a strong aura of authority. His gray eyes held on Harriman’s face, the intensity of the admiral’s stare conveying the fury he clearly felt.

Ire rose within Harriman, his craving for vengeance surging again. The notion that this Romulan who stood before him felt angry for having been prevented from exterminating the rest of the Hunleycrew, this Romulan who had already overseen the unprovoked and unnecessary deaths of Captain Linneus and the others—the very idea enraged Harriman. In a flash of bitterness, he pictured himself raising his phaser to Vokar’s head and applying pressure to the trigger.

Harriman looked away, almost unable to contain the emotions roiling within him. Trying to focus on his duties, he lifted his tricorder and, his phaser still in his other hand, carefully worked the controls. The display blinked to life, and told Harriman that Daami’s shields were up, as he’d suspected they would be. He had considered attempting to beam Daami’s entire crew from their ship once the Romulans had lowered shields to transport their boarding parties—and as soon as the radiation had subsequently cleared aboard Hunley—but there wouldn’t have been enough time to transport all four hundred before they had managed to raise shields again.

Harriman looked back up at Vokar. “Where are the shield controls?” he asked.

Vokar glared at Harriman. “There is an old Romulan saying that tells that if all around you lies in ruins, either fault yourself, or seek the serpent. Are you the serpent?”

Harriman said nothing. Instead, he turned and walked over to the freestanding console that sat between Vokar’s command chair and the forward viewscreen. As he did, he peered up at the viewer, and saw the image of Hunleydrifting through space, battered and seemingly beaten. But Lieutenant Bexx had assured him that her engineering team would need only an hour or two to restore warp power, and so the ship would soon be on its way back to the Federation.

From the markings on its controls, Harriman identified the first console he examined as hosting a combination of helm and navigation functions. He quickly moved to the freestanding consoles rimming the bridge, studying the Romulan symbols on them. The fourth panel he came to appeared to contain tactical controls, and Harriman soon found characters spelling out SHIELD FUNCTION. He reached forward and touched the deactivation switch, then checked his tricorder again. Finally, he raised his wrist and spoke into the communicator he wore there. “Harriman to Bexx,” he said.

“This is Bexx,”the engineer responded.

“Lieutenant, we’ve lowered the shields on the Romulan ship,” he said. “You can begin transport.” The Romulans would be beamed, sans any weapons they carried, into Hunley’s cargo holds, where they would be restrained by the ship’s heavily armed crew. They would be held there until Hunleyreached a Federation starbase.

“Understood,”Bexx said, relief evident in her voice.

“Wait,” Vokar said, the word delivered as though the admiral were still in command.

Curious, Harriman said into his communicator, “Lieutenant, transport the bridge crew last.”

“Aye, aye,”Bexx said.

Harriman walked back over to Admiral Vokar, waiting for him to continue. But Vokar only glared at him, his hatred readily apparent. Again, Harriman felt the rush of his own powerful emotions, and found himself not just wanting to shoot the admiral, but to throw him to the deck and beat him.

Vokar stared at Harriman without saying anything for long seconds, and Harriman quickly tired of whatever game the admiral was playing. He had started to move away when Vokar finally spoke again.

“Kill me,” he said simply.

Harriman thought he understood. Although little information had come out of the Romulan Empire in the decade and a half since contact had been reestablished with them—the Romulans had essentially isolated themselves in the century after the Earth-Romulan war—Starfleet Command had drawn some conclusions about the Imperial Fleet. When faced with the possible capture of their vessels, Romulan commanders had, on at least three occasions, chosen instead to destroy their own ships. And while Vokar did not have the capability of taking such action now, he clearly did not want to have to face the consequences of losing his vessel to Starfleet.

With the condition of Hunley,though, and the apparent claim to this space by the Romulans, Harriman would not risk towing Daamiback to the Federation. Nor would he even spend the time here that it would require to download Daami’s files, as much as it might have benefited Starfleet to have such information. Instead, he would order Hunley’s phasers trained on the Romulan vessel once it had been emptied of its crew.

He said none of this to Vokar, though, discovering that he had nothing at all that he wanted to say to this thug. He turned away, intentionally showing the admiral his back.

“Kill me!” Vokar roared, his tone one of command.