Harriman turned back to face the admiral. Then he raised his phaser, pointed it at Vokar’s chest, and fired.

Vokar awoke slowly. He felt disoriented, unsure of where he was, or even of what he’d been doing before falling asleep. A vague recollection of being aboard Daamirose in his mind, but he could not—

It all came rushing back.

Vokar opened his eyes, wanting to know where he was. He lay on his back, and light glared on a clear pane several centimeters above his face. To either side, and down past his feet and above his head, the walls of a container surrounded him. Vokar recognized Federation markings, and although he’d never seen the UFP version of the device in which he now lay, it bore enough of a resemblance to its Romulan counterpart that he knew what it was: a stasis chamber. An emergency medical device, the unit was most often utilized to keep an injured individual in a state of suspended animation until they could receive medical treatment. It apparently also functioned effectively as a prison cell.

The Starfleet officer—Harriman—had shot him, but obviously hadn’t killed him. Worse, Harriman had made him a prisoner of the Federation. Rage coursed through his body, and he felt his hands clench into fists. At the earliest opportunity, he would find a Federation throat and choke it until—

The clear panel above him began to move, retracting into one side of the stasis chamber. Now,Vokar thought, realizing that his opportunity had come sooner than he could have hoped. A shadow fell across him, and he tensed, waiting to see the face of the Federation citizen he would kill.

“Get up,” a man’s voice said in a cold tone.

Vokar reached up to the sides of the chamber and slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position. He turned, ready to leap at the first person he saw. Somebody moved into his line of vision, but as Vokar set to act, he saw something that stopped him: a Romulan Imperial Fleet uniform. Slowly, he tilted his head up to look at the narrow face and hard features of the man who wore it, a man he knew well.

“Get up,” Admiral Hiren said again, and he stepped forward and threw the back of his hand across Vokar’s face.

Vokar’s head snapped to the side, and he felt the flesh of his cheek open beneath what must have been a ring on one of Hiren’s fingers. The pain fueled his anger, not for the Romulan admiral who had just struck him, but for the Starfleet officer who had put him in this situation. He looked back up at the unforgiving expression on Hiren’s face, and saw two security guards standing behind the admiral.

Vokar knew that he still lived only because of his connections in the Romulan Senate. He must have been returned to the Empire, perhaps exchanged for one of the Federation spies recently unmasked, who’d been kept alive specifically to be used for such a purpose. And the Federation had probably believed that the Imperial Fleet would punish Vokar far more than they ever would.

And they would have been right.

“Get up,” Hiren said again, and he reached forward and grabbed Vokar by the front of his uniform. Hiren pulled him from the stasis unit and threw him across the room. “Get up,” the admiral repeated. “Get up, Sublieutenant.”

The last word chilled Vokar, telling him his future: he would be made to remain in the Imperial Fleet, reduced in rank and carrying the burden and shame of his failure with him. His ties in the Senate had spared his life, but that would not necessarily be preferable to the fate to which he had now been consigned.

“Get up, Sublieutenant,” the admiral said again, striding across the room toward Vokar. Hiren did not stop saying it for hours.

Minus Four: Cloak

Sulu entered the Enterprisebridge a few minutes before the change of shift. For days, she’d been intending to speak with Ensign Fenn about what had happened to her—about the section of chitin that had fallen from Borona’s finger. Sulu knew that such a loss of exomembrane by a Frunalian often signaled the preliminary stages of what they called the Shift. And while she couldn’t understand what it would be like to face such a metamorphosis, she had seen the expression of fear Fenn had worn when confronted with the prospect. Sulu had been concerned about the young woman, and she’d wanted to make sure that Fenn would be all right.

After the Universetragedy, though, Sulu’s attentions had been diverted in other directions. In addition to dealing with her own grief, she’d been trying to assist the crew with theirs. She’d also been worried about the captain, who not only had the weight of the entire crew’s troubles on his shoulders, but who carried sizable trouble of his own: though he was no longer comatose, Admiral Harriman’s condition had improved no further.

As Sulu walked around the raised perimeter of the bridge, passing behind Lieutenant Tenger and Lieutenant Kanchumurthi at the tactical-and-communications console, she saw the captain glance over his shoulder at her from the command chair. He nodded a greeting to her, and she returned the gesture. As Sulu circled past the port-side turbolift, Ensign Fenn looked up with both eyes from the sciences station. “Hi, Borona,” Sulu said.

“Commander,” Fenn replied. “I was about to contact you. I detected another occurrence of the dispersion in the navigational deflector.”

“Were you able to track it down?” Sulu asked. She noticed a bandage wrapped around Fenn’s wounded digit.

“No,” the ensign said. “The effect lasted less than a second. But I’ve set up some monitoring programs, and they had enough time to eliminate some systems as the cause of the problem: the warp drive and impulse engines, sensors, and environmental control.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Sulu said with a wry smile. “Maybe in another year and a half, we’ll actually figure out what the source of the dispersion is, rather than what it isn’t.” Realizing that her statement could be construed as criticism, which she had not intended, Sulu added, “Good work, Borona.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Sulu paused, allowing a moment for her to alter the course of the discussion. “Did you see Dr. Morell about what happened?” she asked, pointing offhandedly toward the bandage around Fenn’s finger.

“Yes, I did,” Borona said, but then she said nothing more.

“I don’t mean to pry if you don’t want to discuss it,” Sulu said. “I just wanted to make sure that you were all right.”

“No, no,” Fenn said, somewhat hastily. “I mean, yes, I’m all right.” She peered down at her hand, splaying her fingers as she did so. “I’m beginning the Shift.” Fenn looked back up. “I thought Dr. Morell would have told you.”

“She’s probably informed the captain,” Sulu guessed. “Are you in any pain?”

“The doctor prescribed some Frunalian medication for me,” Fenn said. “I think she’s been prepared for this to happen.”

“Dr. Morell is nothing if not attentive to the needs of the crew,” Sulu agreed. “How long will it be?”

“The doctor estimates I won’t begin the main phase of the Shift for another eighteen to twenty weeks,” Fenn said. She looked down, apparently embarrassed. “I’ll need to take a leave of absence before then,” she said. “In about fourteen weeks.”

Sulu knew that Frunalians never allowed themselves to undergo their metamorphosis off of their planet. “It’s all right, Borona,” she said, attempting to reassure her. “Your position as science officer will be here when you return.”

“Yes, Commander,” Fenn said, nodding. Although she did not appear to disbelieve what Sulu had said, she still seemed troubled by what lay ahead for her.