Picard channeled every joule of emergency power to the transporter, taking care to leave the structural integrity field in place. Obediently, the transporter controls lit up. Fortunately, he still had a lock on Beverly’s coordinates, and had stayed within nominal transporter range of them.

But he could also see that the transporter’s power level had fallen far below safe operational levels. There was no power to spare anything else now, even life support. It was going to be close.

He checked the transporter’s scanner, which again showed evidence of tetryons. Beverly had evidently beamed into a tetryon‑free “shadow” located in the very heart of the most abundant tetryon activity in the rebel base.

Which told Picard what he could expect to find at the beam‑down site: Romulans.

Picard left his flight seat long enough to grab a hand phaser from the weapons locker. He entered the “ energize” command and shut off every other onboard system.

The hull creaked and groaned, and one of the braces let go with a loud snap. As the light from the transporter began cascading around him, something slammed very hard into the Kepler.His ears popped as the cabin’s atmosphere vented into the chill Chiarosan night.

A gale‑force, ionized wind ripped the shuttle’s hull apart as though it were nothing more than an autumn leaf.

* * *

Hawk was relieved beyond words when Riker’s appraisal of the Chiarosans turned out to be correct; when they’d seen their unconscious leader being spirited away by ten heavily armed Starfleet officers, the Chiarosans had made no move to bar their way to the hangar facility, nor did they pretend ignorance about the location of the Romulan vessel Hawk’s tricorder had detected. After Zweller had made a rather emphatic inquiry into the matter–all the while pointing a beam weapon at the slumbering Grelun’s skull–a Chiarosan technician sullenly punched an authorization code into a console, decloaking a small Romulan scout ship. The vessel’s narrow hatchway now beckoned.

“Scan that ship for Romulans,” Batanides ordered Hawk, who swiftly consulted his tricorder.

After a moment, Hawk shook his head. “I’m picking up too much tetryon activity. It’s jamming my scans.”

“Deanna?” Riker prompted.

Troi closed her eyes, reaching into the small Romulan vessel with her empathic senses. “All I’m picking up right now is a lot of emotional tension,” Troi said. “As though several people were about to engage in combat.”

“Or maybe preparing an ambush?” Zweller ventured.

“Maybe I should knock,” Gomp said, apparently to no one.

Batanides raised her weapon, signaling an end to the debate. “We can’t stay here, people. We’ve no choice but to chance it. Let’s go.” Riker nodded his acknowledgment and took the point, with Zweller and Roget immediately behind him.

Hawk tucked his tricorder away. Muscles straining, he resumed the not inconsiderable task of helping to drag Grelun forward as the group moved across the hangar floor toward the open hatch.

* * *

Picard shook off the slight dizziness he felt when the transporter released him. It had been close, but he was satisfied that he was in one piece.

Phaser drawn, he now stood in what appeared to be an engine room. To his right was what he recognized as a Romulan warp core–obviously the source of the tetryons the Kepler’s sensors had detected. Some five meters away, in a far corner to his left, stood Crusher, surrounded by a trio of armed Romulans, one of whom had just turned in his direction. The doctor saw him as well, and rolled lithely to the deck.

Using the warp core as cover, Picard opened fire.

Riker held his Chiarosan disruptor at eye level as he entered the hatch. He expected to be fired upon at any moment, and was mildly surprised when nothing of the kind happened. As the others followed, Riker led the way into the crew compartment.

It was empty.

Riker heard an electronic hum coming from the forward portion of the vessel. It sounded as though someone were in the process of activating the scout ship’s instruments, perhaps even preparing the vessel for flight. His weapon ready, he moved toward the sound as Zweller, Roget, and Batanides covered his back. Cautiously, Riker stepped through an open hatch and into a small cockpit.

He was shocked to see Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher seated behind the instrument panel, evidently trying to make sense of the Romulan script on the control panels.

Picard looked up and smiled broadly. “What keptyou, Number One?”

Lieutenant Hawk thought that fitting a Tellarite male, a half‑Betazoid woman, eight assorted humans, and an insensate Chiarosan aboard such a small craft might be problematic, but it turned out that there was enough room, after all. But only barely. Hawk accompanied Batanides into the small cockpit, where the admiral had relieved Crusher to allow her to assist Riker, Troi, and Dr. Gomp in tending to a trio of unconscious Romulan technicians. For a moment, Hawk had wondered how much important information the Romulans might reveal–until he considered how crowded the vessel already was. There simply wasn’t enough room to take the Romulans along.

The lieutenant was impressed by how well the admiral knew her way around Romulan instrumentation. It made sense, though; she wasan intelligence officer, after all. Perhaps the study of things Romulan was her specialty. Hawk watched her carefully, memorizing each control she touched, each command sequence she entered.

As Picard and the admiral powered up the little vessel, the Chiarosans scrambled to open the hangar doors for them, apparently unwilling to engage in a game of “chicken,” which would more than likely get their leader killed.

Hawk smiled triumphantly. “We’re actually doing it. We’re getting away.”

“We haven’t gotten away yet,Lieutenant,” Picard said, still working busily alongside the admiral to get the ship moving.

Batanides nodded in agreement with the captain. “They can still chase us. Or even shoot us down, Grelun or no Grelun.”

Seconds later, they were under way. The scout ship ascended quickly into the chill darkness of Nightside. Hawk continued observing and memorizing while the admiral coached Picard on the instrument panel.

“That blue rectangular touchpad beside your right hand should control the cloaking device. Activate it.”

Picard complied, smiling ironically. “I suppose we’re in violation of the Treaty of Algeron now, Admiral.”

She chuckled gently. “I don’t think the Romulan diplomatic corps will be in any position to complain about that, under the circumstances.” Hawk was well aware that under the current Federation–Romulan treaties concerning Chiaros IV, neither side were permitted to conceal either personnel or equipment anywhere on the planet.

He wondered what other secrets the Romulans guarded–and if Zweller had any inkling of what those secrets might be.

The admiral frowned as she stared at a readout. “The cloak’s not working.”

Picard activated the comm system. “Picard to engine room.”

“Hearn here, Captain,” responded the chief engineer of the late starship Slayton.

“The cloaking device is not functioning, Mr. Hearn. We need to engage it immediately.”

“Sorry, Captain, but Commander Roget and I have our hands full right now just keeping the engines operational. The Romulan techs had everything in pieces down here.”

Hawk suddenly became aware of Zweller’s presence behind him. “I know a thing or two about cloaking devices, Marta,” the older man said.

“Then get below and get the damned thing working before they start chasing us.”

Finally seeing an opportunity to speak with Zweller in relative privacy, Hawk turned toward him. “Need a hand, Commander?”

Zweller raised a curious eyebrow.

“I did some . . . extracurricular study on Romulan cloaking technology back at the Academy,” Hawk offered. He looked toward Picard for permission.