But Vance felt confident that his crew would forget whatever the Vulcans were up to here within a few short days, once the Maruwas engaged in another cargo run to some other, less perilously located world. Even Stiles would no doubt forgive all, should he ever discover the truth, once he received his share of the handsome profit the current Gamma Hydra run had already generated.

Vance selected a slimming, dark purple set of breeches and a full‑sleeved maroon shirt. He held them up against himself and noted with pleasure how nicely they complemented his straight black hair and olive‑gold skin.

“Are you even paying attentionto what Im saying, Vance? Searles asked.

Vance turned, suddenly remembering the presence of the engineer in his room, and regarded her with a smile he hoped she would consider charming. “Of course,Jackie. You were chattering on again, something about not liking the technology were carrying for the Vulcans.

Searles balled her hands up into clawed fists and growled, clearly exasperated. “Essentially, yes, that is what I was saying. The Vulcans keep quote helping unquote my engineering staff with quote multiple system upgrades unquote, but it seems to me that all theyre doing is further screwing up our already overtaxed systems. Yes, were heading toward our destination faster,but the warp core is running wickedhot, Vance. And were having a lot of system glitches as well. Plus, the stuff in the Vulcans shipping crates may be the source of the strange, low‑level radiation my people have been picking up on the internal scanners. Its making everyone very uncomfortable.

Vance frowned as he pulled the stitching at the waist of his pirate breeches tight, making sure not to catch anything important in the loops as he cinched them tighter. “Why would this radiation youre picking up necessarily have anything to do with the Vulcans or their matйriel? I love her like I love myself, but the Maruis alwaysspringing a leak in some system or other. I mean no offense to your skills, Jackie, but the old girl is perpetually in need of somerepair or other. He paused, then added with a flourish, “Unlike myself.

“I just want Searles frowned, seemingly searching very hard for the right words. “Can you just keep the Vulcans outof my engine room, please?

“All right, Vance said, pulling the shirt on over his head. The satin felt smooth against his skin, luxurious. “Ill ask them to stay away. As long as youkeep things running smoothly and make sure we get there in record time.

He crossed back to the bed, where he laid a hand on the sleeping Oranas rump. “I notice that you seemed to favor thissight more than my own impressive Davidesque nakedness. Would you like a quick taste, my dear, to make the more prosaic chores of the rest of your day more bearable? I must say, its done wonders for me.

Searles extended her right hand toward him, middle finger defiantly raised, even as she turned and slammed her other hand into the wall‑mounted hatch‑control mechanism.

As the door slid open and she stalked out of the room, Vance chuckled quietly. What a waste of a perfectly good offer,he thought. It would have been fun to watch, if nothing else.

After all, one of the benefits of being master and commander of the Kobayashi Maruwas that the position afforded him the means of enjoying life to its fullestso long as nothing interrupted the incoming revenue stream, and naysayers like Stiles and Searles didnt keep the Maruin dry dock rather than out among the stars, earning more of the stuff that made life worth living. And enjoying life was something Kojiro Vance intended to go right on doing.

No matter whocame out on top in the Vulcans clandestine struggle against the Romulans and the Klingons for the reins of galactic power.

FORTY

Romulan Scoutship Drolae

E FFECTIVELY OUT OF OPTIONS, Trip could think of little to do other than to continue staring out the forward window at the angry glow of the approaching bird‑of‑preys main disruptor tube. Only occasionally did he allow his gaze to flick momentarily down to his engineering displays.

The relentless downward progression of Romulan numeric pictographs on the console put him in mind of an hourglass whose sands had all but run out. Whether incoming Romulan disruptor fire killed him, or the sudden, explosive release of the mutually annihilative particles that powered the crippled scout vessel, he knew he would soon be very dead.

Dead for real this time, with no fakery involved.

Good thing TPol and I got to say good‑bye properly instead of just doing that hand‑jive the Vulcans do,he thought.

A disruptor pistol lay in his lap, against the remote possibility that the Romulans might somehow detect and undo his attempt to scuttle the Drolaeprior to boarding her. He wished hed taken a phase pistol from Shuttlepod Twohe far preferred a weapon with a stun settingbut he couldnt risk allowing an Earth weapon to fall into Romulan hands, which was almost certain to happen once the Drolaewas boarded. But so far, hed seen no evidence that the warship out there was attempting either to transmit helm override signals or to send over a boarding team.

Just as the countdown entered its final minute, Trip suddenly noticed a tingling sensation that made him imagine thousands of overly caffeinated ants running frantically all over his skin. In the same instant, a shimmering curtain of light revealed the cause of the weird sensation.

Transporter beam. Damn it!

The cockpit of the Drolaeswiftly vanished around him, to be replaced a few heartbeats later by the cold greenish metal walls of a narrow, utilitarian chamber. Trip fell with a hard thump to the unyielding surface beneath him, the contoured pilots chair that had been supporting his weight evidently having remained aboard the scoutship. As he scrambled to reach the disruptor that had transported with him, a pair of grim‑faced Romulan uhlans, both brandishing gleaming disruptor pistols of their own, stepped quickly up onto the small circular stage upon which Trip had just materialized.

“I suppose youre gonna take me to your leader now, Trip said as the guards flanked him, kicked his weapon out of reach, and hauled him roughly to his feet. The only response the unsmiling pair made was to hold his arms behind his back as they shoved him toward an open hatchway.

Trip worried he might suffer a dislocated shoulder as they frog‑marched him along the narrow curve of a conduit‑lined accessway. A seeming eternity later, they pushed him into another chamber not much wider than the room in which Trip had materialized.

Trip immediately sized up the cramped but roughly circular place as the bridge. The chamber was built around a central pillar that served as an anchor for a compact array of consoles and viewers that faced outward to a ring of similar equipment that lined the curved walls. A handful of purposeful‑looking Romulan military officers were distributed around various control stations, occupied with the familiar moment‑to‑moment business of keeping a starship flying.

Trip looked toward the back of the command chair that was positioned just forward of the rooms central pillar. A male Romulan officer sat there, as still as a marble sculpture, perhaps transfixed by the large forward viewer before him. The screen displayed an image of the Drolae,adrift and broken. Rode hard and put away wet,Trip thought, grateful that the battered little ship hadnt given up the ghost at an earlier, less opportune time.

“The scout vessels warp‑core pressure is still heading toward critical, Commander, said a young woman who was posted at one of the portside consoles.