Stardate 75847.1; November 06, 2398
Episode 92
Edited by Peter Bossley
Written by Chris Adamek
ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS
Overseer Artanis
Underling Hajal
Commander Jerras
Commander
Stephanie Kerrigan
President Ghodan
Makar
Cadet Patrick
McCormick
Admiral Alexis O’Connor
Justin Reinbold
Underling Tassadar
Lieutenant Jayla
Trinn
Praetor Tomalak
Overseer Zeratul
Prologue
The hour was late.
Praetor Tomalak knew not how many hours had elapsed since the
daylight surrendered to darkness. As he
lay in his bed, peering into the abyss, it certainly felt like an entire
eternity had passed—but that was little more than fantastical posturing. The more analytical portion of Tomalak’s
mind knew that no more than three or four hours had passed—and as long as those
analytical thoughts raced through his mind, Tomalak knew that sleep would continue
to elude him.
He wearily closed his eyes and focused all his mental energies on
darkness before him. There was nothing
to be seen; nothing to be heard; nothing to be analyzed. There was nothing but shadow and dark,
welcoming him into a restful slumber.
Or not.
Relaxed as he was, Tomalak found his eyes—in utter defiance of his
very soul—eager to open up. On this
long night, they were not willing accept sleep as a valid activity. Tomalak realized he could force the issue;
there were more than likely a few mild sedatives somewhere around his home… and
if not, this bout of insomnia was nothing a decent cup of vala juice
couldn’t cure.
Slowly, Tomalak sat up in his bed to ponder his next course of
action. The computer, detecting the
movement, brought a few dim lights online—mainly candles—providing the Praetor
with just enough illumination to scurry to the kitchen for a cup of juice—or
perhaps to realize the true extent of his quagmire.
In the past, when faced with a difficult decision, Tomalak would
confer with his mate; he would share all the burdens hanging over his head, and
together, they would come to an acceptable decision. But as the gentle illumination fell upon his pillow, Tomalak duly
noted that he was alone. There was so
much on his mind—it felt as if the weight of the Romulan Empire was on his
shoulders—but there was nobody there to share in Tomalak’s burden. Soon, he feared, his strength just might
falter…
And suddenly, the computer on Tomalak’s desk chirped a few cold
tones. He immediately realized someone
was contacting him—but who would dare bother the Praetor at this late
hour? There was only one way to find
out.
Tomalak rose from his bed, slipped into the silky gray robe draped
over his desk, and then tapped a short sequence of commands into the
computer. The Romulan Empire’s emblem
flitted briefly across the screen before his newly installed communication
system projected an image of Commander Jerras at the foot of his bed.
“Praetor,” she said, tugging gently at her uniform, “forgive the
intrusion.”
“Oh, it is hardly an inconvenience, Jerras.” Tomalak smiled faintly. The sight of Jerras in his bedroom was more
than a little awkward—and watching her effortlessly stroll through some of his
furniture was even more disorienting.
Whatever happened to the days of simple viewscreens? Tomalak supposed those days faded right
along with the simple existence of the Romulan Empire. “I assume you have news?”
Jerras nodded sternly, and for the briefest of moments, her gaze
locked with Tomalak’s—and in that instant, her placid silver eyes betrayed
every shred of discipline in her petite body—something was wrong. She swallowed hard. “Federation forces just broke through our
defense perimeter near the Trìkkala Pulsar.”
In that instant, a flood of questions stormed through Tomalak’s
racing mind. He very quickly sorted
through the more pertinent ones before suddenly hearing himself ask, “How many
dead?”
Jerras frowned. “At least
three thousand,” she solemnly replied.
“Thankfully, early reports indicate there are likely thousands of
survivors—they have probably been taken captive by the Federation, but at least
they are safe.”
If Tomalak had become aware of one thing in recent weeks, it was
that safe was a relative term.
“None of us are truly safe,” he whispered. “What of the Federation fleet?”
“Six hundred nineteen Federation starships are presently en route
to Talon IV,” gleaned Jerras from some unseen computer terminal. “They outnumber us nearly six to one.”
Tomalak shuddered at the news.
Even with the help of the Tholians, there was no way the Romulans could
ever hope to overpower a fleet of that size.
Surrender was certainly a viable option; it would save countless lives
on both sides of the conflict—but would mean the end of the Romulan Star
Empire. “How much time do we have to
prepare?”
“At least two days,” said Jerras.
Tomalak was surprised.
Even at moderate warp speeds, the Trìkkala Pulsar was barely six hours
from Talon IV. “Why the delay?”
“Our intelligence reports indicate the Federation fleet is
regrouping. The fleet sustained
moderate damage during the battle. Our
fallen comrades may have bought us some time.”
“The question is,” continued Tomalak, “will it be enough?”
Jerras considered the question for a long moment. There were undoubtedly a few decent plans
churning in her mind, but when her lips parted to deliver her response, her
image froze—and then flickered away.
Tomalak immediately glanced back at his computer screen for an
explanation, but much to his chagrin, it was blank. He frowned. “A standard
communication system would have sufficed,” he mused. He tapped at the controls,
hoping to reestablish the connection with Jerras—but the darkness prevailed.
Suddenly, glint of azure light caught Tomalak’s eye. He glanced up from his work and peered out
the open window, his eyes grazing the starry night just in time to see a great
arc of dazzling blue energy shatter the placid night. As the energy field roared overhead, everything seemed to tremor…
The desk wiggled, the computer rattled, the elegant curtains
wavered in the night. Outside, Tomalak
could hear the constant rustling of trees and leaves. It felt like a mild earthquake, gradually shaking every rational
thought from Tomalak’s mind until nothing was left but the nervous ball of fear
gnawing at his stomach.
But then, just as quickly as it started, the shaking stopped—and
cold, ominous wind floated into Tomalak’s candlelit bedroom. The bitter breeze gently wrapped itself
around the Praetor’s body, embracing him like a lover—but whispering poison
into his ears. A chill crawled down his
spine, and he quickly moved to close the window and shield himself from the
breeze, but a sudden gust—the electrical storm’s last wicked gasp— extinguished
every last candle in the room, leaving Tomalak in utter darkness.
The hour was late, he realized, and from this long night,
there would be no morning’s dawn…