The DrearGyre

away. Then ran from the room. Tolan’s hand flopped to the deck.

  The Romulans whispered amongst themselves, some hiding their laughter.

  The security chief just sneered. “So, what game are you playing, Syll?”

  “No game, security chief. And it is Commander Syll.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Commander Syll of the Tal Shiar. I meant no disrespect.”

  Syll bowed.

  His hands clenched into fists as he turned to his team. “You two. Watch the Human. Kill her if she so much as moves.”

  “Wait!” Kari shouted. “What about this... Tolan?”

  The security chief looked at Syll.

  “The Beloved Nephew has deemed him worthy to die for the quality of his service to him. No Romulan would dare interfere with the wishes of the Beloved Nephew. Saving him would cause him great irritation.”

  She spun on her heel and exited, followed, after a moment, by the security chief.

  Kari looked around. Her ship had fought back. Injured Romulans occupied some of the beds. None had injuries as serious as Tolan’s. He moaned, slipping in and out of consciousness. The universal translator on her communicator could not always tell her what he said.

  One of the medical staff cleared his throat loudly.

  “Sit up,” he ordered his patient. “This male has a nasty gash on his arm.”

  The doctor picked up a device, dialed in a setting, then moved it over the man’s wound. The cut, already cleaned, slowly started to close. He placed the device on the edge of the bed. Then turned knocking it to the floor. He turned again and somehow, the device rolled towards Kari.

  She stared at the device when it came to rest against her knee. The security team looked at her. No one else did. A towel lay on a table within arm’s reach. She took a deep breath then yanked her fingers out of the wound. Blood spurted out soaking the front of her uniform. She grabbed the towel and rammed it over the gash holding it there with one hand. With her free hand, she fumbled with the unfamiliar healer. Her hand slipped from the fresh blood. She flicked it on as she had seen the doctor do, then jerked away the towel to frantically wave the healer over the wound.

  “Slowly, fool!” the doctor yelled at his patient. His patient jumped a little. The doctor had another healer. He moved deliberately over another injury.

  She slowed her movements over the wound. It was working but not very quickly.

  “Your uniform is in the way,” the doctor told his patient. The patient pulled his shirt off.

  The uniform was thick and padded. She did not see how it was undone. Something clattered to the floor. Then a scalpel like knife was kicked her way. She took one of Tolan’s hands and put it on the towel.

  He moved it away. “I do not want to live. She does not love me.”

  “Figured that out did you, you bastard. You murdered my friends.”

  He spat up some blood. His eyes rolled with delirium. “Our Beloved Nephew wanted to take back a Vulcan... Show his relatives. Proof of his courage to penetrate into Federation space. I merely said... I said a Vulcan would be likely found on a science vessel. Thought it was safe to say since... No ships in this sector.” He coughed his laughter. “Until yours dropped out of warp. I am glad to see Federation casualties and to be the source of those deaths. But your choice of place and timing could have been better.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Hold this, moron.” She placed the hand on top of the towel again. He held it this time. She picked up the knife, feeling the tension in the security team ramp up a little. She sliced the uniform from him as quickly as she could. “Couldn’t you have just scanned us?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Even you would have wondered at Romulan sensors here.”

  She grunted in agreement as she moved the healer over the wound.

  “Move your stupid hand.” She leaned forward to inspect her progress and slipped the knife into her sleeve.

  Tolan smirked and shook his head a little. One of the guards leaned over and smacked her on the side of her head with his disruptor. The pain brought tears to her eyes but she refused to cry out. She slipped the knife back out and threw it on the table.

  She worked on the wound again. With the medical staff accidentally helping her, she was able to stabilize his vitals despite him losing consciousness. She kept her hands on the towels which helped slow the blood still seeping from the wound.

  Exhausted. She rested her head on her knee. The gravity here was stronger than she was used to. They also kept it darker than her ship. She surmised it was because of their superior vision. At first, she’d thought they murmured to each other to hide their conversation from her. But then realized their speech didn’t need the level of volume to which she was accustomed. The air felt a little thin to her. The few Vulcans she had managed to engage in conversation had stated that Vulcan atmosphere was thinner, the climate warmer and drier than Earth’s. Romulans must like that as well. The atmosphere was different. Definitely breathable. A slight odor permeated the air. Cinnamon? Or some other spice. Maybe it was the Romulans themselves. Or just the sick bay though it was starting to fade. How did she smell to them? Probably not good if they were like the Vulcans. Always wanted to meet a Romulan. Now she had a whole ship full of them. Mustn’t start giggling. Wouldn’t look good at all.

  She felt woozy herself when he finally struggled back into consciousness. Images of the Romulans disintegrating her friends plagued her in a never ending loop. Why had she survived when they had died? So many... All dead. Would someone come and rescue her? Had the crew somehow managed to send out a distress call? Would Starfleet even know there was anyone to rescue? And how would they find her? She wanted to be strong. Starfleet would expect it of her. Brave and strong in the face of danger instead of what she knew she was. Weak, alone, and scared. Very scared. Maybe someone would come and rescue her. She didn’t want to be alone. She tried to keep the tears hidden.

  “I would kill you if I could,” he whispered. His voice, still hoarse, sounded a little stronger.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, rousing herself.

  “If we, the crew of the Darksend, had captured you, we would imprison you, hurt you very badly, and then send you to a penal colony where perhaps you might escape or be traded. You have fallen into the hands of the Tal Shiar though. It is much worse. Far worse.” He gripped her arm with surprising strength considering his injury. “But no matter what, no matter what happens, do all that you can to refuse the care of our Beloved Nephew.”

  A Romulan will kill you simply out of the need to be hygienic -- Federation saying

  Vain awoke to find herself alone. Her body ached in every way she could imagine. At least the darkness no longer clouded her mind. And she felt warm finally. Seren must have hooked her back up to the transfuser. She had left a small note saying she would return soon.

  The Romulan felt relief knowing their tiny home was empty. She could moan and groan all she wanted to. Some believed that Romulans did not feel pain. They were wrong. When she was in control, she could manage her agony. Managing though did not mean her injuries did not torture her. She disconnected herself from the transfuser. After wrapping herself in a blanket, she tottered her way to the cramped bathroom. Seren had cleaned it up. Her reflection gasped at her. About twenty different shades of green, blue and black mottled her face. She felt around in her mouth and found a small spine that Seren had missed. She spat it into the sink. After squeezing toothpaste onto her brush, she cleaned her mouth. Trying to use the electric cleaners just frustrated her so she avoided them. This brush seemed primitive but at least it did not make her want to hurl it against the wall. She dabbed her face carefully with cold water. As she combed her hair, she felt as if even the tips hurt. She arranged it in what Seren rudely called her Romulan helmet style. She paid particular attention to her sideburns so they would curve along her cheeks into the proper points. The Human wanted her to grow her hair longer. Ridiculous. Seren’s long hair constantly got in the way. And she paid far
too much attention to it.

  The Romulan’s skin displayed old and faint scars. They’d be joined soon by the new wounds still healing. She picked up the healer and carefully moved it over those that still seeped a little. The bite marks were the worse. And the damage to her genitalia. And her ribs felt as if they were shattered. And her broken arm.

  She coughed up some blood. The little overworked and underpowered diagnostic device said one of her lungs was pierced but healing. Not too bad, considering who had attacked her.

  A proximity alert beeped out a warning. She walked far too slowly in her opinion to the console to see what had tripped it. The tractor was returning. The ground sensors as useless as they were suggested there was only one life form. A Human.

  She dressed carefully trying to master her body. Then she placed her weapons into the holsters. She strapped a breather to her face, wrapped herself in a big fur parka and went to meet the tractor. The garage door rumbled open. The bulky vehicle eased in. Six wheeled. Beat up. The dusty cab was far off the ground. It had cost them a large chunk of gold pressed latinum. But it did work. The garage door closed and life support pumped in air. Seren threw the hatch open and clambered down.

  “Vain, you should be in bed,” the Human said peering at her angrily. “And yes, I am alone.”

  The Romulan took her hand off the butt of her weapon. “Where