Sulu’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Immediately, though, shock gave way to anger. She had come here for her friend, but she had also tried to ease the senior Harriman’s suffering, to bring him some closure with his son. She thought she’d reached the admiral, but…

Sulu stood up. Once more, a myriad of things to say to Admiral Harriman occurred to her, and again, she said none of them. “Goodbye, Admiral.” She turned and left the alcove, stopping briefly to thank Dr. Van Riper before exiting the infirmary.

As she strode through the corridor, headed for the hatch that would take her to Enterprise—and beyond it, to Foxtrot XIII—she thought of John and his long estrangement from his

father, thought about the complex and unreconciled feelings her friend had been dealing with lately. She didn’t know why the admiral was the way he was, but she understood that there must be a reason. A terrible sense of sadness swept over her—not for John, but for his father, a joyless, pitiable man who, even as he lay dying, could not find a place in his life for love.

Time grew short.

Admiral Aventeer Vokar sat in his raised chair at the rear of Tomed’s bridge, staring ahead at the becalmed starscape on the main viewscreen. At the first indication of containment failure, he’d directed the ship dropped from warp and brought to station-keeping. With the engines shut down and the great thrum of their operation now absent, Tomedlay in space like a voiceless, wounded animal.

Below Vokar, the bridge crew searched for answers. He had ordered the grating automated alerts silenced, leaving only the sounds of the officers working their consoles. The yellow glare of the emergency lighting threw the scene into bleak contrasts, imparting to it a cold, two-dimensional aspect. Vokar observed, quiet and utterly still, waiting for the information that would dictate his next actions.

Inside, he raged.

He did not suspect Federation subversion; he was certainof it. The sudden deterioration of the singularity containment field would have been indication enough, but the simultaneous breakdown of the ship’s external communications provided virtually unassailable proof. The two systems—containment and communications—shared no common circuitry, flouting the realistic possibility that they would go down independently and at the same time, along with their backups. He did not know how the sabotage had been perpetrated, but he knew beyond doubt the identities of the perpetrators.

“Admiral,” Subcommander Linavil said, her voice just loud enough, just untamed enough, to betray her dread. Vokar looked down and to his left, to where she stood beside an engineer feverishly operating his console. “They can’t stop it,” she declared. “They think they mightbe able to slow the loss of containment, but it willfail completely.”

“For how long can the engineers delay it?” Vokar asked.

“They’re not sure,” Linavil said. She took several steps away from the console and toward Vokar. “Minutes, maybe hours. But they may not have even enough time to determine if they candelay it.”

Vokar nodded, carefully keeping his fury in check. He glanced at the chronometer set into a small display in the arm of his chair. If nothing could be done, then twenty-five minutes remained before the quantum singularity that powered Tomedwould be free of its cage, an insatiable force that would demolish the ship.

No crewmember was more than seven minutes away from an evacuation pod, Vokar knew. That left a margin of safety, but a small one. After the crew had escaped, there would still have to be time enough for the ship, via preprogramming, to be sent out of the area and then stopped somewhere; the singularity could not be permitted to slip its bonds while at warp velocity, for the resultant devastation would easily reach back far enough to obliterate the crew.

Vokar looked back up at the viewscreen, barely able to stifle the scream forming behind his lips. Reluctantly, he gave the order. “Abandon ship.”

Linavil acted immediately. “Navigator,” she said as she strode purposefully across the center of the bridge, her body movements now reflecting decisiveness and strength, Vokar noted, and not concern or fear. “Plot a course away from here, and away from any space lanes. Helm, preprogram the ship to travel the new course at warp eight, beginning six minutes prior to projected containment failure, and ending one minute prior.”

The officers acknowledged the orders and set to operating their consoles. “Intraship,” Linavil said, continuing across the bridge until she reached the communications station. As the officer there worked her controls, Vokar made another decision.

“Subcommander,” he said.

“Sir?” Linavil said, turning to peer up at him.

“Myself, you, Akeev, and Elvia and her top two engineers,” he said, “we go last.” He would provide Elvia, Tomed’s lead engineer, and Akeev, the ship’s lead science officer, as much time as possible to find any kind of a solution. If the containment failure could be delayed until they reached the nearest repair base, then another containment field could be erected about the singularity.

“Yes, sir,” Linavil said, and she looked over to where Lieutenant Akeev manned his sciences station. Vokar saw him acknowledge with a nod the unspoken question: Did you hear the admiral’s order?As Akeev returned his attention to his panel, Linavil reached across the communications console and touched a control. “Bridge to Lieutenant Elvia,” she said.

Several seconds passed. “This is Elvia,”a female voice finally said, sounding beleaguered.

“This is Linavil. We’re about to abandon Tomed.You and your top two engineers will remain aboard and continue to work on slowing the containment collapse until ten minutes before it will fail.” Vokar knew, as Linavil must also, that several evacuation pods were within a minute of main engineering. “Report any progress immediately.”

“Acknowledged,”Elvia said. “I’ll keep T’Sil and Valin with me.”

“Out,” Linavil said, and then she told the comm officer once more, “Intraship.” When the channel had been opened, she made the announcement to the crew. “This is Subcommander Linavil. By order of Admiral Vokar, all hands abandon ship. I repeat: All hands abandon ship. This is not an exercise.”

Vokar watched as the crew—but for Linavil and Akeev—quickly secured their stations and began an exodus for the evacuation pods. Vokar waited until the last of the departing officers—helm and navigation—had left, and then he stood from his command chair and descended to the deck. In just moments, the bridge had been deserted.

“Normal lighting,” he said. He did not see who, but either Linavil or Akeev complied with the order. The illusory quality lent to the bridge by the yellow emergency lights vanished, as though reality had somehow been injected back into the scene.

Vokar walked forward, past the flight-control consoles, and glared at the main viewscreen. He concentrated on controlling his wrath. How did they do it?he asked himself in frustration. He had been right not to trust the Federation, of course: not about the test of metaweapons that they denied; not about the so-called hyperwarp drive; and not even to travel to and from Algeron within Romulan space. No, he hadn’t trusted them—had nevertrusted them—but neither had he believed that the security of the flagship could be compromised like this.

On the almost-empty bridge, the tap of Akeev’s fingertips on his panel, and the occasional tones emitted by the sciences station, failed to fill the void left by the absent crew. Vokar waited to hear something from Akeev, or from the engineers working directly on the containment field, but he knew that he wouldn’t. Before long, they would all have to flee the ship too.