Releasing a tired sigh, Ineti said, “So, was a similar weapon used to destroy the planet, or was it merely a colossal, tragic accident?”

“Even if it was misfortune, the potential for such power to be weaponized cannot be ignored, particularly if it’s in the hands of an enemy.” If a civilization located in the Taurus Reach possessed or was developing weapons technology capable of destroying entire planets, then prudence demanded that their potential threat to the security of the Romulan people be investigated with all due haste.

Unfortunately, Sarith reminded herself, the only Romulans in a position to report this prospective hazard were here, with her, aboard a wounded and dying ship stranded several lifetimes away from home.

29

In the privacy of her quarters aboard the Endeavour,Atish Khatami stared at herself in the mirror as she tugged at the hem of her new tunic, pulling it more tightly against her body. The wrap-around-style top was tinted in a light green that struck her as a little less harsh against her brownish skin than did her former yellow uniform, while offering a nice contrast to the black trousers she had opted to wear. She smoothed her fingers against the flap of fabric running from the tunic’s V-neck and cutting diagonally across her chest. Just for a moment, she wondered whether the design seemed more provocative than professional.

Then, using the back of her hand, she brushed her thick black hair to one side and revealed a set of gold braids sewn in sweeping arrowheads into the tunic’s shoulders.

You’re not ready for this, Tish.

Upon the ship’s arrival at Starbase 47, Khatami had presumed that word about a new captain would be forthcoming from Starfleet Command—that the starship might be routed away from the Taurus Reach on orders to pick up its new commanding officer before returning to Erilon.

Those orders never came.

Instead, Commodore Reyes had simply appeared on the bridge the morning of the Endeavour’s departure, ordering the communications officer on duty to open the ship’s intercom so that he might address the entire crew. Standing before the main viewer, his voice carrying forward the authority he seemed to wear with the comfort of a favored shirt, the commodore without preamble read aloud from the folder he had brought with him the orders from Starfleet Command promoting Khatami to the rank of captain as well as assigning her as commanding officer of the Endeavour.

Certain that the color had drained from her face even as her fellow bridge officers slowly broke into a round of what she perceived as stunned, polite applause, Khatami had stood unmoving while Reyes offered her a narrow-eyed, tight-lipped grin.

He outfoxed me.

Following her interview with members of the station’s JAG contingent regarding the incident on Erilon—a process that, based on the questions she was asked, seemed to her to be little more than an attempt to assess any possible negligence that might have contributed to Captain Zhao’s death—Khatami had been summoned to Reyes’s office for what she thought would be her official briefing on the future of the Endeavour’s command. Instead, she had found herself reviewing his greatly expedited repair schedule for the ship, the majority of it executed by station personnel while her crew rested, only then to slip into nearly an hour’s worth of swapping humorous and admiring tales regarding the career and achievements of their mutual friend Zhao Sheng. She had been dismissed from the meeting with the question of Zhao’s successor—and her role with regards to that person—still unanswered.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He was sure I’d turn it down if given the chance. Maybe I would have.

Maybe Ishould have.

Khatami knew that she possessed the skills and the intellect to perform the duties required of a starship captain. Indeed, her entire career to this point had unfolded in anticipation of this moment. So, why now was she grappling with insecurity even as the Endeavourmade its way back to Erilon? Why was she plagued by an inner demon that ate away her self-confidence, tormenting her thoughts and emotions, telling her that the trust of those around her in her ability to lead was misplaced? Each time Khatami watched one officer lean over and whisper to another, she wondered if they saw through the façade of calm and control she to this point had managed to affect, exposing her for the fraud her inner voice told her she was.

What will you do next time, “Captain”? Who will you leave behind? Of course there’ll be a next time. There’s always a next time.

The ping of the door chime startled Khatami, and she glanced at her desk chronometer on her desk to see that she had been standing before her mirror for almost ten minutes. “Time to pull yourself together, Captain,” she said to herself, running her hands down the sides of her tunic to smooth it into place one final time before calling toward the door, “Come in.”

In response to her command the door slid aside to reveal Mog, all but filling the entryway.

“Well,” the burly Tellarite remarked with no small amount of enthusiasm as he stepped into the room, “command colors and braid appear to suit you, Captain. Though I have to say, I miss the skirt.”

Khatami smiled at the remark, one that only a close friend such as Mog even would attempt in the first place. “Captain’s prerogative. I always liked the pants, anyway.” Moving toward her desk, she indicated for the engineer to do the same. “I take it that’s your report?” she asked, noting the data slate in his meaty right hand with a nod.

“Indeed it is,” Mog replied, “and it’s even filed early, I might add.” He dropped his considerable frame into the chair situated in front of her desk. “Everything is green across the board, thanks to the Vanguard maintenance crews. We’re maintaining warp six point five.” Shrugging his brawny shoulders, he added, “I’d push us a bit faster, but between you and me, I don’t think our escort ship would be able to keep up.”

“The Lovell?” Khatami shook her head as she thought of the deceptively decrepit-looking Daedalus-class vessel accompanying them back to Erilon. “From what I’ve read, you shouldn’t underestimate those Corps of Engineers ships or their crews. Engineers with lots of time to tinker, rewire, reroute, and rebuild? If Captain Okagawa says he can keep pace with us even at warp seven or better, I’m not betting against him.” Nodding her head toward the bulkhead and, presumably, in the direction where the Lovellwas traveling somewhere to stern, she added, “Besides, I don’t think Lieutenant Xiong would have gotten aboard that thing if she were going to shake apart on the way.”

Mog laughed. “You’re probably right. In any event, we’ve got two days before we get to Erilon, but we’re ready to go right now. We’ll hit the ground running for sure.”

Khatami nodded in approval. The assignment handed to the Endeavourand the Lovellwas not an easy one: reestablish the research outpost wrecked by the mysterious being which had attacked Captain Zhao and the landing party, while at the same time searching for answers about why the assault had occurred in the first place—preferably without triggering another such incident. While the orders as delivered by Commodore Reyes also included instructions on attempting to find and make peaceful contact with the mysterious alien entity should the opportunity arise, his actual words on the subject had been quite clear: Take whatever action necessary to protect the ships and their crews.

“Lieutenant Xiong and the engineering group have been analyzing the data we collected from…the last time we were here,” Mog said. “Whatever happens this time, we’ll be ready, Captain.”