Xiong seemed overcome by a bout of nervousness, no doubt owing to his inexperience in dealing with members of the opposite gender, she decided. “You seem…unwell.”

Her posture stiffening, T’Prynn replied, “I am fine. If you will excuse me, I must return to my duties.”

“Yes, of course,” Xiong replied, nodding. “I meant no offense.”

“Offense is a human emotion, Lieutenant,” she replied. Seeing the expression on his face and realizing the words had been delivered with more of an edge than she had intended, she added, “That said, your inquiry is appreciated. Good evening.”

She watched him depart, waiting until she was alone and none of the other personnel on duty in the operations center appeared to be looking in her direction before finally bringing her hands around so that she could see them.

Other than the impressions made by her manicured nails, there were no visible injuries or blemishes.

Submit,Sten goaded again, his katrafeeling like a physical weight pressing down upon her mind.

Meditation,T’Prynn decided as she turned on her heel and marched toward the turbolift. That was what she required now. Once more she called upon the mental exercises taught to her by the Adepts. Fatigue and the need to constantly focus on her myriad and demanding duties had caused her to lose the focus that was vital to keeping her fiancé contained within the cage she had erected for him within the depths of her mind. Her lapse had allowed Sten to escape that prison, and it was now time to pummel him back into it.

You will never know peace, so long as you resist me,he said.

Then I shall never know peace.

T’Prynn opened her eyes, only to discover that she no longer was in the operations center. Looking around, she was alarmed to find herself standing in what she recognized as a corridor within the apartment complex located in Stars Landing, Vanguard’s civilian residential and commercial area. The carpeted deck, the walls painted in muted colors, and the irregular placement of plants and artwork lent the passageway an air distinctly different from that of the passageways connecting the quarters assigned to the station’s Starfleet contingent.

She held no memory of the turbolift ride down from operations, or of how she had come to be here, either on foot or via the subshuttle tube encircling Fontana Meadow.

Fascinating.

Of equal interest to her was her exact location. Stepping closer to the door before her—its duranium surface coated with a synthetic polymer designed to simulate the dark wood of a native Earth tree—T’Prynn reached out and with her fingers caressed the small black plate etched with white lettering that denoted the apartment number. It took only an instant to search her memory and recall the identity of the resident assigned to these quarters.

Timothy D. Pennington.

Of all the places on the station to which she might have come, why here? The reporter was not a friend of hers, or even a casual acquaintance, their only interaction coming as a result of his bothersome investigations into the Bombayincident and the steps she had taken to neutralize the threat his efforts represented.

Perhaps regret has guided you here, or even guilt.

T’Prynn could not determine if the voice taunting her was Sten’s or a product of her own turbulent thoughts. Regardless, she refused to accept the notion. Diffusing the credibility of the story Pennington had submitted regarding the loss of the Bombayand the Tholians’ culpability in the incident had served a valuable purpose, of that she was certain. That the journalist had endured both professional and personal difficulty as a result of her actions was an unfortunate yet necessary collateral consequence. While one life had been disrupted, to be sure, countless others that would have been at risk in the face of a Federation-Tholian conflict had instead been safeguarded.

Logic demanded no other course.

Is it truly that simple?

“Enough.”

The word, spoken aloud, startled T’Prynn, and she looked around to see if anyone might have overheard her. She was relieved to see that the corridor remained empty, but it would not stay that way. It would be prudent to depart before her presence here engendered questions from passersby that best were left unasked.

Still, returning to her quarters was not an option she welcomed. While she knew meditation would ease her current mental turmoil, the truth was that fatigue was tugging at the edges of her consciousness. Attempting to meditate in such a state would be problematic at best.

Alone in the corridor, T’Prynn allowed the ghost of a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. No, she decided as she turned and headed for the row of turbolifts servicing this area of the apartment complex, another means of relaxation would be better.

45

Silence engulfed the bridge of the Bloodied Talon,acutely palpable and yet seeming so vulnerable that Sarith feared any movement or hint of sound might destroy not only the envelope of quiet but also any chance for survival remaining to her and her crew.

“Distance three thousand mat’drih,”Darjil said, his voice low. “Approaching from astern, Commander.”

Sarith heard the mounting tension in the centurion’s voice despite his best efforts to maintain his bearing. Hearing the younger officer provide the report from sensors that normally would have been delivered by N’tovek was like an abrasive pad rubbed against an open and raw wound. She ignored her personal grief, pushing it aside as duty demanded, and instead returned her focus to the Klingon battle cruiser depicted on the main viewscreen.

Sensors had first detected the vessel near the end of the previous duty shift. The ship’s presence followed that of an automated sensor probe, also of Klingon design, which had passed within three light-years of the Talontwo days earlier. Analysis of the cruiser’s course showed that it was mirroring that of the drone, perhaps searching for signs of Tholian activity in the vicinity of the Palgrenax system.

“It seems someone knows we are here,” Ineti said from where he stood beside her.

Nodding, Sarith replied, “They know something is here, that much is certain.” Stepping toward the central hub, she leaned closer to Darjil in order to see his workstation’s sensor display. Recognizing the standard search pattern the Klingon ship was effecting, she shook her head. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

The portent of unfortunate things to come had arrived in the form of a systems status report delivered by her chief engineering officer, Jacius, during the early hours of the previous day. One of the distribution nodes channeling power to the Talon’s cloaking device had failed and, according to Jacius, there were no replacements.

All options to manufacture a substitute using available materials had also been explored and exhausted, the result being that while the cloak still functioned to maintain the ship’s practical invisibility, the concealment of its power emissions no longer was total. Though the odds were fair that a passing vessel might not register the wounded ship’s presence, if someone were to take the time to examine sensor readings for anomalies, they might find sufficient reason to arouse suspicion.

The destruction of a planet surely was enough to heighten someone’s vigilance,Sarith mused.

With that in mind, she had ordered a circuitous route out of the Taurus Reach, plotting a course that would not offer any clues that the ship, if discovered, was making an attempt to travel toward Romulan space. It was a simple plan, though one she hoped would at least avoid providing any additional clues as to their identity should they be detected.