Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [47]
They had watched their braver friends perish, yet their faces betrayed nothing of what they must have been thinking. No doubt, the cowards envied the dying—for they were escaping the trial and the lingering death that came with it.
That kind of thinking was of concern to Tharrus. He could not allow any further nonsense, certainly nothing that would jeopardize the trial.
If the remaining traitors sought another escape attempt as a way to court death and cheat their fate, that would put him in an awkward position. The trial was to be broadcast throughout the Empire. The recognition it would bring was vital to his long-term plans.
Speaking of which …
He turned to Phabaris. “Has there been any official response to our communique to the homeworlds?”
“No, Governor,” the security officer replied.
That didn’t make sense. Romulus was certain to be furious at the announcement that Tharrus was handling the business of the traitors on his own.
He had not released the information until just the day before—specifically to reduce the central government’s options. Not that it could do much without losing support in the outer systems. But the governor had expected a reply at the very least.
He thought for a moment, then made his decision. There would be no surprises—not from the prisoners or anyone else.
“Ready your staff,” he told Phabaris. “I’m moving the trial up a day. The traitors will face their fate tomorrow.”
Walking the corridors of his outpost, Administrator Barnak resolved to have the matter of the human settled before the proconsul arrived. He knew full well that this was not exactly in the spirit of Eragian’s orders, but he would do it anyway.
After all, Barnak was already at an age when it was generally considered too late for a major promotion. He knew that this might be his last opportunity to do something that would be noticed by the central government.
If he failed, and damaged the human in the process, he would certainly incur the proconsul’s wrath. But if he succeeded, his impertinence would no doubt be forgotten. It was a chance he would take.
Besides, he was determined not to fail.
A moment later, he reached the door of the interrogation room. The administrator motioned for the two guards posted at the door to follow him inside.
He found the human seated on a chair in front of the table in the center of the room. As they entered, he looked up at them.
And immediately, a scowl formed on his face. He glowered at Barnak and his guards with hate in his eyes. It was a dangerous look, thought the administrator. A peculiarly Romulan sort of look.
The human stood slowly, maintaining his scrutiny of Barnak as he did so. It was then that the administrator noticed the officer’s clothes. Though familiar, they did not look like the Starfleet uniforms he had seen in reports.
Then Barnak realized what was wrong. The uniform was Starfleet, all right. But it was very old.
That was curious. Both the human’s uniform and his ship were from another era. Perhaps he really was mad.
For a moment, the administrator thought the human would attack them. He certainly looked as if he wanted to.
Barnak could sense his guards—his two best—tensing beside him, preparing themselves to react if the prisoner made an aggressive move. But the human didn’t attack. He merely continued to glare at his captors.
Not entirely mad? the administrator wondered.
“I am Administrator Barnak,” he said. “I would like to ask you a few questions.” His tone was serious, but not threatening. Certainly it was not meant to antagonize— not yet, anyway.
But antagonize it did. Suddenly going red in the face, the human snapped, “I have nothing to say to the likes of ye, Romulan!”
Barnak ignored the outburst, keeping his own tone even and inflectionless. “You have invaded Romulan space. You have made your hostile intent extremely clear. Yet, we are treating you with all the courtesies required by the Treaty of Algeron—which, I will point out, you yourself have broken.”
He paused. “Perhaps this incident