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By Root 597 0

a tense moment, Shurak had told Rusan, when he feared they had been discovered. An inquisitive child had stumbled upon Shurak. Fortunately, she was half convinced he was something called a "ghost," and therefore not entirely real. Shurak had played upon her willingness to help him "cross over" and they had, for the time being, gone undetected by any less gullible adult crew members.

Eight they had been originally: eight stalwart members of the Romulan empire who had volunteered for the honor of chasing down the wayward Voyager and its traitorous passenger, Telek R'Mor. Four scoutships had gone through the wormhole to the Federation vessel's last recorded coordinates and departed in four different directions, each with the same set of orders: Find Voyager. Shurak and Rusan had been the fortunate pair who had done so.

With their incredible new cloaking abilities, it had been simplicity itself to slowly ease past the ship's shields and run parallel to it. They had beamed aboard undetected. Shurak's assignment had been to set up the homing beacon-a tricky task and one that required Shurak's delicate, experienced touch- while Rusan had gone about the business of meticulously disabling Voyager's crucial systems.

Of course, a single Starship, even one from twenty

years in the future, would not be able to withstand the onslaught of thirteen perfectly cloaked warbirds. But Jekri had been adamant: she wanted the ship intact. Better to win by subtle, unobtrusive means than out-and-out conflict. Maximum effect, minimal losses. Such had ever been the Romulan code.

Rusan had begun feeling ill from the moment he went aboard the scoutship, and had been growing progressively worse. He battled the pain valiantly, but he could remain at war with his own failing body only so long. He swallowed hard and tasted blood.

The female captain was now speaking through her commlink to the Klingon engineer. It was an effort to focus on the words, but Rusan managed.

'Torres, listen to me. Get your people out of there now and shut down the area."

"Captain?" The engineer seemed surprised.

"Do it!"

The engineer shrugged. "You heard the captain," she told her fellow crewmen. "We evacuate now. Carey, let's get you to sickbay."

Confused and irritated, the Federations did as they were told. They left, and the doors came slamming down. Rusan was as confused as they, but he was not about to waste such an opportunity. On legs that barely supported him, he staggered toward the controls. From here, he could-

A hissing sound reached his ears. Angrily, Rusan shook his head. Such specious sounds had occurred before. Once, he even heard his chairman lecturing him, which was of course impossible. He pressed on.

It was only when he realized that the room was filling with gas that he understood what was going on.

Fear flooded him, not for his own personal safety-it was far too late for that, even if such a cowardly sentiment had crossed his mind-but fear that he would be discovered before the warbirds arrived, fear that all this effort, this agony, would be for nothing. Rusan had personally observed two Vulcans, one here in engineering and one on the bridge itself. They could force a mind-meld upon him, and in his weakened state he might not be able to resist

The transporter beacon that would have beamed him and Shurak back aboard their small scoutship was in the cargo bay with Shurak. Rusan stumbled to the controls, frantically searching for a way to open the doors. There was none. The command to seal mem had come from the bridge, not engineering.

A broken cry of frustration escaped Rusan's lips, and he was immediately shamed by bis weakness. Surely it was the strange illness ravaging his system mat made him whimper like an infant His mind was suddenly assaulted with images: his parents, his siblings, bis mate, his chairman, Shurak, the alien faces of the Federations, the smirking, loathed visage of Lhiau.

The gas was having its effect. There was not much time if he was to succeed. He fell