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"Mr. Ghost?"

Unbelievably, the Romulan smiled. "Yes, child."

"You're not dead."

"No," agreed the centurion, "but I will be soon." His gaze traveled to Telek R'Mor and his face hardened. "Get away from the traitor, Naomi," he hissed.

Telek, too, stepped as close to the forcefield as possible. "I am no traitor. I have always done what I felt was best for the Empire. We must not pollute the timeline."

The centurion swore. "You are the dung on our boots, R'Mor. We will smear you into the dust."

"There is something more important at stake now," said Telek. "The Empire has been used as a pawn. All of us, and especially you, my comrade. The illness from which you now suffer was caused by the personal dark-matter shield. It has turned your ship into mutated dark matter and is doing the same to you. Lhiau is using us, dangling the bait of galactic domination in front of us to make us dance to a tune he is piping. I, mis child, this ship-we are all infected, just as you are."

"You are a liar," hissed the centurion, wincing in pain.

"I'm afraid he's telling the truth," said the Doctor.

"Please lie down and try to rest The effort is further destroying your system."

"I do not care if I have one moment or ten left, Doctor. Speak you truly? The girl as well?"

"Everyone," confirmed the Doctor. "We are presently trying to contact the Shepherds and ask mem for aid, in the hope that Lhiau is not typical of his species."

The Romulan lay back, exhausted from his feeble efforts, and frowned as he tried to make sense of everything he had been told.

Telek pressed bis case, speaking quickly and urgently. "The cloaks on our thirteen warbirds will eventually consume mem and their crew. No one who has contact with the dark matter will be safe. Please tell us, how many other ships did Chairman Kaleh dispatch to locate Voyager? If we can find mem, we can perhaps rescue their crews, remove them from the direct influence of the ships and the personal shields."

Even as the words left his Ups, Telek realized he had miscalculated. He had chosen the wrong argument The Romulan, who had been listening, now tensed, and his face lost all expression save contempt

"And this is how you think to trick me, traitor R'Mor. I shall not be fooled so easily. Liars all. The only innocents left in this universe are the children. Naomi?"

"Yes, Mr. Ghost," sobbed Naomi.

The centurion arched in pain. "I wish... to thank you."

"For what?"

"For helping me to pass on," whispered the dying Romulan. "It is good to see a young one again."

He smiled, and as the light of life left his eyes, Telek heard Naomi cry, "No!" She scurried to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his abdomen. Gently, tentatively, Telek stroked her long hair and thought of his own daughter. He thought of the dreadful death the centurion had met, and of the thousands more who might even now be dying in such a fashion.

They had to reach the Shepherds and put an end to this nightmare. There was no alternative. Their battered bodies and disabled ship would somehow have to endure long enough to reach the planet.

Telek returned to his quarters, leaving the brokenhearted Naomi to the Doctor's care. Her image haunted him, as if she were a little ghost herself. The centurion had been right about one thing. In this troubled, dark universe where powerful aliens tricked the gullible into destroying themselves, the only innocents were indeed the children.

He sat down on the bed and reached for the padd he had left there earlier and began to write. Telek did not know if he would ever be granted the opportunity of the Right of Statement; he did not even know if he would survive long enough to finish writing it. Still, he had to try.

/ stand before you as a condemned prisoner, he had begun, knowing exactly what verdict would be reached if he was even granted a trial. But prisoner

or no, I am a Romulan, and to