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Tiny spiders with liquid-nitrogen-drenched feet trod quickly up and down Trip’s backbone in reaction to Ych’a’s euphemism-couched words. Considering the brutal meat-hook realities of what he already knew about the inner workings of intelligence services, he couldn’t help but wonder whether Sopek/Ch’uivh was in fact being interrogated surreptitiously right now in some soundproofed chamber deep in the bowels of this very ship. But whatever Sopek might be doing presently—or whatever someone might be doing to him—Trip could at least console himself with the thought that the man wouldn’t pose an immediate threat to anybody so long as he wasn’t running around loose and unsupervised.

A low groan from the bed abruptly forced Trip’s train of thought onto a different track.

“Centurion Terix is regaining consciousness,” Sivath said, stating the obvious.

The Romulan groaned again and began to open his eyes, which were blinking rapidly in protest against the harsh ceiling lights before coming fully open. Once they opened, he began to make a close study of the faces of each of the four people who stood surrounding his bed.

“Where am I?” Terix said as he tried to force his elbows to support his weight.

“You are aboard the Vulcan cargo vessel Kiri-kin-tha,” T’Vran said. “I am Captain T’Vran. My ship’s physician, Doctor Sivath, is treating your injuries.”

Terix stared at the captain, his mien radiating incomprehension. “Injuries?” He reached up and touched the neat swath of bandages that wreathed his skull just above his pointed ears.

“You have sustained some minor cranial trauma,” Sivath said as the injured man made another attempt, successful this time, to draw his body up into a sitting position.

“It may have occurred when your escape pod crashed,” Ych’a said. “After you left the Romulan ship.”

“Escape pod?” Terix said, still confused. When the only response Ych’a made was a silent nod, he turned slightly and looked straight at Trip. “Romulan ship?”

Trip braced himself for the angry outburst that was all but certain to follow; after all, Terix’s last memory of him would have been their confrontation on Taugus III, during which the centurion had very nearly succeeded in killing him.

But he saw no recognition whatsoever in the Romulan’s dark eyes, only a confusion that bordered on desperation.

Apparently Sivath had made much the same observation as well. “Can you tell us your name?”

“No. No, I can’t,” Terix said at length, his eyes wide, reflecting his no doubt disconcerting self-discoveries.

“Do not be overly concerned,” Sivath said as she slowly ran a scanner past her patient’s head. “The blunt-force cranial injuries you have sustained appear to have induced some memory loss.”

“Head-bonk amnesia,” Trip said, finding the whole notion just a little too convenient to believe. Romulans were nothing if not clever. It wouldn’t be hard for a soldier as determined and wily as Terix to have faked his disorientation enough to trick a freighter’s doctor and even her instruments. Hell, he thought, God only knows how many Romulans I fooled into accepting my fake Romulan bona fides.

“Is this memory loss permanent, Doctor?” T’Vran said.

“It is too soon to tell, Captain,” said the doctor, shaking her head. “I must run several more tests.”

“Please proceed,” said T’Vran.

A staccato series of beeps distracted Trip at that moment, drawing his attention toward Ych’a, who was removing a palm-sized device from the inside of her jacket.

“Captain T’Vran,” she said, pocketing what was evidently a small communications device. “I have just received a priority message from Vulcan. If you will excuse me...”

T’Vran nodded, and Ych’a immediately exited the infirmary.

As Sivath began fetching various diagnostic instruments, Trip took a step toward her. “If you don’t mind, Doc,” he said, “I’d like to have a few words with your patient here while you’re running your tests.” If he’s just faking this and knows how to trick your equipment, he thought, then I want to