Science Officer's Log 5003080.9

[Lt Dal t'Lev 0]

Science Officer's Log, Stardate 5003080.9

Lt Dal t'Lev, cloaked NPC

USS Manticore, NCC 5852

 

Following the low hum, Lt Dal entered the cargo hold to find it filled with force fields containing some of the senior officers of Manticore.  He counted three . . . four . . . five fields, with perhaps a few more beyond his field of vision. He signaled to his partner.  Not all the crew was here.  Where were they?  In other holds?  In interrogation rooms?  He surmised that not many crew were dead, given the surgical way the Romulans had invaded the bridge.

 

Then he spied, just to the right, Cmdr Farrington in a heap on the deck.  Creeping towards her, his anger barely in check, he visually assessed her injuries.  

 

From his science station on the bridge, he had watched the Romulan attack her.  Using the lowest setting on his weapon, the Romulan had carefully targeted her most painful areas and inflicted wounds that would debilitate more from pain than from injury.  Then, with one swift kick, he had broken her kneecap - again one of the most painful injuries for a human.  

 

Dal swore under his breath, remembering his parents' demise, how the Romulans tortured them for interspecies breeding - for producing him - a Vulcan-Romulan half-breed, an outcast on both planets.

 

"Commander?" Dal whispered, knowing that if there were guards present, none would hear him over the hum of the force fields.

 

Jami's only response was a muffled groan.  She lolled to her side, her left knee swollen to twice its size, the holes in her uniform oozing where the Romulan's weapon had flayed the flesh, baring her nerves.  

 

Dal cringed. Surely the Romulans were not so savage as to deny her medical attention!  Then again, her pain would give them the upper hand in interrogation.  Powerless to help her, his impotence fueled his anger once more.  If Dal tried anything at all to help her, the team of PCD-concealed Manticore crew would be discovered.

 

Hnaev! he thought, slipping into his father's tongue.  Dal seldom used Romulan except for curses, and those he used sparingly. Then the irony of the situation struck him.  Here he was, a half-Romulan Federation scientist defending his superior officer against Romulans, using their own language to curse them.

 

Dal straightened up and just caught his partner giving a frantic hand-signal.  Stay still.  Dal had barely paid attention, distracted by his compassion for Cmdr Farrington.  He must not let that happen again.

 

Knowing the slightest sound might give him away, he held his breath and crept away from Jami, just as three Romulans -- two officers and a guard -- winding their way through the hold, among the force fields.  They came to a stop directly in front of Dal, who retreated as far as possible, taking care not to touch the energy barriers. One of the officers gave a hand signal and the field around Cmdr Farrington dropped.

 

Dal froze.  He gave a furtive glance towards his partner, whose upraised palm told him to stay put.

 

"The fool!" said one of the officers, kneeling down by Jami.  He was taller than the others, and considerably older, though the musculature beneath his uniform told Dal the man was still a capable warrior. The officer had what seemed to be a command insignia on his uniform, but it was not standard Romulan, more like a strange mix of Romulan and something else Dal couldn't quite put his finger on, though it looked familiar.  His face was stern, a broad brow fading to a chiseled nose and jaw, which he clenched as he examined his prisoner, and his voice carried the surety of a man who had been in the military a long time.

 

"What was he thinking of!?" the officer said.  Then he swore, using words only vaguely familiar to Dal.

 

"He has been dealt with," said the other officer.  "It will not happen again."

 

Jami was shuddering now, either from pain, from fluid loss, from the cold, or from all three.  Her eyes alternately rolled and stared blankly ahead, as though she were fading in and out of consciousness.  

 

The first officer grunted.  "She is no use to us in this condition."  He stood and turned to the guard, snapping his fingers and waving them at Jami as though she were some kind of mess to be cleaned off the floor. "Take her to medical.  Tell them to attend to her."  Then he turned to the second officer. "Come.  We have much explaining to do."

 

The guard lifted Jami awkwardly to her feet, instantly bringing her to consciousness.  She cried out, her knee collapsed beneath her, and she fell into a writhing heap on the floor.  Dal clenched his teeth and gripped his phaser rifle so tightly it nearly drew blood, but he held his ground.

 

A sharp crack echoed through the hold as the second officer backhanded the Romulan guard's cheek, then spat out, "Veruul! Carry her!"

 

Without bothering to wipe the blood that trickled down his lip, the guard hefted Jami over his shoulder and followed his superiors out of the hold.  The containment field engaged once more, and a deathly silence, except for the hum of the force fields, filled the chamber.  It was some time before the others moved or made a sound.  Dal turned to his partner, nodded, and retreated silently from the hold.  Then they made their way towards the rendezvous point where Lt Precip and the others awaited their report.