Old Tensions

At the majority of tables in the Romulan mess – all but for one – sat Starfleet personnel, or Romulans.  Not both, at the same table.  All but for one.  There, the segregation dividing the rest of the room attained steely providence – in contingents on either side of two empty chairs facing each other, one half of the table Romulan, the other Starfleet – in cold attempts at ignorance, furtive glances, and whispered silence.  The Starfleeters chatted in low tones, straining glances among one another, trying to pretend the Romulans were not there... or that they were not aboard a Romulan ship.  The Romulans unconsciously imitated them, though it was easy to imagine that they did so all of the time.  They dined with Vulcan-like precision – sitting down with their food trays, eating, getting up, disposing of the tray and then leaving.  Efficient.  No idle chatter, nothing more than ship's business.  Even that they were careful to preen, in the presence of their guests.

Starfleet officers, sitting and dining in a Romulan mess... Now that was rare sight.  A very rare sight indeed.  They didn't trust each other – at least not yet.  The peace treaty was only a year old.  Centuries of mistrust, suspicion and conflict were yet to be overcome.

Balk and Ligeti had their heads dipped, whispering in low conspiratorial tones, glancing at the Romulans.  Romulan ears had the habit, both natural and trained, to listen.  The nearest Rom, eyes resting on his plate, seemed to turn his vision inward as he did so.  Finally he laid down his Romulan equivalent of a fork and looked at them.

"Does the Federation Starfleet turn out nothing but cowards?"

Balk and Ligeti exchanged glances.  "I think he's calling us cowards," Balk said.

"Romulans know all about cowardice," Ligeti said.  "That's why they use cloaking devices to ambush their enemies."

"Like at Salem Four."

"And Tomed."

"And Algeron," someone else threw in.

"Put a sock in it," Ensign Roushe shot at them.  He could feel the tension rising.

"My father's father died at Tomed," the Romulan said.  "It is a well-known fact that the Federation attacked first."

"The Federation never attacks first," Ligeti countered.  "We just defend ourselves against devils like you."

"Look at them," Balk said.  "Sitting there, smug and aloof.  Think they're the masters of the universe."

"If we were," the Romulan said, cold and calm – yet the hate shined through – "We would be certain to rid it of the likes of you."

Krennith Musatto stepped out of the brig, accompanied by his XO, Leon Lexton.

Lexton tossed a look over his shoulder as the brig door closed.  His personal opinion: Havercroft was a fruit loop.  "Do you believe her, Captain?"

"I believe she believes it.  Yet we lack proof."  Krennith shook his head.  That might have been Havercroft's saving grace, yet she claimed total guilt, like she was proud of it.  One disturbed woman – reason enough to keep her sidelined, under close guard, for the time being.  What could Captain April have done, to make her hate him so...?  Perhaps nothing.  Krennith couldn't believe anyone would just snap like that, not even her.  He had consulted her personnel record before stepping into the brig – no unusual medical history.  Space harbored many strange phenomena; extrasensory mental influences were not uncommon.  Maybe it was a Usurper weapon, as Neria April's report suggested.  "I want a medical workup.  Tell them to learn as much as possible without stepping in her cell.  We can't take chances, if she's as dangerous as she sounds.  Then have this ship's counselor talk to her."

"We... don't have a ship's counselor, sir."

Krennith stopped.  "This is an Akira-class starship, and you don't have a ship's counselor?"

"No, sir.  We've yet to be assigned one."

They resumed walking.  "Find out what you can.  Have engineering go over the runabout again; there may be something they missed."

"Yessir."

Krennith tapped his com-badge.  "Bridge, captain.  Scan for cloaked ships, widest possible pattern; inform the other ships that they should do the same."

As if on cue, the bridge officer said, "Captain, a Romulan Warbird just decloaked to port!"

Krennith's mouth opened, but nothing came out.  Romulans?  Here?  He caught Lexton looking at him, wondering at the expression on his captain's face.  "I'll be right up," Krennith said.  "Captain out.  Let's go, XO."

"Captain Musatto," the Romulan commander, T'Rasus, said from the viewscreen – before he had chance to introduce himself.

"Commander T'Rasus," he said, equally familiar.  Krennith sat on the edge of the command chair, leaning forward, arms on his thighs, hands lightly folded.  "It's a small world."

"It grows smaller every day," she said, subtle and deliberate.  "You have no doubt scanned our ship by now."

"Yes."

"Are you prepared to receive them?"

"Receive them.  They are not your prisoners?"

"You of all people should know better."

Krennith and T'Rasus shared a look.  "Very well.  But you must contact Admiral Minh on the Taskmaster.  He commands the armada."  T'Rasus nodded.  "We'll prepare to beam over as many as we can hold."

T'Rasus nodded once more.  "Until we meet again... Captain Musatto."  The screen blanked.

Lexton eyed him from the right.  "You know each other?"