Lieutenant Iskander al-Kwaritzmi, log, stardate unknown: the Romulan Republic ship that’s trapped in the Underspace with us has experienced quite a severe failure and requires help for the repairs. I have been entrusted command of a team of seven engineers and we are traveling via shuttle towards the crippled Bird-of-Prey. I can finally see out of the window: the classic design, with the bird-like saucer hull and the two wing-like nacelles, green and menacing. It has been a while since I’ve been confronted with Romulans, and the last occasion wasn’t the easiest. I trust that we are going to maintain our eyes on the objective. Without that ship, we might be trapped in the Underspace.

Iskander turned off the recording and looked at his engineering colleagues, tightly packed into the shuttle.

“What happened with the Romulans last time?” asked Ensign Diran Koli, sitting next to Iskander. In the cramped shuttle, of course, everyone had heard the log.

“That is a mystery that I’m going to keep” answered dryly Iskander.

“We are in sight of their shuttlebay” announced the pilot.

The shuttle maneuvered slowly and deliberately, entering the dark shuttlebay of the Romulan ship. When it made contact with the floor, groaning metal could be heard.

For a moment, after the shuttle had landed, nobody moved, as if expecting to be immediately captured by the Romulans or something. It was an absurd thought – the Romulan Republic was friendly to the Federation – but old habits could be hard to die.

“Let’s go do our job,” said Iskander finally.

When they stepped out of the shuttle, a group of seven Romulans were standing there, in the dark shuttlebay, perfectly immobile. Dressed in their green, checkered uniforms, their expressions were entirely indecipherable.

The two groups faced each other. Finally, one of the Romulans stepped forward. Iskander’s first thought was that he didn’t know Romulans could have curly hair.

“Thank you for coming” said the Romulan. His voice sounded surprisingly deep and raspy.

Iskander pondered whether he should give some sort of stereotypical answer like Starfleet always answers a request for help, but he suspected the Romulans would interpret it as propaganda.

“There is no need to thank us. I am Lieutenant Iskander al-Kwaritzmi. These are Lieutenants Trinni and Yimari, Ensigns Koli, Audrey, Kornex, and Chiefs Timbili and Felton.”

The Romulan looked at them as they were being introduced.

“I am Sublieutenant Dhae” he said finally. He made no attempt to introduce the other six Romulans. “You are going to communicate with me.”

“I take it you are an engineer, Sublieutenant.”

“I am the acting chief of science, Lieutenant.”

“I suggest that we communicate directly with your engineering staff for the repairs.”

Dhae took a long pause.

“They are all dead. I suppose that makes me also acting chief of engineering.”

All dead? thought Iskander. Mir Durbus had said that “most of them” were dead. The Romulans had been keeping needless secrets.

He sighed.

“Well. Please lead the way. It’s probably high time that an engineer takes a look at the situation.”

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Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, supplemental. We have been aboard the Romulan vessel for close to six hours in local time. We are still assessing much of the situation, really. Many easy fixes have been already implemented, but the main power source needs a longer study as it is an uncommon design. Few Federation engineers have experience with an artificial singularity as a power source. On the bright side, despite their absolute mood, the Romulans are being collaborative. A couple of them – I take it they are security – are keeping an eye on us, but Sublieutenant Dhae has proven himself to be resourceful and available.

Proven by six hours of working, Iskander stood and stretched. He was quite aware that he looked like a mess: he had been sprayed by some sort of lubricant, and had been doused both in coolant and in vapour: his hair was standing in all weird ways, his face was of all the wrong colors, and he had discarded the jacket of his uniform, ending up in his undershirt.

Sublieutenant Dhae emerged from the darkness, suddenly being next to him.

“Do you need anything, Lieutenant?” asked the Romulan.

He had been very present until now. The Romulans didn’t want Federation crew wandering their ship, so he arranged for stuff to be brought.

“I need a break” he said. “Well, my team needs a break. For most of us it is lunch time anyway.”

Sublieutenant Dhae nodded.

“We have brought food rations” said Iskander.

“Food rations? I’ll be dead before allowing such barbarism and lack of hospitality” answered Dhae. “Please let us treat you for dinner. This vessel has an exceptionally good canteen.”

Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the canteen. The crew was sitting at a table, but Dhae had insisted that he and Iskander sit separately, in a quiet and secluded part of the canteen.

The canteen, built in hues of dark green and bright orange, was surprisingly elegant. Aside from the Federation crew and the guards, there was no other Romulan. The food was brought and was abundant and absolutely delicious: it turned out to have been handcooked.

“The cook survives” said Dhae to Iskander, in the quiet of their table, when the food was brought. “Funny how these things go. The whole engineering team dies, but the cook survives: we are broken but well-fed.”

“Did the crew die when you collided with a piece of debris?” asked Iskander.

“Debris?” repeated Dhae. “We collided with a dead ship that was five times larger than ours. But to answer your question – yes, that is the event where we suffered extensive losses.”

“May I ask how many of the crew died?”

“That is not to be shared unless you absolutely need to know it, which you don’t.”

Dhae signaled to Iskander to pick one of the plates – otherwise identical. Iskander chose the one on his left and tried a bit of a vegetable. It was cured in a dark sauce and roasted, and thoroughly alien and delicious.

“What is your assessment, Lieutenant?” asked Sublieutenant Dhae.

Goodness me his voice is so deep and raspy, thought Iskander.

“The damage is extensive. Most of it can be repaired quite quickly and easily” he pronounced.

“What does quickly mean for Federation engineers?”

“Another six more hours. However, the artificial singularity doesn’t seem to be working correctly. Something in its power output is out of whack, Sublieutenant.”

Dhae chewed on a small sort of savory pastry before proceeding. “The artificial singularity has not been cared for since our engineering team died. Not properly cared for.”

“It is a sort of system I am not familiar with. We use matter-antimatter annihilators.”

“Are you implying you can’t fix it, Lieutenant?”

“I’m implying I can’t tell you how much it’s going to take for us to figure it out and repair it, Sublieutenant.”

They ate for a couple of minutes in silence.

“The food is delicious, though” said Iskander.

“Oh” evaluated Dhae. “Yes.”

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Lieutenant Iskander al-Kwaritzmi, log, supplemental: We have been on the Romulan ship for almost ten hours and have addressed most of the issues. However, the artificial singularity remains a problem that I can’t easily diagnose. We are going back to the Redding and are going to try again tomorrow.

The number of Romulans present at the departure of the Federation crew was much smaller than when they had arrived: only Sublieutenant Dhae and two security officers.

They could see the Federation shuttle approaching the shuttlebay, coming straight from the junkyard.

“We are going to be back tomorrow in ten standard hours” said Iskander to Dhae.

“It is acceptable.”

The shuttle entered and landed. The metal groaned again under its weight, but after a full day repairing a deserted Romulan main Engineering, that sound was nothing.

The door of the shuttle opened.

“Thank you for having come here, Lieutenant” said Dhae. “Relay my thanks to your Captain.”

“I will. And thank you” answered Iskander, probably too tired to know what he was saying. That left the Romulan very confused, but the door closed before he could clear the mystery of what those words meant, if anything.