Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, stardate… out of the Underspace: the Redding saved the day, carrying the dying Koruba out of the Underspace. The seventeen surviving Romulans and me have been beamed aboard the Redding as the bird-of-prey is suffering a catastrophic computer failure that will destroy it.

Iskander was definitely low on energy, so he went to the replicator and ordered a third coffee. He might have gone to sleep, but on the Redding it was early Beta shift, and it would have completely messed up his rest habits.

Since returning from the Koruba, a few hours ago, not much had happened. The two ships had re-emerged roughly one hundred light-years from where the Redding had been before falling into the Underspace — not a big jump for the Federation ship, but a very long way from home for the Romulans, who were also devoid of a ship. They had been taken under custody by the security officers and were probably being given provisional lodgings: the Romulan Republic was nominally a friendly power to the Federation, and good-will gestures were expected.

The pilot of the Redding was being celebrated as the hero of the day: the manoeuvre to catch the Romulan bird-of-prey while it was starting to tumble out of Warp had been exceedingly complicated and had risked both vessels; navigating the Underworld with twice the mass on the engines had also proven a challenge. The pilot would probably get a promotion out of this feat: Iskander would probably pass by and thank her at some point in the following days.

Out of the window of the Reddaurant — the Redding‘s infamously named bar — the bird-of-prey could be seen dying it slow death. Main power had already gone out, making it nothing more than a dark silhouette hard to be distinguished from the stars in the background. Iskander had lived there for more than a month, but didn’t consider it to have been his home in any way.

It was funny how time had passed in the Underspace: for him it had been more than a month, for the crew of the Redding it had been a couple of days, and for the rest of the galaxy it had been seven minutes.

Iskander stared out of the window, trying not to doze off, until something caught his eye: a Romulan had entered. His excitement at the idea that it could be Dhae — it would be perfectly in character for him to find his way to an eatery — was short lived, though: it was the young uhlan whom he had met on the bridge, the one who had been blamed for not preventing the Lovelace cascade.

The Romulan ordered something at the bar and picked a table. Iskander, on a whim, picked up his coffee and approached.

“Jolan’tru” said Iskander.

The young Romulan looked at him with suspicion, then somewhat relaxed. He didn’t seem happy. He had ditched his uniform, preferring instead quite bland civilian clothing.

“Lieutenant” greeted him the Romulan. “It is agreeable to see a known face.”

“Likewise. Could I sit for a moment? I would like to ask a question.”

The Romulan made a permissive gesture and Iskander sat. Then he took a sip of the drink he had just ordered and grimaced. “That’s not what I ordered.”

“Did the Tellarite at the bar serve you? He’s new. Nothing can be done, uhlan — if you tell him that he’s made a mistake, he’ll try again and invariably get it wrong in a new, unexpected way.”

“Please do not address me as uhlan.”

“Apologies. I must have misheard your rank.”

The Romulan breathed deeply.

“You didn’t, Lieutenant, but I’m sure that my rank isn’t for long yet. I failed to prevent a critical mass desynchronisation of the computer. My career in the Romulan Republic military has ended.”

Iskander looked out at the bird-of-prey. He knew that the artificial singularity containment field had stopped working when its software had corrupted; the artificial singularity had escaped and, now morphing into a black hole, was consuming the ship. Soon the Koruba would be completely attracted and engulfed into its former source of power; the Redding would drop a black hole buoy and that would be the end of it.

“Were you qualified for that task?”

The Romulan grimaced again. “That is irrelevant. The ship is lost. Our Centurion, who abandoned his post out of frustration, will be similarly expelled. Sublieutenant Dhae, despite having come up with the plan to use a tachyon field, will most likely also follow.”

“He didn’t do anything!” protested Iskander, immediately regretting the defensive tone he had automatically assumed.

“He broke protocol at least seven times on the bridge” replied the soon-to-be-former uhlan, “mostly by insisting that you be present. Also, his rule-breaking use of the holosuite has been noted.”

Iskander could say nothing.

“The ship is lost, and so is the crew, Lieutenant.”

Iskander sipped his coffee.

“But you wanted to ask me something, Lieutenant.”

“Right! What is the meaning of names amongst Romulans?”

The young Romulan raised his eyebrows.

“Each of us has three names, Lieutenant. One is used in public by strangers and colleagues. One is used by the family. But the last, the true name, can only be known by the one that your heart has been given to. Why do you ask?”

Iskander breathed deeply. Dhae had given him his name, and Iskander wasn’t family. He swallowed. “I am going to have to keep that a secret, uhlan.”