Captain’s Log. Stardate 2401.11. We’ve retreated to the edge of the Valdran system and the Klingons seem content for us to remain here licking our wounds, at least for the moment. Ark Royal held up well under the strain of sustained attack, but the Klingons still inflicted considerable damage. Commander Voss is estimating several days before repairs are complete, but if Commander Shukri and her team are still alive, they may not have that much time.

Arlo immediately tuned into the sound as he stepped into sickbay; the trill of medical tricorders, the beep of bioscanners, the soft hiss of hyposprays and low-level chatter between medical officers and their patients. The small ward to the right of the entrance had five biobeds, with those most badly injured during the battle occupying each of them. Arlo moved slowly from one bed to the next, spending a few minutes chatting with each of his injured officers. 

Throughout all his conversations, events on Valdran Prime weighed heavily on him. His first officer and her team were missing. For all he knew, they were dead. Even if they were alive, there was every chance Klingon forces would capture the team and torture them before Ark Royal could reach them. The thought sent a shiver down Arlo’s spine. On top of that, they had the illegal Klingon occupation to deal with, though Commodore Wyatt had made it clear his priority was the safe recovery of his officers and Doctor Livek.

Arlo hated the idea of letting the Klingon occupation continue, but as much as he wanted to force the Klingons out, Ark Royal faced superior numbers and Commodore Wyatt was clear that they could only expect limited reinforcements. It would take a miracle to prise the planet from the grip of the Klingon Empire.

By the time he stepped away from the last bed, Arlo was exhausted. What had started as a dull ache behind his eyes had matured into a relentless thump that felt like someone was swinging a hammer against the inside of his skull. All he wanted to do was to crawl into bed and spend the next twelve hours sleeping. But with a missing first officer, the ever-present threat of Klingon attack and trying to figure out how to rid Valdran Prime of their occupiers, sleep was a luxury he could ill afford.

Doctor Young’s office door was open when Arlo approached it. He knocked on the doorframe to get Young’s attention. “Excuse me, Doctor. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Young looked up from his work. “What can I do for you?”

Arlo collapsed into one of the visitor chairs and told Young, “I need something for a headache.”

“How long have you had it?” Young asked. He reached for a medical tricorder sitting on the edge of his desk.

The shrill tone of the tricorder in his ear as Young scanned him did nothing to help. “About forty minutes,” Arlo replied. “It wasn’t too bad at first, but it’s getting worse.”

“I’m detecting increased levels of psilosynine,” Young reported after a moment of studying his tricorder.

Arlo didn’t need to be told what was wrong. He already knew the cause, he just needed something to help ease the pain. He bit back a snappy retort and calmly explained, “It’s a side effect of the extra effort needed to strengthen my mental barriers. Times like this… there are a lot of strong emotions flying around. I just need something to help me manage the pain.”

“I can give you something, but what you need is rest,” Young told him.

Arlo gave a hollow laugh. “I wish I had that kinda time.”

“I could order you to.”

“You really wanna resort to that old cliche?”

“No,” After a beat Young added, “Not yet, anyway.”

Arlo tilted his head to one side so Doctor Young could press the hypospray against his neck. It took several seconds for Arlo to feel the effect, but when he did, his whole body sagged in relief as he let go of the tension he didn’t realise he was holding. With the release of that tension, his muscles ached.

“The first opportunity you get, I want you to rest, even if it’s just half an hour on the couch in your ready room,” Young ordered gently.

Even though he knew it was unlikely, Arlo placated the Doctor, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Young offered his best reassuring smile.

Arlo nodded in silent agreement before slowly rising to his feet. He took a moment to stretch his aching muscles, enjoying the momentary relief. Walking over the to window that provided a glimpse of the medical complex, Arlo watched as the medical staff went about their duties. 

“How bad?” Arlo asked quietly.

“Nine dead,” Young replied sadly as he stepped beside Arlo. “Four in critical condition in the ICU. Another five seriously injured in the ward and three dozen assorted minor injuries.”

Nine dead. The phrase repeated over and over in Arlo’s mind. “This crew’s already lost so much. First to the Dominion and then the Borg. To lose another nine of their friends.” He shook his head. “Doctor Livek better be worth it.”

“Even if he’s not, liberating Valdran from the Klingons will be,” Young told him.

“There’s no guarantee that we’ll succeed in that,” Arlo pointed out. “We’re just one ship against five. Even if we drive the Klingons out, the cost is already so great and will only rise.”

Arlo could remember the day the Dominion invaded Betazed. They cut through the old planetary defence system with ease. It had taken them less than half a day to completely conquer Betazed. The Dominion were as brutal and efficient. 

14-year-old Arlo Henris had been on vacation at Lake Cataria with his parents when the invasion came. His mother, an officer in the planetary defence force, instructed Arlo and his father to remain at the cabin and wait for her instruction. They never heard from her again. Arlo later learned she was killed less than two hours after he last saw her. 

Arlo’s father was an academic, a man of peace who spent his life in the pursuit of scientific truth. The invasion of Betazed and the death of his wife forced that man of peace to become a warrior. His father was murdered three months into the occupation, after being captured and executed for membership of a resistance group. Arlo joined Starfleet to prevent other people from having to suffer the way he did. He would not allow the Klingon occupation of Valdran to continue.

“Captain Henris to the bridge.” The sound of Commander Wescott’s on the comm voice pulled Arlo from his memories. 

“I appreciate your help, Doctor.” Arlo strode out of Young’s office, ignoring the Doctor’s concerned look, and was in the nearest turbolift less than a minute later. Using his command override, he ordered the turbolift directly to the bridge. The moment the turbolift doors opened, Arlo marched towards the centre of the bridge and barked. “Report, Commander.”

Wescott provided her report as she relinquished the centre seat. “A Romulan warbird has decloaked directly ahead. Its configuration matches those used by the Free State.”

“Captain,” Calderwood’s English accent rang clearly across the bridge. “We’re being hailed.”

Arlo lowered himself into the command chair, his fingers wrapping tightly around the armrest. “Onscreen.”

“Captain Henris,” the image of a Romulan woman wearing the uniform of a Tal Shiar officer filled the screen. Arlo estimated she couldn’t have been a day over thirty-five, but given how long-lived Romulans were, he could’ve been a few decades out. “My name is Commander Mireth of the Romulan Free State.”

“A little far from Free State space, aren’t you Commander?”

“We are responding to reports of a Klingon attack on Valdran Prime,” Mireth told him smoothly without directly answering his question. 

“Those reports are accurate,” Arlo told her. “They’ve occupied the planet.”

Arlo watched as Mireth absorbed that information, though she gave little away. “They have invaded a Romulan world, subjugated our citizens-”

“These are not citizens of the Free State.”

“I meant Romulan citizens,” Mireth replied firmly. “Whether they are Fee State citizens or not, I refuse to stand idly by and allow any Romulans to live under the yoke of Klingon oppression. Given your history of living under an occupying force, I’m sure you feel the same.”

It seemed Valdran had read the Tal Shiar file on him. “You’re very well informed,” Arlo told her, eliciting a smirk from the Romulan commander. He glanced at Commander Wescott, who looked dubious. Arlo shared her distrust, but if Mireth was offering to help them repel the Klingon invasion, Arlo wasn’t in a position to say no. “What are you proposing?”

“Allow me to beam aboard your vessel so we can discuss this matter further.”

Arlo recognised Commander Mireth’s offer for what it was; an olive branch. “Agreed. Signal when you’re ready to beam over.”

“Very well,” Mireth looked off-screen and a second later, the comm channel closed.

Commander Wescott turned to Arlo. “Do you really think we can trust her?”

“I don’t know,” Arlo admitted. “But I believe she’s earnest in her desire to free her fellow Romulans from Klingon occupation and in this, our goals align.” He sighed heavily as he rubbed his temples. His headache had eased, but he could still feel the dull throb. “Would you meet our guest in the transporter room and escort her to the observation lounge?”

As Wescott left the bridge, Arlo turned to the tactical station. “Mister Calhoun, you have the bridge.”

It was only ten minutes between the end of his conversation with Mireth to the Romulan commander walking into the observation lounge. “Captain Henris, a pleasure to meet you in person.” Her insincerity was obvious to Arlo, but it was the diplomatic thing to say.

“Likewise,” Arlo replied, forcing what he thought was a passable approximation of a warm smile. “Have a seat.” Once they were all settled, Arlo began, “You believe if we join forces, we can push the Klingons off Valdran Prime?”

Mireth leaned forward and placed one hand on top of the other. “I’m under no illusion. It will be what humans call an uphill struggle?” Wescott nodded silently. “We are still outnumbered, but I believe there is a strong possibility that we could emerge victorious.”

“There’s a complicating factor,” Arlo told her. “I have people on the ground, even if we can’t defeat the Klingons, I need to get them back.”

“You mean the team you sent down to recover Doctor Livek?”

Arlo carefully schooled his features to hide his shock. The Tal Shiar wasn’t supposed to know about Livek’s defection. “Who?” Arlo asked, after pausing for too long.

“You Betazoids make poor liars, Captain,” Mireth smirked. “We know of Doctor Livek’s plan to defect to the Federation. When this is over, he will return to T’Met and stand trial for his treason.”

“And if I decide he’s coming with us?”

“One thing at a time, Captain,” Mireth replied diplomatically. “For now, let us focus on the Klingon threat.”

The chirp of the comm system interrupted them and the voice of Calhoun echoed throughout the observation lounge. “Bridge to captain. Another Romulan warbird has decloaked.” Arlo glanced at Wescott, who looked just as confused as he felt. “This one matches ships we’ve seen used by the Romulan Republic. Their commander is requesting permission to join your conference.”

“We can use all the help we can get,” Arlo replied, though Commander Mireth looked less than pleased about this turn of events. “Inform the Republic commander he can beam aboard.”

The hum of a Romulan transporter filled the room seconds later and the figure of a male Romulan in the uniform of the Republic materialised at the other end of the observation lounge. “Someone’s eager,” Arlo mumbled.

“Captain,” the Republic commander stepped forward with an outstretched hand, “I apologise for my abrupt entry, but we have little time to waste.” Arlo rose and accepted the Romulan’s hand. “Commander Shavik of the Romulan Republic.”

“I’m Captain Arlo Henris,” he motioned to Wescott. “My chief of security, Commander Elizabeth Wescott, and this is Commander Mireth of the Romulan Free State.” The two Romulans pointedly refused to acknowledge each other. He offered Shavik a seat opposite Mireth. “What brings the Republic here?”

“We’re here for the same thing you are,” Shavik replied. “To free the people of Valdran Prime from Klingon oppression.”

A derisive snort escaped from Mireth. “No doubt hoping to curry favour with the people so they’ll join your ridiculous Republic.”

“Projecting your true objective here onto me,” Shavik sneered. “How feeble.”

Mireth gave Shavik a cold smirk. “You’re a spineless veruul, Shavik, just like your Republic.”

“Enough!” Arlo shouted, his frustration with his Romulan counterparts finally boiling over. “None of this helps us liberate Valdran from the Klingons. We need to put aside our differences if we have any hope of success.”

For several long seconds, the two Romulans glared at each other, and for a moment Arlo thought they would launch themselves across the table at each other. He just couldn’t figure out what would happen if they did; would they fight each other or end up in a passionate embrace? Eventually, both commanders nodded their agreement.

“Good,” Arlo said, relief clear in his voice. “Now if you’re done sniping at each other, let’s get to work.”

Shavik leaned forward. “What of Doctor Livek?”

Did everyone know about this defector except me? Arlo silently asked himself. He carefully schooled his features and repeated Commander Mireth’s words, “One thing at a time.”