“Captain, we’re being hailed.”  Chief Communications Officer Presley Atega turned in her chair, alerting Captain Helena Dread, who swung her chair to face the young officer.  “It’s…the colony, sir.”

The XO turned slowly back to the front screen, confused.  The shuttle with Crawford and his team hadn’t had a chance to launch.  She tapped at the console on the command chair, “Dread to Crawford…the colony is hailing us.”

Crawford frowned in the runabout decks below the bridge, “That’s…interesting.  Patch us through to listen.  Whatever they have to say will be worth hearing.”

Dread gave the order to Atega and stood from the command chair, “Let’s see what they’ve got to say.”  The screen flickered until a Romulan appeared on the screen, flanked by an Orion, a Bolion, and a Klingon.  “I’m Captain Dread of the Federation Starship Olympic…”

The Romulan snarled, “I know who you are, Helena Dread.  I am also familiar with your commanding officer, a Peter Crawford.”  The three at his side stared at the screen.  “You may have received a request for assistance from this colony, but that request is no longer necessary.  The Syndicate has responded and is assisting with recovery and repair efforts.”

Dread squinted at the screen, “The Romulans I’ve worked with, I can count on two hands, and I don’t recall you.”

The Romulan chuckled, “I didn’t say you knew me, Helena Dread.  I said I know who you are.  You can tell your captain he doesn’t need to come down here on a shuttle.  The people of this colony have no further need for the Federation…or Starfleet.”

It was Helena’s turn to frown.  She remained standing and tried another tact, “You’ve made that clear.  I want to speak to the colony’s people to verify your claims.”

Another chuckle, “That won’t be necessary.  We’ve assumed control of the governmental operations with the generous allowance by the people here.  Once more, your services are no longer needed.  I don’t want to have to make plain the fact that you are an Olympic-class starship, and we would rather not have to escort you.  You know the way out, I presume?”

Dread bit back the bile that was rising in her throat.  There were threats, and then there were threats.  Threatening action against an Olympic class was a step away from a war crime.  The Romulan had no fear, care, or a dangerous mix of both.  “I’ll consult with my commanding officer.  You know all about us, it seems.  What is your name?”

He spat out, “Rigilia.  You have ten minutes.”  The channel cut.

Fifteen seconds later, Crawford stepped onto the bridge, “Tell me we have something on this guy.”

Dread turned from the science station, “He was once a rising star but broke away.  Starfleet Intelligence wasn’t sure where he landed.  It appears he found a home in the Syndicate.”  She read from the screen, “He’s pretty brutal – part of why he went his own way.  Not much mercy, allegations of abuse, murder, and more death and destruction.”

Peter flopped down in the center chair, “He’s not going to play nice or fair with us if we even try and land….or negotiate.  He doesn’t seem afraid of us.”  He turned to Atega, “It’s time to call the Mack.”