The broken power coupling sparked. A shower of splintered light cascaded across half the bridge, briefly illuminating the dimmed region. Flicking his tongue, Captain S’linth tasted the dread; it coated his tongue like the vilest skin leavings of an unproductive. Another gravimetric wave inundated the Dutiful Burden, and the inertial dampers, already stressed beyond their means, failed once more; scaled bodies vaulted, landing in disheveled heaps of silent pain. Only one hiss spoke of anger. Of desire to overcome.

Using his tail to rebalance, S’linth’s tongue flicked: First Navigator Th’osh. The rest of the bridge crew were almost incapacitated with the stunning events that had upset their carefully controlled lives. For cycles they had traveled in near space to the nest, tasting the fruits without the labor. Now the predator had come calling and most of his crew’s colors showed loud and clear. Except for Th’osh. He knew the First Navigator had the spark within him.

“First Navigator. What’s our situation?”

Within moments Th’osh regained his seat, his nose buried in his sensors.

“I believe the worst of the gravimetric backsplash has abated, for the time being. We’ve lost partial power, with most sensors off-line. Shields, however, are holding at fifty percent.”

The taste of smoke tinged the air; intolerable on his ship. “Science, I want full power within five minutes and this cleared immediately.” He jabbed his hand into the air for emphasis.

“Yes, Captain.” Weakness. The voice held terrible weakness, but she had responded. A start.

“First Navigator, where’s the alien ship?”

“She’s still five thousand ris units off our bow. Sir, their dekyon beam has ceased.”

S’linth stiffened. “Get the main screen on.” He nictitated several times, still annoyed with the acrid stench of slightly burned plastic housing. Within moments the screen burst to life, only a slight distortion showing the damage it had sustained. Th’osh magnified the view several times without prompting. Yes, Th’osh would do well indeed.

The alien vessel appeared to be listing. To his trained eye, the vessel had obviously suffered damage as well. Where before the bright stream of energy had cleaved the darkness, now only the ship remained.

“Why did the beam stop, and where did the backsplash originate from?”

“I cannot say, Captain. What I can say is that the dekyon beam appeared to…flounder…almost immediately. They lost their hold on the gravity anchor, which is when the backsplash began. Twenty-eight seconds later, the ship emitted a dekyon beam of a different modulation; one that interacted with subspace in a way I do not understand. A second dekyon stream emitted, then stopped.”

S’linth gazed into the void, wishing his tongue could span the distance and taste the alien air. Feel their emotions. Find what drove them. What had happened? “You said they halted the other beam. Why?”

Behind him, S’linth could hear a rustling of robes and scraping of scales on deck as someone approached close to his command chair. Only one person had the audacity to approach like that; he ignored him. He’d pay the price later.

“I cannot say, Captain.”

“Is the ship dead in the void?”

Lithe, clawed fingers moved smoothly across the console—clenched in frustration. “I’m sorry, Captain, but full power has not yet been restored. Most of our sensors are still off-line.”

S’linth glanced once more at the ship that to all appearances looked dead. Another, very slight gravimetric wave rolled and yawed the Dutiful Burden. Barely enough to notice. The alien vessel, much closer to the original location of the gravity anchor, tossed about more actively.

A silence descended, broken only now and then by the whisper of scales on metal. Reviewing all that had come before, he made a decision. “Ahead, one-quarter impulse.” A rustle of clothing and scales exploded; terror turned to horror on the air, forcing him to snap shut his jaw or choke on the miasma of feelings.

A hand descended to touch his forearm. He could no longer ignore the presence. Turning his head, S’linth brought Third Councilman Sha’a into view. The reddish hues of his polished scales blended almost seamlessly with the carmine robes he wore. The way he carried his neck spoke of power and authority, of one accustomed to being deferred to without question.

Only hours before, S’linth had not only bowed his head, but had nictitated as well. No requirement for such a show of respect, but Councilman Sha’a had been a champion of the captain’s crèche for cycles. But now, too much had come out from under the rock into the harsh afternoon light. He had come to know that his ancestors had built a station within the photon sphere of the black hole called the Demon, and had left political opposition there to rot for all eternity. What’s more, they had kept it from the general populace. The entire Council, along with their hated appointed overseers for every starship, knew this truth. All the years of sending gifts into the Demon’s maw were a subterfuge, a blatant lie.

No. He would incline his head as a dutiful egg of the nest, but respect? He no longer had that for Sha’a.

The councilman snapped his tongue against his nose several times. “Captain S’linth. What are you doing?”

He ignored the rebuke. “The alien vessel appears to be in distress. We will render aid.”

“No, Captain, you will not.”

S’linth’s attempt at not stiffening failed miserably. In the course of events in the last several hours, he’d run up against the brutal truth that he held a figure-head status on his vessel. The real power lay with the Council. However, in the past, the overseers, even the hated Suliss, had managed to couch their orders in suggestions, leaving the captain, and more importantly, his crew, with the illusion he held power on his ship. Without such illusions, only chaos would follow. Now, the truth had bared its fangs and revealed itself to his crew as well.

From the egg, Resaurians were taught to obey the Council; it was almost a genetic imperative. Not even the Klingon occupation of their homeworld had interrupted this devotion. But this? How could he obey this command? When a distress call went out, you responded. A code beaten into every aspirant within the captain’s crèche. The two necessities warred within him.

Sha’a casually turned away and began to move sinuously to where Overseer Suliss had begun to collect himself from the pitiful heap he’d collapsed into.

S’linth looked around the bridge at the crew members who would not meet his gaze, until he found First Navigator Th’osh. He had moved soundlessly to his tail and now stood upright, meeting S’linth’s gaze with a firm one of his own. S’linth tasted the air and felt the conviction of trust. Sha’a would notice any moment; Th’osh bowed his head deeply, nictitating several times to S’linth. Not to the councilman, but to his captain. Only a moment’s more hesitation and S’linth tailed to his full height, radiated an affirmation of reciprocated loyalty, and turned toward the third councilman.

“First Navigator, I said ahead one-quarter impulse.”

Sha’a stopped and slowly turned around; he did so gracefully, considering this may have been the first time in his life someone had directly contradicted one of his orders. Beyond him, Overseer Suliss had begun to shake and hiss; overzealous fury washed the room, and he began to spit.

“How dare you. You cannot—”

“Third Councilman,” S’linth began, ignoring the nictitator, “that ship appears dead in the void. I have a sacred obligation to come to its aid.”

“Don’t ignore me, Captain. You will answer—”

“What’s more, if we do not go to the aid of this vessel, we will ignore what we are. It does not matter that they are aliens. All our codes will mean nothing if we knowingly let the helpless die.”

“You will be—”

“We will be no better than Klingons.”

The last phrase fell like a photon torpedo, detonating and sweeping all other conversation into nothingness. The occupation had ended nearly a millennium ago, but still the Resaurians remembered. S’linth kept his eyes locked on those of Third Councilman Sha’a. He had no need to taste the air to feel the malignant hatred of Overseer Suliss. The tableau held for several heartbeats until Suliss had mastered his emotions enough to once again begin his tirade.

“Treason!” Suliss spat at him. But like a thrown switch, Suliss cut off with a small raised hand from Sha’a.

“Captain, I have always admired you for your truthfulness and integrity. However, those are strong words you speak. And once spoken, they cannot be taken back. Once the fang has punctured, the poison is set, regardless of regrets. I believe I gave you a—”

“Captain,” Th’osh interrupted. Both turned to find out what could possibly have driven him to interrupt a councilman. “The ship, Captain. We have partial sensors back on-line, and she is hurt. Badly. However, she’s attempting to move into the photon sphere.”

“What?” Twin voices echoed.

“I cannot tell you anything else, but she’s limping down toward the photon sphere.”

“Is it a deliberate move? Or is she falling into the gravity well?”

“I cannot say.”

S’linth turned back to Sha’a, but spoke to Th’osh. “Ahead one-third impulse, and prepare the tractor beam.”

Suliss shook as though preparing to molt into another stage and started to speak, only to be cut off once more.

“By all means, Captain, proceed.” Sha’a’s words might as well have emerged from the Demon for the confusion they caused.

S’linth knew Sha’a had been on the verge of ordering him to remain clear of the alien vessel. What had changed? “Proceed?”

“As you say. You have a moral obligation. A ‘sacred trust,’ I believe you called it.” The councilman smiled. “We’ll save the humans, even from themselves.”