Et, tu Romulus?

Posted on Sat Jun 21st, 2025 @ 12:38am by Rear Admiral Rebecca Talon & Romulan Commander Tomarah T'Sei

1,335 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Mission 9: When the Stars Went Silent
Location: USS Denver - Ready Room
Timeline: 3 Weeks after the battle of Vulcan

Earth rotated lazily in swirls of blue and white beyond the ready room’s window.
It had been three weeks since the Battle of Vulcan. Tellar Prime, Andoria, Trill—dozens of worlds—were now under Dominion control. The 9th Fleet, under Admiral Ross, had somehow held the line at Deep Space Nine, but good news was rare these days.

“You look like you could use this,” Commander Tomarah said, breaking the silence in her typically blunt way. She held out a bottle of Romulan Ale.

Rebecca sighed and offered her empty glass. “Thanks. I usually stick to coffee, but…” She waved her hand as the glass was filled halfway. “That’ll do.”

Tomarah ignored the gesture and topped it off. “We are all under the threat of a ruthless enemy,” she said simply. “There’s no need for moderation. Sometimes chemical assistance in dulling the pain is all you can do, brief and futile that it is.”

“Thanks.”

She lifted the glass of blue alcohol, its color oddly reminiscent of the Kool-Aid she drank as a kid. The liquid shimmered, like something that belonged in a nebula, not a cup. Taking a sip, it bit her tongue and burned down her throat. Rebecca suppressed a wince.

Her father would’ve called her a teetotaler. He said it with teasing affection over a glass of tequila or Mexican beer. She’d always been okay with that. It wasn’t that she abstained completely from alcohol, but she rarely sought it out. But Tomarah might see it as a weakness.

The terminal buzzed, a low, insistent alert.

Rebecca turned it toward her, tapped the play icon, and was met with a familiar electronic beep. The LCARS interface dissolved into the sharp graphics of a Federation News Network broadcast. A newscaster appeared behind a desk, poised and polished.

Cradling her drink, Rebecca stepped back to stand beside Tomarah.

“Good evening, I am Jorish Wynnker, and you are watching the FNN Nightly Report. With our top story, we go to Sarah Thomas reporting from Romulus.”

The image shifted to a young human woman clad in black tactical body armor. The word PRESS was emblazoned in bold white letters across her chest. Behind her, bathed in late-afternoon light and framed by sculpted green trees, stood the Romulan capital. The iconic dome of the Senate towered at the city’s heart, solemn and imposing.

“Tonight, the Senate chambers are silent, but earlier today, a Tal Shiar-backed faction marched through these very streets and arrested the Praetor. Images of his execution spread rapidly across Romulan media channels, triggering unrest in several provinces. Romulan officials quickly—”

Video footage of the unrest splashed across the scene as protestors and rioters clashed with uniformed Romulans. Anti-grav transports were toppled, and some ignited. Rebecca gasped as green disruptors lashed out, striking several unarmed civilians. A Romulan disruptor didn’t have a stun setting.

One of the Romulan soldiers hesitated. His eyes were wide beneath his riot helmet, lips peeled back in a grimace that bared his teeth. He didn’t fire. The civilians surged forward, tackling him to the ground. He vanished beneath the tide, a silent scream of horror lost in the chaos. His fellow peacekeepers responded instantly, sweeping into the fray and cutting through the crowd like the Reaper’s scythe.

Until this point, Tomarah stared silently at the screen and muttered a single word untranslatable for the universal translator. Rebecca didn’t know what it was, but given the context, she could only imagine.

“—put down the unrest. Jirok has emerged as the leader of the coup and declared himself the new Praetor. With strong ties to both the Tal Shiar and the Romulan military, he has long been a vocal figure among the hard-line anti-Federation faction within the government. Under his authority, the newly convened Jirok-led Senate moved swiftly to dissolve the alliance and nullify the treaty with the United Federation of Planets.”

“As of 01:27 Paris time, the Romulan government has surrendered to the Dominion. All Romulan troops are withdrawing from the front lines and falling back to Romulus, as the last of our Romulan-dependent defensive sectors have collapsed. The 8th and 12th Fleets are now in full retreat to deeper Federation space. From Romulus, for FNN, this is Sarah Thomas.”

The broadcast switched back to the main anchor.

A statement issued by Weyoun earlier today read: ‘This is a great day for the Dominion and the Alpha Quadrant. Our new Romulan friends have wisely ended the suffering of their people and ushered in a new era of cooperation between Romulus and the Dominion.’

“In response to the latest losses and the surrender of the Romulan Star Empire, Chancellor Gowron has formally withdrawn the Klingon Empire from the Federation Alliance. Klingon forces are now retreating to the Empire’s core worlds, abandoning their outlying systems.”

The screen flickered, and the wild-eyed visage of Gowron filled the frame.

”The Klingon Empire has fought this war with honor. Our warriors have cut down the Jem’Hadar with their blades and shown the Dominion what it means to face the Empire. But with our forces scattered across the quadrant, we face annihilation. To our allies in the Federation: you are welcome to make your stand with us on Qo’noS.”

The image flashed back to Jorish, ”FNN reached out to the Federation President and Starfleet Command—so far, we have received no response.”

Rebecca slapped the End Transmission button. The terminal gave a soft chirp and returned to the familiar LCARS interface.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered. Turning to Tomarah, she forced a smile, shaking her head. “I guess we know why you were ordered back to Romulus now.”

Tomarah stood still, her gaze fixed on the floor, hands hanging at her sides. “Indeed.”

Rebecca exhaled sharply. “There’s an old human phrase: United we stand, divided we all fall. Together, we might have had a chance at defeating the Dominion. Now…”

Tomarah crossed the room in silence and stopped at the window. Earth turned slowly beyond the glass—serene, oblivious.
Rebecca watched her, studying the rigid line of her back, the tension in her shoulders. She didn’t know the Romulan woman well. But in these last few weeks, she had come to believe Tomarah was honorable and true to this Alliance.

“I will…” The Romulan woman hesitated, an action Rebecca had never seen before. Always blunt. Always confident, like every other member of her species, she had encountered.

“I was part of a pro-Federation faction. When I was in the Senate, I voted for this alliance. I have no place on Romulus anymore. If I were to return, and my fortunes were to go in my favor, I might be exiled to my family’s estate. In reality, it is far more likely that the Tal-shiar would kill me. I have made many enemies on Romulus over the years.”

Rebecca glanced down at her ale, frowned, and took a long pull, emptying the glass.

“I will defy my orders and remain fighting at your side.”

Rebecca set the glass on the desk and took in her Romulan captain. Stoic and composed as always. Just as infuriating as their Vulcan cousins when staring into the void. But she no longer saw Tomarah as an enemy or even an ally. She was now just as human as her. Terrified of the future, and betrayed by fate.

“I would be honored to continue fighting at your side,” Rebecca said softly, moving next to her counterpart. Through the glass, she caught the green hull of the Xoval in orbit. It was strange to see a Warbird over her planet, but again, it was a strange time.

“And when Earth falls?” Tomarrah asked, saying the quiet part no one in the Federation dared to utter.

“Then we fight tooth and nail for every inch. We fight until we can no longer stand.”

 

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