The triumvirate of Resaurians faced the viewscreen, as inscrutable as ever; strangely, they were the only individuals on the bridge. Gold knew it was simply a problem of communications, but he couldn’t help but think their emotionless faces were an act—a conscious move to hide their true emotions behind a façade.

It only enraged him further.

“So, this is how it went down,” he said, uncaring that the endless hours of frustrating failures to bring his crew home were hemorrhaging into his voice. “For millennia you’ve peacefully passed through cycles of quick progression, followed by centuries of slow evolution. Until the Klingons came. They subjugated you, enslaved you, and after thoroughly altering your society, cast you aside. With more technology than you could possibly hope to deal with, your equilibrium shattered, the progressives came into power and held sway for a hundred years. Upheavals continued as you tried to come to terms with technology well beyond your cultural or moral development. Finally, in an act of desperation, the traditionalists overthrew the progressives and removed them from power. How am I doing so far?”

Gold couldn’t care less about his sarcasm-laced words, as the trio continued to stare at him as though watching a bug they found fascinating, but ultimately would eat. He knew Abramowitz was probably having a conniption right about now, but he couldn’t care less about that either. They’d lied to him. Lied to him on his own ship, while his crew was stuck in that hell-hole they’d created.

“So, you’d overthrown the most powerful of the progressives, but you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t kill them—the Klingons may have erased much of your culture, but that was one tradition that you’d jealously kept—so you constructed a prison inside the black hole and threw them. How long have they been down there? How long has this secret been kept?”

He stared daggers across the electronic gulf, and for the first time noticed something different. Sha’a had remained a statue during his rant and Suliss only less so, nodding once in a while as though to confirm and support everything he’d said. Captain S’linth, however, appeared agitated. If the councilman had not been so still, perhaps holding himself from giving anything away, Gold probably would not have even noticed S’linth’s movements. Now, however, the slight sway of the head, the twitch of the arms, the quiver of the lips: they all added up to a captain who was receiving the surprise of a lifetime. He’s been lied to as well. Can the whole Resaurian population be blind to this but the councilmen? Or perhaps the overseers to each ship that the Council appoints?

Gold looked again at those obsidian eyes and had his answer. “Councilman, answer me. You threw them into that hole for eternity.”

“We did not kill them,” Sha’a finally answered.

“What?” Gold launched himself out of his seat and moved to stand close to the screen; it changed nothing, but psychologically it was good to appear closer to them. “That’s your answer? You didn’t kill them? You for damn sure might as well have. It’s been nine hundred years since they were tossed into that mishegos. The whole galaxy has changed in scope and then some since then. It would’ve been better to slit their throats and be done with it.”

Finally, he seemed to reach the councilman, as his tongue wiggled for several long seconds. The Resaurian suddenly leaned forward and rested onto his legs for the first time in Gold’s presence.

“Captain, it matters not what we did. Nor, by the egg, does it matter to you. This is our business and our station. You cannot interfere.”

“Like hell I can’t. That may be your station, but my people are on it.” Gold was gratified to finally see some real emotion from Sha’a, as the councilman rocked back onto his tail and wove his head back and forth, quickly. That had taken him by surprise. “This may be Resaurian business, but you forgot to stick up a sign saying ‘no trespassing.’ We received a distress signal, we moved to assist, and now I’ve got seven of my crew trapped on that tin can. I’m going to get them out.”

“You cannot do this.”

“You don’t seem to understand, Sha’a. My people are down there and I’m going to get them out. If that requires I pull out the entire space station and hand you back your exiles, so be it.”

With that he motioned and the front screen went dark.

Time to bring his crew home.

Captain S’linth’s lips ached from the act of not baring his fangs in dismay. He’d gone seven cycles on this bridge. Seven cycles of unfailing service to the Nest and the joy of exploring the astronomical wonders in near space; how had it come to this?

Suliss and Sha’a were bent in a whispered conversation, while he stood on the side, forgotten. He’d known that the real power behind each ship was the Council, regardless of how much a captain flexed against his overseer, but only now did he understand what a figurehead he truly was. A figurehead to be cast aside when necessary.

S’linth tasted the air and found a raw, blood harshness that demonstrated a will of iron. A will to do anything to accomplish what must be done.

He did not like it. Did not like it at all.

Could what the aliens said be true? Could their ancestors really have done something so terrible? Could the Council know about it? Could the stalwart councilman (ever the captain’s crèche supporter) know of this?

He stabbed the air multiple times, drawing in as much sensation as he could muster. Try as he might, he could not deny what stood before him.

Against all tradition, he slithered forward, intruding, spoke.

“Third Councilman Sha’a, what will you do?”

Suliss, the nictitater, so afraid of the events transpiring before, rose up in fury and righteous indignation with power at his side, only to be cut off by a small gesture from Sha’a.

“Captain,” he hissed softly, “what do you feel should be done?”

“I simply don’t know, Councilman. I don’t know.”

He hissed laughter. “That is what I’ve always appreciated about you, Captain. Your are unfailingly truthful. However, I know what we must do. There really is no question.” He turned to look back toward the now black viewscreen. “They must be stopped.”