"Alpha and Omega"

boachev

Disclaimer: These events take place in roughly late 2409, and are based on much of what has happened in Star Trek Online. I have a habit of making up stories in my head based on characters, your typical "headcanon" and background stories, that kind of TRIBBLE. But I've started pondering some more than usual, and I've been looking for a nice "pressure free" way to practice my writing, and I've found myself with a little extra free time. The result? This! And honestly, I've enjoyed it enough (and come with more ideas since) that I think that, unless it's universally reviled and I sulk away in shame, that it could serve as an introduction. I'll also happily take any creative criticisms. I know I can get up my own TRIBBLE if I don't keep myself in check, for example, though I THINK I avoided being a complete tool here. Like, maybe 40% tool, tops. It's unlikely I'll change too much in each individual post, since it's just fan-fiction I typed up for the fun of it, but I'm always looking to grow as a writer.
So please, to all five of you that have made it this far, enjoy.


Larrim's head pounded with heavy, almost metallic drumming. It was rhythmic; indeed, it would've been almost soothing if it wasn't for the fact he could feel his teeth chattering with every deafening thump. The Romulan groaned as he rolled over, he hadn't remembered his bed being this stiff and… there was something. Something that he was supposed to remember. Or do? It seemed very important at the time, and yet he couldn't recall what it was.

"Computer, lights," he mumbled as he stared into the darkness in the expanse between himself and the ceiling.

No change, the computer must not have heard him properly. Or it was malfunctioning again. Third time this week, and if Onsair doesn't face disciplinary action this time…

"Computer, lights," more crisply and slowly than the last time.

Still no response. Malfunction it is then. Perhaps the drumming in his school was the result of the sheer incompetence surrounding him. The same drumming Larrim found responsible for the fact that his eyes still seemed to be struggling to adjust to the lighting (well, lack thereof) of his quarters. Because right now? Right now, nothing looked quite right, like someone had snuck in while he was asleep and re-arranged his meager possessions as some manner of sick prank. If only he could remember what it was that was so important, a voice deep inside told him that memory held the answers he was seeking. As much as Larrim wished he could just lay back down and return to his slumber, he figured there was little chance of that happening so long as the pounding inside his school continued i_ts methodical chorus (which had now begun to spread down the back of his neck). Besides, agents of the Tal Shiar don't just roll over and hope the problem goes away. They ask questions, demand answers, find out who is responsible.

Time for some answers, then, Larrim thought to himself.

He attempted to rise from his bed, though finding it more difficult than normal, almost as if his limbs were refusing to follow his commands. Insurgency within his own body was the last thing Larrim needed. At last he emerged as the victor, closing his eyes as he basked in the glory of his success as he managed to pull himself to a sitting position. One of the Tal Shiar's finest leaned back and- bulkhead? Larrim could feel a chill running from the cold metal and into spine, from their its tendrils began to take hold of the rest of his body.

This isn't right, these aren't my quarters, Larrim pondered his situation.

Something felt wrong, something beyond the paranoia that the Tal Shiar had taught Larrim to treat as the only true friend he had in this world.

"Ariennye," he muttered as he mustered the courage to open his eyes.

No, these definitely were not his quarters. His vision still lacked focus, but throughout the haze he could make out a few visages: netting, blades and shadow, a gurgling vat of the gods only know what, and bones. Skulls and femurs and tibulas displayed on the walls under what little light resided here, above a mesh bag of what resembled pelvises swung with the almost imperceptible sway of the ship's inner-workings, the leather anchoring it to the ceiling giving off a mournful creak each time it shifted. These bones, did they have something to do with what so critical? Felt like a lifetime ago, bones… Wait, he could feel the edges of memory at the tips of his fingers. Larrim didn't recall retiring for the evening, he didn't curl up in bed after a long evening of doing his part to further the Empire's glory. Like the trickle of a hidden stream winding its way down into a cavern below, Larrim's memory began to return to him. He was on duty, he was definitely on duty the last he could recall. Third shift rotation. Not as punishment, it was because the Commander favored Larrim among all of his Centurions and trusted him to keep his subordinates well inline throughout their shift. A typically uneventful assignment, even for the little station. Station 62H, or "Vandaihko Station" as its inhabitant had come to informally call it (named, or so Larrim has overhead, for a former Commander of it that has since departed for a more prestigious position) was in truth little more than a backwater outpost, out along the edge of the Romulan Star Empire's grasp in a system yet to receive a formal name in the orbit of a planet with little more than rock and dust to its. Regardless, the people living on the station did so proudly and treated their work just as important as someone stationed on Rator III or Installation 18. But this? This was clearly not Vandaihko Station, that much Larrim was confident about.

And the bones strewn across the bulkheads like macabre decorations for the quadrant's least fun festival? Now Larrim remembered.

"You're awake," a voice drifted out from the shadows, its owner following close behind as he placed what vaguely resembled a hydro-spanner down on what vaguely resembled a table. The hunter's footsteps ended when he was close enough to "tower" over the bound Romulan at his feet. Larrim used the word very lightly in his mind, for his apparent captor was of an incredibly short stature for a member of his race. He glared up, hoping the defiance in his eyes would mask the pain that had now merged with the chill in his spine.

Larrim put the pain out of his mind, stiffening his back while trying to channel some semblance of authority despite the circumstances. "I am Centurion Larrim of the Romulan Star Empire, a member of the Tal Shiar, and your superior. What is the meaning of this? I order you to release me at once!"

The hunter grinned in bewilderment, almost catching Larrim with how boyish he looked.

He nodded downwards, still smirking like he'd never seen a Romulan before, "He'll want to know your awake."

With that, the young hunter turned and headed towards what Larrim could now make out to be a doorway.

"I said release me! Do you understand me?" he strained and struggled against the straps binding his arms in legs in a manner undignified of a Romulan of his stature, "Release me! That's an order!"

An order that would seem destined to go unobeyed as the one it was directed towards vanished into whatever neighbored this room. Larrim cursed under his breath.

Hirogen.

Clarity had main it's long journey back to Larrim's mind, or at least the first vestiges of it. Larrim was now certain, he had been left in charge of the third shift rotation when they'd received a distress call. One of the few ships assigned to patrol their system, the IRW Imperious, had sent it out, only a brief plea before her communications were jammed. It was an old T'varo-class, really only good for chasing off pirates and other ramshackle scum looking for easy plunder. And whatever attacked the Imperious was obviously no ordinary pirate as the T'Varo vanished from the station's sensors within a matter of seconds. They couldn't get a clear reading on the interloping vessel, a vital clue that Larrim realized he overlooked. Hirogen vessels can do tricky things to sensors, especially when they know they're going into a fight. He should've called back all of the patrols then, consolidated the Imperial forces along with the station's meager defenses and left no weaknesses for the hunters to exploit. Instead arrogance got the best of him, arrogance and an opportunity to make an even bigger name for himself. Larrim let the Commander continue to sleep while the Tetok was dispatched to investigate, a proper battleship, a Mogai-class warbird. With the element of surprise with her thanks to its cloaking device, the Tetok should be capable of making quick work of whatever was out there.

Or at least that's what Larrim had assumed. In reality, the Hirogen vessel had already vacated those coordinates, leaving behind some presents for the Tetok to find. The warbird's commander had ambushed what they realized too late to be a false signal, a cluster of explosive charges the ripped through its wings before its shields come fully online. As she began to burn in the frigid vacuum of space, the Rocan was already being ambushed by the hunters' craft. Within moments, it too was lost. Only the IRW Neciul remained, out on the far side of the system surveying the thin rings of a frozen planetoid. She should be able to return to Vandaihko in time, still rally a defense. All hope had not been lost. And then it was. Maybe there was a second ship? No, it seemed unlikely. A better wager would be that they knew where the Neciul was and just where they could intercept her on her way back. She fared no better than the other warbirds, and all Larrim could do was watch as she vanished from sensors.

They knew when we were vulnerable, divided us and picked us off one by one. Hirogen really are predators to their core.

After that the station was left alone, defenseless, unable to offer any proper resistance to the Hirogen vessel as it descended upon them. It crippled them, leaving them alive but hopeless. Afterwards came the expected: Hirogen boarded the station, hunting down anyone who opposed them. At least the Commander never had the opportunity to punish Larrim thanks to a Hirogen hunter cutting him down just outside the doors to his quarters. Larrim wasn't surprised, the old man had let himself go and was now neither swift or a difficult target. In the operations center, they held out as long as they could, though in truth it was a pathetically short time. Attempts to lock and barricade the doors proved to be little more than a speedbump, a shell their adversaries obviously had experience in cracking. Larrim called out for someone to cover the rear exit as the Hirogen started to pour in, blasts and beams of tetryon and plasma lighting up the air as bodies (all Romulan, from what Larrim could see) quickly began to hit the floor. Around him the seeds of chaos and carnage were being sown while erupting into full bloom seconds later; a flash from a nearly blinding explosion, smoke filled the air as consoles burst and sputtered sparks from errant weapons fire, shouts of anger and terror, a joyous raucous when a hunter slew his prey. The Centurion raised his own weapon, firing half-blindly where he knew the Hirogen had taken position. And then- then he felt a heavy blow drop onto his cranium. A Hirogen, clubbing him with one of those ghastly rifles they loved to carry around in all likelihood. Incredible how silently such massive creatures could move when it was needed. Shadows crept in from the corners of his eyes, slumber taking him before he met the ground.

And then he was here, dressed up like a targ for a winter feast within the bowels of a Hirogen vessel. The reality of his situation, this Larrim fully understand. But what motive did the Hirogen have in this attack? They're brutes, ruthless savages to be sure, but all the clans within the Beta Quadrant were sworn allies of the Romulan Star Empire. Perhaps the cretins mistook them for someone else, thought it to be an outpost of some other faction that would make for easy prey… but, no, even these gargantuan halfwits would've figured out it was a Tal Shiar base when they stormed it. And they wouldn't dare cross the Empress, would they?

I can figure out their motives later in a proper interrogation room, Larrim quietly daydreamed about it, but first I need to get out of these binds and off this vessel.

There, on the bulkhead adjacent from the one at his back: weapons, the crude bladed kind that the Hirogen seem so fond of. A good knife has its proper applications, but Larrim had seen the hunters seemingly revel at the opportunity to get in close with their "prey". Prey: his subordinates and superiors, colleagues and… well, Larrim didn't really have any friends. Too much of a liability, but he was still quite fond of many of the people he'd seen every day for the last months. Now, if he could just squirm over and find a way to pull himself far up enough to get a grip on any of those blades, maybe he could-

Down what Larrim now suspects to be a hall: footsteps. Heavy steps, curiously reminiscent of the incessant pounding in his head.

They're drawing closer.

Larrim pressed his back against the bulkhead once more as the steps reached the doorway, gritting his teeth as the chill once again began to take hold. The door open with a grinding whir, a slower, more industrial sound than the infectious "swish" you'd hear aboard a Romulan ship. The footsteps entered the room, far too much mass above them to be the runt that first greeted him aboard the vessel. Another Hirogen, this one far more in line with the stereotypes of the species.

Towering. This time the word seems appropriate. Well over 2.1 meters, easily. And these beasts value brute strength.

"Let me guess," Larrim sneered up at the Hirogen from his place by the bulkhead, "you must be the Alpha." He tried to let that last word out with some degree of unimpressed disdain. The civilized do not cower before the barbarian.

"You are cleverer than you look," the Hirogen Alpha's voice was a low and rumbling, a storm brewing on the horizon that would be upon you sooner than you realize.

The Alpha gazed downwards at his Romulan prisoner. His eyes were dark, wicked things, as if black holes could give off just the faintest shimmer of sinister light. Larrim found this gaze deeply unsettling. He could feel his defiance beginning to waver.

A brute, he reminded himself, a simple, ignorant savage.

Even from this position he could regain the power in this interaction.

"I am Centurion Larrim of the Romulan Star Empire and an agent of the Tal Shiar. I demand an explanation for your actions. Why did you attack our station? Why have you taken me aboard your," he glanced uneasily at the "relics", as the Hirogen called their morbid trophies, displayed around. Honestly, it was amazing they were even capable of keeping this vessel space-worthy, "ship?"

The Alpha didn't fail to notice Larrim's unease over lurid collection.

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"Do not worry, Centurion Larrim, I am not going to," he stretched his arms out to each side, gesturing at the room while a chuckle smoldered out from the depths of his chest, "decorate the walls of my ship with your bones and entrails."

Then why am I here? This situation just became somewhat intriguing, he'd never heard of a Hirogen forcibly bringing someone aboard their vessel unless they thought their ribcage would make for the perfect accent to their bedside table. It was a question worth answering, and if nothing else the Tal Shiar had taught Larrim to be quite capable at getting answers out of people. But for now, there were other matters that demanded priority. Chief among them: getting out of these binds and in control of this situation.

"You are in violation of the treaty between the Hirogen clans and Empress Sela of the Romulan Star Empire," Larrim declared as if he wasn't kneeling on the floor of an alien ship, "Release me this instant and perhaps the Empire will not have you immediately executed for these transgressions."

The Alpha chuckled, squatting down low until he was face to face with his captive, close enough that Larrim could feel his curiously scentless breath on his face unfettered from the masks many of the hunters had worn when they ravaged Vandaihko Station.

"You do not remember me, do you?"

The Hirogen's voice matched his eyes. Cold. Calm. Still. Dark. As Larrim as suspected, the storm was blowing in faster than you would expect.

"Should I? Most Hirogen appear to be indistinguishable from one another, and the number of any renown worth mentioning are… well, I may struggle to count them on a single finger."

An absolutely massive breed of alien, the Alpha had little trouble plucking Larrim off the ground as if he were only a child, leaving his feet dangling over a foot into the air and kicking helpless in their binds. With a single hand, his new Hirogen acquaintance drew him in close. All the Tal Shiar training in the galaxy couldn't have prevented Larrim from feeling some semblance of fear in his own, thankfully not soon-to-be-used-as-wall ornament, bones.

"Look closer," the Alpha growled, "I know you, Centurion, and you know me."

A Hirogen worth knowing? What a ridiculous notion, they are beneath the Tal Shiar, nothing more than cannon fodder to sic after targets equally beneath the Tal Shiar like the loyal hounds they were. The very idea that-

Oh.

It would seem that Larrim's memory was still recovering. It's true that there aren't many Hirogen of renown worth mentioning, but it would appear there are enough to count on a single finger. This Hirogen, as it turns out, he did know and probably owed an apology (not that it was likely he'd give it to him).

"Juma," his eyes widened as the Hirogen's gave away nothing, "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Then you are a poor hunter for not confirming the kill."

Juma released his grasp, letting the Romulan drop back to the deck below. With his arms bound, there was no way to catch his fall and Larrim steeled himself for the impact. The ground rushed forward all too quickly, his eyes instinctively shut, and the Romulan struck it with all the weight and grace of a sack of potatoes. Air forced its way out of his lungs and he could feel his teeth sink deep into his own tongue. Larrim gasped desperately for breath, finding none as the coppered taste of his blood began to trickle into his mouth. He couldn't see him, but Larrim could feel the hunter's breath on his neck.

"Last time we met," Juma continued the one-way conversation while Larrim prayed for the pain in his lungs to subside (at least it was distracting him from his headache), "you helped send me on a hunt. To 'make up' for 'misusing such a valuable asset', as one of your comrades put it. But it wasn't a hunt, was it?" Juma grabbed him by the collar pulled him back to his knees. "The only prey was me."

"Wha- what are you… talking about?" Larrim blinked as the focus return to his eyes and the relief of air to his lungs, "You came to us ranting, demanding a more challenging hunt. Had you been a member of the Tal Shiar refusing those orders and displaying such unbridled insolence you would have been executed on the spot. Major N'Resh even suggested as much, but I argued against her. I reminded her that you are not a member of the Tal Shiar and that your people lack the *sophistication* of Romulans. Your apparent ungratefulness was nothing more than a breakdown in communication. A misunderstanding. If I had known sooner that you were insulted by the hunts we provided we could have corrected that earlier in our peoples' relationship. As for the Tal Shiar trying to kill you, well I can assure you that was not the case. Now, if you would just undo these binding and all me to contact someone in charge I'm sure we could clear this whole-"

"The Tal Shiar sent us after nothing but defenseless prey! I am a hunter," Juma pounded his chest for emphasis, a rare sign of emotion from this one, "Not an assassin. Not a butcher. And yet the Tal Shiar, that is how you used us," he could hear the stillness returning to Juma's voice.

Thunder was beginning to crack.

"How you used me. All we sought was worthy prey, while the Tal Shiar demanded that I slaughter women, children, and old men. People left defenseless from your coward's tactic. There was no glory in what you demanded of the Hirogen, no honor in the kill. You did not want us to hunt, you wanted us to serve as the butchers for your slaughter. We deserve more respect than that."

"Respect," Larrim held little for such an inferior being, "What is there to respect about your race? Hunter. Assassin. Butcher. There is no difference. It is the only purpose your people have, and you should endlessly thank the Empire for allowing you to remain relevant. Without the Romulan Star Empire, the Hirogen will continue to fade into history. Honestly, I'm amazed your barbarous breed has managed to survive so many millennia without wiping themselves out."

Larrim spit viridian-tinted blood on the floor. He hadn't meant to snap like that, but perhaps it wasn't the worst thing in the galaxy to remind both of them of their place within it.

"Species that are strong, those that survive will change, adapt. While those that refuse to do so," he waved his fingers through the air, "perish. The Hirogen have survived because we have adapted with our surroundings, letting the tide take us rather than struggle against it, even letting it carry us as far as your Beta Quadrant."

Juma rose to his feet and began rifling through a nearby compartment, laying small chrome mortars on a round table it its side. Larrim had heard stories, though completely unfounded, that some Hirogen are capable of ripping the spine out of their prey with their bare hands. While likely nothing more than an urban legend, one like Juma was surely at least physically capable of the feat. Larrim was thankful that, even if the stories were true, he apparently was in no danger of finding out.

"When the Tal Shiar sent me to Beta Reticuli to die, I adapted. Five Republic warbirds were waiting for me, and thanks to your sabotage I had neither weapons or shields to protect myself, nor a functioning warp drive with which to escape. To continue the hunt would have been to face oblivion. I chose to survive."

Larrim watched as his captor worked the mortars with small, metallic pestle. Some Hirogen ritual, if he recalled, a primitive act from a people that had one foot in the stars while the other was still stuck in the Stone Age. But he had the Alpha talking, which meant he was one more step closer to freedom and hopefully the Hirogen was one more step closer to his grave. Still, he was genuinely curious about one thing.

"How did you survive?"

"What?"

"The Republic ambush. How did you survive it? Even a fully armed and operational Tal Shiar warbird would likely find itself overwhelmed by five of its Republic counterparts. And yet you with one of these," he cringed to honor it with the word, "vessels¸ with no weapons or shields at your disposal, managed to come out of that alive. Perhaps there is more the Romulan people can learn from our Hirogen friends."

Juma gave a nod so slight as to be nearly imperceptible.

"We dropped out of warp on the edge of the Beta Reticuli system to begin our hunt. Instead of finding a hidden base on a moon with prey that had proven too elusive for your Empire, we found a small fleet of Republic warships already on approach. My first instinct was that perhaps there was something wrong with our sensor masking system, or that the Republic had found a way to circumvent it. I ordered my Beta to take us to warp, but we found that to be inoperable as well. I do not take such poor care of my ship for this to merely be coincidence of mechanical failures," Juma dipped his finger into one of the mortars, pulling it out and drawing an arc of pale blue across the rusts and creams of the skin above his eye. He wiped his hands and brought one of the other chrome mortars with him as he knelt by Larrim's side.

"The Republic warbirds were closing quickly and showed no interest in talking. Or perhaps they were not aware that my communications were *mysteriously* malfunctioning as well. We took evasive action, finding as you knew we would that our ship's weapons and shield were equally unresponsive. As for the warbirds," Juma dipped his finger in another of the small, chrome cups, drew it out and arched a dark line of mossy green over Larrim's eye. He recoiled at the Hirogen's touch, "there weapons were quite operational and accurate. They encircled us to cut our retreat, pulverized our hull with disruptors. It would appear that the Tal Shiar, as the Ferengi say, *'threw us to the auditors.'* A plasma torpedo finally cut through the hull, mortally wounding Tarrik, my Beta. With what little power remained, I piloted our ship to a nearby planetoid. I could still deny them the kill, I could still refuse to become prey. We crashed. Death took Tarrik, and I would wait for it to take me as well."

Juma returned to his feet and laid the cup with its companions on the nearby table and took a seat at it, pulling something from the shadows that Larrim didn't care to pay attention to in front of him. For a moment, Larrim contemplated if all of this was just a dream and the Hirogen's ghost had come to haunt it. But Larrim didn't believe in ghosts, only questions that had not yet been paired with the appropriate answers.

"Yet, death did not take you. For someone who was dying aboard a shattered vessel crash landed on a lifeless rock at the end of your story, you appear quite spry."

Someone aided this insolent traitor in his survival, but who? Perhaps there were more names that Larrim could take back to the Tal Shiar. Scavengers happening upon his wreck? No, they would have finished the Hirogen off so they could pry his armor off his corpse. It would sell for a premium, too much profit to be had to leave him alive. The Federation will selflessly help anyone, regardless of how little they wanted it… but it was far from their borders, and even they may have been wary to just let a Hirogen hunter free afterwards. Fellow Hirogen? Unlikely, there wasn't supposed to be any more of their hunting bands within light years. There is another possibility, as unlikely as it seemed…

"The Republic. They took pity on your unfortunate circumstances, didn't they?"

Juma glanced over at the inquiring agent, reminding Larrim how much he hated the Hirogen's eyes, and how much pleasure he'll take in having them burned out of their sockets.

"Clever," there was almost a drop of respect in Juma's voice. Almost.

There it is.

Everything started to make sense now to Larrim. The sabotage to the Hirogen vessel had been successful, too successful in fact. They had hoped he would have died in a blaze of glory, the unfortunate consequences of trying to embark on a hunt beyond the skills of any single hunter. Instead, he attempted to flee and managed to survive. At least, long enough for the Republic to take pity on him. But there was more to this tale, even the Republic wouldn't be so foolish as to let a Hirogen back into the wild so they he could resume hunting them.

The bones, what was it he said about my bones? Larrim concentrated, focusing past the throbbing in his skull, past the numb ends of his extremities. He scanned the room, studied his surroundings. *If my Romulan skeleton were to decorate these walls, it would be the first.*

In fact, there was nothing there that Larrim could identify as belonging to any sentient species, at least none that he was familiar with. Only those of mindless beasts.

He doesn't want to offend his new friends.

"Terrorists and barbarians in bed with one another," Larrim couldn't help but quietly grouse, taking little notice at whatever it was on the table that Juma had occupied himself with now, "Despicable. What did they tell you, Hirogen? That the Tal Shiar were the ones responsible for nearly getting you killed? That they, the Republic, would offer you hunts more worthy of your respect? Did they patch up your ship for you and tell you as thanks to come and hunt the Empire instead? Tell me, what misinformation did they show you?"

"They showed me enough."

"Lies, all of it," Larrim was in no mood to find himself in a Republic court, "The Romulan Republic is nothing more than a group of anarchistic terrorists and they are not to be trusted. You've been deceived, Hirogen, but it's not too late. Let me out of these binds, allow me to contact my superiors within the Empire. This whole mess can be sorted out. The Empress herself will pardon you once she learns you acted based on Republic propaganda, but that you ultimately helped bring those criminals to justice!"

"Release you," Juma looked up from his project back over to Larrim, "Why would I do that? No, Centurion, you are far too dangerous to let free, and I have spent too much time hunting you to simply allow you to slip back out of my grasp."

Larrim could feel it now: at last, the storm had arrived. He tried unsuccessfully to gulp down his fear.

"I asked your Tal Shiar to respect their Hirogen allies. Instead, you smiled while you slipped a dagger into my back. You are cowards, either unwilling or unable to hunt for yourselves. You sabotaged my ship and hoped the Republic could accomplish what you were either too scared or too weak to do yourselves. You wanted me dead, but you did not want others from my people to know you murdered me. And I suppose Tarrik was just acceptable, collateral damage."

"Republic lies, all of it. They've poisoned your mind. I implore you, relea-"

"Enough of your treachery, Centurion," growled. Low, but with enough authority to make Larrim briefly question his place in the galactic food chain. "They showed me the Imperial codes embedded in the computer of my ship, along with the physical Romulan handiwork that could only have occurred while I was docked at one of your stations. They showed me intercepted communications, including the orders to "dispose" of me. And they told me of your atrocities, the crimes that you, Centurion Larrim, have committed yourself. Yet, you still have the audacity to call the Hirogen butchers. And then, when I still was not convinced that it was not more Romulan deceptions," he rose, towering over Larrim once more, "I went and confirmed all of what they said with my own eyes. You should have found the courage to kill me yourself."

Larrim glanced at the straps binding his arms to his torso and to his revolting surroundings. He resigned himself to looking for his freedom another day. The Tal Shiar wouldn't let him rot in a Republic cell, he was too valuable to the Empire for that.

"Well then, it truly is a pity that I failed to do so. Tell me, hunter," a wry smile crossed his lips, "Why even bother with the Republic rabble? Did you find that serving as their little lap dog quenches your thirst for the hunt?"

If more Hirogen are vulnerable to Republic influence… well, the Tal Shiar would need to try and get ahead of that problem as soon as possible. Unpleasant as it was, this could still serve as a valuable experience for Larrim.

"Those that do not change… die. Both of us know, Centurion, that the Hirogen have stopped changing. We have grown stagnant, too stuck in our ways. It is a road that leads only to extinction and the Hirogen have been inching down it further and further, drawing closer and closer to that destination with each generation. It is time for us to change, for us to stop struggling against the tide and let it carry us out across the sea."

"The Romulan Star Empire offered you change! Free hunting across the Beta Quadrant, all for the small price of your loyalty."

"What your Empire offered was to delay the inevitable! We are spread too thin, and yet we keep driving ourselves further and further to the edges of the galaxy. The hunt is a part of us, it is our way, but now it too must adapt.

"And so, you would lower yourself to being D'Tan's little errand boy," he looked down at himself, "I hope they're pleased with your latest delivery."

Juma rose, chuckling deep and soft, his finger pointing agreeably at his captive. Larrim was confident there must have been a joke he wasn't in on.

"You seem to be under the impression that I am taking you to the Romulan Republic to stand trial. No, Centurion," he rose from the table. Where he had been working now lie one of those vile looking rifles, "I have no intention of doing that."

Larrim couldn't help but shake the fear creeping and clawing through him.

"B-but, you said that- "

"I said that I would not take your bones as a trophy, that I would not adorn the halls of my ship with them."

"So, what then, hunter? One of your people's sick games? Plan to drop me on some inhabited moon so that you and your friends can hunt me down like an animal?

Juma chuckled again. Larrim was quickly growing to despise the sound.

"You misunderstand, Centurion. The hunt is already over. Tracking you down to your station, watching your ships from a distance, studying them, knowing when the herd would be at her weakest, disabling your defenses, prying you out of the depths your station in spite of you serving to be such forgettable prey… that *was* the hunt. All that remains," primal malice glittered in Juma's eyes, "is the kill."

At last fear had won. Larrim's mouth fell agape as the massive Hirogen lifted his rifle the table, likely the same hideous weapon that he was bludgeoned with earlier. His voice stuttered and sputtered, failing to put together a comprehensible syllable.

Not like this, he told himself, not gunned down by a savage.

"Th-th-the T-Tal Shiar," he managed to bubble out as Juma's rifle raised towards him, "They won't stand for this! You're already dead, Hirogen, and your primitive brain simply doesn't realize it yet. They already know Vandaihko Station has been attacked, they're already looking for me, they're already looking for you! They will hunt you down and exterminate you like the vermin you are!" It's entirely possible that this wasn't a lie, though Larrim couldn't be sure. By now the Tal Shiar would be aware that the station had been attacked, though if they actually thought allocating the resources to find those responsible was worth it… well, that was another question entirely.

"Y-y-you're supposed to be dead! You're dead! The entire Romulan Star Empire will track you down for this! The Tal Shiar will track you down and make sure that you answer for your crimes!"

Juma shook his head, grumbling out an audible breath of disagreement as he lowered his weapon. Had he gotten through? Had this repugnant alien finally grasped the error of his ways and the gravity of the situation he's placed himself in? Maybe it isn't over yet, maybe the Tal Shiar would happily reward their loyal Centurion for convincing such a dangerous terrorist to turn himself in.

"Let the Tal Shiar try. All they will find are whispers and ghosts."

I don't believe in ghosts.

Juma's rifle raised again.

Larrim gasped as torrents of white-blue energy ignited the air. Had they not been bound to his sides he might have tried to block the bursts of tetryon with his very hands in what almost certainly would've been a futile effort. Instead, all he could do was elicit a whimper as the first shot slammed into his forehead, wrenching his neck back with enough force that he could see the bulkhead behind him. His body suddenly felt weak, and unable to support himself the Centurion slumped over to his side. As the tetryon particles continued to fry his synapses, Larrim couldn't see Juma approaching his twitching soon-to-be-corpse, but he could hear the heavy fall of his boots on the deck. It jogged his memory one last time, the last thought that would ever cross Centurion Larrim's mind.


My headache's gone.


Alpha Juma looked down at the dead Romulan crumpled at his feet. He hadn't lied to him; he had no plans of taking his bones, or any other part of his body, as a trophy. After all, there were members of the Romulan Republic serving with him aboard the Duzejc, and he had been happy to agree to the terms of neither collecting nor displaying trophies from the corpses of intelligent beings. There was also little doubt in his mind that the Tal Shiar would be looking for him. You do not kick a nest of Turei ants and expect them not to swarm out and try to sting you for it. Perhaps did not have an entire armada dedicated to the cause like the late Larrim had boasted, but in time the Tal Shiar would come for him. And when they did come, they would have to do so without monsters like Larrim. Of all the prey he's hunted, the Centurion was one of the most deserving of the fate that ultimately found him. Even before he had helped conspire to murder Juma, the Centurion had earned a reputation for being a vicious, violent TRIBBLE. Juma had seen the results of his unique "interrogation techniques" firsthand; it was enough to make even his stomach churn. Juma may be a hunter, but Larrim was cruel. Evil. News of his death would come as a relief to the quadrant.

"Alpha Juma to bridge," the computer warbled its acknowledgement, "it is done. Send a team to clean up the mess," he glared down at his fallen prey, "and jettison the body. Let the void claim him."

"Aye, sir," responded a slightly uncomfortable sounding feminine voice. The Republic Romulans were still adjusting to the unique living situation aboard the Duzejc, as was everyone else on the vessel. Still, all parties involved seemed to have come to something of an understanding. Even the Hirogen serving here were willing to follow the hunting regulations imposed by the Republic as part of their agreement. But that same agreement did not explicitly state "no relics", only that they would not take body parts from intelligent species.

"Even she will appreciate this trophy."

Juma leaned down, his hand grasping at the large, metallic emblem of the Romulan Star Empire draped across Larrim's chest. With a single tug, the chains binding it to his uniform surrendered their prize. The eagle glistened as Juma raised it above into the light. Maybe this prey was not so forgettable after all…