Author's note: Hey everyone! Sorry for leaving this for so long. The story isn't dead, obviously. I hope to get you guys another update in the next week or so. Anyway, enjoy, and let me know what you think! :)

Chapter 5

My sleep that night was fitful, and my dreams anxious. In one dream I was in a strange forest, desperately trying to catch emerald-colored snakes in a net while Commander Taev watched me and laughed. In another, I was standing at the replicator reading off items from the catalogue Bochra had given me, but all of the items had somehow been reprogrammed, and every request materialized as a gelatinous, many-eyed blob of flesh. A dream-Bochra stood in the corner of the room with his arms crossed and a disappointed expression on his face, like if I tried a little bit harder I'd get the replicator to work.

The dreams–particularly the latter– were unsettling enough that the following morning even the terrible coffee the replicator produced felt like a miracle, though I couldn't help but laugh at myself a little for being dumb enough to have been worried in the first place.

Coffee made, I leaned against my living room wall and browsed the catalogue for something to eat. I was surprised— and more than a little amused— to see an entry under 'Food: Morning' for a full English breakfast. I ordered that, then went and changed into the robes Bochra had given me the previous day. They were comfortably loose-fitting, and soft, like a linen cocoon. I had no mirror available to me to confirm my suspicions (which I was, truthfully, glad for) but I could just tell that the robes were flattering. Bochra the stylist, huh? Who knew?

I walked back over to the replicator and took a bite of a yolk-soaked English muffin– surprisingly good– and returned to my perusal of the catalogue. I had finished my breakfast and was getting myself another cup of coffee when I heard my door open.

I turned towards the entrance, feeling– I was surprised to find– a little swell of excitement in my stomach. There, stepping through the door was–

"Antecenturion Torketh?"

"Hello, Madame Fonesca," Torketh said, a little nervously, "Subcommander Bochra said. I mean, I was instructed. I mean." he gathered himself, and I felt my heart sink a little. "I am to be your aide today."

"Oh. I was under the impression that Subcommander Bochra was supposed to be… permanently assisting me." I said, struggling not to sound disappointed. Struggling not to be disappointed.

"Commander Taev, as you may know, is departing for the capital today. Subcommander Bochra is busied by the delegations and preparations for his departure and so. I have been instructed to serve you diligently and. My apologies if I do not perform my duties correctly. I have no experience in matters of horticulture."

"I'm sure you're more than capable, Torketh," I said, suddenly feeling a rush of sympathy for him. "Anyway it's really not difficult stuff today. We just have some scans to perform. Do you have the zinc-treated soil with you?" Torketh looked instantly agonized. "Oh! It's okay if you forgot it! Just go get the soil and I'll wait here," I said, then added ruefully, "Not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon." He gave me a stiff nod then practically sprinted out the door.

As soon as Torketh had gone I felt myself slump in my chair. Of course as soon as the Commander left Bochra would go back to business as usual. I'd been stupid to assume he'd keep coming to help me. And why had I assumed he would, anyway? Not because he'd been given an order– I realized with a start– though he had evangelized to me at length on the importance of fealty. No, it was because I'd assumed he actually enjoyed my company. And why had I assumed that? Because I enjoyed his, I realized.

I felt my stomach flip. Great! This was the last thing I needed. Rather than trying to figure out a way to escape my glorified birdcage, I was wasting precious mental energy worrying about whether or not my Romulan captor liked me. I put my head in my hands. Leave it to dumbass Sylvia to get captured by Romulans on her first federation post and then get Stockholm syndrome, for fucks' sake. I really needed to get my act together. The problem was, I didn't really want-

The swish of the doors sounded and I jerked to attention.

"Madame, are you ill? I can send for–"

"No, Antecenturion I'm just fine," I said, making my best attempt at a warm smile, "But thanks for asking. You've got the soil?"

To my great surprise, Antecenturrion Torketh proved to be an enjoyable and amenable workmate. He made several other sojourns out to get supplies he had forgotten, but together he and I got the days' work done with relative efficiency. I didn't know much about Romulan aging, but to me he seemed like a kid, maybe 17 or 18. Nervous and scatterbrained, certainly, but earnest and eager to please in equal measure.

By midafternoon, we had taken all of our humidity percentage scans and our soil content readings. Torketh installed the ventilation and polytubing in the greenhouse, and I planted my first crop of orchids. I planted a few cultivars each of Slipper Orchids, Moth Orchids and Jewel Orchids. On a whim, I'd also requested a few varieties of 'Lady of the Night' Orchids, just to see whether the temperature variations on Romulus would suit them. I planned to chart each of these hardy varieties' growth, then move from there onto the more fantastically beautiful and invariably more fragile varieties.

"Do you think they'll grow well?" Torketh asked me as we stood in the completed greenhouse, admiring our handiwork.

I shrugged. "It's hard to say," I said. "They'll certainly grow, thanks in part to you. But as for growing well? As much as any gardener likes to believe she's the god of her particular domain, there are always variables you can't isolate for."

"We can adjust any environmental controls you may wish–"

"Not just in the environment, unfortunately," I said. "Sometimes there are variables that come from the seeds themselves, specific weaknesses or mutations. Those you can't control. You just have to plant more than one seed at a time." I smiled at him. He looked uncomfortable.

"If you require no additional service from me," he said, "then I will depart."

"Oh! You don't have to go," I said, trying not to sound as desperate as I suddenly realized I felt. "Actually, I'd prefer a little bit of company."

Torketh grimaced at the word 'company.' "I have other duties to attend to, Madame Fonesca," he said, hastily. "If you desire more gardening assistance, I will render it. But if you have no further tasks I really must leave."

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I understand. Sorry." He turned to go, and I felt shame burning in my gut.

"Thanks for the help." I shouted, towards his retreating form. He turned, gave me a terse nod, and then was gone.

For the second time that day I found myself slumped in a chair with my face in my hands. Of course, how could I be so stupid? I suspected Torketh really did have other duties to perform, but the fact that he'd rather go do menial work than sit with me and talk for a little while was frankly crushing, to a degree I hadn't anticipated. Of course, his behavior shouldn't have come as a shock; I'd heard the way they talked about humans. Though to his credit, I mused, Torketh had been extremely polite. I was the fool for mistaking his professionalism for a genuine interest in my company. My track record for overestimating the Romulans' affectionate feelings really wasn't looking so great. Zero out of two. Talk about a losing streak.

I wandered back outside where the sun was beginning to sink in the sky. I figured it'd be about an hour until sunset. I felt even more miserable when I realized the sunset was virtually all I had to look forward to. Someone was really going to need to get me some books, or some music, or something. I walked into my greenhouse and ran some redundant tests, but that didn't occupy me for long. After my third round of trace element scans I couldn't keep it off any longer. I sat down on the floor, tucked my legs up against me, and started to cry. I was seeing the coming months– perhaps years– of captivity all spread out in front of me like a staircase narrowing towards infinity. How was I going to escape the compound? It didn't seem possible. And even if I did find some way to escape, the chances of getting off-world seemed slim to none. No wonder I was clinging to the affection of everyone I met, besides Taev… I shuddered. Taev's inevitable return added an even more terrifying dimension to my imagined future of lonely confinement. Why had I ever even taken that stupid Federation job? Why hadn't I just stayed on boring, unchangeable Risa where I belonged? Why had I taken all of my friendships for granted? Why-

Just then I heard the scuffling of footsteps. I froze, then quickly wiped the tears from my face.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" a gruff, familiar voice, then the greenhouse door opened.

Subcommander Bochra stood in the threshold, tight-lipped, holding a massive box. Great, just who I needed to see me crying, I thought. And yet– I couldn't deny a little burst of happiness growing in my chest. I stood.

"Were you… weeping?"

"I– yeah, don't worry about it. What do you want?" I said, a little more forcefully than I had intended. Bochra looked at me askance.

"I departed this morning for a base a few hundred hectares from here. I've only just returned." He walked inside. "I have brought you some of the supplies you requested." He set the box on one of the greenhouse shelves.

"Oh!" I said, perplexed. "Antecenturrion Torketh told me you weren't coming, that you were busy making preparations for Commander Taev–"

"Antecenturrion Torketh knows little." Bochra said, his jaw setting. "Commander Taev has made his orders clear to me. I am to do nothing but see to your comfort. Lieutenant Khaiel has subsumed most of my on-base responsibilities."

"Subcommander, why does–" I said, then, thinking better of it, "what um– what's in the box?" Bochra diverted his attention towards it, relieved to answer my new query rather than endure what he surely knew was going to be another question about the sagacity of Taev's orders.

"You requested a PADD with Federation Basic displays. That, for now, is not possible. However, I made some inquiries, and was able to locate these interface-free written materials which are in Federation basic. They are old, dating I think to the end of the 22nd century, beginning of the 23rd, but you will have to make do." I peered into the box, read some titles, and gasped.

"How did you… where did you find these?" I sputtered.

"I believe I have already said, on a base some 200 hectares from here."

"Do you– I mean do you know what these are?" Bochra looked away and I could've sworn I saw color darkening the tips of his ears. He cleared his throat.

"I was told," he said, "that they were left over from a planned reconnaissance mission, from nearly a century ago. What one might call a.. 'honeypot' scheme. But the mission was quickly abandoned. I was told that– well that these were research materials for that mission." He coughed.

"But you don't know what they are?"

"I… do not read Federation Basic," he hedged.

I picked up one of the more lurid titles: "His Human Love Slave (Novel 1 of the Bound series)." On its cover was a drawing of a dark-haired woman in a loincloth, kneeling at the feet of what could've been a Vulcan man, but looked suspiciously like a Romulan. I held it up to him.

"You can't possibly misunderstand that." I said. He grimaced.

"Are all human moods so changeable?" he asked, almost pleadingly. "Upon my arrival you were weeping and now–"

"Oh don't try to change the subject, you're the one who came in here with His Human Love Slave and–" I reached for another one of the books. "When Aliens– actually I don't even want to read this one out loud. I mean what exactly are you trying to tell me?" Bochra looked almost sick.

"Must I remind you, it was your people who produced these materials, not mine." he said, weakly.

"Sure, but it was your people who thought they were useful for 'research.' By the way research on what? Eroticizing captivity? I mean really Subcommander what message are you—"

"Do you have no decorum? I have attempted to accommodate you. If you would prefer that I take the materials away with me—"

"No, no!" I said, grasping for them reflexively. "No, I mean. I was just teasing. I really do appreciate it." I searched his face but the Subcommander wouldn't meet my eyes. "Thank you. You have been really… accommodating."

Bochra exhaled once, sharply, through his nose. He turned to look at me.

"If you have no further requests I must take my leave."

"That's all," I said, but as he turned to go I felt that vertiginous loneliness creeping back up my spine.

"Wait. I do. I have, um, one other request." He turned to face me, jaw set. "It's just that. I mean humans are really social and. I mean these books will do a lot for me but. I really am gonna need some company from time to time, or else I'm really gonna lose it so. I guess, just. Some company. That's my request." Bochra considered me for a moment, his eyes meeting mine, and I could've sworn I saw a glimmer of something like warmth. Just as quickly as I could form the thought, he turned away.

"It will be arranged" he said.