Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Rough Beasts of Empire

by David R. George III

  Ever since the agreement in principle had been reached among the five, and now six, prospective Typhon Pact members, they had worked on fleshing out the details of their alliance. Most insisted that the Romulan Star Empire must share, among other items, their ability to cloak their starships. Praetor Tal’Aura had waited to grant this until Imperial Fleet scientists had achieved a breakthrough in the next generation of the technology. While the newest iteration of the invisibility screen would not be installed on Romulan vessels, it sufficed for the praetor that should the Typhon Pact not endure, the Empire would gain an immediate tactical advantage over their former allies by virtue of having already devised a more-advanced cloaking technology.

  From that point, the conference proceeded apace. The representatives reached a consensus on mutual defense and a common currency. They discussed policy with respect to the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire, as well as other political entities. The six nations promised to share weapons and defensive systems, agricultural advances and machinery, and food and medical provisions. Overall, the negotiations satisfied Tomalak, with the last two items supplying the proconsul with much of the benefit Romulus needed to obtain from its participation in the Pact in the near term. Donatra’s stranglehold on the Romulan breadbasket worlds dramatically impacted the availability of food and medicine within the Empire, a situation that would only grow more dire as long as the Romulans remained a divided state.

  When finally Tomalak departed the space station aboard the vessel Khenn Ornahj, he carried with him a copy of the finalized treaty terms. He would take it to the newly reconstituted Senate, where he believed it would meet with swift approval. He expected that within days the Typhon Pact would rise as the preeminent power in the region. From there, it would be only a matter of time before a reunited Romulan Star Empire ruled the Pact, and with it, the Alpha and Beta Quadrants.

  10

  Standing at the top of the rough-hewn staircase, Spock pressed his ear against the cold stone surface and listened. When he heard nothing for two full minutes, he reached up and pushed against the wall. The hidden door swung slowly open, and he passed quickly through the gap, into a storeroom. Within, crates, bags, and other containers of merchandise filled numerous freestanding shelves, while stacks of ornate frames and large data canvases leaned against the far wall. Once Spock confirmed the space was vacant, he looked back and signaled silently to Venaster and D’Tan. The two men followed him inside, directing their prisoner before them.

  Spock closed the secret entrance to the Ki Baratan underground, then took a moment to scrutinize the Reman. They had dressed him as they had themselves, in a traditional Romulan robe, its oversized cowl hiding his features in the depths of its folds, though the dark-brown, loose-fitting garment could do nothing to disguise his considerable height. A monofilament wrapped around the Reman’s waist and concealed beneath his robe bound him from behind to D’Tan. The virtually invisible strand measured long enough to permit both to walk comfortably, but not so long that it would provide much slack.

  Spock gestured to Venaster. On cue, the former military officer drew a disruptor from beneath his own robe. Now out of the underground, he activated the energy weapon, then displayed it to Spock, allowing him to see that he had adjusted it to its highest stun setting. He then positioned it back inside his clothing.

  Spock nodded his approval. Despite such provisions, he fully expected the prisoner to attempt an escape at some point during their transport of him. Though considerably shorter than the Reman, Venaster possessed both a solid physique and an abundance of security experience. Spock trusted him to maintain their custody of the prisoner.

  Wending between the tall shelves, Spock made his way to the room’s conventional entrance. There, he cast his gaze through an eyehole. The convex lens made it possible for him to see the entirety of the store’s single main room. T’Coll, the owner of the establishment and a sympathizer of the Reunification Movement, sat behind a counter, atop a stool. Spock saw several customers moving about, and so he indicated to Venaster and D’Tan that they would have to wait.

  Seventeen minutes passed before the store cleared. When it did, Spock pulled open the door and stepped into the shop. The others followed.

  Shelves and display cases offered up a variety of large and small art pieces, including items such as sculptures and decorative blown glass. Both framed and unframed paintings and prints blanketed the walls, while a few data canvases of various dimensions cycled through their repertoires, their brushstrokes and textures changing along with the pigments. Spock distinguished most of the works as products of Romulan artists, though he espied a few of off-world provenance.

  Spock peered over at T’Coll, who glanced up from the data tablet on which she worked. The middle-aged woman gave no reaction at first, but then she hopped down from her stool and ducked down behind the counter. When she stood back up, she held out a cloth bag, obviously weighed down by its contents. Spock walked over and accepted it from her. Reaching into the bag, he extracted a small bronze figurine of a kneeling man looking down, a hand raised to the side of his forehead as though deep in thought. Spock recognized it as a reproduction of a famous work by a renowned Romulan artist, Raban Gedroe.

  “Thank you for acquiring this for me,” Spock said, depositing it back in the bag. In reality, the item would serve as a subterfuge. Should T’Coll’s shop be under surveillance by Romulan Security, Spock would simply look like a customer.

  “Jolan tru,” said T’Coll.

  Spock replied in kind. Then he turned back toward the others and nodded once. With a touch to the back of the Reman’s shoulder, D’Tan headed the prisoner toward one of the shop’s two public entrances. Spock fell in beside Venaster and trailed them outside.

  Since the sun had risen a couple of hours earlier, the dawn fog, carried inland from the Apnex Sea by a marine layer, had yet to dissipate. The overcast sky veiled the city in shades of gray. Peering toward the government quarter, Spock saw wisps of vapor obscuring the tips of the spires there, as well as the dome capping the Hall of State’s rotunda, the structure at the very center of Ki Baratan.

  D’Tan and his charge headed right along Via Chula, a thoroughfare that paralleled the circumference of the circular city. Venaster swung out to the left, a pace behind the two, clearly prepared to act if the Reman tried to break free of his captivity and flee. Spock took up a similar position to the right of D’Tan. None of the men spoke.

  The march to the nearest security office required only a quarter of an hour. When the group turned from Via Chula onto Via Colius, a straight avenue that traversed the city radially, the facility came immediately into view. The silver ensign of Romulan Security—a raptor holding a shield in its talons—showed prominently on the two-story building’s black façade. Spock renewed his focus on their prisoner, certain that he would fight for his freedom before they reached their destination.

  But that didn’t happen.

  As the Reman walked through the front door of the security office, D’Tan surreptitiously detached the monofilament from where it connected to the harness around his waist. Then he stepped back, allowing Spock to hand him the cloth bag with the sculpture in it. Spock then entered the security office behind their prisoner. As planned, D’Tan and Venaster would wait outside.

  In turning the Reman over to the Romulan authorities, and in finding a means of requesting an audience with the praetor, Spock wanted to put only himself at risk. Many of his comrades had attempted to dissuade him from such a course, several even volunteering to substitute for him. They argued that his importance to the Reunification Movement should preclude him from intentionally placing himself in harm’s way. Spock agreed in general, but contended that because of his prominent position in the Movement, his participation would generate the best possible chance, both of securing a meeting with Tal’Aura and of establishing a rapprochement with her government.

  Spock remained two paces behind the Reman as they navigate
d a narrow foyer, then passed through a second, inner door. Spock remained alert to the possibility of an escape effort, but again, none came. Inside, they entered a large lobby, surrounded on three sides by tall counters, behind which sat security personnel. A bank of monitors directly ahead displayed various public locations throughout Ki Baratan, most notably several views of the building in which Spock stood. He readily picked out the figures of Venaster and D’Tan on Via Colius.

  Numerous security officers at the counters looked up as a pair stationed on either side of the door quickly closed in on Spock and the Reman. Each wore a snug, dark-gray uniform, the Romulan Security sigil emblazoned on the right breast, their name listed beneath it in matching silver characters. A thin, colored insignia marched down the outside of the right arm, denoting rank. As well, each carried an energy weapon on their hip.

  “Stop,” demanded the officer to Spock’s left. He read her name as Sorent, her rank as sentry.

  Both Spock and the Reman stopped. “I wish to report a crime,” Spock said from within the hood of his robe, “and to remand into your custody the malefactor who committed the offense. I suggest that you regard him as dangerous.”

  “What is the nature of the crime?” Sorent asked.

  “Attempted assassination,” Spock said. He heard movement to his right, and he looked to see that the other sentry, a man named J’Velk, had drawn his weapon.

  “Whose assassination?” Sorent asked.

  Spock turned back to her. Unlike her partner’s, he saw, her firearm remained on her hip. “My own,” he told her. He saw that the conversation had captured the attention of the security officers behind the counters.

  Sorent nodded, her manner one of disbelief. “And who are you?” she asked.

  “I am Spock,” he said. His name appeared to spark immediate recognition in Sorent, as well as in most, if not all, of her fellow officers. That did not surprise Spock, since his efforts—and all efforts—to reunify the Vulcan and Romulan peoples had been deemed illegal long ago by the Romulan government.

  “Remove your hood,” Sorent ordered. “Slowly.”

  With care, Spock reached up and pulled the cowl of his robe backward, revealing his face. Once again, he saw recognition in Sorent, as well as in others. Behind him, he heard a faint trill, and he suspected that both the inner and outer doors had just been sealed. Four more security officers scrambled from behind the counters to join Sorent and J’Velk. Past the left-hand counter, Spock saw a door open and a uniformed man emerge, the colored rank strip on his arm identifying him as a protector, the highest field-office grade in Romulan Security.

  “You are the Vulcan who preaches for the reunifying of Romulus with your people,” Sorent said. “Am I correct?”

  “I advocate for such a reunification, yes,” Spock said. He watched as the protector stepped up to observe the proceedings.

  “And this is?” Sorent asked, gesturing at Spock’s prisoner.

  “I do not know,” Spock said, “but he tried to kill me.”

  Spock detected puzzlement in the expressions of most of the security officers, though Sorent seemed less bewildered by the situation and more suspicious. “You,” she said, walking over to the prisoner, “remove your hood.”

  The Reman did so, his hand slowly moving up to the cowl of his robe and pulling it back. As his face became visible, somebody—Spock did not see who—gasped in apparent surprise. Though the Reman made no threatening moves, two security officers rushed toward him, grabbing for his arms.

  “No!” yelled Sorent, but too late.

  The Reman roared and threw off the security officers, one of them staggering backward into the central counter and crumpling to the floor. J’Velk raised his weapon, but the Reman saw it and batted it from his hand. As two more security officers raced in, Spock saw Sorent step back and take aim with her own disruptor, clearly prepared to stun everybody in order to disable the Reman. Before she could fire, though, she lowered her weapon, and Spock saw why: to his surprise, the protector had also entered the melee.

  The Reman fought wildly, throwing another officer to the side, then wrapping his hands around the throat of another. J’Velk jumped in and pulled at the Reman’s arm, obviously wanting to free his colleague. The protector tried to wrench the Reman’s other arm free.

  Spock glanced around and saw more security personnel coming forward. The Reman whirled around, loosing his grip on the one Romulan’s throat and tossing him into the advancing officers. With another bellow, he flung both J’Velk and the protector away from him. For a moment, he stood alone in the center of the security office, his head darting around as though searching out the source of the next assault. Spock waited for the piercing sound of a disruptor, and had enough time to wonder if the weapon that would fire the shot had been set to stun or kill.

  But then the Reman collapsed.

  Spock looked around confusedly, sure that he had heard no discharge of any weapon. As a strange silence rose in the security office, he saw that others appeared perplexed as well, including Sorent. When the Reman did not move, she handed her disruptor to the nearest officer and said, “If he moves, fire, even if you have to hit me.” That at least told Spock that she had adjusted her weapon to a stun setting.

  Cautiously, Sorent approached the Reman. She stood over him for a few seconds, observing, before finally bending down and taking hold of his hand. She felt at his wrist for a pulse.

  “He’s dead,” she announced, but then she seemed to notice something. She leaned in closer, then pushed back the sleeve of the Reman’s robe and turned over his arm. Near his elbow, on the underside of his forearm, a square patch had been applied to his flesh. All around it, jagged, dark-green lines twisted in myriad directions below the skin.

  “A toxin of some kind,” Sorent concluded. “He killed himself.”

  Again, Spock felt a wave of confusion wash over him. The Reman had made no attempt to escape on the way to the security office, but then had killed himself when the Romulans sought to physically detain him? For the first time, he wondered if mental illness might have played a role in all that had transpired, from the attempt on his life to the death of the Reman. In his empathic contact with his would-be assassin, he had perceived no psychosis in him, but that did not preclude the existence of such a condition.

  As Spock pondered the situation, the Romulans around him began moving again. Sorent stood and ordered the removal of the Reman’s body, while other security officers assisted their injured colleagues. Still others returned to crew their stations behind the counters.

  And in the midst of the sudden activity, Spock was taken into custody.

  11

  As Sisko strode through the spacious atrium of Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, he kept his head down. He hadn’t visited the facility in years, hadn’t spoken in the intervening time to but a handful of Starfleet personnel outside of Deep Space 9 and the Alonis task force, but he remembered many of the people who had offices in the complex. More to the point, they would remember him, not just for their personal encounters with him, but for what had come later. Even people he didn’t know would remember what had come later. Even with him dressed in civilian clothes, many would recognize him as the Starfleet captain revered by Bajorans as the Emissary of the Prophets. The officer who survived on the front lines of the Dominion War, only to disappear into the Bajoran Wormhole for months afterward. The man who reemerged from that experience for the birth of his child and the culmination of his efforts to see Bajor join the Federation. The man who then withdrew from Starfleet to settle on the world where the population venerated him.

  Oh, yes, Sisko thought, they’ll remember me. But he didn’t want to be remembered, he didn’t want to be recognized. He didn’t want to speak with anybody. He’d come here for one reason only: to get what he needed—to get what Kasidy and Rebecca needed, what Jake and Korena needed.

  Underneath the clear, concave canopy that swept from ground level up to the top floor, Sisko appro
ached the horseshoe-shaped desk that stood in front of a row of turbolifts. The yeoman stationed at the desk addressed him before he could even introduce himself. “Mister Sisko, the commander in chief is expecting your visit,” the Caitian said. Sisko took note that the young man did not call him captain, indicating that Admiral Walter had processed his separation from Starfleet. “If you wouldn’t mind,” the yeoman added, motioning to a security scanner set into the counter.

  Though Sisko had already passed through two checkpoints just to enter Starfleet Headquarters, and though he knew that automated sensors scanned every individual who entered the complex, he dutifully placed his hand in the center of the panel. It lighted up at his touch. The yeoman consulted a computer interface on his desk, then looked back up at Sisko.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said. “If you’ll take either of the central turbolifts behind me, Ensign Ventrice will see that you’re comfortable until the admiral can see you.”

  Sisko nodded, then circled the desk and headed for a lift. A pair of security guards stood on either side of the area, carrying no visible weapons but undoubtedly armed. Sisko passed between them and entered a car, which began to ascend without his having to specify a destination.

  The lift climbed vertically to the top floor, then glided along horizontally for a few seconds. When it stopped, the doors parted to reveal a diminutive woman with short, graying hair standing there, studying a personal access display device. She looked up as he exited the lift, dropping the padd to her side. “Mister Sisko, I’m Ensign Ventrice, one of the admiral’s assistants,” she said with a warm smile. “Please follow me.”

  They crossed a foyer and passed through a door into a well-appointed reception area. Floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room provided a dramatic view of the coastline and, beyond it, the Pacific Ocean. Each side wall featured a polished wooden door that obviously led to inner offices. Ventrice waved her hand toward where a sofa and several easy chairs sat arrayed around a low, square table. Hanging on the walls above, photo-realistic paintings depicted various Starfleet assets, including Deep Space 9 and Defiant.