“So is that how this involves the Federation?” Safranski asked. “Through Spock?”
“I think it’s more than that,” Bacco said. “The point Spock has made is that we need to know what’s going on, because whatever happens could mean trouble for the Federation. I mean, what happens if the Romulans unite under Durjik, who then convinces the Typhon Pact to launch a preemptive strike against the Federation? They know that we’re still rebuilding from the Borg invasion, more so than they need to.”
“They also know that we have the slipstream drive,” Raisa said.
“For now, that might provide a balance of power,” Jas said. “But technological secrets can be fleeting, and you can be certain that the Typhon Pact nations have initiated their own slipstream research-and-development efforts.”
For a moment, silence descended in the president’s office, the sobering notion of a technologically equal Typhon Pact giving pause to Bacco, and she thought probably to the others. With their six members, the Pact would pose a major military threat—as well as an economic and political threat—to the Federation. For that reason, Bacco had already reached out to the Ferengi Alliance, the Cardassian Union, and the Talarian Republic as possible new allies in an expansion of the Khitomer Accords. She had also invited Donatra to discuss having her Imperial Romulan State join the fold—a discussion the empress had agreed to have, but which she had so far delayed.
“So what is it we’re proposing here?” Safranski asked. “That we try to find out what’s happening among the Romulans? What if we do, and what if we don’t like what we find out? What are we going to do then? Assassinate their potential leaders that we don’t like?”
“Wouldn’t that be preferable than going to war again?” Jas asked. “Haven’t we seen enough bloodshed recently?”
The secretary of the exterior jumped to his feet and pointed at Jas. “You’re actually advocating murder as a means of avoiding bloodshed?”
“Sometimes,” Jas said carefully, “good, important ends justify normally unpalatable means.”
“Not for me, they don’t,” Safranski said, his voice rising. “We would be no better than the Romulans if we took such an action.”
“Hold on,” Bacco snapped. She looked up at Safranski. “Sit down, Mister Secretary.” Once he sat down again, Bacco said, “I am not suggesting that the ends justify the means, or that we should involve the Federation in Romulan politics. But we are debating all of this in a partial vacuum. We know of the various factions on Romulus and Achernar Prime. What we don’t know is what all of those factions are doing, and how the Romulan political situation is likely to play out. It seems eminently reasonable to me that we take steps to keep ourselves informed.”
“So that we can then manipulate events to suit our own needs?” Safranski asked.
“Manipulate?” Bacco said. “No. But we may be able to offer opinion and advice. We have recognized Donatra’s government. We have had an ongoing dialogue with her. I see no reason not to continue that dialogue by sending another envoy to meet with her.”
“I don’t think we can expect her to tell us just how she’s planning on conquering Tal’Aura and taking control of a united Romulan government,” Raisa said.
“Of course not,” Jas said. “But that doesn’t mean that she won’t reveal information to us, or that we won’t learn things we don’t already know.”
“But what if Donatra did send the Reman to assassinate Spock?” Safranski asked. “And what if she then had the Reman killed to cover it up?”
“Then we need to send somebody to speak with her capable of gleaning that information,” Bacco said.
“Somebody familiar with the Romulans,” Jas said.
“The Federation diplomat most experienced with the Romulans is Spock,” Safranski noted.
“Perhaps somebody from Starfleet,” Jas suggested.
Bacco nodded. “I’ll contact Admiral Akaar and get his recommendation,” she said. “So are we all in agreement?” She turned toward the secretary of the exterior. “Mister Safranski?”
He looked over at her with a dissatisfied expression. “If all we’re talking about is data-gathering, and possibly offering some advice, then yes, I’m in agreement.”
“I’ll accept that,” Bacco said. Rising to her feet, she said, “Thank you, everybody,” signaling the end of the meeting. Everybody stood and thanked the president, and as Esperanza joined Bacco, the others headed for the door. Before departing, though, Safranski stopped and looked back. “I truly hope you know what you’re doing, Madam President.”
Bacco didn’t hesitate to reply. “So do I, Mister Secretary,” she said. “So do I.”
25
Spock moved along the edge of Victory Square, skirting the crowd even as he observed it. Located within Ki Baratan, the majestic plaza celebrated the history and successes of the Romulan Star Empire. Defining the square, great columns climbed high along its periphery, interspersed with towering statuary. Colossal likenesses of praetors and senators, of military leaders and heroic soldiers, stood with their backs to the outside, as though standing guard over the grounds within.
At the four corners of Victory Square and at its center, grand fountains usually sent plumes of water soaring high into the air, but Spock saw that they had been shut down, obviously to accommodate the day’s event. At the far end of the plaza, broad stairs led up to a platform on which stood the largest of all the statues, an image sculpted in stone of the first Romulan praetor, Pontilus. As Spock looked in that direction, a man began to ascend the steps, presumably to address the crowd, just as two other speakers had already done.
“How many people do you think are here?” asked Venaster, raising his voice. The ambient noise of the people massed in the square made communicating at a normal level impossible.
Spock did not know the dimensions of Victory Square, nor could he adequately gauge them from his position along the perimeter of the space. Still, he cast his gaze from the front of the plaza to the rear, doing his best to conservatively estimate the number of those present. After a few moments, he leaned toward Venaster and said, “I would approximate a minimum of a quarter of a million.”
Venaster’s eyes widened, and Spock understood why. The figure dwarfed the number of people who had attended any single rally for Vulcan-Romulan reunification. Although the popularity of those events had continued to trend upward, Spock could not reasonably expect that his voice or those of his comrades would draw enough people to fill Victory Square any time in the near future. The size of the crowd at that moment did not surprise Spock, nor did its fervor, but he thought that the fact of both likely signaled a coming change in the status quo. He did not know how long it would require for that change to take place, but it pleased him that he had forewarned President Bacco—though he did not know if she had heeded his advice.
At the top of the stairs, the man reached the platform and turned toward the crowd. Behind him, the titanic statue of Pontilus provided a dramatic backdrop. So dramatic, Spock thought, as to ensure its widespread distribution across the Romulan comnet. It did not escape Spock’s notice that Victory Square had been the location where Tal’Aura had captured Donatra’s ally, Admiral Braeg.
“My name is Veltor,” said the man, his voice collected and amplified by a sound system that Spock could not see but that he noted would serve to enhance all records made of the event. “My name is Veltor, and I am a Romulan.” The man threw his arms into the air as though he had achieved some sort of triumph. The people in the square cheered, supporting that impression.
When the volume of the crowd had dropped enough, the man continued. “My sister lives on Virinat,” he said. “She’s a schoolteacher, an honest, hardworking woman with a family and a home of her own. She is and has always been a loyal Romulan, and yet I haven’t seen her—I haven’t been permitted to see her—for hundreds of days.”
A rumble of discontent snarled through the square. Spock glanced around and saw seemingly genuine anger
on many faces. He found the differences between the current gathering, and those in support of Vulcan-Romulan reunification, pointed. Where Spock and his comrades advocated for the positive benefits that the rejoining of two civilizations would bring, the speakers he had witnessed that day had consistently articulated their anger, emotion that appeared to engage the people assembled.
“Why?” the man called out to the crowd. “Why have I not been allowed to visit my sister on Virinat?”
Although such a question seemed an obvious rhetorical flourish, Spock heard numerous people exclaiming in reply. Donatra’s name flew across the plaza, accompanied by epithets: Egotist. Traitor. Veruul. And like weeds sprouting in grass, hand-lettered signs suddenly popped up throughout the crowd, decrying the empress of the Imperial Romulan State.
But Spock did not hear and see only the name of Donatra. He also heard and saw that of Tal’Aura, though not with nearly as much frequency. And somewhere, someone called out, “Shinzon!” To Spock, all of it seemed calculated to give the impression of proletarian unrest, though clearly the gathering had not arisen as a spontaneous aggregation of concerned citizens. The setting, the extinguishing of the fountains, the sound system, the overly amateurish nature of the handheld signs, all of it indicated to Spock a controlling interest.
“We must not be divided,” Veltor went on. “We must not allow ourselves to be divided. We are all Romulans. We must take back our Empire. We must be one.”
The crowd roared its agreement. Veltor raised his arms once more, then started back down the stairs. As he did so, a woman headed up the stairs, no doubt to continue the shared screed against the sundering of their people.
“Spock,” somebody called. “Venaster.”
The two men turned together toward the sound of the voice. Spock did not feel particularly comfortable being identified by name amidst an angry throng, but nobody appeared to take notice. As he looked for the source of the voice, Spock saw D’Tan struggling to push his way through the crowd. When finally the young man reached them, he said, “You need to see something.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a data tablet.
Venaster looked to Spock. “We can go,” Spock told him. “We’ve seen enough here.” Venaster nodded, then pressed past D’Tan and headed for the nearest exit, forging a traversable path for them.
Outside the square, Spock took the lead, directing Venaster and D’Tan away from the exit and down the avenue, until the flow of people around them had thinned. Then he stepped to the side of the pedestrian thoroughfare and addressed D’Tan. “What is it that we need to see?”
D’Tan held up his tablet and activated it, then handed it over to Spock. Venaster leaned in to look at it as well. On the screen, a large crowd of people listened to somebody urging the rejoining of the Romulan people.
For just a moment, Spock thought that D’Tan had handed him a recording of the event they had just seen for themselves. But then other details became visible, and he saw that the event depicted on the tablet had not taken place in Victory Square, or in any other location that Spock recognized. “D’Tan, where did you get this?” Spock asked.
“It’s all over the Romulan comnet,” he said.
“Where did this take place?” Spock wanted to know. He continued to watch the recording, picking out familiar details: the large crowd, the single speaker, the slapdash signs.
“On Artaleirh,” D’Tan said. “But that’s not the only place something like this has happened. There have been at least half a dozen protests throughout Romulan space.”
Spock peered up from the tablet. “Where else?”
“Abraxas, Devoras, Xanitla—”
“Xanitla,” Spock said. “There have been protests within the Imperial Romulan State?”
“Yes,” D’Tan said. “There was even one on Achernar Prime.”
The homeworld of Donatra’s empire. “Do you have a recording of that event?” Spock asked.
“Not yet,” D’Tan said. “We’ve only read accounts of it.”
“Tell me,” Spock said. “On Achernar Prime, did they denounce Donatra or Tal’Aura?”
“From what we’ve read so far,” D’Tan said, “the protests have all been similar: there are complaints about both the praetor and the empress, but far more about Donatra.”
Spock nodded. He wondered how much of the sudden public call for the two Romulan states to become one could be laid at the door of the Vulcan-Romulan Reunification Movement. He had convinced Tal’Aura to allow him and his comrades to bring their cause out into the open because it would also serve the praetor’s own interests. He had argued to her that one call for reunification could beget another. That appeared to have happened, though nothing he had seen or heard suggested to him that the abrupt communal outcry for one Romulan empire had arisen naturally. He could readily envision Tal’Aura setting the wheels of civil unrest in motion, seeking to grind down Donatra through the mill of public support.
But is that too simple a solution? Spock asked himself. He understood well the Romulan penchant for cunning. For all he knew at this point, Donatra could be driving the protests in order to spur a backlash against Tal’Aura. Spock still didn’t even know whether or not the empress had been behind the assassination attempt made on him.
Misdirection is the key to survival, went an old Romulan maxim. Never behave as your enemy expects, and never reveal your true strength. If knowledge is power, then to be unknown is to be unconquerable.
“What’s it mean?” Venaster asked.
“I don’t know,” Spock answered honestly. He had little knowledge about the current state of Romulan politics, and therefore little power to do anything about it. “I don’t know, but I am concerned about our Movement.” Spock handed the data tablet back to D’Tan. “I wish to convene the leadership, but not in the open.”
“You want to return to the tunnels beneath the city?” D’Tan asked, but Venaster was already nodding.
“I’ll make sure none of us is followed,” he said. “When do you want this to happen?”
“Tonight,” Spock said. “Two hours past sundown.”
“What should I tell everybody this is about?” Venaster asked.
“The future,” Spock said. “Tell them it’s about our future.”
26
Ben Sisko sat in the command chair on the bridge of U.S.S. Robinson. Around him, the crew worked at their stations, the only sounds the chirps and tweets of their controls, mixed atop the low thrum of the warp drive that pervaded the ship. In that silence lurked the truth of Sisko’s isolation, identified a month ago by Robinson’s first officer. The captain set the tone for his crew, and most especially for his senior staff.
On the flip-up panel set into the arm of his chair, Sisko studied the continuous sensor readings appearing there. An overlay on the readout of local space demarcated the boundaries of the Federation and the two Romulan nations, along with the established Neutral Zone. As had been the case for most of the time that the crew of Robinson had been tasked with patrolling the borders, nothing moved out there.
How do you know? Sisko asked himself. Maybe there’s a fleet of cloaked ships heading your way right now.
Except that he did know that nothing moved out there. Starfleet had long ago established a host of technologies along the Federation side of the Neutral Zone to unmask cloaked Romulan vessels: subspace listening posts, gravitic sensors, tachyon detection grids. And not only did the crew of Robinson continually check those monitoring stations for breaches and breakdowns, but during the eight months of their guard duty, they had deployed a new array of probes along the territory they patrolled, and at random intervals, they activated their own tachyon network.
No, Sisko thought. Nothing’s moving out there.
Which was not to say that there had been no activity at all during their time along the border. Scans had frequently distinguished the warp signatures and impulse wakes of numerous Romulan sentries watching their own side of the Neutral Zone. Additionally, mor
e than a dozen times, the Robinson crew had identified other starships making their way through Romulan territory, and on a couple of occasions those vessels had been close enough to one or another of the listening posts to capture a visual of them. They’d detected Breen, Gorn, and Tholian ships, and twice they’d actually seen Tzenkethi marauders.
Sisko instinctively glanced up at the main viewscreen. The starfield there remained empty, but he had no difficulty at all imagining the distinctive teardrop-shaped Tzenkethi battleships. When a listening post had first caught sight of a trio of the fearsome vessels a month ago, the image had brought him back to those terrible days fighting in the last Federation-Tzenkethi war. Since then, those memories had invaded his dreams.
Deactivating his display, Sisko folded it back into the arm of his chair. He had enough troubles without fixating on the Tzenkethi. Oddly, though, the nightmares that had become a regular part of his life over the past few weeks somehow comforted him, at least in retrospect. He abhorred reliving in his dreams those horrible days, the experience of jerking awake in the middle of his sleep cycle, with his heart racing and his bedclothes drenched in sweat, more than just a little unpleasant. At the same time, the relief he felt in the moment after waking, in the instant that he realized he had left those experiences far back in his past, always struck him as profound. In some sense, it seemed as though he not only had survived those dark days but had survived the bad dreams of them as well.
It’s more than that, though, isn’t it? Sisko thought. In a perverse way, the nightmares filled a void in his life. For years, his existence had been punctuated by steady, if irregular, surreal visits from the Bajoran Prophets. Those had vanished from his world, and so the dreams, as ugly and upsetting as they were, substituted one set of visions for another. It didn’t sound healthy, and he knew that it shouldn’t continue, but for the time being, it worked for him.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Rough Beasts of Empire Page 22