Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Rough Beasts of Empire

by David R. George III

  “There is no opposition,” Orfitel said. “Senator Kamemor, may you find the right proportions of Soil, Water, Air, and Fire within you that you may succeed.”

  So saying, Elder Minlah Orfitel ended the gathering.

  31

  Spock sat in front of the companel in D’Tan’s small apartment. It had been ten days since he had witnessed the Romulan unity protest in Victory Square, ten days since the leadership of the Ki Baratan cell had chosen for the near term to return underground. Word had been disseminated throughout the Reunification Movement, and overnight, its public presence on Romulus and throughout the Empire had vanished.

  On the screen of the companel, Spock watched another massive assemblage of people, another large protest in support of Romulan unity. In the days since the first event in Victory Square, the protests had continued unabated, growing in size and spreading farther afield throughout both the Romulan Star Empire and the Imperial Romulan State. Criticism expanded for the two governments, and especially for their leaders, but consistently in the same ratios, with disapproval and disparagement developing into condemnation in far greater numbers for Empress Donatra.

  Spock’s judgment that circumstances would soon change on Romulus and throughout the empires remained, more certain than ever. Hour by hour, pressure mounted for Praetor Tal’Aura to take action against the Imperial Romulan State, to do something to unite all Romulan people under one banner. More and more, citizens at the protests characterized their call to the praetor for action as a demand for the Empire to proceed militarily. Any expressions of doubt or concern about incurring the deaths of innocent Romulans had disappeared. Romulus for Romulans had become a constant refrain.

  Spock touched a control surface and shut down the companel. He found the increasingly mob-like mentality of the unity crowds unnerving. He thought again about what he or the Reunification Movement could do to quell the rising anger, or at the very least to avert bloodshed.

  The uniformity of the protests with regard to their structure and content still pointed to a single organizing force, an assessment borne out by the fulfillment of Spock’s recommendation to President Bacco. Spock rose from the chair before the companel and crossed to the low table at the center of D’Tan’s small living area. He picked up a Romulan data tablet from the tabletop, then removed a storage chip from a pocket inside his cloak. He inserted the chip into the tablet and again reviewed the response he’d received from the president.

  On the small screen of the slate, the face of a Vulcan male appeared, nominally an acquaintance of Spock from his days at the Vulcan Science Academy. The storage chip had arrived from the Federation four days ago, carried to Romulus by an intermediary, a trader known to do business throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. The message seemed innocuous enough, the greeting of one former colleague to another, a brief review of current projects and personal circumstances. Though not precisely in code, when juxtaposed with Spock’s request that President Bacco send an envoy to speak with Empress Donatra, the communication responded to that request.

  Spock watched the message again, wanting to ensure that he had missed no nuances of meaning. But the content seemed clear. The Federation president had received his recommendation and acted upon it. The envoy sent to meet with the empress had judged her as innocent of driving the attempt on Spock’s life, and desperate over the growing unity protests and the dawning of the Typhon Pact.

  Watching the message play through to completion, Spock detected no detail that he had previously missed. More and more, he considered leaving Romulus and traveling to Achernar Prime to seek an audience with the empress. Given the circumstances, he felt confident that she would see him. But what could he say to her, what could he tell her, that would make a difference? Inaction on her part would eventually invite action by Tal’Aura, but what actions could Donatra reasonably take? Though her military resources matched up evenly with those of the praetor, they could not stand against a force mounted by the Typhon Pact, and even if they could, the cost in lives would be far too great.

  Spock considered contacting Corthin to check on the progress of T’Solon and T’Lavent, who continued to search for evidence of the identity of whoever was orchestrating the unity protests. He could seek out Dorlok and Venaster as well, who hunted for similar information. But there seemed little point to doing either, since if anybody learned anything, they would certainly—

  The door to D’Tan’s apartment slammed open. “Spock!” cried the young man as he raced inside. He appeared breathless, his eyes wide, his face flushed. He peered around frantically until he saw Spock across the room. “You’re not on the comnet,” he said, then quickly headed over to the companel, where he hurriedly worked its controls.

  Spock walked over. “D’Tan, what is it that has you—”

  Spock halted his words in midsentence as he saw the companel screen wink to life. On it, he saw the face of Empress Donatra.

  “—have endured together many of the same things,” Donatra said. “Together, we suffered through the assassination of Praetor Hiren and most of the Romulan Senate. Together, we—”

  Spock reached forward to the companel and paused the images. “What is this?” he asked D’Tan.

  “Donatra has accessed the Romulan comnet and is broadcasting a message live,” D’Tan said.

  “Do you know the scope of the transmission?” Spock said.

  “It’s everywhere, Mister Spock,” D’Tan said. “She’s speaking to every Romulan throughout her empire and Tal’Aura’s—at least to anyone who will listen.”

  And nobody’s stopping her, Spock thought. Nobody’s blocking her transmission. Not Tal’Aura’s people, not the Tal Shiar.

  Spock tapped a control and restarted the feed. Donatra’s message ran back a few seconds, then continued. “Together, we faced the uprising of the Remans, their relocation to Romulus, and their move to the Klingon Empire. Together, we battled for the soul of the Romulan people.

  “And then we divided.

  “Praetor Tal’Aura—”

  Spock noted the respectful use of Tal’Aura’s title.

  “—and I have significant political differences. We want to take the Romulan people down different paths. But I do not doubt that the praetor wants the same basic things that I do, the same things that all Romulans want.

  “We want peace and prosperity for all our people. We want one Empire, undivided. And we want to accomplish this without risking the lives of innocent Romulans.”

  Spock did not know if Donatra would take to the field of battle against Tal’Aura if the empress believed victory even a possibility, but he understood that in stating her desire not to risk the lives of innocent Romulans, she wanted to seize the high ground in the debate, and thereby preclude Tal’Aura from initiating military action.

  “Because we are at an obvious impasse, and because the Romulan people have these past days so eloquently made clear their desire for unity, I am stepping forward to pledge my efforts to once again make the Empire whole. To that end, I invite Praetor Tal’Aura to Achernar Prime for a summit. I promise her safety and a willing audience to hear her proposals for bringing us all back together. For it is together that we are strongest.

  “I await the affirmative response of Praetor Tal’Aura.”

  Donatra stepped back and offered the Romulan salute, bringing her right fist to the left side of her chest, then straightening her arm outward. “Romulus for Romulans,” she said. The transmission ended.

  D’Tan looked at Spock. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I think that Donatra’s appeal is the result of desperation,” Spock said. “It is also possible that it is an example of the type of leadership that would most benefit the Romulan people.”

  “Do you think Tal’Aura will accept Donatra’s invitation to a summit?”

  Spock inhaled deeply, than exhaled slowly, meditatively. “The praetor did not stop Empress Donatra’s transmission,” he said. “That suggests that there is at le
ast the possibility that Tal’Aura will agree to a summit.”

  “And what then?” D’Tan wanted to know. “How can that possibly end well?”

  Spock thought for a moment, searching for an answer to D’Tan’s question—an answer that might define the course of the Romulan people for generations to come. In the end, he could only offer up the truth. “I do not know.”

  32

  Ben Sisko woke up in hell.

  The lieutenant commander regained consciousness quickly, but his mind felt dulled. He opened his eyes in dim light, the right side of his face resting on a hard surface. Another surface, looking equally hard, rose up before his eyes just a few centimeters away.

  Sisko’s body burned. His flesh felt as though it had been doused with an accelerant and set aflame. Worse than that, his muscles ached in the same way, without his even attempting to move. The simple act of opening his eyes had sent bolts of agony through the top of his face.

  He lay there like that, his eyes open but his body still, for some period of time he could not estimate. His head pounded with the beating of his heart, as though the pulse of his blood sent freshets of pain overflowing his veins. No thoughts entered his mind beyond the recognition of his agony and the desire for it to cease.

  Eventually, a scent reached his nose, and the perception made it all the way to his brain, providing the first minuscule decrease of what to that point had been his all-encompassing physical suffering. Somehow, the odor pushed through, demanding the slightest bit of his focus. At first, he welcomed it, grasped for it, tried to use it to pull himself away from the pain.

  And then he recognized the smell: burnt flesh.

  Sisko gagged, the involuntary reflex engaging some of his muscles. Fire ripped through his body, forcing tears from his eyes. When he lay still again, though, the pain had diminished, as though actual movement had broken a spell.

  Sisko thought. He couldn’t remember his location or how he’d arrived there, or many other relevant details. He just knew that he wanted very badly to go home, to Jennifer and Jake. He could barely recall his own name, his own position—

  Executive officer, U.S.S. Okinawa.

  Rescuing the crew of Assurance.

  The Tzenkethi.

  Sisko had never been shot with a Tzenkethi weapon before, and he hoped he never would be again. He remained motionless, but no longer to avoid the pain. He concentrated, opening his mind to his senses. Past the odor of smoldering flesh, he heard noises, little noises, and he attempted to isolate and identify them. A hum in his ear pressed to the floor: the engine of a starship. A soft rustle from somewhere behind him: somebody stirring from unconsciousness. A murmur from above . . . he could not place.

  With care, Sisko turned his head and looked up, grateful to find the pain declining further. What he saw, though, made no sense to him. Across the overhead stretched a mass of color: the reds and golds and blues of Starfleet uniforms, the myriad flesh tones of humans and Andorians and Orions and other species.

  And he saw faces.

  Sisko pushed himself up onto his elbows, and then to a sitting position, the wave of pain flowing through him at least bearable. The surface in front of him when he’d woken up—When I regained consciousness, he corrected himself—turned out to be a silver cylinder embedded in the deck, a meter or so tall and perhaps a dozen centimeters in diameter. He leaned against it, then peered into the dim light.

  He seemed to be in a large space, like the hold of a starship. All around, he saw what he thought he’d seen above him: the uniformed bodies of Starfleet officers. Here and there, some of them stirred, and he heard the low moans of physical distress. Intermingled with the bodies, Sisko saw more of the silver cylinders.

  Turning to his left, Sisko looked for the bulkhead that marked the extent of the hold. Instead, he saw more bodies. Shocked, he peered upward again, and saw the same thing. It made no sense to him, and he wondered if—

  An electronic whir began somewhere above him, and then he heard the sound of soft bells. It took him a moment to recall that the voices of Tzenkethi sounded like that. He immediately threw himself back onto the floor—his body protested, but complied. He lay not on his side, though, but on his back. He closed his eyes, but not fully.

  The hold brightened considerably. Through his almost-closed eyes, Sisko again saw the bodies of Starfleet officers on the overhead. Movement caught his attention, then, and he shifted his gaze to see a circular opening far up in the bulkhead. Two Tzenkethi walked inside—directly onto the overhead. The opening behind them irised closed.

  Between them, they dragged the body of a human, dressed in a blue Starfleet uniform. The Tzenkethi hauled the unmoving body across the overhead, then threw it down—or up. It flopped onto the overhead, and Sisko saw that part of the uniform had been burned away, the exposed flesh mutilated, as though seared by exposure to hot metal. And again, the smell of burning flesh reached him.

  Sisko realized that the body the Tzenkethi had just thrown down was dead. He realized that a lot of the bodies in the hold were dead.

  The two Tzenkethi—both of them glowing a greenish yellow—moved back toward where they’d entered, when the door dilated open again. Another Tzenkethi, this one radiating more of a golden color, walked inside and waited for the other two. Then, as a group, they walked toward the bulkhead—and then onto it. They walked normally, making their way down to the floor on which Sisko lay.

  As he watched them through his squinted eyes, they drew nearer, peering down at the bodies they passed. Then one of them looked in Sisko’s direction, and Sisko suddenly felt terrified. The golden Tzenkethi pointed, and the other two started toward Sisko.

  I’ll fight them, Sisko resolved. He would overcome his pain and do as much damage as he could.

  Stepping past other bodies, the two Tzenkethi had come within three meters of him when one of the Starfleet personnel grabbed for them. He wrapped his arms around one of the Tzenkethi and pulled him down. In the flurry of motion, Sisko saw the attacker: Captain Walter.

  Sisko suspected he would get no better opportunity, and he hauled himself up by grabbing hold of the silver cylinder. He felt suddenly light-headed as he got to his feet, but he lurched forward. As he did, the golden Tzenkethi drew a weapon.

  “No!” Sisko yelled, but too late. The orange beam struck both Captain Walter and the Tzenkethi with whom he grappled. Both dropped to the deck, either unconscious or dead.

  Then the Tzenkethi trained the weapon on Sisko.

  In the moment before she fired, the remembrance of the terrible pain he’d experienced led him to just one thought: I hope this shot kills me.

  When Sisko came to again, his pain did not approach what he’d felt previously. He opened his eyes to find himself on the deck of a small room. Before him stood a beautiful Tzenkethi woman, a soft golden glow emanating from her body.

  Sisko heard a gentle metallic tinkling. The Tzenkethi reached to the wall and touched a control. When she did, Sisko saw another silver cylinder embedded in the deck. Then, from a panel in the bulkhead, strangely inflected words spoke in Federation Standard, and Sisko realized that she’d activated a translator.

  “Why are you here?”

  Sisko pulled himself up and leaned against the bulkhead. “I don’t even know where I am,” he said. He heard a deeper set of chimes, obviously his own words translated into the language of the Tzenkethi.

  “You are aboard a Tzenkethi marauder,” she said. “But I am not asking you why you are aboard. You were seized from a planet near the border of the Tzenkethi Coalition. You were aboard the remains of a Federation starship that crashed on a planet. Sensor scans show the residual energy effects of Tzenkethi weaponry on the hull of that starship, but there is no Tzenkethi vessel in this planetary system and none reported destroying a Federation ship here.

  “So I ask you again: why are you here, in this planetary system, on this planet, after battling a Tzenkethi starship?”

  “We’re at war,” Sisko said
. “Ask the autarch why that is and you’ll have your answer.”

  The bottom half of the Tzenkethi’s right leg shot forward in a way that would have been impossible for a human. It kicked Sisko in the side. Where it struck him, he felt a sensation like something between electricity and heat, through his uniform and that of the Tzenkethi.

  “You encroachers have caused this war,” the Tzenkethi said, moving away. “Do not look to blame us for your transgressions. Why are you here? In this planetary system? Did you destroy the Tzenkethi vessel that fired on you?”

  “We did not start this war,” Sisko said. “But we defend ourselves.”

  The Tzenkethi stepped quickly forward, and Sisko threw his hands up to ward off another kick. Instead, she strode past him and onto the bulkhead. He peered up to see her walking upward, past another silver cylinder, and then onto the overhead. There, he saw another heaped body in a Starfleet uniform. The Tzenkethi took a small device from somewhere in her formfitting clothing and touched it to the outside of the officer’s arm.

  Sisko watched as the officer came to, and he saw that it was Captain Walter. The Tzenkethi touched a control in the wall, and then the translation of her lyrical sounds spilled from a panel in the bulkhead there. “Why are you here?”

  “To convince the Tzenkethi to stop waging war,” Walter said.

  “We do not wage war,” she said. “You do!” She reached for the captain, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his head back, forcing him to look up. He saw Sisko.

  “You,” the Tzenkethi said, pointing at Sisko with her free hand. “Why are you here?”

  Sisko repeated Captain Walter’s words.

  “Why are you here?” she said again, and then the Tzenkethi reached up and pressed her fingers to the captain’s forehead, as though trying to reach through his head.