Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Rough Beasts of Empire

by David R. George III

  All Sisko wanted was peace.

  39

  Proconsul Tomalak sat in the shadows of an alcove outside the Senate Chamber, a tiny audio monitor pressed to his ear. He had listened for some time to the deliberations of the senators as they discussed trade agreements. Many of the conversations involved members of the Typhon Pact, and most especially the Tzenkethi, who were emerging as a major economic partner for Romulus.

  Having heard enough, Tomalak pocketed the monitor and left the alcove. He walked through the arcing corridors of the Hall of State, his footfalls echoing through the large, empty spaces. He felt intensely satisfied. In the thirty days since the dismantling of the Imperial Romulan State and Donatra’s consequent death, life inside the praetorship had become a good deal easier.

  Or if not easier, he decided, then at least a good deal simpler. Concerns about uniting the Empire, which had so plagued Tal’Aura and Tomalak, no longer applied. As well, any questions about the place of the Romulan Star Empire in the Typhon Pact had disappeared. Though the alliance remained in its infancy, its hierarchy had become well defined with the reintegration into the Empire of the worlds and resources that Donatra had taken. Once all of Romulan space had united, it ensured that the Empire would possess the largest population, the strongest military, and the most planets of any of the Pact members.

  As Tomalak turned into a radial corridor, he thought about the deaths of Rehaek and his sycophantic lackey, Torath. With one of their own, Sela, in Rehaek’s stead at the head of the Tal Shiar, a valuable new tool had replaced a dangerous old burden. The Elements, it seemed, had realigned back into their natural order. Romulus for Romulans. The Typhon Pact for Romulans. The galaxy for Romulans.

  Tomalak reached the courtyard, the brilliant sunlight beating down through the cupola windows a perfect reflection of his frame of mind. He strode to the great doors that led to Tal’Aura’s audience chamber, knowing that the praetor would be waiting for his report on the Senate. Tomalak leaned into the doors and slowly pushed them open.

  Tal’Aura sat in her raised chair, and Tomalak greeted her. “Praetor,” he said, “I bring news.” He turned and closed the doors, then crossed the wide black floor toward the dais.

  Tomalak had gone halfway across the chamber when he realized something was wrong. Tal’Aura sat in her chair, but slumped, her head hanging sideways in what must have been an uncomfortable position.

  Or would have been, if Tal’Aura had been conscious.

  Tomalak sprinted the remaining distance and vaulted onto the dais. He saw no wounds or injuries on Tal’Aura. Her eyes were closed, and the proconsul convinced himself that she had merely fallen asleep, no matter how radically out of character that would have been. “Praetor,” he said, and when he received no response, he raised his voice: “Praetor!”

  When Tal’Aura didn’t respond, Tomalak reached up to her hand. Her flesh felt warm to the touch, which lifted Tomalak’s hopes, but when he searched for a pulse, he found none.

  III

  The Sea Took Pity

  The sea took pity: it interposed with doom:

  ‘I have tall daughters dear that heed my hand:

  Let Winter wed one, sow them in her womb,

  And she shall child them on the New-world strand.’

  —GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS

  40

  The list of people who wanted to meet with the new praetor must have been considerably long, so it pleased Spock that he had been granted an audience in less than a month. He stood in the central courtyard of the Hall of State, a pair of uhlans—a man and a woman—as his escorts. One of them pulled twice on the braided golden rope that hung beside the ruatinite-inlaid doors that led into the praetor’s audience chamber. Spock awaited the answering chime, but it never came.

  Instead, the doors opened inward, revealing a man of medium height and build, wearing a dark suit. Deep lines incised his face beneath a mop of unruly gray hair; Spock put his age at about a hundred, perhaps a few years higher. He had gray eyes, an unusual iris coloration for a Romulan. “Ambassador Spock, I presume.”

  “I am Spock, though not an official representative of the Federation at this time.”

  “Mister Spock, then?” the man asked.

  Spock bowed his head in both reply and greeting.

  “Very good, then, Mister Spock,” the man said. “Please come in.” He moved to the side of the doors and beckoned him into the dimly lit chamber with a wave of his arm. Spock entered, followed by the two military officers. “I am Anlikar Ventel,” the man said. “Proconsul to our new praetor.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Proconsul Ventel,” Spock said. He had known that Ventel’s predecessor had not been kept on by the new praetor, whose judicious statement about the appointment had suggested a personal decision by Tomalak to return to the Imperial Fleet.

  “Thank you,” Ventel said, bowing slightly. “I am pleased to meet you, Mister Spock. I am particularly pleased to see that you are well, obviously recovered from the unfortunate attack on you.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Though the assassination attempt had occurred a year earlier, it had certainly become well known throughout the Empire just three months ago, when Donatra had been charged with planning the attack.

  “The praetor is looking forward to meeting you,” Ventel said.

  Spock glanced across the chamber toward the raised chair and saw it sitting empty, undermining the veracity of the proconsul’s claim. But then Spock heard a voice from off to the left.

  “I am over here.”

  Spock looked in that direction and saw the praetor along the perimeter of the room, her body turned toward a sculpture set atop a short column. Like Ventel, she wore a suit, though of a lighter hue. Though Spock knew her age to be almost one hundred twenty-five, her fit body and black hair gave her the appearance of a woman much younger.

  “Please join me, Mister Spock,” she said. “And you as well, Proconsul.” As the two men started toward the praetor, the uhlans trailed behind them. Apparently the praetor saw this, because she said, “Uhlan Preget and Uhlan T’Lesk, you may leave us.”

  The two uhlans stopped, but the woman said, “I’m sorry, Praetor, but we have our orders. By mandate of the Continuing Committee, no one other than the proconsul and members of your cabinet are permitted to see you without the presence of at least two armed guards.”

  The praetor looked at Ventel. “Unlimited power is not quite as unlimited as it used to be.”

  “Nobody ever said that the praetor has unlimited power,” Ventel noted with a wry smile.

  The praetor appeared to feign indignation, her eyebrows rising. “I knew I shouldn’t have allowed the Senate to vote me into this position.” To Spock, she said, “I think everybody is concerned about when the next praetor or empress is going to be found dead.”

  Spock knew that an autopsy of Praetor Tal’Aura had shown her cause of death as Velderix Riehn’va, otherwise known as The Usurper. Several months earlier, a Romulan senator had died from the same malady, a rare disease that resulted in the formation of brain aneurysms. Speculation on the comnet had suggested that the praetor had perhaps contracted the disease from an intimate relationship with the similarly afflicted senator, though former Proconsul Tomalak had strongly denounced the notion.

  To the uhlans, the praetor said, “Would you please at least stand your watch over me by the door?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The uhlans withdrew as they’d been requested, and Spock and Ventel walked the rest of the way over to the praetor.

  “May I present Praetor Gell Kamemor,” said the proconsul. “Praetor Kamemor, this is Mister Spock, of the planet Vulcan and the United Federation of Planets, though he is here in no official capacity.”

  Spock bowed his head again in a show of respect. “I am honored,” he said. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.” From his time as a Federation ambassador, Spock knew of Kamemor, though he had never met her. She had served a similar function for the Empire—a
t least up until the Treaty of Algeron in 2311, at which time the Romulans withdrew from galactic politics for a lengthy period.

  “Tell me, Mister Spock, what do you think of this piece?” Kamemor said, obviously referring to the sculpture by which she stood.

  Spock stepped forward and examined the bronze. It featured a bird of prey in flight, its talons wrapped around a serpent, which had twisted around in such a way that it appeared about to strike its fangs into the raptor from above. “With all due respect to you, the artist, and the Empire,” Spock said, “I find it rather uninspiring. Both the bird of prey and the serpent are exceedingly common icons in Romulan culture, and this piece really adds nothing to the oeuvre. I can appreciate the skill of the artist, but I do not appreciate the work itself.”

  The praetor exchanged a glance with the proconsul. “I like it,” Ventel said.

  “Just another thing about which we disagree, Proconsul,” said Kamemor. “I think I dislike it even more than you do, Mister Spock.” As she gestured toward the other side of the room, Spock noted that she had the same unusual gray coloring in her eyes as Ventel. “Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me why you wanted to see me.”

  Spock and Ventel followed the praetor to the other side of the room, to where a small table had been placed, along with three chairs. An elegant silver set sat atop the table. “May I offer you some tea, Mister Spock?” Kamemor asked. “It is from my home planet of Glintara.”

  “Thank you.” Spock and the proconsul sat down after the praetor did, and then Ventel poured out two cups of the tea. Spock sampled his, and found that it had a pleasing aroma and flavor. “It is not unlike relen tea, from Vulcan, a personal favorite.”

  “I shall have to try some Vulcan teas,” Kamemor said. “Now, then, Mister Spock, for what reason have you asked to see me?”

  “I wish to speak with you about the Reunification Movement,” Spock said.

  “What about it?” Kamemor asked. “I have seen very little from the Movement in some time.”

  “That is correct,” Spock said. “Nearly a year ago, I petitioned Praetor Tal’Aura for the right of Romulans to publicly support and further the cause. As I’m sure you know, the praetor granted that request, but it is my belief that she did so only to advance her own agenda. When it became evident to me that she had achieved that agenda, it seemed equally clear that she would likely revoke that right. Because such a revocation could have been followed by mass arrests of citizens involved in the Movement, whose identities had become known, my comrades and I ceased promoting our aims in public.”

  “I see,” said Kamemor. “But I am unsure what it is you wish of me. Neither Praetor Tal’Aura nor the Senate revoked the right to openly champion the reunification of the Romulan and Vulcan people.”

  “I would ask you what your views on the Movement are,” Spock said.

  “My views?” Kamemor said. She sipped at her tea, then set the cup down. “Frankly, Mister Spock, I find the idea of attempting to bring together two cultures that diverged millennia ago not only unlikely to succeed but unnecessary. From a political standpoint, the fact that the Vulcans belong to the Federation makes the possibility of their reunification with Romulans extremely dubious—especially now that the Empire has joined the Typhon Pact. At the same time, I just do not see the point of it, other than perhaps as an intellectual exercise. The Vulcan culture and people have valuable qualities, to be sure, as is true of the Romulan culture and people. I see nothing wrong with individuals or groups of either society who wish to cross-pollinate their beliefs and customs for their own benefit, but why does it require a movement?”

  Spock nodded. He had not known Kamemor’s views on reunification, but he had wanted to seek an opportunity for those who believed as he did to be able to continue following their aspirations. Needless to say, he found the praetor’s stance unsatisfying. “I am sorry to hear that,” he told Kamemor.

  “Why?” the praetor asked. “Why should your happiness . . . or satisfaction . . . require me to believe as you do?”

  “It does not,” Spock said, “but I assumed from what you communicated that you would not then be in favor of keeping the open discussion of reunification decriminalized.”

  “That seems to me less of an assumption and more of a presumption,” Kamemor said. She turned to Ventel, who had remained quiet but attentive during the conversation. “Proconsul, how often do you and I disagree on matters of policy?”

  “Um, well . . . I’m not sure, Praetor,” Ventel said. “Twenty-five percent of the time? Thirty?”

  “And we’ve only been in office twenty or so days,” Kamemor said. “I have every confidence that the percentage of our policy differences will increase.” She regarded Spock quietly for a moment, then said, “That’s one of the reasons I wanted Anlikar as my proconsul. I’m an intelligent, experienced, well-read woman, but I don’t know everything, and some of the ideas I hold true are probably incomplete, inaccurate, or wholly incorrect. I don’t want people around me who will simply agree with me. I want people like Proconsul Ventel, who will disagree with me when they think I’m wrong. I want people to convince me that their way is better than my way. That is, I think, what a good leader does.”

  “I would agree,” said Spock. “May I ask precisely what that means for the Reunification Movement?”

  “It means that I have no intention and no desire to see public speech of any kind criminalized,” Kamemor said, “including with respect to your Reunification Movement.”

  “I am gratified to hear that, Praetor,” Spock said. “Thank you.”

  “Let me also add that your visitor’s visa will remain in force,” Kamemor said. She paused, then added, “At least as long as you obey Romulan law.”

  “I have no intention and no desire to violate Romulan law,” Spock said, paraphrasing her own earlier statement.

  “Very good.” She stood up and said, “Is there anything else you need to discuss with me?” The meeting had clearly come to its natural end.

  “No, Praetor,” Spock said, rising as well. The proconsul also got to his feet. “It has been most illuminating to speak with you. Jolan tru.” Kamemor bowed her head, and Ventel stepped away from the table and escorted Spock back toward the doors.

  Outside the Hall of State, on the avenues of Ki Baratan, Spock considered his meeting with Gell Kamemor. So early in her praetorship, he could not know what kind of a leader she would be for the Romulan people, but he thought that she would be a good one. From everything he knew of Kamemor, and from what he had just seen of her, he believed her far more thoughtful and far less militant than either Tal’Aura or Donatra. She also seemed less interested in power than in doing what was best for the citizens of the Empire. Spock suspected that would include taking a much less antagonistic posture toward the Federation.

  Walking along Via Karzan, Spock headed for the home of his young compatriot, D’Tan. From there, he would contact the leaders of the city’s Reunification cell—Corthin, Dr. Shalvan, Dorlok, Venaster—and inform them of what Praetor Kamemor had told him. After that, they would spread the word to their supporters across Romulus, and then to others throughout the Empire.

  41

  Benjamin Lafayette Sisko, husband, father, Starfleet captain, starship commander, and erstwhile Emissary of the Prophets, paced back and forth across his quarters on U.S.S. Robinson. Outside the large ports of the living area, the stars blurred into streaks of light as the ship traveled at warp. He had the lights down low, adding to the impressiveness of the display.

  It had been five weeks since the crew had departed Starbase 39-Sierra and resumed its patrol route along the Romulan Neutral Zone. Five weeks since Sisko had camped along the foothills of the Ravingian Mountains, had breathed the fresh air of an almost-pristine world, and stopped thinking for a few days. By the end of his shore leave, he had been able to decide exactly what he needed to do next.

  Sisko hadn’t delayed taking action since then because of any uncertainty he fe
lt, or because of any desire to rethink his choices one more time. He knew what he must do. He just wanted to make sure that he used the right words.

  Today, finally, he thought he’d found them.

  Sisko sat down in front of the companel at one end of the living area in his quarters and activated the device. The familiar Federation emblem—a starfield partially encircled by a pair of stylized laurels—appeared on the screen. “Computer, transmit file Sisko-One-Nineteen to the Incoming Records Administrator of the Adarak Courthouse, Kendra Province, Bajor.” Electronic tones signaled that the file had been sent, and the word TRANSMITTED replaced the UFP sigil.

  “Computer,” Sisko continued, “record a message to Kasidy Yates, Kendra Province, Bajor.” Again, he heard the electronic tones, and then the word RECORDING appeared on the screen.

  “Kasidy, it’s Ben,” he said. “I know that in a few weeks it’ll be a year since I left. Before I say anything more, I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I know that I’ve hurt you, and I’ve done so in a way that’s probably unforgivable.

  “In many ways, I know that I can’t possibly understand what you’ve gone through, and what you’re still going through. But in some ways, I can. It’s not the same thing, but my first wife left me too. It’s different, of course, because Jennifer died, but the truth is that after the last moment of her life I never saw her again, never got to share time with her again, and I was suddenly the single parent of an eleven-year-old boy.

  “I’m telling you this because I want you to know that I do have some idea of what I’ve put you through. What I endured with the loss of Jennifer, I would not wish on anyone—least of all on someone I love.

  “And I do love you still, Kasidy, and I imagine that I always will. And it’s because I love you, and our beautiful Rebecca, that I had to leave.

  “Kas, I know that you don’t believe in the Bajoran Prophets, at least not in the way that I do. But I have conversed with them, I have communed with them, and they have guided me on a journey that allowed me to help, and even save, the people of Bajor. I don’t regret that. I can’t regret that.