Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Rough Beasts of Empire

by David R. George III

  “But I do regret how my relationship with the Prophets has impacted us . . . how it has impacted you and Rebecca. I told you before we got married that the Prophets had let me know that if I spent my life with you, I would know nothing but sorrow. And you said that it sounded like a threat. But it wasn’t.

  “It was a gift.

  “The Prophets do not exist in time the way that we do. And neither did I in the time that I spent with them in the Celestial Temple, so I have some firsthand understanding of this. The Prophets live a nonlinear existence, but more than that, they live a continuous existence. It’s how they can generate accurate prophecies, how they can know the future: they live in what we call the future, and in the past, and in the present. They are aware of every moment in their lives at all times. And they also see potential moments in uncountable possible timelines.

  “I don’t think I can explain it any better than that. But I lived that way, and even though I can’t remember the details of it, of a future that was the same as my present and my past, I do remember how overwhelming it was. And I recall the nature of it . . . the reality of it.

  “My point is that when the Prophets told me that I would know only sorrow if I spent my life with you, they weren’t threatening me. They were telling me what they had already seen . . . what they were seeing at that instant. They saw me marry you, and they saw my life inundated by sorrow. They also saw an existence where I did not spend my life with you, and where I was not inundated by sorrow.

  “For you, Kasidy, for your love and because I love you, I could suffer many things. But this isn’t about making things better for me; it’s about saving you. And Rebecca. If I stayed with you, I would know nothing but sorrow, and at some point, that sorrow would include something terrible happening to you, and something terrible happening to Rebecca. That would be my greatest sorrow.

  “In the time before I left, it had begun. Eivos Calan and Audj died in the fire. Rebecca was kidnapped. Elias Vaughn suffered a massive brain injury and is essentially dead. My father died.

  “I saw it happening. The sorrow was getting closer, and deeper. I couldn’t let something happen to you and Rebecca. It was hard enough when we almost lost her the first time.

  “I didn’t tell you all of this before I left because I know that you don’t believe in the Prophets, and I knew you wouldn’t believe in the truth of their prophecy. But that’s what this is: a prophecy. And unless I heed their advice, it will continue to come true.

  “I love you, Kasidy. And despite what I’ve put you through, I suspect that you still love me too. I think it’s okay for you to love me, at least in the way that I still love Jennifer. But I was eventually able to let go of Jennifer enough to fall in love with you. I think it’s okay for you to let go of me in that way. When you’re able, I want you to be open to love again.

  “I’m sending this message to you because I think it will help you—today and, I hope, tomorrow. I hope you’ll let it help Rebecca too, when she’s ready to know all of this.

  “Right before I started recording this message, I transmitted a petition to the courthouse in Adarak to dissolve our marriage. It might have been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it will be the best thing for you.

  “I love you. And I’m sorry.”

  Sisko tapped a control surface to end the recording. He didn’t know if it would help Kasidy as much as he wanted it to, but he hoped so. He didn’t know what else he could do.

  “Computer,” he said, “transmit message.” Once more, he heard the tones that indicated fulfillment of his order, and the word TRANSMITTED appeared on the companel. Sisko thumbed off the device, stood up, and headed across the living area to the replicator. He needed a drink.

  Before he reached the replicator, though, the door chime sounded. “Come in,” he called. The doors parted and the ship’s first officer stepped inside.

  “Captain,” he said. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “No,” Sisko said. “What can I do for you?”

  Rogeiro held up a padd. “You wanted those figures on shortening the duty shifts and increasing their frequency,” he said. “I finished them, and I was on the way to my quarters, so I thought I’d drop them off.”

  Sisko walked over and took the padd from Rogeiro. “Thank you, Commander. I’ll take a look at what you’ve come up with.” He leaned over to his desk and deposited the padd atop it.

  “Have a good night, sir.” Rogeiro turned and headed for the door.

  “Commander,” Sisko said on an impulse, and the first officer stopped. Sisko had no right to expect a positive response to the question that rose in his mind, but he asked it anyway: “I was just about to get myself a drink. Would you like you stay and have one with me?”

  Rogeiro looked more than puzzled; he looked as though he thought that Robinson’s captain might have been taken over by some errant, noncorporeal life-form. “Sir?”

  “Maybe we could chat a bit, Commander,” Sisko said. “Get to know each other a little better.”

  Sisko thought that Rogeiro would have been justified in reaching back and slugging his captain right in the jaw. Instead, he smiled. “Thank you, sir. I’d like that.”

  “What can I get you?” Sisko asked, and he walked over to the replicator.

  42

  Alizome Tor Fel-A balanced on one of the smooth stone blocks in front of the autarch’s expansive black desk. With her legs twisted around her torso and a full report stored in the data cube in her hand, she felt more comfortable in the presence of Korzenten Rej Tov-AA than ever she had before. Alizome had been summoned to his home, to meet with him on the superior floor of his office, but by herself, without even any of his advisors present. In times past, she might have grown concerned that she had been called to the autarch’s residence to explain some failure on her part or, worse, to suffer a repositioning to another level or echelon because of that failure. That had never happened, though, and she thought that she had finally become accustomed to her continued successes.

  And her mission to Romulus had been a considerable success.

  “So your report is ready, Alizome?” the autarch asked, the deep ringing of his voice almost hypnotic. As she did each time she saw him, Alizome found his bright-red flesh stunning to behold.

  “Yes, I’ve prepared my report,” she said. Alizome reached forward—she had to unfurl one leg and brace it against the floor—and placed her data cube atop the autarch’s desk. Korzenten picked up the cube but did not examine it.

  “It is complete through the first twenty days of Praetor Kamemor’s rule?” he asked.

  “It is.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “I’ve already received preliminary reports from our observers in Romulan space and from my advisors, and I want to congratulate you on doing an excellent job.”

  “Thank you, my Rej,” said Alizome.

  “We may have to retest your level,” the autarch said. “Results like this suggest that you just may be a double-A.”

  “Thank you, my Rej,” Alizome said, accepting the accolade even as she knew that Korzenten did not truly intend to reassess her level.

  “You posed as a trade minister?” the autarch asked.

  “I did,” Alizome said. “Employing the Coalition’s many contacts on Romulus, I met numerous people, some of them inside the government, some of them outside it, but always making sure that they were a member of the Hundred. The Hundred are the wealthiest, most powerful groups in the Empire, who effectively control the populace through economic and governmental means.

  “Through those meetings, I identified the individual best suited to lead a united Romulan Empire. I maneuvered her into place by dispatching the senator that had been representing her group in the Senate, then lobbied her group to select her as his replacement.”

  “How did you dispatch him?” Korzenten asked.

  “I passed a disease on to him through casual contact,” Alizome said. “The disease was naturally occurring, untraceab
le, and not harmful to Tzenkethi. It took a month for it to incubate and cause his death.

  “After that, I had intended to remove Praetor Tal’Aura and Empress Donatra from the equation, but as you suggested might happen, my Rej, Donatra was eliminated without my assistance. It was then a simple matter to pass on the same disease to the praetor, whom I met with as she prepared to bring an end to the Imperial Romulan State.”

  “After Tal’Aura’s death, you must have had to lobby quite a few senators to have your selection voted into the praetorship,” Korzenten said.

  “Actually, my Rej,” Alizome said, “I chose so well that I didn’t need to do so. A quick poll showed me that the Romulans would vote Kamemor in on their own.”

  “And so they did,” said the autarch. “So now we have a unified Romulan Empire, under the rule of a leader whom you believe will not attempt to control the Typhon Pact.”

  “That is correct, my Rej.”

  “And now that the Romulan Star Empire has regained its former strength and been made stable under a new regime, the Typhon Pact is in turn at its strongest and most stable,” said Korzenten.

  Alizome agreed. “The Tzenkethi and the Typhon Pact therefore need fear nothing from the Federation.”

  “Rather,” said the autarch, “it is the Federation who should now fear us.”

  Acknowledgments

  My first exposure to the Typhon Pact came in a Midtown Manhattan restaurant, over lunch with editor Marco Palmieri. Quite unexpectedly, Marco described to me the conceit and genesis of an idea for the literary Star Trek universe upon which he had been working. The Typhon Pact, a new coalition of Trek antagonists, would provide a counterpart to the United Federation of Planets and its Khitomer Accords alliance—a twenty-fourth-century version of the Warsaw Pact and NATO. For starters, Marco intended to publish a book series, with each volume focusing on a different Pact member, and he invited me to pen the Romulan entry. For that offer, for his creativity and first-rate editorial skills, and for his friendship, I am grateful.

  After Marco had to leave our endeavor, Margaret Clark nimbly picked up the ball, shepherding the story within these pages from conception through final form. Margaret provided a couple of parameters for the tale, hoping to accomplish some specific developments in the overarching Trek meta-story, but then allowed me a great deal of latitude in developing the novel I wanted to write. I am thankful for her supportive direction, for her remarkable endurance, and for her friendship.

  Once Margaret also had to depart the project, Jaime Costas and Emilia Pisani signed onboard. I want to thank both of them for their generous assistance, their patience, and their good natures.

  Thanks as well to my fellow Typhon Pact writers: David Mack (Zero Sum Game), Michael A. Martin (Seize the Fire), and Dayton Ward (Paths of Disharmony). Fine writers all around, scholars and gentlemen, and a thoroughly enjoyable group with which to work. I am particularly grateful to Dave Mack, who graciously allowed me exclusive access to one specific bit of the Deep Space Nine milieu.

  In choosing to work with the heretofore unseen, mostly unexplored Tzenkethi, I had cause to seek out the assistance of two other writers who had at least touched upon the mysterious aliens. Keith R. A. DeCandido kindly answered some questions about the Tzenkethi from his Articles of the Federation and A Singular Destiny, as did James Swallow with respect to his Day of the Vipers. Keith also provided a roster of Federation government personnel and a description of the Palais de la Concorde, which I found quite useful. Thanks, guys.

  I also tapped William Leisner for some information from his Losing the Peace, and Una McCormack from her Hollow Men. Once more, fine writers and nice people, willing to help when asked. Thank you.

  Turning to my crack staff of knowledgeable Star Trek fans, Deborah Stevenson, Alex Rosenzweig, and Ian McLean also helped with some literary Trek research. Thanks to each of them for giving of their time and effort. I appreciate it.

  And then, of course, there are my regulars, the people whom I always thank because they are always there for me. Walter Ragan, Anita Smith, Jennifer George, and Patricia Walenista help me with everything. I am privileged to enjoy such warm, loving, happy people in my life.

  Finally, as always, there is Karen Ragan-George. Whenever I get to this point in my acknowledgments, I wonder what I can possibly say about the woman of my dreams that I have not said already. This time, for my beautiful, redheaded, albino Polynesian, I opted for Hawaiian: Aloha wau ia ‘oe, e ku‘u wahine no na kau a kau.

  About the Author

  Born and raised in New York City, David R. George III currently resides in southern California with his enchanting wife, Karen. Their wildly busy lives include many things: reading and writing (and some ’rithmetic), national and world travel, art and history, movies and music, swing dancing and hula, playing baseball and following the New York Mets, and livin’ and lovin’.

  Please do not try this at home. Void where prohibited. Your actual mileage may vary.

  David can be found on the Internet at http://www.facebook.com/DRGIII.