It had been a long day, sometimes difficult, but on the whole satisfying. As many decisions as the first minister made on a day-to-day basis, as many arguments as she delivered to the Chamber of Ministers and to the Bajoran populace, as many actions as she took, she was never more aware of the importance and power of her office than when she interacted with people individually and in small gatherings. The memorial service she and Pralon Onala had led in Ashalla earlier had been of a considerably different nature from the one they’d held a year prior, on the one-year anniversary of Deep Space 9’s destruction. That first memorial had taken place in Liberty Court, the huge, open-air ellipse not far from the Great Assembly. Bajorans had flocked to the service, not only filling the courtyard, but also spilling out onto the Grand Avenue of Lights. That occasion had been somber, made all the more so by the quiet collective remembrance of so many.
The second memorial had been far more personal. Like most Bajorans, Asarem tended to remember all the ills—present-day and historic—that had befallen her people. But also like most of her fellow citizens, the first minister tended to avoid regularly lamenting those ills, instead choosing to celebrate past achievements and other special occasions. Consequently, rather than hosting another service for the masses, Asarem and the kai had invited to the Great Assembly individuals and families who’d lost loved ones aboard Deep Space 9. More than a thousand people—including some Starfleet officers from Bajoran Space Central before they departed for the new space station—had attended throughout the day, and Asarem and Pralon had spoken with them separately and in small groups. Tears had flowed along with the reminiscences, but overall it had been a positive, cathartic, life-affirming experience. There had even been plenty of smiles, which Asarem had found particularly good to see on the threshold of the opening of the new starbase.
“I’m drained,” the first minister told Enkar Sirsy. “It hasn’t been an easy day.”
“No, ma’am,” Enkar said. “But it has been a good one, I think.”
“Oh, I agree.” Asarem sat up on the sofa, reached behind her head, and removed the tie that held her dark brown hair back from her face. She ran her fingers through the shoulder-length strands, urging them to fall back into their natural shape.
“Can I help with anything, Minister?” Enkar asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Asarem said. She glanced over at Enkar, who stood beside the table in the dining area, rummaging through her ubiquitous portfolio, in which she always toted around an inordinate number of padds. She wore a suit that looked as though it had just been pressed. The subtly patterned black jacket and matching skirt complemented her gray blouse, all of which nicely set off her long, straight red hair. “How is it, Sirsy, that at this time of night, after all we’ve done today, you still look so fresh?”
“Because I didn’t have to do the hard work today, ma’am; you did.”
“You and I both know that’s not true,” Asarem said. “You worked just as hard as I did—and probably harder.” Enkar Sirsy had served in the Bajoran government for most of her adult life, since her early twenties, when the Cardassians had finally withdrawn their occupying forces. In just a few years, she became assistant to the first minister at the time, Shakaar Edon. After Shakaar’s unexpected death, Second Minister Asarem ascended to his post, and although she already relied on her own assistant, Altrine Theno, she opted to add Enkar to her staff.
That had proven a serendipitous choice. Although for a long time she held the title of assistant, and then aide, Enkar became much more than that to Asarem: confidant, analyst, speechwriter. Eventually, she worked her way up to the official position of advisor to the first minister, and during the last election, three years earlier, she served as campaign director. Upon winning her second six-year term, Asarem appointed Enkar as her chief of staff, a position she had handled admirably.
“I’m leaving a copy of your schedule for tomorrow, Minister,” Enkar said, extracting one of her padds from her portfolio and placing it on the dining table. “The schedule for the entire event is also included, as are the remarks you’ve prepared.”
“Thank you, Sirsy.” Asarem reached down and tugged off her shoes, letting them fall to the carpet with first one thump, then another. “What time is the ceremony?”
“It will commence at midday, at thirteen o’clock,” she said. “Starfleet security will arrive to escort you to the venue a quarter of an hour before that. Lustrate Vorat has asked to accompany you to the theater. I would follow with one of his aides.”
“That’ll be fine,” she told Enkar. “You know, I’m glad you convinced me to travel to Deep Space Nine tonight. I’d hate to wake up tomorrow and have to make that trip in the morning.” She stood up, preparing to go into the bedroom to get out of her suit. She knew that the earth-toned jacket and skirt, with a cream-colored top, looked good on her, but after so many hours in it, it no longer felt good.
Before Asarem could even take a step, though, the door chime called out. She had arrived back on the star-base only a few minutes earlier, and she certainly hadn’t planned any meetings for such a late hour. She peered over at her chief of staff, who looked as surprised as Asarem felt.
“I’ll see who that is and what they want, ma’am,” Enkar said. Leaving her portfolio on the table, she padded over to the doors, which opened before her. She exited into the vestibule, and the doors promptly closed. Asarem waited, knowing that Enkar would speak to the security detail, the outer buffer between the first minister and the outside world. The chief of staff would find out why they had rung through to her quarters.
Enkar returned almost at once. “You have a visitor requesting to speak with you, Minister,” she said. “It’s the Romulan praetor.”
Asarem blinked. “Really?” Both the Romulan praetor and the Gorn imperator had agreed to visit Bajor after the dedication, the first time that individuals in their positions would ever do so. Asarem assumed that she would speak to both leaders during their stays on Deep Space 9, presumably before or after the ceremony, but certainly not almost as soon as she set foot on the starbase.
Maybe the praetor’s canceling her trip to Bajor, the first minister thought. The same way the castellan did. The notion brought a touch of rancor. While Asarem’s two days with Lustrate Vorat on Bajor had gone well enough, their time together had lacked the magnitude that a visit by Castellan Garan would have had. The first minister could only hope that the praetor did not intend to renege on her promise to visit Bajor as well.
“What do you think, Sirsy?” Asarem asked.
“I’m not sure, Minister,” the chief of staff said. “I think it could be that the praetor is reconsidering her trip to Bajor after the dedication.”
“I had the same thought,” Asarem said, disappointed. “Well, if that’s why she’s here, let’s see if I can change her mind.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Enkar paced quickly to the dining table, where she picked up the padd she’d laid out for the first minister and packed it away again in her portfolio. “I’ll bring this back to you and check in after the praetor leaves.”
“Thank you, Sirsy.”
“Thank you, Madam First Minister.”
Asarem quickly put her shoes back on as her chief of staff exited once more, taking her portfolio with her. A moment later, the Romulan praetor stepped inside. She wore dark blue slacks and a lighter blouse, along with a black, floor-length cape. Asarem recalled that the woman had lived a quarter of the way into her second century, but her ebon hair and toned physique did nothing to confirm that.
“Madam First Minister, thank you for agreeing to see me.” She carried herself with an unmistakable sense of dignity. “I am Gell Kamemor, praetor of the Romulan Star Empire.”
“I am Asarem Wadeen,” the first minister said. She walked over to face Kamemor from a few paces away. “I’m pleased to meet you, Madam Praetor, but I also must admit that I’m nonplussed by the timing of your visit. I only just arrived from Bajor, it’s late in the day, and I
assumed I would be meeting you tomorrow, at the dedication ceremony.”
“Forgive the intrusion,” Kamemor said. “I’m aware of your travel and the hour, and that you did not expect me to call on you. If you will indulge me, I would ask only a few moments of your time.”
Asarem considered declining the praetor’s request, not because she objected to the breach of protocol, but because her day had been quite full—and taxing—already. She counted meeting the Romulan head of state as extremely important, and so she would have preferred doing so when she didn’t feel quite so fatigued. Still, she had no desire to initiate her political relationship with Kamemor by refusing a request, particularly one so easily fulfilled.
“Please have a seat,” Asarem invited the praetor, motioning to the round table in the compartment’s dining area.
“Thank you,” Kamemor said.
As Asarem led the praetor to the table, she asked, “May I offer you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Kamemor said. “I wish to take up no more of your time than is necessary.”
“Are you sure? I’m going to have something myself.” Asarem walked over to the replicator set into the side wall.
As Kamemor sat down at the table, she said, “Perhaps a cup of tea, then.”
Asarem had in mind something else entirely—a nightcap, such as a glass of kis—but she wanted to try to put the praetor at ease. “Would you care for it with sweetener?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
Asarem tapped the activation control on the replicator, which chirped in response. “Two cups of hot deka tea.” On the replicator pad, amid a hum and a haze of sparkling white light, the tea materialized. Asarem picked up the cups and saucers and carried them to the table. She placed one set in front of the praetor, then sat across from her with her own.
“ ‘Deka’ tea?” Kamemor said. “Is this a Bajoran variety?”
“It is,” Asarem said. “I hope you enjoy it.” The first minister lifted her cup and sipped from it, as did the praetor. Looking across the table at the Romulan, Asarem noticed the arresting gray color of her eyes.
“Again, forgive my intrusion,” Kamemor said, setting her teacup back down on its saucer. “I’ve come here tonight because I wanted to speak with you privately and in person, and before we begin discussing any political matters.”
“This isn’t a diplomatic visit?” Asarem asked, still confused.
“No,” the praetor said. “It may have political repercussions, of course, but that is not the reason I’m here.”
“You have me intrigued,” Asarem said. “And you have my attention.”
“First Minister, I know that quite some time has passed since the destruction of the space station that this facility—” The praetor glanced upward and around the compartment, clearly intending to indicate the whole of Deep Space 9. “—has been constructed to replace. I also know, as you must, that a Romulan starship and its crew were a part of that regrettable incident.”
“A renegade crew,” Asarem said, “if I understand correctly.”
“That was the case, yes,” Kamemor said. “I’m sure you’re also aware that I and my government denounced that crew and its rogue actions.”
Asarem nodded. She remembered the praetor’s official statement. The first minister knew that it would be thoroughly tactless to reveal her own emotional reaction to Kamemor’s declaration, but then—probably owing to the events of the day—she chose to give voice to her thoughts. “I heard your denunciation, Praetor. I found it . . . appropriate . . . but also something less than an expression of remorse.”
“That is true,” Kamemor said, “and it is the reason I am here to see you tonight.” The admission surprised Asarem, and she suddenly wished that she’d ordered the glass of kis. “I wanted to personally apologize to you for what took place in your system, for the loss of life, at the hands of Romulans.”
Instead of gratitude, though, the first minister felt something else: anger. She sought to contain the rush of emotion by measuring her words. “I’d like to tell you that I appreciate your sentiments, Praetor,” she said, but then found that she did not want to keep herself from telling Kamemor the complete truth. “Your apology also seems to me like an empty gesture.”
“My words are not empty,” the praetor insisted. “I mean them. I feel them. But they are of course only words. They cannot restore the lives that were lost here, nor fully heal the scars left by all of those deaths.”
“No. No, they can’t,” Asarem agreed. “But if you know that, then why are you here?”
“Two reasons have driven me here,” Kamemor said. “The first is because this is the fitting thing, the right thing, to do. The Romulan participation in the destruction of Deep Space Nine occurred while I led the Empire. It was therefore my responsibility.”
Again, Asarem considered not telling Kamemor what she thought, given its impolitic nature. But she came here to talk about this. Asarem hesitated, then forged ahead. “There are some who believe that the attack was much more than your responsibility, Praetor,” she said. “There are some who think it was your plan.” She braced herself for the denial surely to come.
Instead, Kamemor nodded.
“You’re not rejecting that claim?” Asarem asked, thunderstruck.
“Such a claim is untrue,” Kamemor said calmly. “I neither planned the attack nor even knew anything about it until after it had taken place.”
“But you don’t seem surprised or offended by people who believe otherwise?”
“Should I be?” Kamemor asked. “I think not. The Romulan Empire and the Federation have been opponents for more than two centuries. An attack on a Federation asset by a force that included a Romulan starship should engender fear and distrust. How could it not do so? Why wouldn’t your citizens believe that the praetor intentionally acted against them? Were the roles reversed, wouldn’t the Romulan people evaluate President Bacco in the same way?”
Kamemor seemed to the first minister almost too reasonable, as though she sought to hide her true agenda behind a veil of rationality. “Speaking of President Bacco,” Asarem said, “shouldn’t you be proclaiming all of this to her?”
“I already have,” Kamemor said. “We spoke about it not long after the attack.”
Asarem shook her head. “I don’t mean to be adversarial, Praetor, but if you apologized to the Federation president two years ago, then why are you here now?” Asarem brought her teacup down too hard and it clattered against the saucer.
“My apology appears to have angered you,” Kamemor said.
“Maybe it has,” Asarem allowed. “You say that this is the right thing to do, but why two years after the fact? It seems . . . disingenuous. And why apologize only to me? If you’re truly trying to do the right thing, isn’t a public apology warranted?”
“I have come to you to say what I have because you lead your people,” Kamemor said. “But I do not intend to speak only to you. With your permission, during my time on Bajor, I will issue a public apology to your people.”
Asarem’s eyes widened. She thought for an instant that she had misheard the praetor, but knew that she hadn’t. “I . . . I would . . . my people would welcome such a statement of contrition, but . . . I have to ask again: why do this now, after so much time has passed? Frankly, it makes me suspect your motives.”
“I do this now because the opportunity has presented itself with my invitation to the dedication, and to Bajor,” Kamemor said. “I do it now because President Bacco and I have been attempting to resolve the differences between our worlds, between our peoples, between our alliances. I do it now because you and I are speaking for the first time, and I am hopeful that we can begin our dialogue with a foundation built of trust and respect.” The praetor paused, as though deciding whether or not she should say more. At last, she did: “And I do this now because I can.”
“What?” Asarem asked. “What does that mean?”
“It means that if I had pub
licly apologized for the Romulan Star Empire two years ago,” Kamemor said, “I might well have been deposed—in one way or another.”
The admission floored Asarem. “Are you saying that you didn’t offer an official apology so that you could hold on to power?”
“Essentially, yes, though I would phrase it in a different fashion,” Kamemor said. “When I rose to power, it was as a victim of circumstance. My people—and in particular our government—suffer from an institutional hubris, a collective chauvinism that I do not share. I drew immediate opposition, and in the wake of the rogue attack in the Bajoran system, I had to tread lightly. There were those who already thought me too weak to serve as praetor because I had known nothing about the attack, and because I argued for peace over war, for détente over brinkmanship. But there were also those who saw where I wanted to take the Empire—to a time of peace and productivity, of hope and prosperity. I needed to convince or subdue the first group, and cultivate and strengthen the second. A public apology would have been perceived as weakness and would have undercut those aims.”
“That sounds like political justification,” Asarem noted.
“And so it was,” Kamemor said. “But I believed in the justification. If I had been removed from office, my replacement would not have hewed to my vision for the advancement—the maturation—of our society. Indeed, it was quite likely that I would have been supplanted by a hard-line war hawk. That would not have served the Empire well—or the Federation and its allies.”
Asarem wondered if the praetor heard the hefty ambition in her own words. “But now you have consolidated your power?” she asked. “Now you are not as vulnerable?”
“My government is changing,” Kamemor said. “To the benefit of the Romulan people, and also to the benefit of the people beyond our borders.”
Star Trek: The Fall: Revelation and Dust Page 18