Star Trek: Typhon Pact 06: Plagues of Night

by David R. George III

  Outside, on the main walkway of the Promenade, Tenmei reached up and pushed at the hand gripping her biceps. “No,” she said, and twisted away from the arm around her shoulders. She backed down the Promenade, and saw that it had been Jeannette Chao who had conducted her out of Quark’s.

  “Prynn,” Chao said gently, “it’s all right.”

  Tenmei heard herself yelp, a short, quick sound she’d intended as a laugh, but that even to her own ears contained no trace of humor. “Nothing’s all right,” she said. “Nothing.” She continued to back down the Promenade, and Chao followed after her. Tenmei saw people coming around her on either side, obviously making way for her as she walked backward. Many stopped and watched her retreat.

  “Maybe things aren’t all right,” Chao said. “But they will be.”

  “How?” Tenmei yelled. Then, in a high-pitched but small voice, she said, “My father …” She closed her eyes and let go of whatever small amount of control she still had over her own body. Her knees buckled, and the artificial gravity of DS9 began to pull her down to the deck. But then she felt Chao take hold of her once more, this time wrapping her arms around her and holding her up.

  “I’ve got you, Prynn,” Chao whispered to her. “I’ve got you.”

  Tenmei buried her face in her friend’s shoulder and began to cry. Great sobs racked her body. She couldn’t stop.

  She didn’t know for how long she stood there with Chao, but it seemed like a long time. Her weeping slowed eventually, and then stopped. It had given her the release she’d needed, but she also understood that it solved nothing.

  When Tenmei finally pulled away, Chao took her by the arm and led her to the nearest door. The two panels that blocked the octagonal opening parted, and Chao guided her inside to a chair. Once seated, Tenmei looked around to see Chief Blackmer at his desk in the security office. As she wiped at the drying trails of tears on her face, he looked back at her, and she saw his expression of surprise transform into one of sympathy.

  “May we borrow your office for just a few minutes, Chief?” Chao asked.

  “Of course,” Blackmer said, rising out of his seat immediately. “I was just going to check on my deputies over in Quark’s anyway.”

  “It threatened to get bumpy a couple of minutes ago,” Chao said, “but otherwise it’s been quiet.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Blackmer said. He walked toward the door, but turned back just as it opened before him. “Take as much time as you need,” he said, and then he left.

  Chao took the second chair in front of the security chief’s desk and faced Tenmei. “Can I help?” she asked.

  Tenmei didn’t know what to say. Finally, she simply said, “No. There’s nothing anybody can do.”

  Chao sighed, a sound not of frustration, but of compassion. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Prynn, I don’t want to pry, but I’m your friend, and I hate seeing you like this,” she said. “Have you talked with Counselor Matthias?”

  “Yeah,” Tenmei said. “Just not in a while.”

  “Well, maybe you should think about seeing her again,” Chao suggested. “Or at least talking with somebody.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” she said. Chao did not respond to the clearly noncommittal answer.

  They sat that way for a time, no words passing between them. Tenmei felt grateful for both the silence and the company, which at least approximated a moment of peace. But she knew it couldn’t last, and it didn’t.

  “Prynn, I’ve known you for more than a decade,” Chao said, “since you graduated from the Academy. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know when I say that you’ve always carried a bit of darkness around inside of you. When you eventually told me about the loss of your mother, and about your estrangement from your father, I understood. But even before you reunited with your father, you somehow managed your pain.” She paused, as though trying to conjure the right words. “You didn’t manage your pain. You let your happiness—your genuine love of life—be the dominant force within you.”

  Tenmei listened, and recognized the truth of what her friend said.

  Chao smiled. “Do you remember when Captain Hoku taught us to surf on the holodeck?” she said, referring to their days as shipmates aboard Mjolnir. “Well, when she taught you. I could never get the hang of it.”

  Unexpectedly, Tenmei felt herself smiling too. She remembered well Kalena Hoku’s lessons. “He‘e nalu, the captain called it,” Tenmei said, remembering the words from Hoku’s native Hawaiian tongue. “Wave sliding.”

  “That’s what she called it for you,” Chao said. “For me, it was hā‘ule nalu: wave falling.”

  Tenmei laughed, picturing all the times poor Jeannette had tried to hop up on her board, only to lose her balance almost immediately. “It’s amazing you made it through Starfleet Academy’s fitness courses,” she joked.

  “Hey, the Academy doesn’t require the ability to walk on water,” Chao said with mock indignation. “But if you want to grab some environmental suits and match up our EVA skills …”

  “No, no,” Tenmei said. “I believe you.”

  Chao looked at her, still smiling, but then Tenmei saw something in her eyes, some quality that seemed to pair hope with mercy. “You see,” she said. “It’s not that difficult.” She reached up and touched a finger to the side of Tenmei’s lips. “This,” she said, obviously referring to her smile, “is who you are.”

  Tenmei looked down. She saw her hands twisting together again in her lap, and she willed herself to stop. “That’s who I was,” she said.

  “No,” Chao said firmly. “That’s who you are. You’re just a little lost.” She paused again, and as the silence drew out, Tenmei looked back up. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, Prynn. And I don’t want to ask you what you think your father would want you to do, because that doesn’t seem fair or right, but also because it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, but your father’s not here right now, and he’s never going to be.” Chao reached forward and took Tenmei’s hands in her own. “But you are here. As your friend, I don’t want you to waste the time you have.”

  “I—” Tenmei started, but she didn’t know what to say.

  “I miss you,” Chao said. “Everybody on board misses you.”

  “I know,” Tenmei said, her voice a mere whisper. She squeezed her friend’s hands. “Thank you.” She knew Chao was right. Tenmei didn’t know how that made her feel, or how it should make her feel, but she thought that maybe the time had finally come for her to do something.

  Because she missed herself too.

  18

  Tomalak pushed open the tall doors to the praetor’s audience chamber. He expected no trouble, no resistance whatsoever, to the announcement that he would deliver to her, though he had prepared for such a possibility anyway. He had not survived for so long in the Imperial Fleet, and then within the corridors of power, without planning for contingencies.

  The proconsul entered the chamber, wincing at the bright illumination that threw the normally beautiful embellishments into harsh contrast. Before him, sprawled across the center of the space, stood a conference table, its prosaic, functional design yet another feature introduced by Gell Kamemor that detracted from the room’s splendor. As the doors closed behind him, he glanced across the chamber to where a throne rose on a high platform, allowing the praetor to look regally down on whomever she granted an audience.

  It surprised Tomalak not at all that the throne sat empty. He had served as one of this praetor’s advisors for nearly five hundred days, and so he had become accustomed to her willful gestures, meant to humble not just her office, but the entire government. She fancied herself a populist, he knew, a notion that struck him as absurd in an empire where virtually nobody believed him- or herself to be an ordinary citizen—where most found the very idea of an “average Romulan” odious.

  Tomalak peered to his right, to where a smaller table sat along the circumference of the room, and whe
re he expected to see the praetor. She sat there, a ceramic tea set laid out before her. When Tomalak made eye contact, she put her cup down and addressed him.

  “Proconsul,” she said. “Please join me.” Tomalak walked over to the praetor, who gestured to a chair at the table. “You are as prompt as ever. Would you care for some tea? This is a Vulcan blend called relen.”

  “Thank you, no,” Tomalak said as he sat down. He kept his expression neutral, despite his disapproval of the leader of the Romulan Star Empire indulging not just in an offworld beverage, but in one of Federation origin. If only that were her greatest offense against her own people, he thought.

  From the very beginnings of her reign, Kamemor had promoted multiculturalism in a subversive, insidious manner. Though her predecessor, Tal’Aura, had tied the Empire to the Typhon Pact, she had done so with the idea that Romulus would lead that alliance as its most powerful member. Kamemor, though, collaborated with the Pact allies as equals, working to persuade them of her positions rather than demanding that they follow her leads. Worse, she had convinced enough of the Typhon powers—namely, the Breen Confederacy and the Gorn Hegemony—to seek a rapprochement with the Khitomer Accords worlds.

  Fortunately, Sela and I were able to move quickly enough to turn that to our advantage, Tomalak thought. His visit to the praetor would allow him to promote that advantage. Soon—and, he hoped, soon enough—the Federation would no longer enjoy the military advantage provided by its exclusive possession of quantum slipstream drive.

  “My scheduler did not specify the nature of the meeting you requested,” Kamemor said. “With the opening of the Typhon Expanse to Khitomer Accords vessels, and of the Bajoran wormhole to the Typhon Pact, I naturally assume it has something to do with those initiatives.”

  “No, Praetor,” Tomalak said. “I am here, really, on a matter of a personal nature.”

  “Oh,” Kamemor said, clearly surprised. “I hope that all is well with your clan.”

  “It is, thank you,” Tomalak said. “I come not to request assistance, but to ask if I may take my leave of the government.”

  Kamemor raised an eyebrow. “You wish to resign as proconsul?”

  “As one of two proconsuls,” Tomalak noted.

  “I see.” The praetor rose from her chair and paced away from the table and toward her throne. She wore a tailored, deep-green shirtwaist that flattered her. Tomalak noticed that she wore soft-soled shoes, as they padded along the polished stone floor with almost no sound. Several steps away, Kamemor turned to face him. “May I ask the reason for your decision?”

  That the praetor would, even as a formality, request information from him, rather than require it, appalled him. Tomalak hid his disgust, just as he had each day he’d functioned as proconsul to Kamemor. “When Tal’Aura took over the praetorship,” he said, reciting the words he had rehearsed, “I agreed at her behest to leave the Imperial Fleet. I did so because my praetor called upon me to serve at her side, in the cause of leading the Romulan people. I did so for more than seven hundred days, until the time of Tal’Aura’s death.”

  “And you served ably,” Kamemor said. She walked back to the table, where she rested her hands on the back of her chair. “At a particularly low point for the Empire, and in a time when we needed strong leadership, you successfully argued to the Hundred that they must reconstitute the Imperial Senate. For that alone, Proconsul, the people of Romulus and beyond owe you a debt.”

  “You are generous to say so, Praetor,” Tomalak said. “As you know, when you accepted the responsibility of succeeding Tal’Aura, I offered you my resignation. I did so because it was expected of me, and for good reason: so that you could form the government around you that would best allow you to lead the Empire. I must say—” Tomalak bowed his head to Kamemor, intending her to take it as a sign of both gratitude and deference. “—I was humbled when you asked me to stay on as proconsul, and to stand beside Proconsul Ventel as we both offered counsel and assistance.”

  “As you have come to know, I value opposing viewpoints,” Kamemor said. “Yours was an important one, although you and I concurred far more often than I surmised we would at the start. But when we did not, you brought me to a greater understanding of many issues. And on occasion, you even changed my mind.”

  “Again, I am humbled by your kind words,” Tomalak said. “I have come to feel, however, that there is a redundancy in having both Proconsul Ventel and myself in the same position. Although he and I certainly do not agree on all matters, I would argue that we are both capable of supplying you with the many opposing sides of an issue.” Tomalak paused, and behaved as though he struggled to decide whether or not to say what would come next. “In truth, I welcome the redundancy, because I feel it allows me to resign my position as proconsul in good conscience.”

  “What will you do?” Kamemor asked.

  “I will petition you to return me to my previous life,” Tomalak said.

  “The Imperial Fleet.”

  “Yes. Until called upon by Praetor Tal’Aura,” he said, “I spent essentially all of my adult life in the Fleet. I would welcome a return to its ranks.”

  Kamemor nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Do you have your statement of separation as proconsul?”

  “I do.” Tomalak stood up, reached to his hip, and retrieved a small data tablet from where it hung. He examined its display, then touched a control surface. “I have transmitted it to your files.”

  “Very well,” Kamemor said. “I will speak to Fleet Admiral Devix at once.” She stepped forward and looked directly into Tomalak’s eyes. “I genuinely thank you for your service to this government, and to me.”

  “I was honored to have the privilege,” Tomalak said. He offered a stiff bow, then turned and headed for the main doors.

  Outside the audience chamber, Tomalak walked for what he hoped would be the last time through the Hall of State. He had accomplished many things there—important, necessary things—but he had never belonged. He did not shun power, but he sought it in a different form, in a different forum.

  It pleased him that his conversation with Kamemor had gone precisely as he’d planned. He knew that the praetor believed all that he had told her. Of course, it helped that not everything he’d said had been a lie: he truly did look forward with great anticipation to rejoining the Romulan Imperial Fleet.

  When he did, though, he would do so as an agent of the Tal Shiar.

  The Breen privateer Ren Fejin swept along the arc of the established shipping lanes. Light-years behind the vessel floated the Idran system, a convenient marker for the Gamma Quadrant terminus of the Bajoran wormhole, but the worlds of which had been designated by the Khitomer Accords powers as off-limits to Typhon Pact ships. Ahead lay civilizations as yet unvisited by the Breen and their allies, though familiar to the Federation and theirs: Parada, Argrathi, Stakoron, Rakhari, Wadi, and others. And unknown to any denizens of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, still many more planets and societies awaited beyond those.

  Trok sat off to the side on the cluttered bridge of the small vessel, attempting to calm his nerves. Across from him, the Romulan specialist Joralis Kinn also appeared ill at ease. Unlike the smooth, hushed operation of the great Breen Militia starships, Ren Fejin ran almost as though it might blow apart at any instant. Vibrations from the faster-than-light drive sent tremors coursing through the deck plates and set equipment to rattling, and deep, continuous undertones saturated the ship’s interior. Already, Trok had adjusted several settings in his environmental suit—gravitational compensators, visual stabilizers, auditory inputs—but he still felt uncomfortable.

  How can they stand it? he wondered of the three Breen who crewed various consoles on the bridge, and of the three down in engineering. And how can the others possibly rest? Six other crew members supposedly slept belowdecks so that they could later take their shifts to run the ship.

  They’re probably all Amoniri, Trok thought, although he knew he shouldn’t. The standardized ex
teriors of all Breen uniforms ensured the equal treatment of every individual within the Confederacy, eliminating biases based on their species or other physical attributes. The wholly democratic culture inhibited prejudice, forcing judgments based solely on actions and performance. Still, certain species excelled in particular roles within Breen society, and along with the Paclu, the Amoniri dominated both military and civilian starship operations. Trok knew that Amoniri uniforms contained internal refrigeration units to prevent their mostly liquid bodies from evaporating, so it occurred to him that their fluidic nature might allow them to better tolerate the rough travel aboard Ren Fejin.

  And being a Vironat doesn’t help me in this situation, he thought. While the many extremely responsive and exactingly accurate sensory organs along his two sets of cleft limbs provided a natural benefit in his vocation as an engineer, they also disadvantaged him with a sensitivity to vigorous motion. Once more, Trok modified the gravity fields within his environmental suit, and to his relief, the second alteration in the settings steadied his vestibular system. He took several moments to allow the relative tranquillity to soothe his distress.

  Freed from the misery of motion sickness, Trok turned his attention to the holographic display projected in a sphere above the navigational console in the center of the bridge. At the heart of the hologram, a large, not-to-scale representation of Ren Fejin held steady: two mismatched curves of hull two decks through at their tallest points, and linked off-center by a one-deck connecting dorsal. The bridge, Trok knew, sat in a superstructure atop the connector.

  A splay of bright, blue light emanated from the endpoint of the Bajoran wormhole near the edge of the navigational projection and reached across the middle of the display. Beld, the master of the vessel, had explained the blue zone as the region of space that the Accords powers deemed permissible for Pact ships to travel after emerging into the Gamma Quadrant. The specified area expanded as it moved away from the Idran system, ultimately ending and allowing Pact vessels unlimited movement far from the gateway back to the Alpha Quadrant. As he studied the display, Trok realized that nowhere in it did he see the serpentine mass of interstellar gas and dust that formed the Omarion Nebula. He asked Master Beld about it.