Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Raise the Dawn (Star Trek, the Next Generation)

by George III, David R.

  Slask’s silence drew out, and Bacco thought that he would leave without responding. But at last he said, “You are welcome, Nan.” Then he turned and left. Agent Wexler followed him out.

  Bacco peered over at Piñiero, not knowing what to think. But she knew of only one way to find out what the praetor wanted. She held up the chip. “Take this,” she told Piñiero. “Find me a Romulan interface so we can watch it, then meet me in the Ra-ghoratreii Room.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She stood up, crossed the room, and took the chip.

  “And Esperanza,” Bacco said. “Do it quickly.”

  Bacco sat in a comfortable chair in the Ra-ghoratreii Room, feeling anything but comfortable. She would listen to what Gell Kamemor had to say in her message, but she could not imagine liking what she would hear. Worse than that, she knew that she could in no way trust anything that the Romulan praetor would say. Bacco had done that before, and the results had been a lost space station and more than a thousand dead.

  Piñiero occupied the chair to the president’s right, an end table sitting between them. Together, they waited for the assistant chief of staff, Zachary Manzanillo, to return to Paris with a Romulan interface for the chip Slask had brought to Bacco. The Federation Security Agency possessed one, and Piñiero had sent Manzanillo transporting to Stockholm to retrieve it.

  It had been only thirty minutes or so since Slask had departed the president’s office, but it felt far longer than that. Bacco didn’t particularly want to hear what Gell Kamemor had to say, but because the message had been delivered to her, she had a responsibility to listen to it. She wanted to review the message as soon as possible, though, and be done with it.

  Quiet prevailed for a few more minutes, until Piñiero said, “I’m still concerned about the chain of custody.” The chief of staff sat forward in her chair. Bacco saw a padd on her lap. “I know that you trust Slask’s judgment, but we don’t know who passed him the message. Simply because he believes in the person who gave it to him doesn’t mean that we—”

  “Kamemor gave the chip to Slask,” Bacco said. She did not turn to Piñiero, but gazed directly ahead, at the large mirror adorning the opposite wall. She spoke with certainty, though she had only just worked out her conclusion.

  “What?” Piñiero said. “That seems unlikely to me. I know Slask has spent plenty of time in Romulan space, but under what circumstances would he be allowed anywhere near the praetor, much less be introduced to her?”

  “Gell Kamemor has not always been the praetor,” Bacco said, still gazing straight ahead at the mirror. Long and narrow, it reflected the top of the wall behind her. “She’s been a senator, a governor, a diplomat, and a teacher. And for a time, she was nothing at all but a grieving widow.” A grieving widow who also lost her only child, Bacco reminded herself. Is that why I trusted her? Because I sympathized with her, thinking how difficult it would be for any woman to lose her only child?

  “That’s true,” Piñiero said. “But even if Kamemor had met Slask before, how would she know she could pass a back-channel message to you through him? As he noted himself, he is exceedingly discreet.”

  Bacco shrugged. “How do I know that he knows her?”

  “Pardon me, ma’am, but it’s not clear to me that you do know that,” Piñiero said. “You’ve never mentioned before that we had a direct contact with Gell Kamemor, other than Ambassador Spock, and there have been times when I think you would have, since having such a contact would’ve made our lives a great deal easier.”

  Bacco stared at the mirror a moment more, then turned to Piñiero. “I’ve never mentioned it because I never knew it,” she said. “Not until this morning. Not until Slask told us himself.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” said the chief of staff. “Did I miss the part of our meeting where the human and the Gorn communicated by way of a Vulcan mind-meld?”

  As uneasy as she felt about what Kamemor’s message would contain, Bacco still managed to laugh. “I think you just missed the language of politicians,” she said. “Slask may never have run for office, but he knows how to converse as though he had.” Bacco paused to consider the point she’d made, then added, “Or maybe I heard it just because Slask and I have known each other for so long.”

  “Heard what?”

  “When you asked him how he received the message,” Bacco explained, “he told you that he’d rather not reveal his contacts.”

  “That’s right,” Piñiero said. “And it’s the reliability of those contacts that concerns me.”

  “But Slask didn’t tell you precisely that,” Bacco said. “He told you that he’d rather not reveal . . .” The president elongated the pause to make her point, then finished, “. . . his contacts.”

  “That’s it?” Piñiero asked, her skepticism evident. “He hesitated, and between his words, you heard the name of Gell Kamemor? That seems like a small and unclear detail on which to base your inference.”

  “It’s not only that,” Bacco said, though she felt confident that Slask had revealed to her in that pause his direct contact with the praetor. “He also stated categorically that we could be sure of the message’s authenticity. He would only say that if he could be sure himself, and there’s only one way he could know definitely.”

  “You sound very definite yourself, Madam President.”

  “I know Slask well enough to realize that those are not small details,” Bacco said.

  Piñiero leaned back in her chair and peered up at the ceiling, as though she might find answers there. She seemed to consider what the president had told her. Bacco welcomed an examination of her argument, but as she’d made it, she’d convinced herself of its veracity.

  When Piñiero looked back over at Bacco, the chief of staff said, “I think we still need Federation Security to authenticate the recording.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Bacco said. “Just because—”

  The intercom atop the end table chirped. Piñiero reached for it, thumbed its control surface, and identified herself.

  “Ms. Piñiero, it’s Zachary Manzanillo,” said the assistant chief of staff. “We have the interface you requested. We can play the contents of the chip whenever you’re ready.”

  Piñiero glanced at Bacco, who nodded once. “Go ahead, Zachary,” said Piñiero. “We’re ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Piñiero closed the intercom channel.

  Bacco turned back to face the large mirror across the room. It immediately lost its reflective sheen, revealing a display screen beyond it. After only a second, the emblem of the Romulan Star Empire appeared—or at least what looked like the Empire’s emblem. As always, it consisted of an artistically rendered representation of a raptor. But where previously it had been colored blue on one side and pale green on the other, only a single hue—a dark, grayish green—embellished it. Of even seemingly greater significance, the two four-clawed talons came together to hold a single orb, presumably meant to represent Romulus. In the past, each of the raptor’s talons had held a sphere, one to symbolize Romulus, the other, Remus.

  “Well, that’s new,” Piñiero noted.

  “I guess the Romulan government is taking the independence of the Remans seriously,” Bacco said. Though it could easily be considered unimportant, the modification to the Empire’s crest impressed the president. Pride consumed the Romulans, and so Bacco would never have expected such a change, which some could view as a sign of weakness, an admission that the Reman slaves had fought and won their freedom from the Empire. That battle had taken place, but Bacco never expected the Romulans to acknowledge it so publicly.

  On-screen, the revised emblem faded away, and Gell Kamemor appeared. She wore a gray blouse beneath a lavender suit jacket. She sat at a desk in what looked like an office. Hardbound books lined a series of shelves behind her. She began speaking without any sort of salutation. “I have learned of the loss of the Romulan vessel Eletrix in the Bajoran star system, located within Federation space,” she said. “I also understand that the v
essel was commanded by a woman named Orventa T’Jul.”

  Bacco noticed movement, and she looked over to see Piñiero making notes on her padd.

  “Commander T’Jul for a long time showed signs of a promising military career,” the praetor continued. “She rose through the ranks steadily, even quickly. Five hundred days ago, the success of a sensitive mission pushed T’Jul from the rank of subcommander to commander, and she was given her own starship: the Eletrix.”

  Bacco furrowed her brow as confusion overcame her. The message, no matter its source, did not seem intended for the president of the Federation. Bacco considered stopping it, but she supposed that whatever the praetor wanted to say to her could be buried within the message, with extraneous material placed at the beginning to confuse anybody who might have intercepted it.

  “Clearly,” Kamemor went on, “that promotion should never have happened. T’Jul’s failure at Bajor demonstrates that. And while no one can know the mind of another—not even in the case of a commanding officer and his subordinate—and no one can predict the future actions of another, Fleet Admiral Devix has taken responsibility for the loss of the Eletrix and its crew.”

  Once again, Bacco saw Piñiero working over her padd.

  “Admiral Devix has served in the Imperial Fleet for a long time,” said Kamemor. “As its leader, he has commanded ably. But he believes it is time for him to step down. I have accepted his resignation. He will naturally stay on until a suitable replacement has been selected.”

  As the praetor paused, Bacco saw her move slightly forward in her chair. Kamemor also fastened her gaze forward, as though attempting to peer through time and space and connect with the Federation president—or with whomever the praetor had intended to receive her message. Kamemor’s gray eyes held steady as she continued.

  “The choice of a successor to Admiral Devix is an important one. I already have a number of candidates in mind, but I would also appreciate hearing your opinion. To that end, we should meet. You know how to reach me.”

  The redesigned Romulan emblem appeared again on the screen. Bacco looked to her chief of staff. “Is that it?” she asked.

  Piñiero finished operating her padd and then peered up. “I think so, but let’s check.” She tapped at the intercom control. “Zachary, the playback has ended. Can we tell whether or not there’s anything else on the chip? Perhaps something embedded or hidden. Something difficult but not impossible to find?”

  “We’ve scanned the chip, Ms. Piñiero,” said Manzanillo. “As best we can tell, it contains one and only one audiovisual file, with a length of one minute, thirteen seconds. It is preceded and succeeded by a single image file.”

  “Could there be anything secreted away in either file, or elsewhere on the chip?” Piñiero asked.

  “Federation Security believes not,” Manzanillo said, “but they do intend to subject the chip to more rigorous testing.”

  Piñiero peered up at Bacco with raised eyebrows. The president nodded, then said, “Mister Manzanillo, Federation Security may test the chip, but for the moment, I’m designating its contents as classified, to be viewed only with my direct authorization.”

  “Understood, Madam President.”

  “Do we need to see it again?” Piñiero asked Bacco.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Into the intercom, Piñiero said, “Thank you, Zachary,” and she switched it off.

  “So much for worrying about the provenance of the message,” Bacco said, rising from her chair. Across the room, the mirror regained its silvered surface. Standing, the president could see her reflection. Is it possible for white hair to get whiter? she asked herself. It pleased her that she at least did not look quite as tired as she felt. “Even if the message did come from the praetor, she didn’t mean for me to see it.”

  “Actually, ma’am,” Piñiero said, “I think this message did come directly from the praetor, and I think she did send it to you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bacco asked. She pointed toward the hidden display. “Kamemor starts with no preamble, and doesn’t address me or anybody else by name or even by position.”

  “And don’t you find that odd?” Piñiero asked. “That the praetor would go to the trouble of recording a message about a sensitive issue—Romulan fleet admirals don’t just willingly resign—but that she wouldn’t even hint at the identity of her intended recipient?”

  Bacco considered that. “It did seem peculiar,” she said. “But I can’t pretend to you that I’ve ever truly understood the Romulan mind.”

  “I think the praetor intentionally avoided mentioning you or your office explicitly,” Piñiero said, “specifically so that she would retain plausible deniability should the chip be intercepted en route to you.”

  “You just said that she avoided mentioning me explicitly,” Bacco said. “Do you think she referred to me implicitly?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Piñiero said. “The praetor mentioned Bajor and the Federation in her very first sentence.”

  Bacco thought about that. Maybe Esperanza’s right. The president sat back down in her chair. “Is there anything else that leads you to believe that the message was meant for me?”

  “Yes,” Piñiero said. “Kamemor spoke about T’Jul’s failure at Bajor. I think she’s implying that the attack itself was the failure, and not the loss of the ship. There is no question that the Eletrix’s abandonment of its mission with the Enterprise and its battle at the mouth of the wormhole are completely inconsistent with the praetor’s declared policies toward the Federation.”

  “If we are to believe those declarations to be true,” Bacco said. “I think you may be reading too much into this.”

  Piñiero consulted her padd for a moment. “Kamemor mentioned a mission in which T’Jul participated five hundred days ago,” she said. “Do you know what happened at that time?”

  Bacco didn’t bother to count back on the calendar. She knew that Piñiero would tell her.

  “The Breen, likely with the help of the Romulans, stole the schematics for the slipstream drive from Utopia Planitia,” Piñiero said.

  Bacco’s mouth opened of its own accord, but she didn’t say anything. She had to admit that such a reference by Kamemor to that time seemed like too much of a coincidence to have no meaning. She said so to Piñiero.

  “I think it’s also worth noting that when the praetor refers to that incident,” the chief of staff said, “she states that, following it, T’Jul’s promotion should never have happened.”

  “But what does that mean?” Bacco asked, trying to follow the thread of Piñiero’s argument. “Was Kamemor trying to disavow knowledge of the theft?”

  “I think so,” Piñiero said. “At that point, she’d only been in office a couple of months. It could be that the plans to steal the schematics had been left over from Tal’Aura’s reign, perhaps had even already been put in motion. In fact, given the length of time the spy had been at Utopia Planitia before the theft, it’s a certainty that the Breen portion of the plan had begun prior to Kamemor’s being elevated to the praetorship. My feeling is that she didn’t know about it until after the fact, and that she didn’t know about the attack at Bajor either, so now she’s decided to force out Admiral Devix.”

  “That’s a dangerous game to play on Romulus,” Bacco said. “When Tal’Aura set herself against Admiral Braeg and Commander Donatra, she ended up with a divided empire.”

  “Which is why Kamemor says that choosing a replacement for Devix is crucial,” Piñiero said. “She may genuinely want your advice, but I think it’s far more likely that she’s signaling her intentions by providing us with a valuable piece of intelligence. I don’t know how long it would be before we learned of a change at the top in the Imperial Fleet.”

  “And what do you think her intentions are?”

  “I think they’re in the last lines of her message,” Piñiero said. “She says she wants your opinion. She says you know how to reach her. Most important, she
says she wants to meet with you.”

  “That’s a shrewd analysis, Esperanza,” Bacco said. “And you may be right. But if Kamemor wanted to convey the message you think she did, why not just tell Slask so that he could tell me?” But Bacco already knew before Piñiero answered.

  “Because she didn’t want anybody but you to know,” said the chief of staff. “And maybe she didn’t fully trust Slask.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Bacco said, and she stood up again. “I already met with the praetor. We negotiated for days, and I came away from the summit on Cort thinking that we’d actually accomplished something, that we’d taken the first steps on the road to peace. But look what’s happened since then.”

  “Madam President,” Piñiero said, “I think Praetor Kamemor wants the same things you do: to forge peace and prosperity for the people you lead. I think she’s reiterating that to you, letting you know that she opposes what took place at Utopia Planitia and Bajor. But I think she may be in trouble.”

  “Yes,” Bacco said. “But whether Kamemor duped me the first time around, or whether she was sincere but lacked the control of her own government, we cannot deal with her again. Whether she’s lying to us, or whether she’s not strong enough to enforce the agreements we reach, there’s no point in negotiating with her.”

  Piñiero rose from her chair, clearly disappointed. “So you’re not going to respond to the praetor’s message?”

  “Actually, I am,” Bacco said. “But not through Slask or any other covert conduit. Get the Typhon Pact ambassador into my office before noon. I want Praetor Kamemor to know that we have her former proconsul under arrest, and that we intend to try him for his crimes. Let’s see what kind of a reaction that gets.”

  9

  Sisko sat on the sofa in the front room of the house that he had designed in what now seemed like another lifetime. He peered out through the picture windows at the blossoming morning, the Bajoran sun shining on the land all the way to the Kendra Mountains in the distance. His gaze found the Yolja River and traced along its winding path. The quiet moment delivered to him a measure of peace, something that he’d found in short supply in recent years. In some ways, it felt as though he’d been gasping for air, and at last he’d been able to catch his breath.