“Seeking mutual understanding and peace is not cowering,” Kamemor said. “As for Tomalak, his words will not reach the Romulan people, and he will not employ the Right of Statement.”
“That is a foolish assumption,” Sela declared.
“It is not an assumption,” Kamemor explained. “Tomalak will not use the Right of Statement because it is not a part of Federation law.”
For a moment, Sela looked confused by the construction, but then understanding seemed to come to her. “You’re not demanding that the Federation return Tomalak—once your own proconsul—to Romulus?”
Kamemor shrugged again. “Tomalak committed crimes against the Empire and against the Imperial Fleet. He betrayed his praetor and his duty. All the attendant charges will remain in force. But he murdered Federation citizens. He deserves to face their justice.”
“You would let aliens—humans!—sit in judgment of a Romulan citizen?” Sela said. She turned and marched away from the door, lifting her arms up and then dropping them to her sides. Eventually, she glanced back over her shoulder, turning her head to be heard, but not looking at Kamemor. “You disgust me,” she said.
“I will wear that avowal with honor,” Kamemor said. “But don’t be too upset about Tomalak. It’s always possible that you and he will have adjoining cells.”
“What?!” Sela said, whirling back around. Kamemor said nothing, but Sela clearly understood what she’d meant. “The Empire has no extradition treaties with the Federation.”
“We didn’t,” Kamemor said. “But while I was on Earth interrogating Tomalak, and promising to bring him back to Romulus and grant him his freedom in exchange for information about Commander Kozik and the Vetruvis, I also took the time to speak with President Bacco. We came to a short-term agreement about delivering accused criminals into each other’s custody. Given recent events and the importance of such an accord, both the Imperial Senate and the Federation Council have already ratified it.” It occurred to Kamemor that, in some ways, she could be a Romulan like Sela, could behave like the Tal Shiar, for she had brazenly lied to Tomalak about securing his freedom in exchange for information.
The praetor stepped forward, as close as she safely could get to the force field and the bars separating her from Sela. “That’s why I came to see you,” Kamemor said. “To tell you that you will be placed in stasis tomorrow morning, loaded aboard a Romulan vessel, and delivered to the Neutral Zone. There, the crew of a Starfleet ship will take custody of you and bring you to Earth. When you are removed from stasis, you’ll find yourself in a Federation holding cell. I thought that you should know before it happened.”
An expression of horror passed over Sela’s face. “You . . . you can’t do that,” she said. “You have to give me a choice.”
“Sela, everything you’ve done to reach this point has been your choice,” Kamemor said. “All that’s left now are consequences.”
Sela held the praetor’s gaze for a long time. Kamemor did not shirk from it. Finally, Sela looked down at the chalice still suspended from her hand. Kamemor looked too, just as another silver drop fell to the floor with a small, empty sound.
“Jolan tru,” Kamemor said. The traditional Romulan greeting and farewell rendered literally as May you find peace. Then she stepped back from the cell, gave a nod to her guards, and started back up the corridor.
As they walked through the old stronghold, the sounds of their heels echoing loudly all around them, Kamemor again thought about the ancient past. In so many ways, her people had come so far to reach the modern present. Sometimes, though, they acted as though they had yet to escape their treacherous, violent history, as though they had never left those dark, dangerous days.
When she reached the end of the corridor with the two uhlans, Kamemor stopped for a moment. She turned back and listened as their reverberating footsteps marched back into silence. Far off, she heard the ping of a small metal object against stone, and then what sounded like the dull thud of something much larger striking the floor.
Kamemor gazed in turn at each of the guards. Very quietly, Uhlan T’Lesk said, “She was never going to choose Earth.”
“No,” Kamemor said. “I suppose not.”
Then the praetor continued on her way, the guards once more following behind her.
Odo stood in the shuttlebay of U.S.S. Robinson, examining the broken hull of the runabout Rubicon. Its bow had caved in where it had crashed through the neck of the Romulan warbird, and a fissure ran from below the starboard viewport all the way up to the overhead. One of its warp nacelles had been cracked and nearly torn from the hull. The runabout sat canted in the middle of the bay like a wounded animal.
“And you say there’s no sign of her . . . remains?” Odo asked. He found it difficult even to consider Nerys’s death, let alone to discuss it.
“We’ve run scans of the runabout’s entire cabin,” said Doctor Kosciuszko, Robinson’s chief medical officer. “Sensors picked up trace amounts of DNA, mostly from Deep Space Nine’s crew, but also from Vedek Kira. Other than that, no, there are no indications that she perished while on board. But conditions within the wormhole are unusual even under normal circumstances.”
Odo considered that. “What do you think, Captain?”
Sisko regarded Rubicon himself. At Odo’s request, the captain had allowed the Changeling to board Robinson in order both to see the runabout and to hear the doctor’s final report on it. It had been three days since the destruction of the Romulan warbird and the collapse of the Bajoran wormhole.
“I don’t know,” Sisko said, shaking his head. “Because of their communication with her and their own sensor readings, the Enterprise crew can verify that Kira was aboard the Rubicon when it entered the wormhole. They also scanned the runabout when it was ejected back into the Bajoran system and can confirm that it contained no life-forms at that time.”
“I know she was aboard because I saw her there myself,” Odo said. As he’d soared through the wormhole toward the unexpected tableau of vessels—Defiant, Rubicon, and the Romulan vessel that had eventually been identified as Vetruvis—Odo had seen Nerys through the forward viewports of the runabout. She’d been at the main console just before Rubicon had rushed toward its collision with the warbird. In the last moment he’d been able to see into the cabin, Odo thought he’d glimpsed Nerys hurrying aft—and then, for just an instant, he thought he’d spied somebody else there. Events had transpired so quickly, though, that he hadn’t been sure just who or what he’d seen.
If Nerys was alone on the runabout when she entered the wormhole, Odo thought, then how could somebody else have gotten aboard? “What about the transporter?” he asked.
“Are you asking if Kira could have beamed safely off the Rubicon?” Sisko said. “I’m not sure if transporters can function within the wormhole, but even if they could, Kira never appeared aboard the Defiant.”
“What about the planet?” Odo asked. When Sisko and Jadzia Dax had first discovered the wormhole almost a decade and a half earlier, they had reported their runabout alighting on a world within it.
“I don’t know,” Sisko repeated. “I’m not certain of the planet’s physical reality. Since Dax and I first thought we landed there, there’s been no other hint of its existence. It’s possible that our experience took place only in our minds.” He shook his head again. “Even if it did exist, and even if Kira somehow miraculously found it, there’s still the issue of whether or not transporters can work in that environment, and my guess is that they can’t. And there’s no record in the runabout’s computer of any last-minute transport.”
Odo offered a grunt of acknowledgment. As troubling as he found it to contemplate Nerys’s death, he also found it fitting that she had faced the end of her life within the Bajoran wormhole—or as she thought of it, the Celestial Temple. It did not end Odo’s pain, but he found solace in his belief that Nerys would have been pleased not only that her death had saved lives—and according to Sisko, possibly averted a
war—but that her path had ended in the place she considered most sacred.
“Will there be anything else, Captain?” Doctor Kosciuszko asked.
“No, that’ll be all, Ambrozy,” Sisko said. “Thank you.” The doctor headed for the nearest door and exited the shuttlebay. Once he’d gone, the captain faced Odo. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Sisko said. “I know that, even though you hadn’t seen Kira in some time, you still cared for her.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Odo said. “Nerys meant a great deal to me. And I know that you and she had a special relationship as well.”
“We did,” Sisko said. “I spent a little time with her recently, and I’m very grateful for that.”
Odo nodded but said nothing more. The two men stood quietly with their thoughts for a few moments. Finally, Sisko asked, “What are you going to do now, Odo?”
Since the destruction of the Romulan warbird within it, the Bajoran wormhole had not reopened. Of greater import, none of the crews on the starships still patrolling the area had detected any signs of its continued existence. As best any scientists could tell, the wormhole had been completely destroyed.
“Since the Dominion is now seventy thousand light-years away,” Odo said, “and since Starfleet isn’t inclined to send a slipstream-equipped starship there, it doesn’t seem like I’ll be returning anytime soon.”
“I’m sorry,” Sisko said again. “I know how important it was for you to rejoin your people.”
“Yes,” Odo agreed. He considered sharing some of his experiences with the captain, and thought about telling him of the dissolution of the Great Link—of which he hadn’t been a part in more than a half dozen years. But even though he considered Sisko a friend, it seemed too overwhelming to talk about the totality of his grief: he had lost what had meant the most to him in the Alpha Quadrant, and in so doing, he’d also lost any chance of regaining what had meant the most to him in the Gamma Quadrant.
“I know you’re stranded here right now,” Sisko said. “And it’s possible that may never change. I haven’t spoken with Starfleet Command about this, but if you want a place aboard the Robinson, I would welcome you here.”
The captain’s offer surprised Odo. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t really know what to say. I think for the time being, though, I’d like to spend some time on Bajor.”
“Of course,” Sisko said. “But if you decide differently at some point, just let me know.”
Sisko started walking toward the nearest door, and Odo followed alongside the captain. Before they reached the end of the shuttlebay, though, Odo stopped. When the captain turned to face him, Odo asked, “Is the Robinson departing from Bajor soon?”
“Not immediately,” Sisko said. “The ship’s just undergone a month of repairs at Starbase Three-Ten, and much of the crew’s been on leave. We’ll be here for a few more days until everybody’s back aboard, then we’re headed back to starbase to deliver the Rubicon for repairs.”
“Would you mind, Captain, if I . . .” Odo hesitated, not comfortable with his request, which seemed overly sentimental, perhaps even foolish. He felt the need, though, and so he continued. “Would you mind if I spent a few moments alone aboard the runabout?”
Sisko blinked, obviously not expecting such a request. He paused, then said, “Of course. Take as much time as you need. I’ll alert transporter room twelve to expect you later. They’ll beam you down to Bajor whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Sisko turned and made his way to the door. When it had closed behind him, Odo immediately looked inward, finding the change he needed, the form he would become. His body softened and elongated, and he sent himself streaming upward, then down and around in a rapid, graceful arc. He directed himself toward the runabout, stretching through the air toward it. He narrowed the contours of his body and found the breach in Rubicon’s hull, sent himself slicing through it and into the main cabin. In its center, he regrouped, pouring himself back into the humanoid mold he had developed so long ago.
Odo gazed around the darkened cabin, the only light coming in from the shuttlebay through the viewports. This is where Nerys died, he thought. He wanted to tell himself that she had sacrificed herself in a final act of heroism, but her life from a young age had been one courageous effort after another—including allowing herself to develop feelings for somebody as vastly different from her as Odo. That she had died saving others did not mitigate his grief.
Odo stepped forward to the mangled main console. He sat down in one of the chairs there, where he had seen Nerys sitting when he’d spotted her in the runabout. He sat back and closed his eyes.
Alone in the cabin, Odo remembered everything he could about Kira Nerys.
Julian Bashir followed Jasminder Choudhury into the ship’s security section. The Enterprise tactical officer wore her long, black hair pulled back in a ponytail that the doctor found particularly appealing. He wondered how Sarina’s much lighter hair would look tied back in such a fashion.
Sarina.
She had been released from custody four days earlier, after the arrest of Rahendervakell th’Shant. Sarina immediately returned to the housing complex in Aljuli, where she and Bashir greeted each other passionately. Before she resumed her duties at Bajoran Space Central, he took two days’ leave. They spent much of their first evening together in her cramped room, a tangle of heat and limbs and lips. Afterward, as night fell and the glow of Bajor’s moons blanched their surroundings silver-gray, he lay in her bed, holding her body against his. He heard her breathing slow and deepen, his gaze following the unhurried progress of the pale lunar light across the walls. Lying beside Sarina but alone with his thoughts, Bashir found sleep elusive.
Can I trust her? he had asked himself countless times. Depending on the moment, he might answer, Don’t be a fool, of course you can trust Sarina or Don’t be a fool, of course you can’t. Her involvement with Section 31 confounded him. Did she still belong to the covert organization, or did she merely pretend to be a member while she actually pursued its eventual demise? L’Haan’s appearance in Bashir’s own quarters and her desire to see Sarina released from custody demonstrated the operative’s belief that Sarina still worked for them.
Or maybe that’s just what they wanted me to think, Bashir had realized. His head ached with the possibilities. The wheels-within-wheels, ends-justify-the-means mentality of the organization made it virtually impossible to know their ultimate aims. So maybe I should just trust the woman I love, he’d concluded.
Concentrating on his thoughts, Bashir nearly ran into Lieutenant Choudhury when she stopped before him. They had passed a line of dark, presumably empty cells, but they had reached the single lighted one. “You have a visitor,” the lieutenant announced to its occupant.
At the far end of the cell, th’Shant sat on the compartment’s bed, his back against the bulkhead, his knees up. He looked over at Choudhury and Bashir. “I don’t want to talk to anybody.”
“What you want is immaterial, Ensign,” said Choudhury. “Commander Bashir outranks you.” Although th’Shant had been removed from duty after his arrest, he would retain his rank and position pending the outcome of his trial. Initially held in custody in Ashalla, he had been transferred to Enterprise for the journey to Earth. His trial could have been held on Bajor, but Bashir suspected that the sensitive situation between the Federation and Andor—not to mention the complications with the Typhon Pact—had driven the president, the Federation Council, and even Starfleet Command to want to more closely monitor the proceedings so that they could immediately deal with any fallout. When Bashir had learned that th’Shant would be taken out of the system, he decided to act on his impulse to speak with him. His chest still ached from where the heel of th’Shant’s hand had sent him flying across the infirmary, just before Nurse Etana had brought down the fleeing Andorian with a phaser set to heavy stun.
“If you require any assistance, Doctor,” Choudhury said, “please speak with Ensign
Elvig.” She motioned toward a Tellarite woman seated at a freestanding console in the middle of the security chamber.
“Thank you,” Bashir said. He waited until Choudhury had departed before turning to peer into the holding cell and over at th’Shant. The Andorian wrapped his arms around his knees and said nothing. “I know you don’t want to talk to me,” the doctor said, “but . . . I want to try to understand why you did what you did.”
“I don’t care what you want,” said th’Shant. “Nobody’s bothering to explain to me why you did what you did.”
“Why I . . . ?” Bashir said, puzzled.
“All of you,” th’Shant said, flinging the back of his hand toward the doctor in a gesture paradoxically both inclusive and dismissive.
“I don’t understand,” Bashir said, “but I want to.”
“Of course, you don’t understand,” said th’Shant, his voice rising. “Because there is no sense in racism.”
The word struck Bashir like a physical blow. “Racism?” he managed to say, the charge not merely nonsensical to him, but offensive.
Th’Shant vaulted from the bed and across the deck. Despite the force field that sealed the ensign in the cell, Bashir took a reflexive step backward. “Don’t bother to deny it,” th’Shant said, pointing his finger accusingly at the doctor. Bashir saw his antennae straining forward, like wild animals tensing to attack. “In the Andorian people’s moment of greatest need, the Federation turned its back on us.”
Andor’s secession nearly a year earlier had rocked the Federation. Bashir could not fully imagine what individual Andorians—particularly those with lives entrenched outside of their culture—must have felt then, and what they must continue to feel. Since Andor’s withdrawal from the UFP, Starfleet had lost more than a third of its Andorian officers to resignation.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Raise the Dawn (Star Trek, the Next Generation) Page 42
