Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Rough Beasts of Empire

by David R. George III

  Tal’Aura rose to her feet as though propelled from her chair. “You dare to threaten me?”

  Spock lowered his head and placed his hands behind his back, a conscious display of his nonviolent intent. “I do not threaten you, Praetor,” he said. “As you pointed out yourself, I am a man of peace. I merely state facts and hypothesize where they might lead.”

  Tal’Aura appeared to consider this. Then she descended from her platform and paced over to Spock, stopping in front of him and staring directly into his eyes. “While your manner is respectful, your words are insolent,” she said. “But there is some truth in what you say.”

  The praetor stepped past Spock. He turned to watch her as she padded across her audience chamber. The heels of her shoes clacked along the floor.

  “In recent weeks,” she went on, “public displays of violence, particularly against the government, have erupted across Romulus, and even on several other worlds within the Empire.” Tal’Aura reached a display table situated along the wall, where she examined a large black vase ornamented with copper filigree. After a moment, she turned to face Spock across the room. “Although you are not a part of the Romulan government, you are, even in hiding, a political figure on our world. And if you are to be believed, a Reman attempted to assassinate you, and then later, was himself killed.”

  Spock took note of Tal’Aura’s language. She had not spoken of the Reman’s death as suicide, but as murder. He did not address it, but he knew that if he regained his freedom, he would need to investigate further.

  “So I will grant you the verity of your observation that the public atmosphere on Romulus has deteriorated,” Tal’Aura said. “But why do you tell me this?”

  “It is my contention that a public debate about the merits of Vulcan-Romulan reunification will work to focus the will of the people, both those for and against it,” Spock explained. “Of particular import to you, Praetor, it will also concentrate public opinion on the uniting of the Romulan Star Empire with the Imperial Romulan State.”

  Tal’Aura took a single stride forward. “Because how can the Romulan people reunify with the Vulcans if the Romulan people are not themselves united,” she said, crystallizing Spock’s point.

  “Precisely,” he said. “And I will pledge to you that I will lead the Reunification Movement without its resorting to violence. What I ask in return is that the Movement be decriminalized, and that its adherents be allowed to speak and act in public—including being able to stage rallies—without fear of reprisal. I also request the release of two of the Movement’s supporters, T’Solon and Vorakel.”

  “Is that all?” Tal’Aura asked.

  Spock could not tell if she spoke facetiously or seriously. “If I may be so bold as to analyze your thoughts and actions, Praetor, I do not believe that you consider the Reunification Movement a threat to Romulus. Although you have continued the occasional search and capture of our people, that appears more a result of governmental inertia than a willful continuation of Praetor Hiren’s pogrom.”

  Again, a smile dressed Tal’Aura’s face. “You are indeed bold, Spock,” she said. “But I will be forthright with you. There are far greater threats to the Empire than a relatively small group of our people with a fetish for the Vulcan way of life. And by greater threats, I mean those capable of achieving their goals within my lifetime.”

  With the praetor having conceded his point, Spock had nothing else to say. Tal’Aura remained silent as well, until she strode back across the room, past him, and back up to her raised chair. She sat down and said, “Mister Spock, I will consider it.”

  The words did not seem idle to Spock. “Thank you, Praetor,” he said, again bowing his head. A moment later, he heard the doors of the chamber open behind him, followed by the march of footsteps toward him. The uhlans did not return him to the custody of Romulan Security, but did send him to another detention cell. He could do nothing but wait, his fate—and perhaps that of reunification—in the hands of Praetor Tal’Aura.

  14

  Off to the right, the sun set behind the mountains, throwing the land into long shadows. The distant river, just moments ago reflecting a fiery red, became a dark snake, meandering lazily across the plain. Closer in, the trees that dotted the grass-covered lowland hinted that autumn had arrived, leaves here and there just beginning their transformations from deep green to pale green, to orange and red.

  Sisko loved this land. As he walked along the unpaved road that led from Adarak, he recalled vividly the first time he had ever seen this place. After he’d attended a conference in Rakantha Province, Vedek Oram Yentin had invited him to visit a monastery in neighboring Kendra. Though Sisko could no longer even remember the purpose of the conference, no detail of the subsequent trip escaped his memory.

  They had traveled by runabout. Just before dusk, they crossed the mountains, revealing the valley before them. Peering through the runabout’s ports, Sisko saw the late-afternoon sunlight glistering off the winding length of the Yolja River, the entire landscape shimmering as though a mirage. He knew instantly that he’d found the place he would build his dream house, the place he would call home and live with—

  Kasidy.

  Sisko shifted his duffel from one shoulder to the other, then looked ahead at the house peeking out from behind the moba trees. He would reach it in just a few minutes, and still he didn’t know what he would say. He had opted to take the long walk out from Adarak to give himself time to find the right words, but he’d met with little success. Actually, striding along the old dirt road, he hadn’t thought much about what would happen that evening.

  That’s because you didn’t really walk home so you could figure out what to say, he reproved himself. He’d had plenty of time for that in the five days since he’d left Earth. He traveled on two different ships to reach Bajor. Once he beamed down to the public transporter station in Adarak, he easily could have beamed out to the house. Instead, he chose to walk. Maybe he lied to himself about needing time to resolve exactly what he would say to Kasidy, maybe he simply didn’t think about it, but truthfully, he just wanted to delay the terrible moments to come.

  Coward, he thought. Even in his head, the epithet sounded to him like something that might have been said by his old strategic operations officer aboard Deep Space 9. Sisko could even imagine hearing Worf tell him that, in the current circumstances, he lacked honor. Despite the harshness of the characterizations, the recollection of Worf managed to force a smile onto Sisko’s face. He vowed to try to keep it there as much as he could in the coming hours.

  When Sisko reached the path to the house—which he and Kasidy had only last summer gotten around to lining with flagstone—he turned off the road. He mounted the steps and made his way across the porch to the front door. As he let himself in, he felt his heart pounding in his chest.

  Inside, the front rooms were empty. To his left, a pair of chairs sat in front of the stone hearth, arrayed around a small triangular table. Stacked in the firebox, logs waited for the opportunity to banish the chill that would replace the warmth of the late summer. The mantel held numerous framed photographs: Rebecca as an infant, and at various ages from her first four and a half years; a montage of Jake, and his wedding picture with Korena; Sisko’s father and stepmother; and others. Sisko glanced at a photo taken of him and Kasidy at their marriage ceremony, and quickly looked away. He peered up instead at the reproduction on parchment of the historic Bajoran icon painting, City of B’hala.

  To his right, a much larger sitting area faced large picture windows that looked out on Kendra Valley. Ahead, past the front rooms, stood a dining table and chairs, and to the right of that, a doorway opened into the kitchen. A doll lay on the table.

  From past the fireplace, off to the left, voices emerged from the hallway. Sisko heard Kasidy, and then the lilt of his daughter’s laughter. The dread tensing his body evaporated like dew on a warm morning. He smiled and dropped his duffel to the floor.

  The two of them walk
ed out of the hall, Rebecca dressed in pink pajamas covered with drawings of Bajoran animals: batos and cows, sheep and pylchyks. A pink bow adorned her braided hair. She looked adorable.

  Kasidy saw him first. When she did, she started, raising her hand to her chest, obviously surprised at the sight of another person inside the house. She uttered a yip, and Rebecca looked up at her, then followed her gaze across the room.

  “Daddy!” she yelled. She threw her arms wide and ran to him. Sisko crouched and caught his daughter as she threw herself at him. She wrapped her little arms around his neck, and he squeezed her tightly to him.

  Across the room, Kasidy remained standing at the entrance to the hallway, a hand still clutched to her chest. As she looked on, a warm smile spread across her face. His eyes met hers, and they connected.

  For the last time, Sisko had come home.

  “How was it?” Kasidy asked hesitantly. Sisko sat with her by the windows in the front room, the lamp in the corner providing the only illumination. Outside, darkness reigned, none of Bajor’s five moons yet risen to wash the landscape silver with their secondhand light.

  After visiting with Kasidy and Rebecca for an hour or so, Sisko had carried his daughter off to her bedroom. She hadn’t gone to sleep easily or willingly; she hadn’t seen her father for a month and a half, and so she’d wanted to stay up with him. While Rebecca lay in bed, Sisko had to read three stories to her before she finally drifted off to sleep.

  By the time he’d come out to the front of the house, Kasidy had prepared a light meal for him. As they sat at the dining table and nibbled together at the food, Kas told him how sorry she felt about the death of Sisko’s father. She asked how he felt, and how Jake had taken the loss. Sisko answered her questions, and spoke about the rest of the family and about the funeral. They both shed some tears, and once awkwardly held each other as they sat at the table.

  Just a few moments ago, they’d moved into the living room, taking their seats on opposite ends of the sofa and facing each other. Although Sisko had sent messages to Kasidy after the battle against the Borg, he hadn’t offered much detail beyond the facts of his own health and survival. So it didn’t surprise him when she asked about it.

  “It was hard,” he said. He told her about how the crews of the three Starfleet vessels had somehow destroyed four Borg cubes, but how that hadn’t been enough. He told her about how New York and James T. Kirk had become in-capacitated, and how Cutlass and its crew had been blasted out of space. He told her about the two remaining Borg ships firing on Alonis and killing more than eleven thousand people.

  And he told her about Elias Vaughn.

  “I know,” Kasidy said with great sadness. “Nog told me. I’m so sorry. I know you felt very close to Elias.”

  “I did,” Sisko said, then realized that he’d spoken in the past tense. “I mean, I do,” he amended. “Actually, I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

  “He is,” Kasidy said. “At least, that’s what Nog told me two days ago. Elias was moved to Deep Space Nine, since Lieutenant Tenmei is his only living relative.”

  “How is he?” Sisko asked. “Has there been any improvement?”

  “No,” Kasidy said. “There’s no evidence of higher brain function. According to Nog, they’ve got him hooked up in the infirmary to a lot of life-sustaining equipment.”

  Sisko nodded absently, his thoughts suddenly far away as he visualized his vital, active friend reduced to an unthinking mass of compromised flesh. He couldn’t imagine Elias wanting to have his mindless body reliant on machines to keep it from succumbing. Still, as long as Vaughn remained technically alive, Sisko felt an obligation to him. “I should visit him before I—” He stopped, aware of what he’d been about to say.

  “Before you what?” Kasidy asked. He could hear suspicion in her voice, see it written in her features. Since he’d arrived, there had been none of that—no resumption of the troubles between them, no apparent renewal of old resentments. But even in mourning Sisko’s father together, they had kept their interaction close to the surface, both clearly wary of going any deeper.

  All of that was about to end.

  “Before I leave the Bajoran system,” Sisko said.

  “What?” Kasidy said, turning her head slightly and staring at him askance. “Where are you going?”

  He knew of no way to soften the blow. “I’m returning to Starfleet,” he said.

  Kasidy stood up, driven by anger or disappointment or disbelief, or whatever emotion she felt. “You are returning to Starfleet?” she said. “We’re not going to discuss it? You’ve already made your decision?”

  Sisko raised his hands, palms up, as though helpless to choose otherwise. “The Borg annihilated forty percent of Starfleet. They desperately need experienced officers.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Kasidy said. “But haven’t you already done enough?”

  Sisko recognized the echo of his own thoughts when Admiral Walter had asked him to return to the service after the Borg crisis. Back then, Sisko had been prepared to discuss with Kasidy the possibility of spending some time apart. At this point, the situation had become much more serious.

  “Kas—”

  “Don’t you Kas me,” she said, raising her voice. She closed her eyes and held her hands up for a moment, as though trying to reel in her emotions. When she opened her eyes, she peered toward the hallway, obviously listening for Rebecca, concerned that her loud words might have woken their daughter. After a few seconds, she turned back toward Sisko, then took a step and sat down in the middle of the sofa, closer to him.

  “Ben, I know things have been tense between us for a while now,” she said. “And I understand why you had to go help fight the Borg: you were protecting your family.” She reached forward and rested her hand on his knee. “But we are a family. We have a daughter. We agreed that we didn’t want to raise her on Deep Space Nine, and I don’t want to raise her here by myself with you gone off on missions half the time. Not to mention the dangers that you’ll have to face.”

  “I’m not going back to Deep Space Nine,” he said quietly.

  Kasidy pulled her hand back from his knee. “Where are you going?”

  “The U.S.S. Robinson,” Sisko said. “I’ll be taking command in two weeks. At least initially, our patrol route will be in the Sierra Sector.”

  Kasidy looked away. “On the other side of the Federation,” she said, and stood up again. “Really, Ben, if you want to leave me, you don’t have to go so far.”

  “Kasidy, I don’t want to leave you,” he said, unable to stop himself from telling the truth. “The Robinson is a Galaxy-class vessel. You and Rebecca could—” He hated the lie, especially since it only served as an attempt to shift the responsibility for the dissolution of their marriage.

  “Rebecca and I could what?” Kasidy said. “Come with you? Live aboard a starship? You know that’s not the life I want for our daughter.” She paused for a moment as she saw through his dishonesty. “Wait a minute. You do know how important it is to me to raise Rebecca on a planet, in a real home.” She shook her head, her expression one of disbelief. “That wasn’t even a genuine offer, was it? It was safe for you to make it because you knew what my answer would be. But you don’t really want us coming with you, do you?”

  He gazed up at her, feeling lost and helpless, and angry at himself for allowing all of this to happen. He said nothing.

  “Do you?” she demanded. This time when he didn’t respond, she turned and walked around the sofa, over to the front door. She reached down, grabbed the strap of his duffel with both hands, and hauled it into the air. “You don’t have to wait two weeks for the Robinson,” she said. “You can leave now.”

  Sisko rose from the sofa and looked across the room at his wife. “Kas,” he said again, but he had no more words than that. He made his way around the sofa, accepted his duffel from her, and slung it across his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he told her, and he meant it. But he could not say all of
the things he wanted to say: I love you. I love our daughter. I don’t want to leave. He could not tell her any of that because even though it was all true, it would require an explanation from him about why he did have to leave, an explanation that he knew she would not be able to accept.

  Kasidy opened the front door. “Good-bye, Ben.”

  Without another word, Sisko walked into the darkest night he’d known in years.

  15

  The chairman of the Tal Shiar gently pushed open the doors to the praetor’s audience chamber, aware that his adjutant would have thrown them open, willfully expressing his disdain for Tal’Aura, and intentionally seeking to draw the ire of her proconsul. Rehaek knew that Torath despised Tomalak, a mutual rancor that apparently went back quite a number of years. The two adversaries had both served in the Imperial Fleet, though never on the same vessel, but the chairman believed that they had first crossed paths in the military.

  Regardless, Rehaek did not need his meeting with Tal’Aura derailed by the bad behavior of either his adjutant or the proconsul. Of course, the chairman could have come to the Hall of State alone, or brought a different aide with him, but he trusted nobody with his security more than Torath. For a time, Rehaek had thrived on chaos. He had utilized the Watraii affair to eliminate the allies of Praetor Neral so that his own ally, Senator Hiren, could then eradicate the weakened leader and claim the position for himself. And when Shinzon had sent the Empire into turmoil with his coup d’état, Rehaek had employed it as cover for his own overthrow, taking down the ailing chairman of the Tal Shiar. But now that he had assumed the chairmanship himself, Rehaek wanted calm to rule the Empire, and stability to become the watchword of the intelligence agency.