For Sisko, though, rest hadn’t come. He’d lain awake in bed, his mind refusing to shut down. He thought about Butterfield and Lintosian’a, about the forty-seven people who had died aboard Assurance, and the eleven on Okinawa. He even thought about the crew of the Tzenkethi marauder.
Too much death.
Sisko hadn’t entered Starfleet to risk his life, or to see his colleagues killed, or to have to contribute to the taking of other lives. He was an engineer, not a soldier. Ship design interested him, not military tactics.
The previous year, when Captain Leyton had tapped him for a promotion to lieutenant commander, he’d been pleased. But when the captain had also pulled him out of engineering and into command, when he’d named him the ship’s first officer, Sisko had been stunned. Too stunned to say no, he thought. In truth, he respected and admired Captain Leyton, and though Sisko hadn’t planned on moving beyond the engineering division, he’d thought that perhaps the captain knew better.
His time as first officer of Okinawa had developed well enough, he supposed, and he had performed at a satisfactory level, but he still felt undecided. He longed to talk with Jennifer about it. She had come to know him so well, and she often could provide him a perspective he hadn’t considered—even about himself.
And he missed her. And Jake.
He activated the padd, intending to record a message to his wife and son, but then the door chime sounded. “Come in.”
The doors opened to reveal Captain Walter. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Commander.”
“No, not at all,” he said, setting the padd aside on the bed. He started to rise, but Walter waved him back down.
“I wondered if we might talk a bit,” said the captain. Without waiting for Sisko to reply, Walter pulled the chair from in front of the companel and set it facing the bed. When he sat down, he said, “I understand that you’re not just a relatively new exec but also new to command.”
The subject surprised Sisko, not only because he’d just been thinking about it, but because of the current circumstances. “Yes,” he said. “I’m ten months in.”
Walter nodded, then seemingly apropos of nothing, said, “You know, I’ve played a lot of poker with your captain.”
Unsure how to respond, Sisko said, “I didn’t know he played.”
“Oh, yes,” Walter said. “Not particularly well, but that’s one of the reasons I like playing against him.” He chuckled before continuing. “Captain Leyton and I go back to our days at the Academy together. We’re friends, and we stay in touch. I’m telling you this because he’s talked about you from time to time, Commander.”
Sisko felt his eyebrows lift. It didn’t surprise him that his commanding officer had discussed him, but he didn’t understand why Walter had brought it up. “Well, I might have told a few people about Captain Leyton too,” he said, more just to contribute something to the conversation than for any meaningful reason.
“I’m sure,” Walter said. “What I want to say, Commander Sisko, is that I’m aware that Captain Leyton plucked you out of engineering and set you down onto the bridge. I’m also aware that your captain thinks that you’re considering leaving the bridge to go belowdecks again.”
“I haven’t told him that,” Sisko said.
“No, I know that,” Walter said, “but he thinks he knows you pretty well, and that’s what he believes is in your head right now.”
“I . . .” Sisko began, but he didn’t know what to tell Captain Walter. He didn’t want to lie to him, but neither did he want to discuss the issue with him.
I want to talk with Jennifer.
Walter held out his hands in a placatory gesture, obviously sensing Sisko’s distress. “You don’t need to say anything, Commander,” the captain told him. “I don’t expect you to tell me anything. But I wanted to tell you something, especially in the context of what I’ve just mentioned. You may be thinking about going back to engineering, and if you really want to do that, that’s perfectly fine. Starfleet needs good engineers. But what I want to say to you, I say as a Starfleet captain: we need you, Ben. I saw your performance today—your ability to solve problems quickly, to implement solutions quickly—and I saw your willingness to take calculated but reasonable risks for the good of your fellow officers.”
Walter stood up, not waiting for a reply, and set the chair back before the companel. “Thank you for your time, Commander,” he said. “And for everything else.”
Just as he turned to leave, the red alert klaxon blared to life. The captain turned to the companel and activated it. “Walter to bridge,” he said. “What’s—”
The sound of a phaser blast pierced the air. Walter reached for his own phaser, hanging at his hip, then glanced at Sisko. Stranded on a planet so close to Tzenkethi space, the captain had ordered the entire crew to carry weapons, Sisko included.
Sisko opened a drawer beneath the bed and pulled out his phaser. Together, he and Walter headed toward the door. The captain reached for the control beside it, toggled it off, then stepped up and placed his ear to the door. After a few seconds, he signaled to Sisko, then reached again for the control. The door glided open with a whisper.
In the corridor, the intermittent red glow of the alert continued to flash, and the klaxon still called out its warning. In the distance, Sisko could hear voices and more weapons fire. Walter cautiously looked out into the corridor, then stepped out of the cabin. Sisko followed.
“We need to find out what’s going on,” Walter said, moving over to a computer interface in a nearby bulkhead. As he reached to activate it, Sisko heard something and turned.
The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the greenish-yellow glow of a Tzenkethi, pointing a weapon in his direction.
24
Federation President Nanietta Bacco stood behind the desk in her office at the end of yet another long day at the Palais de la Concorde. Exhausted, she gazed out through the windows that formed the curve of the outer wall, looked out across the River Seine, to where Tour Eiffel rose with artistry and grace from the Left Bank. Night had fallen hours ago, and La Ville-Lumière earned its nickname: bright white lights outlined the city as far as she could see, keeping the international metropolis alive and thriving in the darkness.
For an idle moment, Bacco thought about Paris. Steeped in history, the ancient city still held sway over important events, serving as the seat of government of the United Federation of Planets. More than that, though, Paris seemed to embody the promise not just of humanity, and not even just of the Federation, but of life itself. Nature and civilization, art and architecture, science and industry, joy and romance, remembrance and expectation, all permeated a place occupied for virtually all of Earth’s recorded history.
And all I want is to take a turbolift down to the Champs-Élysées and go out for a little walk, Bacco thought. She didn’t want a security detail attending her, she didn’t want tomorrow’s decisions weighing her down, she didn’t want much of anything beyond hearing the heels of her own shoes on the pavement as she strolled from one pool of lamplight to another. That’s not too much to ask, is it?
Except she knew that it was too much. She did not for one moment believe herself indispensable to even the smallest segment of the universe—not even to her daughter—but she owned the responsibility of her position. She had taken office in crisis, after the disastrous Tezwa affair, and in the two years since, there had been essentially no ebb. Against all odds, the Federation and its neighbors had survived the Borg invasion earlier that year, but at a cost that would have to be repaid for years to come.
At least there is a Federation, she told herself, a phrase that, if not exactly her mantra, then at least a fact of which she continually reminded herself. Once, when she said as much to Esperanza Piñiero, her chief of staff suggested wryly that they’d found a ready-made slogan for her reelection campaign in 2384. Of course, although she had yet to make a decision two years out, Bacco often found it impossible to envision running
for office again. Most of the time, I want to run from office.
Peering from the top floor of the Palais de la Concorde, Bacco refocused her eyes, pulling her gaze from the great city spreading before her to the image of her own face reflected in the window. With her short white hair pulled back from her face, and the lines in her flesh etched ever deeper, she thought she looked severe. Approaching her ninetieth birthday, she felt that the job had aged her, that it had scooped her up and carried her summarily past her middle years—well, her late middle years. When she’d taken office, she’d felt at the height of her abilities, at her prime, but these days, she felt constantly fatigued.
Even if I really wanted to run from office, I’d be too weary, she thought. In truth, though, Bacco didn’t really know how to run from difficulties, only how to face them head-on. Why else would I be in my office at midnight on a Friday?
“And why the hell am I here alone?” she asked aloud as she turned from the window. She gazed past her desk at the large, semicircular space, at the various chairs and tables and other pieces of elegant furniture scattered throughout the room. She liked the office. When she needed to think, she could move about without feeling restricted, and when she needed to work, it provided a comfortable environment conducive to her productivity. But when required to wait by herself—which didn’t happen often—she found the area too big, its many empty chairs an accusation of lost time—of wasted time.
Glancing over at the chronometer, Bacco saw that the hour had actually slipped past twelve. She strode over to her desk and reached for the intercom. “Sivak,” she said, “where in hell is the secretary?”
“Madam President,” replied her assistant at once, “your question lacks both specificity and meaning.” Prior to Bacco’s relocation to Paris, Sivak had assisted her for three years during her time as governor of Cestus III, and she had come to rely on his organizational abilities and keen mind for detail. At the same time, she had never entirely warmed to the Vulcan’s decidedly sardonic wit. “If you are referring to Secretary Shostakova, I can assure you that she is not in ‘hell.’”
“Thank you for that information, Sivak,” Bacco said crisply, “but I’m more interested to know where the secretary is.” She knew that her secretary of defense had been touring various sections of the Federation over the past half-year, examining rebuilding efforts as they tried to fully recover from the Borg invasion. That day, the secretary had to travel to Earth from Rigel IV for their meeting, but the ship ferrying her should have arrived an hour ago.
“Right now, she’s on a turbolift,” Sivak said.
“A turbolift?” Bacco echoed, surprised. “Where?”
“Somewhere between the second and fifteenth floors,” said Sivak.
“Here, at the Palais? Why didn’t you say so?”
“I believe I just did, Madam President.”
Bacco rolled her eyes, wondering how Sivak would react if she fired him on the spot. Then she wondered which three people she could hire to replace him. “Send the secretary in as soon as he arrives,” she said. “And have my chief of staff, Admiral Abrik, and Secretary Safranski join us in my office immediately.”
“Yes, Madam President.”
Bacco took a seat behind her desk and picked up the padd she had been studying earlier. It detailed reports of former Ambassador Spock’s efforts on Romulus—or at least the results of those efforts. Bacco still found it difficult to believe that he had persuaded the praetor to grant him a legal visa and to allow him to openly advocate for Vulcan-Romulan reunification.
Perhaps of more importance, though, the padd held the contents of a communication sent from Spock through her old friend Slask. The Gorn had conducted the message through another trusted intermediary to Bacco, but she didn’t quite know what to make of it. As if the division of the Romulans and the advent of the Typhon Pact had not been enough to keep the Alpha and Beta Quadrants spinning in uncertainty, Spock seemed to think that the currently stable relationship between the Romulan Star Empire and the Imperial Romulan State might not last.
Bacco heard a knock at the leftmost of the three doors that lined the inner wall of her office. It then opened to reveal not only Secretary of Defense Raisa Shostakova, but Chief of Staff Esperanza Piñiero; Esperanza must have met Raisa at the transporter bay. The two women approached the desk, a study in contrasts. Esperanza, though not especially tall, appeared to tower over the defense secretary, owing to Raisa’s short stature and poor posture—both traits the result of her hailing from a human colony on the high-gravity planet of Pangea. As well, Esperanza had an olive complexion and black hair, while Raisa had much lighter coloring.
“I am sorry for the delay, Madam President,” Raisa said with a slight Russian accent. “The Altair made an unscheduled stop at Mars.”
“The Altair?” Bacco asked. “That’s one of the new vessels, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Raisa said. “They’re still on their shakedown cruise, and they needed some parts for the engine room.”
“Well, you’re here now.” Bacco understood that even though Starfleet had made great strides in renewing their force after the Borg invasion, the speed with which rebuilding efforts took place could also lead to problems. “Have a seat,” she said, pointing toward the sitting area.
As Bacco walked out from behind her desk, there came another knock. The door opened again, this time admitting Federation Security Advisor Jas Abrik and Secretary of the Exterior Safranski. “Gentlemen,” Bacco said, “join us.”
Once everybody had taken their seats, Bacco explained that Spock had sent a clandestine request for an undercover courier to deliver a message to her office. She then detailed the events Spock had described in that message, and his recommendation that the president send an envoy to speak directly with Donatra. “We need to discuss whether or not to send such an envoy, and if we do, exactly how we should approach the empress.”
“Pardon me, ma’am, but it’s unclear to me exactly what Spock thinks is going on,” said Safranski. The Rigelian sat alone on the sofa to Bacco’s left, with Raisa and Jas in separate chairs to her right. Esperanza had taken a seat at the far end of the conference area, opposite the president.
“It doesn’t sound as though he knows what’s going on,” Raisa offered. “Only that something may be transpiring on Romulus.”
“That’s how I read it too,” Bacco said. “Jas, can you tell us what we know about Tal’Aura and Donatra right now?”
The security advisor leaned forward in his chair. “As best we can tell,” said the Trill, “neither of them want the Romulan people divided, but neither want to surrender their positions of authority. Some months ago, Praetor Tal’Aura strengthened her hold on the Star Empire by reconstituting the Romulan Senate, but she still lacks the military might to forcibly take control of Empress Donatra’s Imperial State. At the same time, Donatra not only doesn’t have enough military might to take control of the Star Empire, she doesn’t even have enough to occupy the planets of her own nation. Because of that, it stands to reason that the people on those planets must more or less support Donatra.”
“According to Professor Sonek Pran,” Bacco said, “Donatra’s plan was basically to wait out Tal’Aura.” Months prior, Pran had successfully lobbied the empress to offer food to the Star Empire, an offer that Tal’Aura had rebuffed after allying with the Typhon Pact nations. “Donatra believed that the support of her people would grow and spread all the way to Romulus, where a popular uprising would ultimately take Tal’Aura down.”
“That made more sense when the people of the Star Empire were facing shortages of food and medicine,” Jas said. “But now that Tal’Aura’s joined the Typhon Pact, that’s no longer the case.”
“Since the Star Empire is now allied with the Typhon Pact,” Safranski asked, “doesn’t that alter the balance of power between the two Romulan states?”
“It could,” said Raisa, “but so far, we’ve seen no indication that the other members of the Pact
have any inclination in getting involved in a civil war. That’s particularly true since both the Federation and the Klingon Empire have formally recognized the Imperial State. Although there’s no formal treaty, the Pact might not be disposed toward opening hostilities with Donatra if they believe that the Federation and the Klingons might get involved.”
“So it remains a stalemate,” Bacco concluded.
“Romulan leaders in general don’t like to lose,” Jas said, “but there’s one thing they might dislike more: inertia.”
“And with Tal’Aura and Donatra, it’s not just political, is it?” Safranski asked. “They despise each other.”
Bacco considered all of the comments, as well as Spock’s message. “So it seems to me that we have to ask ourselves whether it’s likely that either Tal’Aura or Donatra is taking actions to undermine the other, to compel the uniting of the Romulan people under her own leadership.”
“I think it’s a virtual certainty that both are acting,” Jas said, “but I think it’s likely that other factions are also maneuvering to take control of a united empire. Although Senator Pardek was murdered, his so-called war hawk contingent—which favors confrontation with the Federation—still exists, driven by Senator Durjik. There is also the Tal Shiar, under control of the ambitious Rehaek, as well as the militaries of both Romulan states, and various members of the Hundred. And I don’t think we can discount Spock’s Reunification Movement either, which has grown more popular since coming out of the shadows.”
“Wait,” Esperanza said. Bacco’s chief of staff had yet to contribute to the conversation, instead doing what she often did, sitting back and allowing the principals to work through an issue. She spoke up when something arose that she either didn’t understand or that didn’t seem right to her. “Are you suggesting that Spock’s Reunification Movement is seeking political power within a united Romulan state?”
“There’s no question,” Jas said. “Spock may not wish an official role in such a government, but that doesn’t mean that the Romulans who believe in his cause don’t want a role—or that some of them don’t actually want Spock in a role.”
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Rough Beasts of Empire Page 21
