Sisko rose from his chair and walked to the center of the bridge, his eyes still on the main viewer. It had taken some time for him to become accustomed again to seeing a moving starfield. During his years on Deep Space 9, he had commanded Defiant on a significant number of missions, but he had spent far more time on the station. And for more than four years after that, he had lived his life planetside, beneath a more or less fixed view of the stars. He could peer up of an evening in Kendra Province and pick out the Bajoran constellations: the Forest, the Temple, the Chalice, the Orb, the Flames. . . .
Sisko thought to say something to the crew, or maybe just to Commander Rogeiro. Over the course of the past month, ever since his set-to with the ship’s first officer, Sisko had made a concerted attempt to spend less time in his ready room during his duty shift. He had also endeavored to appear less remote with the bridge crew, though the pattern had become too well established to break through easily: the captain and the ship’s senior staff spoke when necessary and not otherwise. But Sisko thought that Rogeiro saw his efforts, and that truly had been the captain’s goal: to assuage the concerns of Robinson’s exec. He neither wanted nor needed to receive questions from some admiral somewhere about the dissatisfaction of the ship’s first officer.
Before Sisko could think of something to say, he heard the doors of the upper, portside turbolift whisper open. He glanced up in that direction and saw a crewperson he didn’t recognize walking down the ramp to the lower section, a padd in hand. Status report, Sisko thought, and realized that he should complete another entry in his log before the end of the hour.
“Captain Sisko?” The crewperson stepped up to him in the center of the bridge, holding out the padd toward him. “I need your signature for the engineering status report. I’ve already had it signed off by Commander Relkdahz.” Robinson had inherited the Otevrel chief engineer from New York.
Sisko reached out and accepted the padd, and as he did so, he noticed two things: the wide smile on the crew-person’s face, and the familiar ridges at the top of his nose. “Crewman . . .?” Sisko asked.
“Scalin, sir,” said the young man. “Crewman Scalin Resk.”
“All right, Mister Scalin,” Sisko said as he perused the engineering report. Without looking up from the padd, he said, “Is there a reason for your smile?”
“Oh,” said Scalin, lifting a hand up to his mouth before self-consciously dropping it back to his side. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir,” he said, stumbling over his words as he worked to suppress his smile. “I mean, yes, there’s a reason, but I didn’t mean to, sir.”
“I see,” Sisko said. He took a moment to read through the rest of the report, then pulled out a stylus from within the padd and used it to append his signature. He handed both back to Scalin. “And what is that reason, Crewman?”
“Well, sir, it’s just an honor to be in the presence of the Emissary of the Prophets.” The young man’s smile returned.
“Crewman,” Sisko said sharply, and he paused, pulling himself back before he merited another admonishment from the first officer. “Crewman Scalin, I understand your appreciation, but I am not the Emissary of the Prophets.”
Scalin looked down. “I’ve heard how humble you are, sir.”
“I’m not being humble,” Sisko said, knowing that he failed to mask his irritation. More quietly, he said, “I may have been the Emissary at one time, but I no longer am.”
Scalin looked back up at Sisko, and though the young man’s smile had lessened, it had not completely disappeared. “I’ve heard that might be how you feel now,” he said. “But that’s all right; the rest of us still believe.”
Sisko’s frustration threatened to boil over, but before he could say anything, somebody else did. “Mister Scalin,” snapped Commander Rogeiro. The first officer stood from his chair and paced quickly over to Sisko and Scalin. “Mister Scalin, Captain Sisko has informed you that he is not the Bajoran Emissary. But he is the commanding officer of this vessel. You will treat him as such, and only as such. If you cannot keep your smiles and your beliefs to yourself, then perhaps I can find you another starship where you can. Do I make myself clear, Crewman?”
“Yes, sir,” Scalin said. No hint of a smile remained on his face. “Very clear, sir.”
“Good,” Rogeiro told him. “Then carry on with your duties.”
“Yes, sir.” Scalin looked down at the padd and painstakingly slid the stylus back into storage. He then headed back to the turbolift. Once he’d gone, Sisko turned toward Rogeiro.
“Thank you, Commander,” he said.
Rogeiro shrugged, but a bit of a smirk played across his own features. “Just trying to keep the ship running smoothly,” he said.
Though Rogeiro had never mentioned it, Sisko knew that he must be aware of his captain’s status among the Bajoran people. In his own experience with members of Starfleet, Sisko had run into a great deal of skepticism about his role as a major figure in the religion of Bajor’s people. He recognized the expression on Rogeiro’s face, but he didn’t—
“Captain,” said Lieutenant Commander Uteln from the tactical station. Sisko peered up at the Deltan security chief. “We’re receiving a message from Earth.” His brow furrowed as he worked the controls on his panel. “It appears to be in real time.”
Sisko and Rogeiro exchanged a look. “Real time?” said the first officer. “They must have ships halfway across the Federation boosting the signal.”
“It’s eyes-only, Captain,” Uteln said.
“All right,” Sisko said. “Route it to my ready room.”
“Aye, sir.”
“You have the bridge, Mister Rogeiro,” Sisko said before heading into his ready room. Once he’d sat down behind his desk, he tapped a control on his computer interface to accept the incoming message. The screen blinked to life, revealing the image of the Starfleet commander in chief and a middle-aged, white-haired woman who looked familiar to Sisko.
“Admiral Akaar,” Sisko said. Because of the context, it took him a moment to recognize the leader of the Federation. He immediately wondered what could be so important that it required the heads of both Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets to contact him.
“Captain Sisko,” Akaar said in his deep voice. “Obviously you recognize President Bacco.”
“I do,” Sisko said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
“Captain,” the president acknowledged. She seemed quite serious, as did Akaar.
“Captain Sisko, you were assigned to the Federation embassy on Romulus as a junior officer, were you not?” asked Akaar.
“Yes, I was.”
“And I know you had quite a lot of contact with the Romulans during the Dominion War,” the admiral added. “In fact, it was you who finally convinced the Empire to join our efforts against the Dominion.”
The statement, though true, recalled the uncomfortable manner in which the Romulans had been brought into the war. To Akaar, though, he simply said, “Yes, Admiral.”
“All of that would lead me to believe that you have as good a firsthand understanding of the Romulans as anybody in Starfleet,” Akaar said, an assertion Sisko found almost hyperbolic.
“I don’t know about my experience with the Romulans relative to anybody else,” Sisko said, “but yes, sir, I do feel I know something about the Romulan mind-set.”
“I’m delighted to hear that, Captain,” said the president, “because we need you to talk to them and try to get some information that could be extremely important to the Federation.”
Hearing and seeing President Bacco speak to him seemed peculiar to Sisko. He tried to shake off his feeling of awe, though, and respond directly to what she’d said. “You want me to go to Romulus, ma’am?” he asked.
“Not Romulus,” the president said. “Achernar Prime.”
27
Durjik sat in the Senate Chamber and listened with satisfaction as his colleagues argued about the Imperial Romulan State. Ever since the Hundred h
ad re-formed the Senate, Donatra’s illegal regime had been a topic of debate. But while nobody believed that the Romulan people should live divided into two separate political entities, never before that day had the senators come so close to a consensus regarding what to do about it. For so long, with no clear military advantage and no taste for war among the people, the Senate had been content to stay the course.
But circumstances had changed.
Despite the reluctance of the other Typhon Pact nations to involve themselves in a Romulan civil war, the alliance at least theoretically provided enough firepower to overcome Donatra’s forces. Of greater interest to Durjik, the widespread public protests on Romulus and throughout the Empire—and even within Donatra’s rogue state—would undoubtedly convince the holdouts among his colleagues to reconsider their resistance to a military option.
Most important of all, the inevitable consensus would ultimately bring about an end not only to the woman who had proclaimed herself empress but also to the one who had proclaimed herself praetor. And once the Romulan people have been united and both leaders deposed, Durjik knew, a new praetor will rise to renew the Empire. After that, the time would finally come to take on the hated Federation. With its Typhon Pact allies, Romulus would not be denied.
“We cannot take military action against the Imperial Romulan State,” said Senator Eleret, the old woman speaking as though her words carried the weight of truth. She stood on the floor of the chamber, addressing her concerns to the rest of the Senate. Behind her, the praetor’s chair and the tables that accommodated the Continuing Committee all sat empty. Either when the Senate finally reached agreement on a course of action, or when Tal’Aura ordered it, the full government would meet to decide on a way forward.
“Why can’t we attack Donatra?” demanded Mathon Tenv from the first tier of seats. An old ally of Pardek, Tenv thought about galactic politics in much the same way that Durjik did, believing that diplomacy could best be accomplished at the emitter end of a disruptor.
“Donatra might have broken the Empire in two,” Eleret said, “but the Romulan people on the worlds she has claimed did not. They are already paying a steep price by being torn from their true government and the rest of their people. We cannot undo that injustice by causing them to part with their lives.”
“It’s what those people want themselves,” contended Tenv. “Haven’t you seen the protests? Tens of thousands taking to the streets on Achernar Prime.”
Durjik smiled to himself. Rampant public dissent within the Romulan Empire, he thought. Unpunished dissent. It would have amazed him had it not come about as the result of a political calculation. When Tal’Aura had first pushed to decriminalize the Vulcan-Romulan Reunification Movement, Durjik had fought against the idea; the very notion of permitting treasonous ideas into the public discourse seemed not merely foolish but abhorrent. But after the death of Pardek, his friend and political confederate, Durjik had chosen a new ally well, and the chairman of the Tal Shiar had explained the praetor’s reasoning in allowing Spock and his followers out of the shadows. Rehaek had kept Tal’Aura under surveillance, and so had learned of her intention to have Vulcan-Romulan reunification drive a call for Romulan unity. Once that had begun to happen, Tal’Aura’s minions had spread throughout Romulan space to organize enormous protests.
Soon enough, Durjik believed, the Senate would vote to launch an attack on Donatra’s Imperial Romulan State. But they wouldn’t need to, because before then, Tal’Aura would continue the second part of her plan to topple Donatra. And once the Empire had been made whole again, the time would come for new leadership on Romulus. Durjik felt more than capable of assuming that mantle. He could then turn whatever bloodlust had been directed at the Imperial Romulan State to an even better target: the Federation.
On the floor of the Senate Chamber, Eleret concluded her remarks and returned to her seat. Durjik waited to see if anybody else would rise. Many of the senators, himself included, had already spoken. He couldn’t believe that anything new remained unsaid, except possibly for political statements intended to forge new coalitions.
Durjik peered down toward the first tier, to where Senator T’Jen sat. As vice-proconsul, she administered sessions that lacked the presence of the praetor and the Continuing Committee. Durjik waited for her to stand and declare the senatorial assembly at an end, but then somebody spoke from the last tier.
“I would make my position known.”
Durjik turned to see Senator Xarian Dor on his feet. Dor quickly extracted himself from his tier and made his way down to the chamber floor. “My fellow senators,” he said, “I think we can all appreciate the differing points of view put forth here today. I cannot imagine anyone sitting in this august body who does not wish the Romulan Star Empire to regain its full power and glory. I also cannot imagine any senator willing to risk the lives of our fellow citizens if there is some other way to achieve our aim of uniting the Romulan people.”
Durjik suspected he knew where Dor would take his argument. The young man had been a vocal advocate for peace, when fighting would be hard, but more open to battle when the odds favored his side. In time, Durjik thought, he of the wealthy and powerful Ortikant could make a valuable new ally.
“I have been reluctant to plunge our people into battle against each other,” Dor continued. “But the situation has changed for the Empire. We are now part of a major alliance that can bring us prosperity for generations to come, through peaceful means if possible, and through force if necessary. But I fear that unless our people return to a single, strong Empire, we will become subsumed within the Typhon Pact. We welcome new allegiances, but as Romulans, we must always be first among equals.”
Yes, thought Durjik. I must get to know this man.
“If public protests and pressure fail to move Donatra,” Dor said, “then it is incumbent upon the Senate—”
With no warning, Dor collapsed.
Durjik shot up from his chair, stunned by what he had seen. Dor had not fallen forward or back, or to one side or the other, but had crumpled where he stood. As other senators raced to the chamber floor, Durjik frantically looked around, searching for somebody who might have done this. But the doors remained closed, and Durjik had heard nothing, had seen nothing. Convinced that nobody but the members of the Senate had been present, he hurried down to the floor.
In the distance, Durjik heard an alarm signaling a medical emergency, which one of the senators must have initiated. As he stood with his colleagues over the unmoving form of Dor, he saw Vice-proconsul T’Jen hurrying toward the main entrance. Unsealing the chamber, she threw open the doors, allowing a medical team to enter. To get Dor to a hospital, the doctors would have to carry him out on the antigrav stretcher they had brought with them, since shielding prevented transport into or out of the Senate Chamber.
The medical technicians worked on the fallen senator for some time. In the end, they did carry him out of the chamber and transport him to the nearest hospital. But it didn’t matter.
Xarian Dor was dead.
28
The single lighting panel leaned against a stone and battled the darkness of the cavern, winning in part but unable to penetrate into the many crevices lining the walls, or past the rocks and formations littered about the small space. Spock sat on the uneven ground, his back beginning to ache. The dank air penetrated the cloak he wore, contributing to his discomfort. More than any physical distress, though, what he had witnessed that day in Victory Square troubled him.
“I have called you here because of the many massive protests throughout both Romulan empires,” Spock said. The leaders of the Reunification Movement’s Ki Baratan cell sat and stood arrayed about him in the cavern: Corthin, Dorlok, Venaster, and Dr. Shalvan. D’Tan had accompanied Spock as well, and remained by his side. “Although I expected that the open discussion and espousal of our cause would likely help focus the attentions of many Romulan citizens on the division within their own empire, it seems extremely unlik
ely to me that what we saw today can be explained as such a consequence.”
“We have seen rallies in support of uniting Tal’Aura’s and Donatra’s realms,” Dorlok said. The former military officer, ever watchful, stood beside the entrance to the cavern.
“A few rallies,” Corthin noted. “All smaller than ours, and only in a few places on Romulus. Nothing like today.”
“What do you think it means?” Venaster asked Spock, just as he had outside Victory Square. He sat across from Spock, seated between Corthin and Shalvan.
“I am not certain,” Spock said. “But because I believe it improbable that our rallies sparked the protests today, and because of the obvious organization of those protests, it seems reasonable to conclude that somebody did organize them.”
“You’re talking about somebody other than random citizens, or even a network of citizens,” Shalvan said, more a statement than a question.
“Yes,” Spock confirmed. “While it is theoretically possible that some Romulan citizen or group of citizens staged the protests, the similarity of all the events and their far-flung distribution suggest a managing force with considerable reach. Because none of the protests met with official resistance, the government itself seems a likely candidate.”
“Actually, we have some new information,” Corthin said. “Government security did try to shut down one of the protests on Achernar Prime. The one nearest to Donatra’s fortress.”
“They were not successful?” Spock asked. He felt another section of his back begin to hurt, and so he shifted in his position to relieve it.
“The reports are mixed,” Corthin said, “but there are no reports of violence.”
“So does that mean you think Tal’Aura is behind the protests?” Venaster asked.
“Perhaps,” Spock said. “If either Tal’Aura’s government or Donatra’s is behind the protests, then the intent appears evident: to foster considerable public support for the uniting of the two Romulan states. With such support, the range of acceptable methods to achieve unity becomes broader.”
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Rough Beasts of Empire Page 23
