Star Trek_ Typhon Pact_ Rough Beasts Of Empire Part 21

That would be one way to do what's right, wouldn't it? Donatra thought. Donatra thought. First Tal'Aura's death, and then mine. First Tal'Aura's death, and then mine. In that way, Donatra wouldn't have to go to her grave, or live any longer, with what had become the daily agony of her regret. In that way, Donatra wouldn't have to go to her grave, or live any longer, with what had become the daily agony of her regret.

Once, uncounted seasons ago, Donatra had made a choice-one terrible choice-from which she had essentially never recovered. She had thrown in with Shinzon, seduced by his strength, his intellect, his confidence. He had said the right things to her, at the right times and in the right ways, and she had lost herself.

Or maybe I lost myself before that, she thought, and Shinzon had provided the light that seemed as though it would let me find my way back and Shinzon had provided the light that seemed as though it would let me find my way back.

"What difference does it make now?" she asked the empty cell. Tal'Aura had taken away the very last thing of value that Donatra had, the very last thing she had done to atone for her sins with Shinzon.

But not just just with Shinzon with Shinzon, she reminded herself. Tal'Aura herself had been a part of their cabal, had actually deployed the awful weapon that had razed Praetor Hiren and the Senate like ocean waves tearing down a castle in the sand. And then once Shinzon had also perished, Tal'Aura, unrepentant and power-mad, had taken the Empire for her own.

How can I ever forgive myself for that? Donatra asked herself. It was not the first time she had posed the question. Donatra asked herself. It was not the first time she had posed the question.

Dropping her legs to the floor, she reached to rub at her side. The dull aches there, all along the right side of her torso and down her leg, had never quite subsided. The result of shallow plasma burns, the scars there remained because of her unwillingness to have them treated. She had suffered them on the day that Tal'Aura had executed Braeg-a man Donatra had first admired, and then loved. She left the scars to remind her of what she had lost, and of who had taken it from her.

And now Tal'Aura's taken away the Imperial State. In some ways, founding a new Romulan nation had been the finest achievement of Donatra's life. She had done it neither for glory nor for sacrifice-though she had hoped the act would, in some way, allow her a measure of expiation. More than any other reason, though, Donatra had simply wanted to save Romulan people from the catastrophe that Tal'Aura's praetorship surely would become. Donatra had not been able to rescue the whole of the Empire, but she had liberated the populations of as many worlds as she could. In the back of her mind, she had always imagined the day that Tal'Aura would be forced from office, or perhaps even die, and on the next day, how Donatra would lay down the standard of the Imperial Romulan State and restore the Empire to its totality. In some ways, founding a new Romulan nation had been the finest achievement of Donatra's life. She had done it neither for glory nor for sacrifice-though she had hoped the act would, in some way, allow her a measure of expiation. More than any other reason, though, Donatra had simply wanted to save Romulan people from the catastrophe that Tal'Aura's praetorship surely would become. Donatra had not been able to rescue the whole of the Empire, but she had liberated the populations of as many worlds as she could. In the back of her mind, she had always imagined the day that Tal'Aura would be forced from office, or perhaps even die, and on the next day, how Donatra would lay down the standard of the Imperial Romulan State and restore the Empire to its totality.

But now that possibility, and the accomplishment that would have permitted it, stood in ruins.

I was a fool to offer Tal'Aura a summit, she thought. Still, there had been few other avenues open to her, and none of them appealing. Her support had been seriously undermined by the unity protests. As well, she understood the reality that even if Tal'Aura's fleet couldn't bring the Imperial State to its knees, those of the Typhon Pact could. Donatra had reached out to the United Federation of Planets and to the Klingon Empire, but while they had recognized the sovereignty of the new nation, they had not become full-fledged allies. She had stood alone, growing weaker, and she'd had little choice but to approach Tal'Aura in an attempt to salvage . . . something . . . anything.

Her intention had not been to try to convince Tal'Aura that she should allow Donatra to be praetor, or that the two of them should devise some form of power-sharing arrangement. Rather, Donatra had been prepared to argue that both leaders should step down, and that they should permit the Senate to select a new praetor. Tal'Aura could even have gone back to the Senate herself, perhaps with the goal of one day earning earning the praetorship. the praetorship.

And if all of that had failed, if Donatra had been unable to free the Empire of Tal'Aura's grasp, then Donatra would have found Tal'Aura's throat after all. It would have been suicide, but that wouldn't have mattered. Under the circ.u.mstances, Donatra would have done it gladly.

But the summit had never come. Donatra had been aware, thanks to the Starfleet captain, of the spurious speculation about her possible involvement in an a.s.sa.s.sination attempt and an actual murder, but because there had been no truth to that speculation, she had not let it concern her. No charges had been filed against her, nor had she even heard the rumor of such charges being filed, something she would have expected, given that the crimes had allegedly taken place hundreds of days earlier. When she had arrived on Romulus, there had been no indication of trouble, but before midday, she had been arrested and indicted, and it had all taken her by surprise.

Foolish, she rebuked herself. But she could not undo what she had done; otherwise there would have been no coup d'etat by Shinzon, nor any of the lamentable consequences that had followed.

So what now?

She had been incarcerated for thirty days, and she believed that would continue for another thirty days, and thirty more after that, with no relief and no trial, until the day finally arrived when Tal'Aura decided that Donatra had lived long enough. She considered escape, but even if she could find a way to make that happen, then what? What would she do? What could could she do? Where could she even go? It would not be as though she could readily hide anywhere within the Empire, and she had no intention of living out her days in the Klingon Empire or the Federation or the Ferengi Alliance or anywhere else. she do? Where could she even go? It would not be as though she could readily hide anywhere within the Empire, and she had no intention of living out her days in the Klingon Empire or the Federation or the Ferengi Alliance or anywhere else.

Donatra was a Romulan. She had always been a Romulan, and she would always be a Romulan. At this point, there was nothing else she could be.

The charges are false, she told herself. She had never sent anybody to kill Spock, had not then had the a.s.sa.s.sin killed. If she could somehow overcome the false accusations, overcome the counterfeit prosecution that Tal'Aura would surely see mounted, maybe she could secure her freedom. Or maybe she could find proof that the evidence against her had been falsified . . . or even that Tal'Aura had herself perpetrated the crimes of which Donatra had been accused . . .

Donatra stood from the sleeping surface and walked over to the other side of the cell, where she bent and picked up the data tablet. She carried it with her back to the bunk, sat down again, and thumbed on the device. Then she restarted Tal'Aura's speech from the beginning.

Even before Tal'Aura reached the end of her second sentence, Donatra threw the tablet back across the room. It skittered to a stop on the bare floor, undamaged by her frustration, her anger, her disappointment, her sorrow.

The only thing damaged was Donatra herself.

37.

Spock stood at the central counter in the lobby of the D'deridex Arc security office, waiting for the arrival of Protector Vikral. A sentry waited with him. It had taken a month, but Spock had at last received authorization from the Office of Internal Security to see Donatra. As far as he knew, other than legal counsel, he would be the first person to visit her since her arrest. He wondered if Donatra knew that Tal'Aura had officially dissolved the Imperial Romulan State last night, and if she did, then what her spirits would be like.

He stood peering at the wall of monitors behind the counter. He felt impressed by the scope of Internal Security's efforts to watch and protect the residents of Ki Baratan, and dismayed by the Romulan proclivity for surveillance. It would not have surprised him to see his own image on one of the screens, observed while observing.

As Spock waited, he considered again information that he had learned during the course of pet.i.tioning Internal Security for the privilege of seeing Donatra. A month earlier, just after Donatra had first proposed a summit with Tal'Aura, an airpod accident had claimed the lives of the chairman of the Tal Shiar and his adjutant. That much, Spock had known from comnet accounts at the time. What he and his comrades had been unable to ascertain since then was the ident.i.ty of Chairman Rehaek's replacement-at least until he had discovered during one of his many appointments at the Office of Internal Security that Sela had taken over the post. Spock hadn't even known that Sela- "Mister Spock?"

He turned from the counter to see Vikral. "Protector," he said, "thank you for your time."

"Not at all," Vikral said. He held up a data tablet for Spock to see. "I have the order from Internal Security permitting your visit." He turned to the sentry. "Rivol, you have processed Mister Spock?"

For processed processed, Spock read searched. searched. The sentry had already checked him for anything he might employ in an attempt to free Donatra, or anything else he might pa.s.s to her during their visit. For that reason, Spock once again had brought with him only the clothes he wore. The sentry had already checked him for anything he might employ in an attempt to free Donatra, or anything else he might pa.s.s to her during their visit. For that reason, Spock once again had brought with him only the clothes he wore.

"I have," Rivol said. "Mister Spock has been cleared."

"Very good," Vikral said. "If you will accompany me then, Mister Spock." Vikral motioned to two sentries, who fell in behind them.

Spock followed the protector down a side corridor, until their group reached a security checkpoint crewed by a quartet of guards, a pair on each side of an active force field. As he pa.s.sed through with the protector and other sentries, Spock noted the physical door off to the side, which no doubt would slam into place should the checkpoint completely lose power.

Farther into the facility, Spock followed the protector through a second security barrier. The layout of cells along the corridor echoed what he had seen during his own incarceration nearly ten months ago, after he had attempted to turn the Reman over to the authorities. He saw indicator lights active at only one cell, and he wondered if other prisoners had been removed to another section, or even to another security station entirely.

When the group arrived at the closed cell, Vikral reached up to a panel set into the wall, placing his hand flat against a security scanner. An indicator light blinked on, and then a red beam played across the protector's face, clearly confirming his ident.i.ty via retina scan. A second light came on, and Vikral worked a control. An energetic hum signaled the operation of a force field.

Even before the door had completely retracted into the wall, Spock saw the ribbon of green that extended almost all the way to the force field. He followed it with his gaze back to its source, to where Donatra lay sprawled in the middle of the floor, in a spread of blood, her back to the entry. At once, Vikral reached up to the panel and said, "Security alert, priority one. This is Protector Vikral. Send a medical team to maximum security, cell one."

"Lower the force field," Spock said. Vikral hesitated for a moment, glancing at the pair of sentries behind Spock, then operated the panel once more. The hum faded, indicating the deactivation of the field.

Spock raced into the cell, sidestepping the pooled blood and moving past Donatra so that he could see her from the front. He smelled the metallic odor of copper. As he squatted down, he saw the ragged gashes that had been ripped into the flesh of her wrists and across her neck. Blood had flowed freely, but did so no longer. He reached a hand up to the side of her neck. He detected no pulse.

From a distance, the beat of rapid footsteps approached the cell. Spock glanced up to the entry for a moment, to the protector and the two sentries peering over at him. "She's dead," he told them. Then he looked around. Lying on the floor a meter or so away, he saw a small object he could not immediately identify. But then he recognized it: half of a data tablet, the device rent in two. Green blood covered its jagged edge.

Spock gazed down at Donatra's face, at her gla.s.sy, unseeing eyes. A great sadness washed over him. And then he wondered for the first of many times about the last thing Donatra's eyes had ever seen.

38.

The Ravingian Mountain Range climbed high into the clouds, its snowcapped peaks vanishing into the mist, the dividing line between land and air impossible to discern. Reaching downward, the steep land bathed itself in solitude, the surface barren between the dusting of snow above and the trees below. From the timberline, a heavily forested slope descended to the foothills and beyond, down into a verdant valley.

Sisko leaned against the railing of the small, private balcony, taking in the magnificent view. The dichotomy of the landscape struck him, with the lush, living countryside downslope, and the cold, dead wastes upslope. He didn't care to draw any metaphors for his own life out of the vista, but they seemed obvious enough.

The range also reminded him of the Janitza Mountains on Bajor. But then so many things these days pulled his mind back to the world that, at least for a time, had been his home. And thoughts of Bajor always brought thoughts of the house he had planned in Kendra Province, outside Adarak, which Kasidy had completed during his time in the Celestial Temple.

Did that even happen? Sisko asked himself. The Prophets had not spoken to him in so long, they had been gone from his life for so long, that it often felt to him as if every experience he'd ever had with them had been a dream. Some days, he almost managed to convince himself of that. In those moments, with the reality of the Bajoran Prophets a myth, with their existence a collective delusion of hope and fear, faith and need, he told himself that their promise to him, their threat, had been not even a lie, but something illusory. And if that declaration-that if he spent his life with Kasidy, he would know nothing but sorrow-had come to him as a chimera, then he could dispose of the idea that his marriage had anything to do with all of the misery and death that had come to surround his life. Sisko asked himself. The Prophets had not spoken to him in so long, they had been gone from his life for so long, that it often felt to him as if every experience he'd ever had with them had been a dream. Some days, he almost managed to convince himself of that. In those moments, with the reality of the Bajoran Prophets a myth, with their existence a collective delusion of hope and fear, faith and need, he told himself that their promise to him, their threat, had been not even a lie, but something illusory. And if that declaration-that if he spent his life with Kasidy, he would know nothing but sorrow-had come to him as a chimera, then he could dispose of the idea that his marriage had anything to do with all of the misery and death that had come to surround his life.

Ridding himself of that concept would change everything. He would be able to resign his Starfleet commission and go back to Bajor, and if she would have him, back to Kasidy as well. Sisko would be able to visit Jake and Korena, and to watch Rebecca grow up. Dismissing one idea would be the only thing required for him to go home-for him to have have a home. a home.

Except that Sisko couldn't quite do that. He couldn't quite make himself believe that he had imagined all of his communications with the Prophets, and all of the time he had spent with them. Denying the truth would not cause it to cease to exist.

Sisko pushed back from the railing and paced around the balcony. Relieved at the Romulan border for a week by U.S.S. Fort.i.tude, Robinson U.S.S. Fort.i.tude, Robinson had arrived at Starbase 39-Sierra that morning. The crew had been due a rest-and-recreation break for some time, and circ.u.mstances had finally allowed it. had arrived at Starbase 39-Sierra that morning. The crew had been due a rest-and-recreation break for some time, and circ.u.mstances had finally allowed it.

Sisko had initially thought to remain aboard ship for the week, but when Admiral Herthum had asked for a briefing on Robinson Robinson's months on patrol, the captain had little choice but to transport down to the surface. Before he did, though, he decided that after the meeting he would remain planetside and take some time away. He glanced at the small travel bag at the end of the balcony, which he'd brought with him from the ship. Once the admiral's aide came out and told him that Herthum was ready to see him, and once that meeting had concluded, Sisko intended to find a place where he could actually relax. He needed to blank his mind for a few days, perhaps give himself some time so that he could then come at things from a different perspective.

It occurred to Sisko that the new year had arrived on Earth almost two weeks ago, that 2381 had finally and mercifully come to a close. He didn't know what 2382 would bring, but already there had been rumblings. Fifteen days had pa.s.sed since Praetor Tal'Aura had officially disbanded the Imperial Romulan State, which had apparently led directly to Empress Donatra's suicide. Freed from the restraints of a divided empire and a reduced military, Tal'Aura had offered some pointed statements about the Federation and the Klingons-statements ignored by President Bacco, and challenged by Chancellor Martok. Although the bellicose Klingons actually seemed disinclined to commence a shooting war-probably because of the considerable firepower of the Typhon Pact nations-there had been indications that Romulus and its new allies might be plotting different forms of combat: diplomatic, economic, intelligence-related.

In a very real way, that was all right with Sisko. He wanted the best for the people of the Federation, of course, but he felt confident that without a hot war, the UFP would survive just fine. He knew he could live with that.

All Sisko wanted was peace.

39.

Proconsul Tomalak sat in the shadows of an alcove outside the Senate Chamber, a tiny audio monitor pressed to his ear. He had listened for some time to the deliberations of the senators as they discussed trade agreements. Many of the conversations involved members of the Typhon Pact, and most especially the Tzenkethi, who were emerging as a major economic partner for Romulus.

Having heard enough, Tomalak pocketed the monitor and left the alcove. He walked through the arcing corridors of the Hall of State, his footfalls echoing through the large, empty s.p.a.ces. He felt intensely satisfied. In the thirty days since the dismantling of the Imperial Romulan State and Donatra's consequent death, life inside the praetorship had become a good deal easier.

Or if not easier, he decided, then at least a good deal simpler. then at least a good deal simpler. Concerns about uniting the Empire, which had so plagued Tal'Aura and Tomalak, no longer applied. As well, any questions about the place of the Romulan Star Empire in the Typhon Pact had disappeared. Though the alliance remained in its infancy, its hierarchy had become well defined with the reintegration into the Empire of the worlds and resources that Donatra had taken. Once all of Romulan s.p.a.ce had united, it ensured that the Empire would possess the largest population, the strongest military, and the most planets of any of the Pact members. Concerns about uniting the Empire, which had so plagued Tal'Aura and Tomalak, no longer applied. As well, any questions about the place of the Romulan Star Empire in the Typhon Pact had disappeared. Though the alliance remained in its infancy, its hierarchy had become well defined with the reintegration into the Empire of the worlds and resources that Donatra had taken. Once all of Romulan s.p.a.ce had united, it ensured that the Empire would possess the largest population, the strongest military, and the most planets of any of the Pact members.

As Tomalak turned into a radial corridor, he thought about the deaths of Rehaek and his sycophantic lackey, Torath. With one of their own, Sela, in Rehaek's stead at the head of the Tal Shiar, a valuable new tool had replaced a dangerous old burden. The Elements, it seemed, had realigned back into their natural order. Romulus for Romulans. The Typhon Pact for Romulans. The galaxy galaxy for Romulans. for Romulans.

Tomalak reached the courtyard, the brilliant sunlight beating down through the cupola windows a perfect reflection of his frame of mind. He strode to the great doors that led to Tal'Aura's audience chamber, knowing that the praetor would be waiting for his report on the Senate. Tomalak leaned into the doors and slowly pushed them open.

Tal'Aura sat in her raised chair, and Tomalak greeted her. "Praetor," he said, "I bring news." He turned and closed the doors, then crossed the wide black floor toward the dais.

Tomalak had gone halfway across the chamber when he realized something was wrong. Tal'Aura sat in her chair, but slumped, her head hanging sideways in what must have been an uncomfortable position.

Or would have been, if Tal'Aura had been conscious.

Tomalak sprinted the remaining distance and vaulted onto the dais. He saw no wounds or injuries on Tal'Aura. Her eyes were closed, and the proconsul convinced himself that she had merely fallen asleep, no matter how radically out of character that would have been. "Praetor," he said, and when he received no response, he raised his voice: "Praetor!"

When Tal'Aura didn't respond, Tomalak reached up to her hand. Her flesh felt warm to the touch, which lifted Tomalak's hopes, but when he searched for a pulse, he found none.

III.

The Sea Took Pity The sea took pity: it interposed with doom: 'I have tall daughters dear that heed my hand: Let Winter wed one, sow them in her womb, And she shall child them on the New-world strand.'

-GERARD M MANLEY H HOPKINS

40.

The list of people who wanted to meet with the new praetor must have been considerably long, so it pleased Spock that he had been granted an audience in less than a month. He stood in the central courtyard of the Hall of State, a pair of uhlans-a man and a woman-as his escorts. One of them pulled twice on the braided golden rope that hung beside the ruatinite-inlaid doors that led into the praetor's audience chamber. Spock awaited the answering chime, but it never came.

Instead, the doors opened inward, revealing a man of medium height and build, wearing a dark suit. Deep lines incised his face beneath a mop of unruly gray hair; Spock put his age at about a hundred, perhaps a few years higher. He had gray eyes, an unusual iris coloration for a Romulan. "Amba.s.sador Spock, I presume."

"I am Spock, though not an official representative of the Federation at this time."

"Mister Spock, then?" the man asked.

Spock bowed his head in both reply and greeting.

"Very good, then, Mister Spock," the man said. "Please come in." He moved to the side of the doors and beckoned him into the dimly lit chamber with a wave of his arm. Spock entered, followed by the two military officers. "I am Anlikar Ventel," the man said. "Proconsul to our new praetor."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Proconsul Ventel," Spock said. He had known that Ventel's predecessor had not been kept on by the new praetor, whose judicious statement about the appointment had suggested a personal decision by Tomalak to return to the Imperial Fleet.

"Thank you," Ventel said, bowing slightly. "I am pleased to meet you, Mister Spock. I am particularly pleased to see that you are well, obviously recovered from the unfortunate attack on you."

"Yes, thank you." Though the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt had occurred a year earlier, it had certainly become well known throughout the Empire just three months ago, when Donatra had been charged with planning the attack.

"The praetor is looking forward to meeting you," Ventel said.

Spock glanced across the chamber toward the raised chair and saw it sitting empty, undermining the veracity of the proconsul's claim. But then Spock heard a voice from off to the left.

"I am over here."

Spock looked in that direction and saw the praetor along the perimeter of the room, her body turned toward a sculpture set atop a short column. Like Ventel, she wore a suit, though of a lighter hue. Though Spock knew her age to be almost one hundred twenty-five, her fit body and black hair gave her the appearance of a woman much younger.

"Please join me, Mister Spock," she said. "And you as well, Proconsul." As the two men started toward the praetor, the uhlans trailed behind them. Apparently the praetor saw this, because she said, "Uhlan Preget and Uhlan T'Lesk, you may leave us."

The two uhlans stopped, but the woman said, "I'm sorry, Praetor, but we have our orders. By mandate of the Continuing Committee, no one other than the proconsul and members of your cabinet are permitted to see you without the presence of at least two armed guards."

The praetor looked at Ventel. "Unlimited power is not quite as unlimited as it used to be."

"n.o.body ever said that the praetor has unlimited power," Ventel noted with a wry smile.

The praetor appeared to feign indignation, her eyebrows rising. "I knew I shouldn't have allowed the Senate to vote me into this position." To Spock, she said, "I think everybody is concerned about when the next praetor or empress is going to be found dead."

Spock knew that an autopsy of Praetor Tal'Aura had shown her cause of death as Velderix Riehn'va Velderix Riehn'va, otherwise known as The Usurper. Several months earlier, a Romulan senator had died from the same malady, a rare disease that resulted in the formation of brain aneurysms. Speculation on the comnet had suggested that the praetor had perhaps contracted the disease from an intimate relationship with the similarly afflicted senator, though former Proconsul Tomalak had strongly denounced the notion.

To the uhlans, the praetor said, "Would you please at least stand your watch over me by the door?"

"Yes, ma'am." The uhlans withdrew as they'd been requested, and Spock and Ventel walked the rest of the way over to the praetor.