Star Trek_ Typhon Pact_ Rough Beasts Of Empire Part 5

9.

Proconsul Tomalak stood in the conference room and peered out through the large, round port. Situated just above the equator of the sphere that formed the main body of Typhon I, the room looked out over one of the six spiral arms that encircled the s.p.a.ce station. Tomalak thought that the facility fulfilled well the intent of its designers, who had meant it to evoke the form of the galaxy. Each arm represented a founding member of the Typhon Pact, with docking ports specially fitted for their ships and an internal environment designed specifically for their species. The central globe provided a more generic setting, adapted to accommodate all of the pact members well, if none of them perfectly.

It's certainly not perfect for Romulans, Tomalak thought. He pulled his black suit jacket tighter about him and fastened it closed, trying to ward off the chill he felt. The lower temperatures might be to the liking of the Breen or the Kinshaya, but Romulans generally favored warmer climes. At least I don't need an environmental suit. At least I don't need an environmental suit.

From his vantage, Tomalak could see two of the station's spiral arms. The one to his right, belonging to the Gorn, had yet to be completed, and as the proconsul watched, tiny, s.p.a.ce-suited figures and small labor craft buzzed about the half-finished structure. Work also continued on another of the arms, that of the Breen-currently out of Tomalak's sight-as well as on the interior of the central sphere. While several of the powers that would make up the Typhon Pact had begun discussing an alliance more than a year ago, it had only been within the last half-year that a general, albeit still unfinalized and still unratified, agreement had been reached among five of them; the sixth, the Tzenkethi Coalition, had only recently decided to join. That so much of the s.p.a.ce station had been finished already represented a monumental achievement.

As Tomalak gazed out the window, he monitored the conversation behind him. Representatives from four of the other five Typhon Pact nations-all but the Tzenkethi-had arrived for the summit. While the Kinshaya envoy, Patriarch Radrigi, remained conspicuously mute, the Gorn, Tholian, and Breen diplomats filled the room with a discordant olio of hisses, chirps and clicks, and electronic warbles. Tomalak's translator provided him the dialogue rendered in High Rihan, though he heard nothing of interest to him. Predictably, most of the current conversation centered around Tholian Amba.s.sador Corskene complaining about the Tzenkethi's tardiness.

Speaker Alizome Vik Tov-A would arrive soon, Tomalak knew, otherwise he might have shared in Corskene's displeasure. Only moments ago, Tomalak had watched through the port as the marauder ferrying Alizome from Coalition s.p.a.ce docked at the tip of the Tzenkethi arm of the station. The great ship impressed the proconsul. Its elongated body essentially resembled a teardrop, smooth and seamless in flight, though several hatches had swung open aft to allow various gangways and umbilicals to connect to the station. Tzenkethi script fell across the hull like flowing water, which seemed like abstract art to a nonreader of the language. Tomalak found the vessel's profile far more interesting than the black spheres of the Kinshaya or the angular, wedge-shaped craft of the Tholians, and less overwhelming than the complicated ship designs of the Gorn, Breen, or even the Romulans.

"I cannot tolerate this laggard behavior," Corskene announced. Tomalak heard the skitter of her six legs on the deck. Although Tholian individuals possessed both male and female characteristics, Corskene had introduced herself with a feminine t.i.tle.

Tomalak turned to see that the Tholian amba.s.sador had moved away from the round conference table after rising from the cushioned disk on which she'd been sitting. Half the seats around the table comprised such disks, for use by the Tholians, Kinshaya, and Tzenkethi. "We will wait a bit longer," Tomalak told her, quietly but with authority. While Praetor Tal'Aura had agreed in principle for the Romulan Star Empire to join the Typhon Pact in equal standing to the other members, he understood that his people would mean more than that to the nascent alliance. Even with the rending of the Empire by Donatra and her forces, the extent of Romulan technological, scientific, and military accomplishments would contribute strength to the Pact at a disproportionately higher level than the resources of the other nations. Consequently, and despite the fact that Tomalak knew Romulus would still benefit from the union, he considered his people "more equal" than their new allies.

"Wait longer?" Corskene said. Her white polygonal eyes shined brightly through the faceplate of her black environmental suit. "Did you intend that as an order, Proconsul Tomalak?"

"An order?" Tomalak said, stepping toward the table and forcing a thin smile onto his face. "No, of course not," he lied. "But the complexities of these negotiations have required a great deal of time and effort. I would hate to see them derailed in haste, particularly for such a minor offense."

"It is not a 'minor offense,'" Corskene protested. "It marks a pattern of behavior. Indeed, the Tzenkethi Coalition was late late to the treaty." When first approached about the possible alliance, the Tzenkethi had declined-at least until the Federation had hired the Breen to help protect against the Borg, something the Tholian a.s.sembly itself had intended to do, and which the Tzenkethi viewed as an example of Federation imperialism. to the treaty." When first approached about the possible alliance, the Tzenkethi had declined-at least until the Federation had hired the Breen to help protect against the Borg, something the Tholian a.s.sembly itself had intended to do, and which the Tzenkethi viewed as an example of Federation imperialism.

"The Tzenkethi were not late, late," said Tomalak. "They were simply the last to agree to join the Pact. That differs from not appearing at the appointed time for a summit. In any case, the Tzenkethi vessel carrying their representative has docked at the station. I'm sure we can expect her shortly."

"I need not point out that the time scheduled for the start of our meeting has already pa.s.sed," said Corskene.

"No," hummed the Breen amba.s.sador, Vart, "you need not."

Corskene turned her sterile gaze toward Vart, who wore an environmental suit with a snout-nosed helmet, which, as best Tomalak could tell, all Breen wore when away from their homeworld. An uncomfortable silence suddenly filled the room as the Tholian appeared to measure Vart. With the Breen's words pa.s.sing through the electronic transmitter of his helmet, and then through a language translator, Tomalak could not tell whether he'd intended his comment as agreement with Corskene, or as criticism of her complaints; the proconsul suspected that Corskene could not tell either.

Just as Tomalak prepared to step in to prevent any sort of quarrel from erupting, the circular door to the conference room wheeled into the bulkhead. All eyes turned toward the entrance as the silence in the room lingered. The Tzenkethi representative stepped inside.

Alizome stood tall and lean, humanoid in every respect, but not just just humanoid. Like all Tzenkethi, she embodied physical perfection in a way that defied explanation. The bodily proportions of every member of her species seemed without flaw, their movements graceful and languid. They possessed bones only along their spines, the rest of their skeletons instead consisting of differentiated, fluid-filled sacs that could keep their forms rigid, but that also allowed for a considerable range of motion in their limbs and digits. Their large, colored pupils-in Alizome's case, bright green pupils-filled their eyes, endowing their faces with a striking appearance. And their flesh- humanoid. Like all Tzenkethi, she embodied physical perfection in a way that defied explanation. The bodily proportions of every member of her species seemed without flaw, their movements graceful and languid. They possessed bones only along their spines, the rest of their skeletons instead consisting of differentiated, fluid-filled sacs that could keep their forms rigid, but that also allowed for a considerable range of motion in their limbs and digits. Their large, colored pupils-in Alizome's case, bright green pupils-filled their eyes, endowing their faces with a striking appearance. And their flesh- Although Tomalak had encountered a number of Tzenkethi throughout his life, he had never grown accustomed to the soft radiance that emanated from them. He didn't know whether their luminescence resulted from a chemical or an electromagnetic process. Nor did he know of any definite limits to their range of colors, though he had only witnessed Tzenkethi radiating from a pale yellow to a midrange green. Alizome shined a stunning golden hue.

Perhaps most amazingly, the corporeal Tzenkethi form inspired awe in a broad range of other species. Tomalak himself felt their allure, but he had seen individuals of such physically disparate races as the Tellarites, the Terixans, the Koltaari, and even the Klingons, exhibit similar attraction. As if in voiceless testimony of that reality, none of those present in the conference room spoke, all of them-Tomalak included-apparently bewitched by the appearance of a woman with whom they had dealt on numerous other occasions.

Obviously accustomed to such reactions, Alizome addressed the group. "You are all here," she said matter-of-factly. "Good. Let us finalize the agreement to join forces." Though the words that emerged from Tomalak's translator sounded straightforward, they came tempered by the lyrical nature of Alizome's voice, which conjured the sound of wind chimes.

At last, somebody else spoke. "You're late," said Corskene, not hiding her disapprobation.

Alizome turned her head slowly to look directly at the Tholian amba.s.sador. "I am not interested in your tiresome grievances," said the Tzenkethi, her musical tones unable to mask the harshness of her statement.

"And I am not interested in your disrespect," said Corskene. Rather than continuing the argument, though, she signaled her capitulation by returning to her seat, sending her six legs around the disk and then settling her body atop it. The Kinshaya representative, Patriarch Radrigi, sat in the same way on his seat, though he had only four legs.

Alizome walked slowly to the conference table, moving with a delicate elegance. She sat down on an unoccupied disk as any bipedal humanoid typically would, but then pulled her legs up onto the seat as well, curling them around the left side of her torso. The shift in position gave her the appearance of having been cut in half, and yet she retained her appeal.

Tomalak sat down as well. He picked up his data tablet from the table and activated it with a touch of his left index finger to the security scanner. He quickly glanced at the doc.u.ment that appeared. "I can start," he told the others, "by stating that the praetor has agreed to the sharing of our cloaking technology."

"Excellent," said Skorn, the Gorn Amba.s.sador. The Tzenkethi and Breen representatives nodded their accord, and the Kinshaya flared his wings slightly to indicate his approval. Corskene gave no visible sign of her a.s.sent, but Tomalak felt certain that his news pleased her.

Ever since the agreement in principle had been reached among the five, and now six, prospective Typhon Pact members, they had worked on fleshing out the details of their alliance. Most insisted that the Romulan Star Empire must share, among other items, their ability to cloak their starships. Praetor Tal'Aura had waited to grant this until Imperial Fleet scientists had achieved a breakthrough in the next generation of the technology. While the newest iteration of the invisibility screen would not be installed on Romulan vessels, it sufficed for the praetor that should the Typhon Pact not endure, the Empire would gain an immediate tactical advantage over their former allies by virtue of having already devised a more-advanced cloaking technology.

From that point, the conference proceeded apace. The representatives reached a consensus on mutual defense and a common currency. They discussed policy with respect to the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire, as well as other political ent.i.ties. The six nations promised to share weapons and defensive systems, agricultural advances and machinery, and food and medical provisions. Overall, the negotiations satisfied Tomalak, with the last two items supplying the proconsul with much of the benefit Romulus needed to obtain from its partic.i.p.ation in the Pact in the near term. Donatra's stranglehold on the Romulan breadbasket worlds dramatically impacted the availability of food and medicine within the Empire, a situation that would only grow more dire as long as the Romulans remained a divided state.

When finally Tomalak departed the s.p.a.ce station aboard the vessel Khenn Ornahj Khenn Ornahj, he carried with him a copy of the finalized treaty terms. He would take it to the newly reconst.i.tuted Senate, where he believed it would meet with swift approval. He expected that within days the Typhon Pact would rise as the preeminent power in the region. From there, it would be only a matter of time before a reunited Romulan Star Empire ruled the Pact, and with it, the Alpha and Beta Quadrants.

10.

Standing at the top of the rough-hewn staircase, Spock pressed his ear against the cold stone surface and listened. When he heard nothing for two full minutes, he reached up and pushed against the wall. The hidden door swung slowly open, and he pa.s.sed quickly through the gap, into a storeroom. Within, crates, bags, and other containers of merchandise filled numerous freestanding shelves, while stacks of ornate frames and large data canvases leaned against the far wall. Once Spock confirmed the s.p.a.ce was vacant, he looked back and signaled silently to Venaster and D'Tan. The two men followed him inside, directing their prisoner before them.

Spock closed the secret entrance to the Ki Baratan underground, then took a moment to scrutinize the Reman. They had dressed him as they had themselves, in a traditional Romulan robe, its oversized cowl hiding his features in the depths of its folds, though the dark-brown, loose-fitting garment could do nothing to disguise his considerable height. A monofilament wrapped around the Reman's waist and concealed beneath his robe bound him from behind to D'Tan. The virtually invisible strand measured long enough to permit both to walk comfortably, but not so long that it would provide much slack.

Spock gestured to Venaster. On cue, the former military officer drew a disruptor from beneath his own robe. Now out of the underground, he activated the energy weapon, then displayed it to Spock, allowing him to see that he had adjusted it to its highest stun setting. He then positioned it back inside his clothing.

Spock nodded his approval. Despite such provisions, he fully expected the prisoner to attempt an escape at some point during their transport of him. Though considerably shorter than the Reman, Venaster possessed both a solid physique and an abundance of security experience. Spock trusted him to maintain their custody of the prisoner.

Wending between the tall shelves, Spock made his way to the room's conventional entrance. There, he cast his gaze through an eyehole. The convex lens made it possible for him to see the entirety of the store's single main room. T'Coll, the owner of the establishment and a sympathizer of the Reunification Movement, sat behind a counter, atop a stool. Spock saw several customers moving about, and so he indicated to Venaster and D'Tan that they would have to wait.

Seventeen minutes pa.s.sed before the store cleared. When it did, Spock pulled open the door and stepped into the shop. The others followed.

Shelves and display cases offered up a variety of large and small art pieces, including items such as sculptures and decorative blown gla.s.s. Both framed and unframed paintings and prints blanketed the walls, while a few data canvases of various dimensions cycled through their repertoires, their brushstrokes and textures changing along with the pigments. Spock distinguished most of the works as products of Romulan artists, though he espied a few of off-world provenance.

Spock peered over at T'Coll, who glanced up from the data tablet on which she worked. The middle-aged woman gave no reaction at first, but then she hopped down from her stool and ducked down behind the counter. When she stood back up, she held out a cloth bag, obviously weighed down by its contents. Spock walked over and accepted it from her. Reaching into the bag, he extracted a small bronze figurine of a kneeling man looking down, a hand raised to the side of his forehead as though deep in thought. Spock recognized it as a reproduction of a famous work by a renowned Romulan artist, Raban Gedroe.

"Thank you for acquiring this for me," Spock said, depositing it back in the bag. In reality, the item would serve as a subterfuge. Should T'Coll's shop be under surveillance by Romulan Security, Spock would simply look like a customer.

"Jolan tru," said T'Coll. said T'Coll.

Spock replied in kind. Then he turned back toward the others and nodded once. With a touch to the back of the Reman's shoulder, D'Tan headed the prisoner toward one of the shop's two public entrances. Spock fell in beside Venaster and trailed them outside.

Since the sun had risen a couple of hours earlier, the dawn fog, carried inland from the Apnex Sea by a marine layer, had yet to dissipate. The overcast sky veiled the city in shades of gray. Peering toward the government quarter, Spock saw wisps of vapor obscuring the tips of the spires there, as well as the dome capping the Hall of State's rotunda, the structure at the very center of Ki Baratan.

D'Tan and his charge headed right along Via Chula, a thoroughfare that paralleled the circ.u.mference of the circular city. Venaster swung out to the left, a pace behind the two, clearly prepared to act if the Reman tried to break free of his captivity and flee. Spock took up a similar position to the right of D'Tan. None of the men spoke.

The march to the nearest security office required only a quarter of an hour. When the group turned from Via Chula onto Via Colius, a straight avenue that traversed the city radially, the facility came immediately into view. The silver ensign of Romulan Security-a raptor holding a shield in its talons-showed prominently on the two-story building's black facade. Spock renewed his focus on their prisoner, certain that he would fight for his freedom before they reached their destination.

But that didn't happen.

As the Reman walked through the front door of the security office, D'Tan surrept.i.tiously detached the monofilament from where it connected to the harness around his waist. Then he stepped back, allowing Spock to hand him the cloth bag with the sculpture in it. Spock then entered the security office behind their prisoner. As planned, D'Tan and Venaster would wait outside.

In turning the Reman over to the Romulan authorities, and in finding a means of requesting an audience with the praetor, Spock wanted to put only himself at risk. Many of his comrades had attempted to dissuade him from such a course, several even volunteering to subst.i.tute for him. They argued that his importance to the Reunification Movement should preclude him from intentionally placing himself in harm's way. Spock agreed in general, but contended that because of his prominent position in the Movement, his partic.i.p.ation would generate the best possible chance, both of securing a meeting with Tal'Aura and of establishing a rapprochement with her government.

Spock remained two paces behind the Reman as they navigated a narrow foyer, then pa.s.sed through a second, inner door. Spock remained alert to the possibility of an escape effort, but again, none came. Inside, they entered a large lobby, surrounded on three sides by tall counters, behind which sat security personnel. A bank of monitors directly ahead displayed various public locations throughout Ki Baratan, most notably several views of the building in which Spock stood. He readily picked out the figures of Venaster and D'Tan on Via Colius.

Numerous security officers at the counters looked up as a pair stationed on either side of the door quickly closed in on Spock and the Reman. Each wore a snug, dark-gray uniform, the Romulan Security sigil emblazoned on the right breast, their name listed beneath it in matching silver characters. A thin, colored insignia marched down the outside of the right arm, denoting rank. As well, each carried an energy weapon on their hip.

"Stop," demanded the officer to Spock's left. He read her name as Sorent, her rank as sentry.

Both Spock and the Reman stopped. "I wish to report a crime," Spock said from within the hood of his robe, "and to remand into your custody the malefactor who committed the offense. I suggest that you regard him as dangerous."

"What is the nature of the crime?" Sorent asked.

"Attempted a.s.sa.s.sination," Spock said. He heard movement to his right, and he looked to see that the other sentry, a man named J'Velk, had drawn his weapon.

"Whose a.s.sa.s.sination?" Sorent asked.

Spock turned back to her. Unlike her partner's, he saw, her firearm remained on her hip. "My own," he told her. He saw that the conversation had captured the attention of the security officers behind the counters.

Sorent nodded, her manner one of disbelief. "And who are you?" she asked.

"I am Spock," he said. His name appeared to spark immediate recognition in Sorent, as well as in most, if not all, of her fellow officers. That did not surprise Spock, since his efforts-and all efforts-to reunify the Vulcan and Romulan peoples had been deemed illegal long ago by the Romulan government.

"Remove your hood," Sorent ordered. "Slowly."

With care, Spock reached up and pulled the cowl of his robe backward, revealing his face. Once again, he saw recognition in Sorent, as well as in others. Behind him, he heard a faint trill, and he suspected that both the inner and outer doors had just been sealed. Four more security officers scrambled from behind the counters to join Sorent and J'Velk. Past the left-hand counter, Spock saw a door open and a uniformed man emerge, the colored rank strip on his arm identifying him as a protector, the highest field-office grade in Romulan Security.

"You are the Vulcan who preaches for the reunifying of Romulus with your people," Sorent said. "Am I correct?"

"I advocate advocate for such a reunification, yes," Spock said. He watched as the protector stepped up to observe the proceedings. for such a reunification, yes," Spock said. He watched as the protector stepped up to observe the proceedings.

"And this is?" Sorent asked, gesturing at Spock's prisoner.

"I do not know," Spock said, "but he tried to kill me."

Spock detected puzzlement in the expressions of most of the security officers, though Sorent seemed less bewildered by the situation and more suspicious. "You," she said, walking over to the prisoner, "remove your hood."

The Reman did so, his hand slowly moving up to the cowl of his robe and pulling it back. As his face became visible, somebody-Spock did not see who-gasped in apparent surprise. Though the Reman made no threatening moves, two security officers rushed toward him, grabbing for his arms.

"No!" yelled Sorent, but too late.

The Reman roared and threw off the security officers, one of them staggering backward into the central counter and crumpling to the floor. J'Velk raised his weapon, but the Reman saw it and batted it from his hand. As two more security officers raced in, Spock saw Sorent step back and take aim with her own disruptor, clearly prepared to stun everybody in order to disable the Reman. Before she could fire, though, she lowered her weapon, and Spock saw why: to his surprise, the protector had also entered the melee.

The Reman fought wildly, throwing another officer to the side, then wrapping his hands around the throat of another. J'Velk jumped in and pulled at the Reman's arm, obviously wanting to free his colleague. The protector tried to wrench the Reman's other arm free.

Spock glanced around and saw more security personnel coming forward. The Reman whirled around, loosing his grip on the one Romulan's throat and tossing him into the advancing officers. With another bellow, he flung both J'Velk and the protector away from him. For a moment, he stood alone in the center of the security office, his head darting around as though searching out the source of the next a.s.sault. Spock waited for the piercing sound of a disruptor, and had enough time to wonder if the weapon that would fire the shot had been set to stun or kill.

But then the Reman collapsed.

Spock looked around confusedly, sure that he had heard no discharge of any weapon. As a strange silence rose in the security office, he saw that others appeared perplexed as well, including Sorent. When the Reman did not move, she handed her disruptor to the nearest officer and said, "If he moves, fire, even if you have to hit me." That at least told Spock that she had adjusted her weapon to a stun setting.

Cautiously, Sorent approached the Reman. She stood over him for a few seconds, observing, before finally bending down and taking hold of his hand. She felt at his wrist for a pulse.

"He's dead," she announced, but then she seemed to notice something. She leaned in closer, then pushed back the sleeve of the Reman's robe and turned over his arm. Near his elbow, on the underside of his forearm, a square patch had been applied to his flesh. All around it, jagged, dark-green lines twisted in myriad directions below the skin.

"A toxin of some kind," Sorent concluded. "He killed himself."

Again, Spock felt a wave of confusion wash over him. The Reman had made no attempt to escape on the way to the security office, but then had killed himself when the Romulans sought to physically detain him? For the first time, he wondered if mental illness might have played a role in all that had transpired, from the attempt on his life to the death of the Reman. In his empathic contact with his would-be a.s.sa.s.sin, he had perceived no psychosis in him, but that did not preclude the existence of such a condition.

As Spock pondered the situation, the Romulans around him began moving again. Sorent stood and ordered the removal of the Reman's body, while other security officers a.s.sisted their injured colleagues. Still others returned to crew their stations behind the counters.

And in the midst of the sudden activity, Spock was taken into custody.

11.

As Sisko strode through the s.p.a.cious atrium of Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, he kept his head down. He hadn't visited the facility in years, hadn't spoken in the intervening time to but a handful of Starfleet personnel outside of Deep s.p.a.ce 9 and the Alonis task force, but he remembered many of the people who had offices in the complex. More to the point, they would remember him, not just for their personal encounters with him, but for what had come later. Even people he didn't know would remember what had come later. Even with him dressed in civilian clothes, many would recognize him as the Starfleet captain revered by Bajorans as the Emissary of the Prophets. The officer who survived on the front lines of the Dominion War, only to disappear into the Bajoran Wormhole for months afterward. The man who reemerged from that experience for the birth of his child and the culmination of his efforts to see Bajor join the Federation. The man who then withdrew from Starfleet to settle on the world where the population venerated him.

Oh, yes, Sisko thought, they'll remember me. they'll remember me. But he didn't want to be remembered, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to speak with anybody. He'd come here for one reason only: to get what he needed-to get what Kasidy and Rebecca needed, what Jake and Korena needed. But he didn't want to be remembered, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to speak with anybody. He'd come here for one reason only: to get what he needed-to get what Kasidy and Rebecca needed, what Jake and Korena needed.

Underneath the clear, concave canopy that swept from ground level up to the top floor, Sisko approached the horseshoe-shaped desk that stood in front of a row of turbolifts. The yeoman stationed at the desk addressed him before he could even introduce himself. "Mister Sisko, the commander in chief is expecting your visit," the Caitian said. Sisko took note that the young man did not call him captain captain, indicating that Admiral Walter had processed his separation from Starfleet. "If you wouldn't mind," the yeoman added, motioning to a security scanner set into the counter.

Though Sisko had already pa.s.sed through two checkpoints just to enter Starfleet Headquarters, and though he knew that automated sensors scanned every individual who entered the complex, he dutifully placed his hand in the center of the panel. It lighted up at his touch. The yeoman consulted a computer interface on his desk, then looked back up at Sisko.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "If you'll take either of the central turbolifts behind me, Ensign Ventrice will see that you're comfortable until the admiral can see you."

Sisko nodded, then circled the desk and headed for a lift. A pair of security guards stood on either side of the area, carrying no visible weapons but undoubtedly armed. Sisko pa.s.sed between them and entered a car, which began to ascend without his having to specify a destination.

The lift climbed vertically to the top floor, then glided along horizontally for a few seconds. When it stopped, the doors parted to reveal a diminutive woman with short, graying hair standing there, studying a personal access display device. She looked up as he exited the lift, dropping the padd to her side. "Mister Sisko, I'm Ensign Ventrice, one of the admiral's a.s.sistants," she said with a warm smile. "Please follow me."

They crossed a foyer and pa.s.sed through a door into a well-appointed reception area. Floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room provided a dramatic view of the coastline and, beyond it, the Pacific Ocean. Each side wall featured a polished wooden door that obviously led to inner offices. Ventrice waved her hand toward where a sofa and several easy chairs sat arrayed around a low, square table. Hanging on the walls above, photo-realistic paintings depicted various Starfleet a.s.sets, including Deep s.p.a.ce 9 and Defiant. Defiant.

"You may have a seat," the ensign said. "The admiral should be available shortly." She asked Sisko if he would like a beverage or some reading material, but he declined. The ensign left him to wait while she returned to her desk, situated in front of the windows but facing in the direction of the turbolifts.

As Sisko sat on the sofa, he debated again the reason for his visit to Starfleet Command. For months, he had considered the course upon which he had now set himself. In the wake of the terrible devastation caused by the Borg invasion, that course had become a more reasonable possibility; and since his father's death, it had transformed into a necessity. In so many ways and for so many reasons, he didn't want it to be, but he genuinely believed that he had no real choice in the matter.

The funeral had been hard. By virtue of his popular restaurant and his long involvement in the community, Joseph Sisko had a lot of friends and acquaintances throughout New Orleans. As a result, many wanted to pay their respects and offer their condolences to the family. Sisko spent the first couple of days after his arrival receiving well-wishers at the restaurant, many of them incongruously bringing gifts of food.

As he and his siblings started to plan the memorial for their father, Sisko found himself ill-equipped to deal with the emotional strain. He ended up leaving the arrangements to the rest of his family, while he consumed his days with long walks through the city. He wandered for hours through Audubon Park, the French Quarter, and along the winding banks of the Mississippi River. One afternoon, he transported two thousand kilometers, to Babylon, New York, where he tramped across the beach on which he'd met his first wife more than a quarter of a century earlier. Indulging in self-pity, he lumbered over the sand with tears in his eyes, thinking about all the things in his life that could have been-not just for him and Jennifer, but also for him and Kasidy.

Kas had wanted to attend the funeral, but travel throughout the Federation remained problematic, and finding timely transportation from Bajor to Earth proved effectively impossible. That might have been just as well, Sisko thought, since neither he nor Kasidy knew how the experience would impact Rebecca, just four years old. It also alleviated the need for Sisko to deal with the next loss in his life-or it at least postponed that need.

The funeral had taken place yesterday, four days after his father's death. Sisko had expected a somber service in Katrina Memorial Cemetery, which already contained the remains of several generations of his father's family. Instead, his siblings arranged a jazz funeral, originating at the northeastern entrance to Audubon Park. The a.s.sembled throng marched down St. Charles Avenue to Nashville Avenue, and then up to the cemetery, with Jake carrying the crematory urn most of the way. The band played a mixture of dirges and spirituals that seemed to elevate the emotions of many, but those elegies left Sisko feeling more lost and alone than ever.

At the memorial, Sisko's sister and brothers-half-sister and half-brothers, he reminded himself-delivered eulogies, as did Jake. Sisko did not. The funeral, though perfectly in keeping with his father's personality, did not connect with him. When the band struck up rousing, celebratory songs on the way from the cemetery to the restaurant, which seemed to stir the spirits of the mourners, Sisko felt further isolated. He allowed himself to lag back in the procession, until finally he stopped walking altogether, watching as the ritual commemoration of his father's life left him behind, ultimately turning left onto St. Charles Avenue and out of sight.

He'd left a message at the restaurant so that his family would not worry, then took the afternoon to set up both his travel back to Bajor and a meeting at Starfleet Command. He returned to Sisko's Creole Kitchen late that night, hoping to avoid unwanted conversation. He didn't wish to be comforted, or reasoned with, or asked about his plans. Jake waited up for him, though, so Sisko had to prevail upon his son to permit him his solitude. Jake did, though Sisko could see both concern and a measure of hurt in his eyes. When Sisko said good night, he knew that he wouldn't see his son for a while but that at least Jake would be safe.