CHAPTER 4

Governor Tharrus of Constanthus leaned back in his chair and eyed his chief of security.

“Yes, Phabaris?”

“The prisoners have been secured, Governor.” The security chief said the words with obvious pride, having taken part in the arrest. “They are in the detention facility at the city limits.”

Tharrus nodded. “Good.”

The large, craggy-featured governor allowed himself a smile. He rarely displayed his emotions in front of a subordinate, but he felt the occasion was worth it this time.

This was a pleasure. A rich, well-deserved, eminently profitable pleasure. And it was his Vigilance arid careful planning that had made it all possible.

In the end, he’d achieved something that had eluded even the vaunted Tal Shiar—who for all their fearsome power had been helpless before the unificationist movement.

The unificationists represented the first real challenge to the Romulan political system in a hundred years or more. The fact that the Tal Shiar had yet to make a significant dent in the movement had been a huge embarrassment for both the elite intelligence organization and the Empire.

And the rebels’ philosophical grounding in pacifistic Vulcan ideals only compounded the humiliation.

Though the unificationist effort had been growing on the homeworlds for some time, their arrival on Constanthus had been an unforeseen development—one that Tharrus and his operatives had been more than ready to act upon.

With a gaggle of them now in hand, the governor would be able to carry out their disposition entirely on his own—from their arrests to their trial, to their ultimate disposal. And once he had finished with them, he would announce that he had crushed the movement once and for all.

That, of course, wouldn’t be true in the least. However, the central government wouldn’t be able to refute his claims without conceding that the movement was larger in scope than they’d admitted.

He would grow in prestige. And prestige translated into power.

And when the unificationists reared their heads again on Romulus, as Tharrus had no doubt they would, those in the central government would be shown for the fools they were. After all, the movement had been crushed— how could they have let it rise up again?

Then an even greater opportunity might present itself. He might, by popular demand, obtain for himself a voice in the homeworld bureaucracy—a voice no governor before him had ever enjoyed.

It was a dream, to be sure. But not so distant or intangible a dream that his mouth didn’t water as he contemplated it.

Tharrus said none of this to Phabaris. He had learned long ago to keep his own counsel. He was not so arrogant to believe that the Tal Shiar could not place someone close to him, or convert an apparently loyal officer into a traitor.

So the governor simply smiled and lifted his powerful body out of his chair. With a gesture, he indicated the door.

“Take me to them,” he ordered.

The security chief nodded and headed out the door. Tharrus followed.

On the roof of the office complex, they boarded Tharrus’s personal shuttle for the short ride to the detention facility. The pilot was already waiting for them.

As they slid over the rooftops of Auranthus, the governor was reminded once more that this was neither Romulus or Remii. He hadn’t had the resources to make it look the part, nor had he expected any.

But that could change, he thought. The prisoners might be all he needed to make it change.

The flight didn’t take long. Only a few minutes, really, before they arrived at the detention facility.

Looking down as the shuttle landed, Tharrus could see the enclosed courtyard with its warren of prisoner quarters at one end and its administration building at the other. He was proud of the modern materials and construction techniques used in the facility, which made it unique among outworld prisons.

Too often, planetary governors on the outlying planets neglected their duties in the pursuit of posts on Romulus and Remii. But Tharrus had long ago rejected that sort of thinking, preferring to build his power in the outworlds themselves—and he wasn’t the only governor who thought that way.

In a few short moments, the shuttle had landed on the roof of the administration building. Before heading down into the structure, Tharrus paused for a moment to consider the forty-odd unificationists who had assembled in the courtyard.

He wondered if they knew how short their future would be. After all, the governor prided himself on meting out swift and sure justice.

Because of that, virtually all sorts of crime took place less frequently on Constanthus than anywhere else in the Empire—the homeworlds included. That was something else he would be sure to point out when he announced that he’d captured the unificationists.

Taking the lift down through the building, Tharrus exited it on the ground floor. He headed immediately for the security gate and made his way into the courtyard, where several of his personal guards awaited him.

At his appearance, the traitors’ heads turned. For the first time, he scrutinized them.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see in the rebels, but he found himself surprised by their appearance. Basically, they just looked like Romulans.

Of course, the governor had known they weren’t exactly Klingons. But he had assumed they would all have some indefinable quality that would set them apart from other Romulans.

Obviously, he’d been wrong. The rebels were young and old, males as well as females. He was looking at all the types of Romulans there were, a veritable cross section of the Empire.

This is the enemy? Tharrus thought. What kind of plague was this movement that it would affect so many different types of Romulans? And how might one fight it?

Brushing the thought away, he forced himself to contemplate more pressing matters. For now, his sole concern was making the most of the current situation. He would worry about what to do about the unificationist problem when he was running the Empire, he thought with a smile.

Taking a position in front of the prisoners, the governor addressed them. As tail and powerful as he was, he knew he had to be an intimidating figure—though as yet, none of the prisoners seemed particularly daunted by him.

“Traitors to the Empire,” he bellowed. His voice echoed nicely in the courtyard, “I am Governor Tharrus. I rule this world for the greater glory of the Empire.”

Tharrus waited for that information to register on their faces. Surely, when they knew with whom they were dealing, their fear would rise to the surface.

But nothing happened. They maintained their air of calm.

Well, the governor thought, that would end quickly enough.

“You have been officially charged with treason,” he told them. “In four days, you will be tried and convicted for your crimes. As Romulans, you know the punishment for treason, and each of you will face that punishment. However, if any of you chooses to make a full confession now, 1 will see that his or her death comes quickly.”

The traitors began shuffling in place and murmuring among themselves. Pleased to see growing tension in the crowd, Tharrus imagined it would be only a few moments before the first one broke and asked for mercy.

He waited. Few of the traitors were meeting his eyes. Instead, they wore a blank expression—one reminiscent of the pitiful Vulcans.

Many in the highest levels of the Empire believed there was something to gain by conquering the Vulcans, by taking their world and subjugating them. Tharrus did not share this view. To him, those who believed that foolishness were little better than these traitorous unificationists.

The Vulcans had lost the very essence of the two races’ joint heritage, a glorious one that celebrated the achievements of those bold enough to take what they wanted. The Romulans, on the other hand, had forged an empire from their own courage. They’d been right to leave their weakling brothers behind, shedding them like old skin.

For the same reason, the subjugation of Vulcan would be wrong now—as it would surely dilute the Romulan ethic through constant contact with a passive, even timid culture.

The governor noted that one of the traitors, a middle-aged specimen, was watching him closely—almost studying him. The individual did not even have the true Romulan’s heavy brow. Though many highly placed and honored Romulans had the smooth brows of their Vulcan ancestors, Tharrus had always seen that feature as a sign of weakness.

And yet, this pathetic, traitorous weakling had the gall to stare at one who ruled a world for the Romulan Empire.

Moving forward, fired by his frustration with the prisoners’ reactions, Tharrus approached the smooth-brow. Phabaris and one of his personal guards followed him, staying close—as was their duty. The other prisoners parted before the governor, but the middle-aged one stood his ground.

He seemed impassive. Almost disinterested, Tharrus observed.

When he reached the traitor, the man maintained his infuriatingly calm expression. His only gesture was to raise an eyebrow, as if appraising the governor. As if sizing him up, as one might do to an adversary of equal standing.

Tharrus could feel the blood rush to his face. He was tempted to order the traitor’s death on the spot. Resisting the impulse, he reminded himself that the prisoner would die soon enough. For now, the governor would have to content himself with pointing out the pitfalls of such behavior.

He addressed the smooth-brow. “What is your name, traitor?”

“I am called Selek,” the Romulan replied evenly.

“Do you wish to confess your crimes, Selek?”

The prisoner shook his head. “No, I do not.”

Tharrus struggled to keep his anger from overflowing. He would not be provoked by this arrogant weakling.

“Confession will assure you a quick and painless death,” the governor reminded him. Then, making no effort to hide his contempt, he added, “Surely, as a student of the Vulcans, you can see the sense in avoiding unnecessary discomfort. You might even inspire some of your friends here to do the same. Such behavior would spare them a very unpleasant future.”

But the prisoner didn’t take the bait. “I see no logic,” he answered, “in confessing to crimes I have not committed. Like everyone here, I only seek knowledge.”

Sneering, Tharrus used the voice that had made hardened soldiers cringe before him. “You dare claim your treason is no more than a quest for knowledge? You would consort with our enemies and destroy the purity of the Romulan way of life by polluting it with weakling philosophies. You are the worst kind of criminal.”

The prisoner spoke as if they were having a polite conversation at the Praetor’s dinner table. “The Empire cannot rule by crushing all opposing philosophies and ideas. AH living things must grow and change. If the Empire insists—”

The governor lashed out with the back of his hand, which made a most satisfying contact with the prisoner’s face.

As the smooth-brow’s head turned from the force of the blow, Tharrus heard the hiss of his guards drawing their weapons. He motioned for them to hold their fire and waited to see the traitor’s reaction.

The middle-aged Romulan recovered quickly from the assault, which by all rights should have felled him. Worse, he had fixed that impassive gaze on Tharrus again. And once again, he considered the governor with a raised eyebrow.

Anger raged inside Tharrus, but he kept it in check. Didn’t the prisoner realize how close he was to death?

It wasn’t apparent from the look on the Romulan’s face. Unless, of course, he foresaw his fate and was simply not bothered by it.

Then the rebel compounded his arrogance. As a final insult, he turned the other side of his face to the governor, as if presenting it for another blow.

A challenge? Tharrus thought incredulously.

But even as his fury threatened to blot out all reason, Tharrus reined himself in again. He would not be baited in front of his own men, or in front of the other prisoners.

“You seek to secure yourself an easy death by taxing my patience,” the governor concluded. “A pathetic attempt. I will be presiding over your collective trial personally. And I will pronounce your sentence myself.”

With that, he turned away from the prisoner and led his men out of the detention area. As he left, he could feel the traitor’s stare on his back.

He resolved not to give the weakling unificationist another thought. Soon, all the prisoners would know a fate that every sane Romulan rightly feared.

Tharrus shook himself mentally. He was a planetary governor of the Romulan Empire, and soon he might be more than that.

Nevertheless, as he departed the courtyard, he couldn’t help but feel he’d just lost something to the prisoner. Something important.

Proconsul Eragian stared at his data screen in silence for a moment before he spoke. As usual, Lennex had done an excellent job collecting and providing him with intelligence.

“My compliments,” he said dryly, glancing at the Tal Shiar officer standing beside him. It seemed Lennex was always standing beside him.

The Tal Shiar nodded once. But he didn’t respond verbally. He wasn’t one to exchange mere pleasantries, after all.

Unfortunately, Eragian mused, most of the reports before him revealed increasing tension in the outer worlds of the Empire. Two instances of outright insurrection, for instance—quickly put down, but disturbing nonetheless.

Nor did it end there. There were also a great many other incidents. Dangerous individuals and political groups were daring more and more open criticism of the Empire and its policies.

And then there was Tharrus.

The proconsul’s eyes narrowed, giving his reflection in the monitor an even more predatory look. “I have never given much thought to this outworld governor. I find it irksome to have to think of him now.”

Lennex shrugged, his blunt, rough-hewn features giving away nothing. “In apprehending these unificationists, Governor Tharrus has accomplished something even the Tal Shiar have failed at. It would be foolish not to give the devil his due.”

“Tharrus has merely had a stroke of good luck,” said Eragian, trying to dismiss the problem. “He will not know how to capitalize on it.”

“Is that an opinion?” Lennex inquired. “Or do you speak from knowledge of the man?”

Answering a statement with a question—a typical response, thought the proconsul. A Tal Shiar response.

Eragian knew that Lennex had spent most of his life in the service of the Empire. In several different capacities, the man had proven himself to be cunning, aggressive, and very good at his job.

That was one reason he had been accepted into the Tal Shiar, the secret police of the Empire. The other was an ability to remain circumspect. Though he was willing to offer counsel, Lennex confided in no one—not even a proconsul for whom he had served as advisor for the past fifteen years.

As a high-ranking official in the Tal Shiar, Lennex was entrusted with secrets even Eragian would never even glimpse. And if necessary, he would carry those secrets to his grave.

What’s more, the proconsul had no illusions about the man’s loyalty, despite their long association. Lennex would have served any government official to whom he was assigned. If the proconsul fell out of power tomorrow, Lennex would no doubt counsel his successor just as readily.

“Knowledge,” Eragian countered, “is your province,’: Lennex, So tell me—what should I expect from this upstart Tharrus?”

The Tal Shiar shrugged. “A certain determination. A penchant for survival. And a cleverness, unfinished as it may be, that would not be out of place on the floor of the Senate.”

The proconsul cursed beneath his breath. It seemed he had no choice but to resign himself to the situation. “Then he’ll seek to make something out of this? To gain a name for himself?”

“More than likely,” Lennex replied. “As you know, his sort hungers after power the way Ferengi hunger after latinum. And now, he has the means to satisfy his hunger. Tharrus will keep the prisoners—I have no doubt of that.”

“And try them himself?” Eragian asked, not at all happy at the prospect.

“Yes, Proconsul. He will attempt to demonstrate, to the people if no one else, that he is every bit as effective as the homeworld leadership.”

Eragian didn’t conceal his resentment. “You almost sound as if you approve of him, Lennex.”

As usual, the Tal Shiar was unmoved by the proconsul’s pique. “Not at all,” he responded. “As I said, I merely give him his due. What’s more, if he does not falter along the way, he will probably succeed in gaining some portion of his objectives.

“Of course,” he went on, “from the Empire’s point of view, his actions will be deplorable. Clearly, the Tal Shiar are the ones best qualified to obtain information from the prisoners. By shutting us out of the process, Tharrus is showing that he is more interested in his own gain than in crushing the unificationist movement once and for all. His first allegiance is not to the Empire—and that is dangerous.”

“The question then,” said the proconsul, “is what do we do?”

For the briefest moment, Lennex let his feelings register on his face. For perhaps the first time since Eragian had known him, the man let slip that he was uncertain about something. Finally, Lennex shook his head.

“I do not believe there is an easy solution, Proconsul. If you eliminate Tharrus or order him to turn over the prisoners, the leaders of many of the outer worlds would see that as a threat to their power.”

“But the planetary governors serve the Empire” Eragian protested.

“True,” Lennex remarked. “But they also want to protect their provinces and their own influence. And the outer worlds are becoming very well represented in the Senate, Proconsul—as you yourself have no doubt observed.”

Eragian knew his advisor was right. Things had changed a great deal in the Empire, just in his own lifetime.

A generation ago, all citizens had taken their orders solely from the hierarchy on the Romulan homeworlds. Now, the number of Romulans who lived on colony worlds rivaled the number that lived on Romulus and Remii.

In large part, the Romulan dream of conquest had been fulfilled. However, the growing Empire constantly found new difficulties maintaining order in an increasingly fractured sphere of influence.

More and more, each of the outer worlds was coming to consider its own self-interest as well as the interests of the Empire. As proconsul, Eragian often found himself in the uncomfortable position of living with compromises that his predecessors would have scorned.

But such was the price of victory and the price of conquest.

Where will we be a generation from now? Eragian wondered. Where will we be when there are many more Romulans living on the colony worlds than on the homeworlds?

Where will the allegiances of those Romulans lie? And where will we be if any of the native inhabitants of the subjugated worlds ever win their bids for full citizenship?

Two decades ago, such an idea would have been unthinkable. Two decades from now, who could tell?

“Do you know the story of the Rodarh’vna?” the proconsul asked.

Lennex shook his head. “No, though I have heard of it, A children’s story, is it not? An old one, I believe.”

Eragian shook his head. “More like mythology.”

Lennex’s face remained blank. The proconsul was not surprised by the officer’s lack of education in the more obscure aspects of their Romulan cultural heritage. The Tal Shiar were generally concerned about more tangible things.

“The Rodarh’vna,” the proconsul explained, “was a mythical, two-headed flying creature. A predator so fierce that no other living creature could face it and live. However, the Rodarh’vna was also a very stupid creature.

“One day, a great hero named Gaian faced the creature. He did not fight, because even as great a warrior as he would not stand a chance against the beast. Instead, he told the Rodarh’vna’s two heads that they were each other’s greatest enemies, finally convincing them to battle one another to the death.”

Eragian smiled thinly. “For me, that story has always been a warning—to be wary of those who would set the Empire against itself for their own gain. Tharrus is one who would do this, but he is not the only one. As the Empire grows, it produces more and more of them every day. And it will take more than strength to defeat those forces. It will require considerable cunning as well.”

“The challenge,” said Lennex, “is to recognize the opportunity to apply that cunning.”

The proconsul nodded grimly. “Yes. And when it comes, to act.”