The Commander knocked his fist on the table.
"What the hell was that?" he was asking, with a calm, plain, tone of voice that strongly contrasted with the expression on his face and the fist on the table: "All of this for a small colony like Ch'Aehkla?"
"A full-scale battle was unexpected, I must concur." a voice from the screen replied: "I would have expected the Imperials not to place too high a value on that colony."
"Did your colleagues think the same?"
A pause.
"More or less. The Senate is far from being compact about this issue; and moreover there is Senator tr'Mas...."
"Yes, yes, you already told me about him." a faint smile appeared on Amarik's face: "He's giving you quite an headache, isn't him, brother?"
Senator Haewhe tr'Viaen sighed, slightly, almost imperceptibly: "His position about what happened at Ch'Aehkla can be considered....dangerous, at least from the perspective of those who would like to see a stronger cooperation between our Republic and the Federation..."
Amarik snorted: "Our Republic? Almost a poetic definition, Haewhe, far from your usual detachment. I'm surprised. Just as you surprised me when you told me about your decision to support this....alliance."
"Still not convinced?"
"How could I? You know what I think about the Federation."
"Even now that you're among them?"
The expression on Amarik's face changed slightly, now somewhat more cold: "I didn't volunteer." he replied.
Haewhe sighed: "But since you are there, why not taking this as an opportunity? After all, willingly or not, that's reality. We are allied with the Federation, and although you don't want to see it, this alliance has its own merits."
Amarik shook his head. Once again, they had fallen into the trap of that conversation: "For what I see, this alliance will only serve to widen the divide between the Republic and the Empire, between the Romulans. And while I can concede that most members of the Senate and the military leadership on Rator aren't exactly prone to talking, you cannot deny either that there are zealots and fanatics even among our ranks: this alliance will only serve their goals, not ours."
"You may be wrong, Amarik. Although I'm worried as much as you are by those zealots you just mentioned. Some of them may be also in the JSI, you know..."
"If there's one thing I've learned over the years, is that where there's fanaticism, any hope ends. I'll keep my eyes open."
His head reclined over the chair, Amarik was thinking, immersed in the silence of his ready room.
Republican zealots, Imperial fanatics, Unificationists, friends of the Federation, enemies of the Federation....
"What a mess..." he said at low voice. Before Hobus, everything was easier; at least, the Empire was one, every Romulan was under one flag.
But now....
Amarik suddenly raised from his chair, moving toward a small window. From there, he could see the drydock on Deep Space 13 where the Inyadar was docked, under repairs after the battle. All around the ship, Romulan and Federation personnel were tirelessly working to get the ship back on active status. How kind of Starfleet, to offer its full assistance. Perhaps that was one of the benefits Haewhe talked about so much.
A grin appeared on Amarik's face: benefits...Starfleet was simply patching up. It was for the Romulans to fight other Romulans. But one thing Amarik could be certain of: his brother was no fool. He was son of their father, after all, and nothing had been able to stop Vromor from dancing inside Romulan politics, gaining more and more power as he went. It took a whole supernova to stop him.
Haewhe was no different, and Amarik understood that. He had found himself in a bad situation on Rator, mashed by Sela's power and the Tal Shiar, without any space of maneuver, but now he was free again, thanks to his brother.
"Here in the Republic it will be different." Haewhe had told him when they first stood on the soil of Mol'Rihan. He was already tasting the new opportunities opening in front of him, the new political horizons that were to appear.
For Amarik, it was different:"I didn't choose to defect because I tought it would be different" he had replied: "I did it because the Empire has fallen into the hands of fools."
He had used the same words when he had spoken with admiral Antor, few weeks after. The same exact words.
Fools, and murderers, the admiral had specified.
Amarik had replied with a question the admiral didn't answer. Not immediately, at least.
A sudden headache took Amarik out of his thoughts. He moved his hand to touch his head. During the battle, he had fallen from his chair, and a wound was the result.
"Very well..." he sighed: "Enough thinking. Time to get back to work."
He turned toward the door, but before leaving the room, he moved his eyes to reach his desk, almost as called by someone. For a second, he looked at a small, closed box on it.
The question he made to admiral Antor came back to his mind.
"Aren't we all murderers?"
"Computer, open a channel to Mol'Rihan, Senate Building, Office 134."
Amarik heard the typical sound confirming his command. He waited for a few seconds, or perhaps a minute (he couldn't say), while sipping from his cup of spiced brandy, tumbing his fingers on the desk.
Then, a male voice, almost solemn in his tone, but plain, perhaps too plain: "Office of Senator tr'Viaen, how can I help you?"
"This is Amarik. I would like to speak with my brother. He's waiting this call."
"Commander..." the voice didn't change in tone: "Wait a moment, sir. I'll check if the senator is available."
Silence.
Amarik had no difficulty in picturing in front of his eyes what was happening in that building, on distant Mol'Rihan: Rekel, the almost omnipresent secretary of his brother, had paused the channel, opening a second one directly to Haewhe; his brother would be there, his head slightly reclined over his huge chair (too huge for his body, perhaps), while drafting the speech he would submit to the Senate the next day; he would nod, saying a few words to confirm he would take the call while pulling his padd aside; then Rekel would come back to the original communication and...
"I'll pass your communication immediately. Good day, sir."
"Thank you, Rekel."
The face of Haewhe tr'Viaen appeared on the small display on the desk, a faint smile on it: "Amarik, nice to see you, brother."
"Did I interrupt something?"
"Of course you didn't!" Haewhe paused for a moment, as to focus all his attention on Amarik: "So, did you meet him?" he finally asked.
"The ambassador?"
Haewhe nodded.
"Yes, I did. I must admit that Starfleet made up a warm welcome."
"Usual diplomatic pleasantries." Haewhe waved his hand, as to drive away an annoying insect: "What do you think about him?"
"The informations you gave me were mostly accurate."
"They were also vague. Did you have a clearer picture?"
"Clearer? I couldn't say, brother, it's too early to judge. Moreover, he already showed good diplomatic skills in handling with the guests."
"Which means he was adamantine."
"Indeed."
"I understand." Haewhe sighed deeply. A note of disappointment made his appearance on his face, but it disappeared as suddenly as it came: "I guess you are right, it's too early."
Amarik looked at his brother: he could almost read inside his mind. He could see his own concerns, and meditations. He expected much more from that interrogation.
"You should not worry too much, brother. I will keep an eye on him." Amarik said.
"Yes, yes. That's a good idea." Haewhe seemed a little relieved by the proposal: "It's important to know who we are sending to represent Romulan interests among the Federation. That station may not be Sol, but it sees its fair share of diplomatic activity, for what I know and from what you told me." he paused: "The decision to send Ambassador Saren there was not casual."
"A certainty?"
"A suspicion."
"About what, exactly, brother? You have been far too vague about this subject. Perhaps it's time you speak more clearly with me." Amarik said. There was no hint of anger in his voice; perhaps, a slight trace of annoyance: "That's not like on Rator anymore, you know."
"Do you really believe that, Amarik? Imperial Senate, Republic Senate...it's always a Senate. I served in both. And I can tell you all assemblies like this one have their similarities. Political factionalism, in particular, is pretty much the same. Even the matters around which factionalism revolves! Could you imagine? We are still divided among the same line: pro-Federation, or anti-Federation?"
"You know what I think about that, Haewhe." Amarik replied, perhaps a little toughter than usual: "Shouldn't it be simply pro-Romulan?"
"It is never that easy...."
"Yes, it isn't indeed. So, what's your suspicion? Do you fear the ambassador may try to sabotage the alliance? That he may be aligned with the anti-alliance faction inside the Senate?"
"I do not have sufficient elements to decide. That's what bothers me."
"You lack information."
Haewhe nodded.
"As I said, I will keep an eye on him. But you should speak more thouroughly with your colleagues."
The senator scrolled his shoulders: "Some of them are quite sure about Ambassador Saren's sympathies, brother. Everybody I told with, also, had the not-proven opinion that he is a supporter of the alliance."
"But you are not convinced yet..."
"Actions prove one's position, better than words."
"We'll see."
"Why have I the suspicion you would be happier to find out that the ambassador is not so keen in pursuing the alliance, Amarik?"
"We will both see, Haewhe."
"Well, well..." Haewhe's face, for a moment, betrayed concern. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but he stayed silent.
Amarik took the opportunity offered by that pause: "There's something else, brother."
Haewhe emerged from his thoughts: "Oh, really?"
"I met that captain Buchanan we heard about on Mol'Rihan."
"Oh..." now there was curiosity on the senator's face.
"I spoke with him, exchanged the usual pleasantries, you know..."
"And...?"
"I still lack sufficient elements to judge either."
Haewhe smiled: "Really? That's a news. Commander tr'Viaen that takes his time to judge a human."
Amarik didn't reply.
"When we last met each other, you wouldn't have waited to express a judgment. Few months among Starfleet and you are already getting soft, aren't you?" Haewhe chuckled. A rare occurrence.
Amarik felt bitterness: "See you, Haewhe."
The senator's face disappeared from the display. The channel was closed.
The commander stood for a moment on his chair: growing soft? Him? He shook his head.
Never trust the blending of Romulan and alien blood: that was a lesson he had learned early on, during his youth, on Romulus. After all, how could be one's loyalty secure, if he's to divide it between two different worlds, two different civilizations? Apparently, someone among the great Romulan Houses was forgetting it.
Was he softening this opinion of him? Not at all!
Amarik finally raised from his chair, moving a few steps toward the door.
In truth, there was something troubling him. A concern, a doubt, running around his mind since he spoke with captain Buchanan-t'Veras. What was it?
He turned to look at his desk, at the little box on it.
He couldn't say.
Prologue to The Old Ways
Amarik was laughing.
There, alone in his ready room, he was laughing. Something he hadn’d done for a long time. But his was not a laugh out of pleasure. It was a low-tone, smooth, laugh charged with irony. He stared for a moment at the black screen where he had just finished reading his orders. It was the fifth time he had read them, and his reaction was still the same he had had the first time. Laughing.
“This is what irony really is.” he had murmured after that first reading. He still upheld that thought. He couldn’t hide to himself that his first feeling had been surprise: Commander tr’Viaen being assigned a sort of undercover investigation on Mol’Rihan in order to uncover the truth about a possible plot inside Republic Command against the alliance with the Federation.
That was something.
So he did the thing that he always did in those situations. He had called Haewhe. He hadn’t disclosed his mission to his brother. He had simply informed him that he was due back to Mol’Rihan for some days, ensured that he reserved a free spot of his precious free time as Senator for him, made the necessary arrangements for the meeting, and that was it.
He knew that Haewhe must have suspected something. He had been too long in the game for not suspecting. Probably, he also understood that this time Amarik would have not been able to tell him anything. Haewhe was no fool, he knew the rules, and he would have never forced his brother to disclose military secrets. Nor Amarik would have ever tolerated the attempt.
So their conversation had taken the usual path, bar the all-too-typical (for them) argument concerning the Republic-Federation alliance, and that absence could have already been read as a sign that that conversation was atypical.
More importantly, Amarik had taken one useful bit of information from his brother: Haewhe knew nothing of what was going on; that meant, the Senate, or at least a huge part of it, did not know.
Whatever the case, everything was set. Inyadar was travelling to Mol’Rihan for…maintenance.
Mol’Rihan…the name itself always had an effect on Amarik. Admittedly, not a pleasant one.
Mol’Rihan. Truth was, he hated the name. He felt a wound, deep-down, everytime he heard it.
Mol’Rihan. Amarik turned his shoulders against the desk, his face now looking at a small shelf full of small, exquisite artefacts. Authentic Rihannsu artefacts. Gifts from his father, and his father’s friends inside and outside the Senate, to Amarik, during his military career.
Truly Rihhansu. Not like Mol’Rihan.
He looked against at his desk, at a small, black box on it. He felt the sudden temptation of taking it, of opening it, hoping for some magical trick that allow that small box to somehow bring life to memories.
What was he going to do? He would do his duty, as always. He would investigate, he would collect informations, all the ones he could, and he would report them back to Command.
He would uphold his duty, once again.
But more importantly, this time, he would take the chance to bring some head down. He could almost smell it: that same stench he smelled during his days on Rihan. He knew that stench: corruption. Shadowy plots behind the backs of people, the same behavior that had weakened the Empire when he was serving it, the same behavior that had led to…he had taken the box in his hands. He was almost caressing it. He closed his eyes, and sighed.
Yes, this time, some head would fall. And if fate would be so kind to him, he would take one step further: after all, who knew how many of the people involved in her death were still alive?
And he had to begin all of that there, on Mol’Rihan. That useless place with that stupid, meaningless name.
“Commander, we are approaching the capital.” a voice on the intercom interrupted that flow of thoughts. He smiled, faintly: his crew shared his same thoughts on that name. ‘The capital’ was much better.
“I’m on my way. Assemble the team.” was his laconic reply.
Time to play the game.