Falling Toward Destiny
By Felicia Ferguson
Author's Note: I did quite a bit of research for this section so I hope it shows. Also, the book for Nemesis is quite interesting and fills in the gaps from the movie.
Feedback: As always, if you feel so moved.
Disclaimer: Insert standard, presumed and customary notation here.
Then
3/?
Newly promoted commander-in-chief Donatra sat on a stone in the middle of the Valley of Chula contemplating. Her recent duties, having included the forcible removal of all Romulans still loyal to Shinzon, had not offered her enough time for either a visit to her favorite childhood place or contemplation. The Empire was nothing if not consistent. The elevation of a new praetor always meant destruction of his--or in this case, her--enemies within the government. And yet, in its own way, the Romulan Senate had undergone a revolution. Shinzon's coup d'etat had succeeded in doing what so many others, her father included, had failed to do with words. Gone were the old minds who valued domination over cooperation, war over peace.
"Could it be possible, Papa?" she asked the silent night sky. "Could mine be the generation to instill peace between the Empire and the Federation?"
Commander Danar had paid the ultimate price for speaking of peace, of negotiation, between Romulus and one of her conquered worlds. When Donatra was nine she had woken up one morning to find her father gone, taken in the middle of the night, presumably by the Tal Shiar. Her mother, who had slept right next to him, hadn't heard a sound. He never returned and though no reason was ever given, Donatra knew what had happened. She would never forget.
The same thing that had happened to so many dissenters. The lucky ones defected. Those who misplaced their trust in their officials lost their lives. Those who kept a tight rein on their tongues rose in the ranks of the Empire. Those like Suran, may his soul rest. Suran. He had been father, mother, and mentor to her from a few days after her father's disappearance until his own death. She missed him. His wise counsel, his willing ear, his sharp tongue, all were now gone. But he had died defending the Empire. There was no death more sacred.
He, too, had died before the dream was fully realized. They, her father, Suran and all the ones who came before, had left their dreams of peace as her legacy. Donatra leaned back against the rock and smiled as the cool wind brushed her face and lifted her dark hair. The Valley was filled with fond memories of a child scampering through the stones hearing the voice of her father, and later Suran, calling after her to take care as she crossed the rocky outcroppings. She had loved them dearly and would ensure that their dreams came true.
"Papa, Suran, your fondest wish is but a day away. Be with us. Enjoy your victory even in death."
***
Deanna stared at the blank space on a cabinet in her office knowing that it would be the perfect location for the Sacred Chalice of Rixx and yet also knowing that she would see it every time she looked up to welcome an incoming patient. She rose from her chair behind the desk and walked around the room, mentally repositioning the furniture so that the desk, the chair, anything that she used didn't directly face that one blank spot.
Heaving a disgusted sigh, she murmured, "Once again, Mother, you have to have your way. Fine." She plopped the pot down on the cabinet and shook her head. Deanna returned to her seat and admitted, albeit reluctantly, that the Chalice looked at home. She could almost feel her mother's satisfaction all the way from Betazed.
The door chime pulled her from her blackening thoughts. "Come."
The doors slid open to reveal the blue figure of Shek Lemoor. He paused at the threshold awaiting her acknowledgment. "Mr. Lemoor, please come in," she greeted, rising from the chair and circling around the desk. With a slight gesture, she indicated he take a seat on the couch.
"I am uncertain why I am here, Counselor." Lemoor continued to stand, ramrod straight; his discomfort would be obvious to even a non-empath. "As you must know, I passed the psychological evaluations from the Starfleet psychologists before I was assigned to this vessel."
Deanna smiled and inclined her head. "I understand your curiosity, but I merely wanted to talk with you."
"Ah," he replied, a slight look of distaste slipping over his blue features, "a recreational activity."
The counselor smiled and shook her head. It would appear that he, like most of his species, subscribed to the theory that recreational activities were to be shunned in favor of more productive work. It never ceased to amaze her that Andorians, who valued expression through art, didn't consider art, and the creation of it, to be a recreational activity.
It appeared that she would have to couch the visit in terms he could understand, if not accept. "No, not really. I make it a practice to know everyone on board a ship. It helps me to better gauge them in high-stress situations to determine their emotions and readiness. It enhances my abilities to accurately advise the captain in matters pertaining to the crew."
Lemoor's eyebrows twitched in curiosity. "And speaking with you during a time when there is little to no battle stress will allow you to establish a baseline for my behavior. Interesting concept. I had not considered that." His stance relaxed somewhat even though he continued to stand. "What do you wish to discuss?"
Deanna squelched a chuckle. It was as if, in the Andorians, the universe had created a perfect mixture of Vulcan and Klingon. The species, while highly logical and proud of its status in the study of the sciences, was also a skilled military force. "Would you like something to drink? Some srjula tea, perhaps? In understand that is a favored drink on Andoria."
"That will not be necessary. I am not in need of refreshment at this time."
The counselor nodded and resumed her seat behind her desk. The first officer elected to remain standing. Deanna normally made a practice of cultivating relationships over a period of months, conducting regular crew evaluations. However, with their time limited to the day of travel to the Romulan Neutral Zone, she was forced to resort to more immediate methods.
In her years of counseling experience, Deanna had found that personal questions often elicited the keenest emotional responses and when pressed for time she relied on them to create emotional profiles. Keeping her mind open, she picked up a data padd and tabbed through the information on the screen. "I noticed in your personnel file that you are unmarried. I didn't think that was typical of your people."
Lemoor shook his head. "You are correct. The typical age of marriage is 23. I decided to devote my life to Starfleet after the death of my parents in a shuttle accident. It was my way of honoring their memories. They were descendants of those who originally joined the Federation as a charter world."
Pride. Intense familial pride, which wasn't unexpected given what she knew of the Andorians. An underlying sense of…what? Irritation? Disgruntlement? No, it was dissatisfaction. Starfleet was not his first choice.
"What did you do before you went to the Academy?" she asked, building on the emotional thread.
"I was an artist. Now, I am an officer and I paint in my spare time. Have you received enough information, Counselor? If so, I would like to return to my duties."
"Yes, and I do look forward to working with you, Commander Lemoor."
***
Captain's Personal Log: We have rendezvoused with the Hood. It was good to see Captain DeSoto again. The Romulan advisor, M'Ret, will be beaming aboard shortly. I am interested in meeting the man who will be guiding our steps through these negotiations. And even more interested in his reaction to returning to Romulus after so many years.
***
The familiar glow of the transporter flickered around him. His nerves raced, skin tingled. Ambassador M'Ret (the title was honorary since there was no such thing as a Romulan ambassador to the Federation--at least not by the Empire's choice) waited for the nothingness to overwhelm him. Most people stated they never felt it. Never recognized the brief "death" for what it was. But he did. He hated this part: the scattering of his atoms across the universe and then their coalescence once more into his being.
Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done for it. The time had come for him to be of service to the Empire once more and he was not about to delay his duty. After all, it was the most expedient method of transfer and there was no time to act childishly. M'Ret closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to the gods that he would appear again on the other side of the transporter.
When his consciousness returned to him seconds later, M'Ret opened his eyes and looked around the transport room of the Titan. He breathed in a silent sigh of relief. Once again, he had survived.
"Ambassador," a deep voice greeted, "welcome aboard the Titan. I'm Captain William Riker and this is Counselor Deanna Troi."
The Romulan bowed slightly to both of the officers, his sharp basilisk eyes missing nothing as they scanned the room. Although he had been in exile for years, he was still very much the epitome of an official of the Romulan Star Empire. He wore the traditional robes of the Senate and Riker wondered if that was merely for comfort or more to reinforce the origins of their new advisor.
Deanna, sensing Riker's uneasiness, sent, His loyalty is with us, though his affection is for his home. I sense no ulterior motives.
The captain nodded inconspicuously in acknowledgment of her assessment.
"I greet you, Captain," M'Ret said, stepping down from the transporter pad. He turned to Troi and continued, "Counselor, I was never given the opportunity to thank you for the great service performed for me and my aides. Let me say now, I am grateful for your help."
The counselor smiled in thanks. "I'm glad I was able to. I only wish that N'Vreth was still alive."
M'Ret nodded, his gaze somber with memory. "I, also. I owe him a debt that can never be repaid."
"If we are successful, Ambassador, perhaps his sacrifice will not be in vain," Riker replied as he led the trio out of the transporter room to the turbolift. "Unfortunately, we must dispense with the pleasantries since we're on a tight schedule. If you are ready, I'd like to go ahead with the briefing."
"That's perfectly fine, Captain."
"Bridge," Riker directed the 'lift. The observation lounge had been set up for the debriefing.
As the turbolift began to move, M'Ret continued, "I have heard certain rumors through the network. The Romulan fleet was decimated by Shinzon, that you already know. However, the fleet hasn't been rebuilt. The Empire has been weakened and there are threats from conquered worlds."
Startled by the information, Troi asked, "Are you saying this is the reason for the Romulans' sudden interest in peace with the Federation?"
"No," the Romulan acknowledged, then added with a grimace, "but it may be a factor."
***
…to be continued…