Shinzon approached the balcony's edge hesitantly. He had never cared much for the view from here, despite its initial beauty. He moved toward the railing, and rested his palms on the marble balustrade, looking toward the dark horizon to the East. His eyes surveyed the night sky, inky black except for the faint freckling of stars, only the most persistent of which shown through. His eyes strained in the twilight to distinguish the low mountain ranges against the black nightshade, but land and sky blended into one another on a seamless canvas. Turning toward the West, the low skyline was a sea of fire, the night pushed back by the sliver of sun that perpetually wavered just below the horizon. A picturesque sunset, but one that never settled, the dusky glow eternal, the warm night stretching on for eternity without respite.
Shinzon leaned forward over the railing, resting his elbows on the ledge and letting his eyes drift below. Dark shapes loomed beneath him. Buildings stretched toward the horizon as far as his eyes could see; industrial hovels made from material resurrected from the death traps of the dilithium mines. Material salvaged to house life, to shelter freedom, where it once had enforced slavery. The city was black, its tall spires and dilapidated roofs mere silhouettes against the bright orange backdrop. It was the witching hour, the synthetic hum of power cut for the Reman 'evening' - an enforced blackout of the city to save power.
Shinzon glared at the horizon, acknowledging the vice that flourished far below his terrace balcony. It was here that the Romulans had responded to the petition for rights for their Reman 'brothers'. They had stood at the crest of the foothills, and waved their hands across the landscape, claiming that from these mountain ranges to as far as the eye could see was Reman territory. Free Reman territory.
But it was not quite the fairytale sanctuary he had anticipated. The pioneered Free City was a city of quick riches, ill-gotten gains and fortunes lost on the tumble of dice; the domain of adventurers, swindlers, gamblers, drug runners, idle rich, dandies, tycoons, gangsters and backstreet pimps. There were two main perspectives of the Free City - from the gutters, and from the heights. But that was the past, not distant enough as far as Shinzon was concerned, but the past nonetheless. Before his arrival, the Free City had only been a storybook dream, and then a harsh and disappointing reality; now, Shinzon was rebuilding the city to reflect those dreams, transforming it into the sanctuary and the liberated capitol it was supposed to be.
Shinzon gripped the marble balustrade, his knuckles whitening. But to some extent, it was all still an illusion. They were like cattle, their cage as enormous as the open range . . . but still a cage. Unlike those born in the mines, Shinzon knew freedom. Neither the lash nor the bit could sever that knowledge, no matter how deep the remembrances of slavery were cut into his skin . . . and the scars were deep. He unconsciously ran his fingers over the serrated line that split his upper lip, and felt the muscles of his face flinch involuntarily at the recollection of beatings past. Soon, he told himself. The Remans would have their moment; they would strike within the concealment of treaty, within the bond of friendship, within the circle of the Romulan Government itself. He would tear it all down, one day . . . soon.
As soon as the fucking envoy arrived. He released the railing and turned back towards his chambers, stalking past the mute figure of the Viceroy as he moved inward.
"Are they . ." Vkruk began.
"Not yet." Shinzon hissed.
The Viceroy observed the retreating shoulders of his Praetor, wound with tension and stress. But why? When they had come so far? They had pulled the Free City from the depths of a nightmare into a reality of prosperity. They had attained covert contracts with sympathetic neighbors which had allowed them to build their armies and to accumulate a substantial arsenal. Even now, when their ultimate goal was within their grasp, Shinzon wore a scowl that had become his singular facial expression. What was it that vexed him? It was becoming increasingly apparent to the Viceroy that Shinzon's thoughts had become otherwise occupied as of late, for gone was the vibrant and charismatic Reman leader who had clawed his way to power; this brooding dictator had taken his place.
Shinzon slipped his tense body into the polished throne that overlooked the room, and strummed his fingers impatiently on the armrest. The sweltering heat had slackened, but he still felt so uncomfortable. If only propriety allowed him to be in something other than the Reman battle uniform . . . but it did not. He still had guests to receive this evening.
"The envoy has arrived." Vkruk announced, and stepped back into the shadows.
The entire chamber was dimly lit, the torches only boring faint halos of light into the surrounding black. Shinzon glared into the distance at the doors he knew were there, but his human eyes were as yet unadjusted to the lighting levels that the Remans preferred, which lingered somewhere between darkness and barely an ember. He motioned his hand to indicate the opening of the doors, and the great ironwork portcullis swung open, the Romulan envoy moving up through the turreted gallery towards Shinzon's private receiving area. His eyes eagerly searched for one among the trio of commissaries, impatient to have her alone.
"Leave us," he commanded of his advisors, "we have much to discuss."
The Viceroys displeased look was lost in the dim, for Shinzon's eyes were fixed on Seti.
As the retreating advisors bowed and made their humble obeisance, Shinzon relaxed his hands on the armrests of his chair, and watched his adversary - recently come ally. He withheld the impulse to address her until the last set of feet had exited, and the door groaned into its resting place, submerging the two remaining players into silence. Shinzon inhaled and relaxed into a more casual posture, lengthening his legs before him as he reclined.
Seti watched the rise and fall of his chest, heaving against the brilliant armor of the Reman uniform, and the impatient rubbing of his thumb and index fingers together as he observed her from his throne. There was no doubt that he possessed a striking bearing, an air of potential unmatched by any of his predecessors; but not even the most careful mimic could emulate what years of experience and training would have built. He was the great figurehead of all their plans, the fist of an enormously powerful arm, poised to strike, and there could be no weakness.
"Well," he asked expectantly, "what news?"
"They're awaiting a rendezvous on Theo Four." She said quite simply.
Shinzon smiled, but then fought to smother the emotion.
"And what else?" he proceeded.
Seti's eyes narrowed and she paced slightly before his throne.
"What else? Is that not enough, great Praetor, to have the world at your fingertips? And yet you ask of me 'What else?'" She purred. "What else would you have?"
"The tone of the meeting. Are my allies still pleased with our relations?"
"They would be more pleased if your side of the bargain were fulfilled, Praetor."
The room grew silent, the space between them becoming somewhat icy.
"But," She resumed her soothing stroll, "they of course send their continued greetings and good will."
"And you, Seti, no doubt delivered my affections to them in return?" Shinzon growled, impatient with her verbal charade.
"Of course." She smiled, looking abused at his lack of trust. "Don't you have any faith in me?"
"Sometimes I wonder whose side your on." He whispered. "Whose side are you on?"
Seti hesitated a moment, and then cautiously took the few steps that led to the Praetors throne. Slowly, she kneeled before him, placing delicate fingertips on his knees. With the slightest of pressure, she bid them part. Shinzon's brow furrowed slightly and he shifted his legs to allow her to slide her slender waist between, reclining further to permit her access to his lap.
Seti looked into his dark, intelligent human eyes.
"The side I'm always on," she breathed, "mine."
"And how do I know that you deliver my messages intact, if I'm not allowed to attend the meetings myself." He hissed.
Seti pushed back from his chest, appearing abashed at his lack of confidence in her.
"Praetor," she searched his eyes, adopting a pleading tone, "it is only in your best interest. We wouldn't want your Romulan allies – as trustworthy and sincere as they are - to grow overly eager and try to slit your throat, now would we?"
Seti subtly traced the creases in the fabric of his iridescent cloak and Shinzons gaze followed her hands. As her fingers rose to the opening of his collar at his throat, he caught her wrists and held them.
"Or maybe you just use the opportunity to further your own interests." He growled.
"Where do you hear such lies?" she laughed bitterly.
Shinzon's gaze wavered hesitantly toward the dark corners of the room around them; a gesture too minute for human eyes to have seen, but her keen dark orbs perceived everything in his reaction.
"You don't have to tell me," She sighed, "I already know the answer."
She held his cold gaze for a moment, looking convincingly persecuted, and then attempted to remove herself from his presence. She pushed away from his armored chest and turned her face away from his, but his hands tightened around her wrists, binding her to him.
So she did still hold clout? She smiled inwardly at her triumph and relaxed against him, gauging his disposition towards her and trying to predict his thoughts. The human male ego was a delicate thing; it had to be stroked before it could be molded to fit her needs. Slowly, cautiously, she ran her hands over his chest and shoulders - grasping the headrest behind him and pulling her body forward - diminishing the distance between their faces to mere inches.
Shinzon allowed her to linger in his lap, enjoying the sensation of her against him. He let his head fall back, increasing the space between them, enticing her to move closer.
Seti leaned forward.
"Always remember, Praetor," She whispered against his lips, "you chose me . . not the other way around."
The movement of her mouth brushed her lips against his, and Shinzon inhaled sharply, his hands leaving the arms of the chair. Slowly, delicately, he traced his sensitive fingertips over the sheer fabric of her gown. It amused him to watch her try to seduce him. He looked into her almost human features, her hair attractively covering her secret, and a blade of resentment ran through him. He didn't like being manipulated – and worse – he didn't like to allow her to believe she was successfully manipulating him.
"Your Romulan." He sneered. "Why are you trying to be human?"
Seti's head cocked at an inquisitive angle, and the corners of her generous mouth turned up slightly.
"I'm as much a Romulan as you are Reman," she retorted, "why are you trying to be human?"
The words tasted sour, but her response only elicited the slightest raise of his eyebrow. True, her parentage was quite dominantly human. Only the slightest trace of her Romulan heritage was apparent on her smooth brow; the eyebrows elongated attractively, her bangs covering the slight rippling just beneath the hairline.
"I," she recovered her silky tones, "am a woman."
His hands were keenly aware of it as they traced over the curves of her body.
"Yes," he admitted, "you are that." And he tipped his head to meet her lips.
Seti moved forward to take what was offered, but with a sudden benevolence, Shinzon reached for her chin, forcing her eyes to make contact with his. He wanted so many things from her at this moment, the least of which was a discussion on allegiance.
"If you betray me I'll kill you." He breathed.
It was sobering, for she had every intention of betraying him. But her face remained placid, a slight smile flickering the corners of her mouth.
So easily undone, weren't we?
