CHAPTER
SEVEN
“I'm going to make
him an offer he can't refuse.”
- Mario Puzo
A.D.
2376—Two Years Ago
Tellurian Shaldara, prince, descendant of kings,
emperors, and gods, High Warlord of the Orion Congeries, considered his
position on both a philosophical and pragmatic level.
Then he scrawled, in his elegant cursive, The defining characteristic of being is not existence, compassion, or
even self-awareness...
…it is egocentrism.
He paused, and evaluated whether he need write
anything further. Should such a concept be explained to a reader, or simply
transcribed and presented? Some who perused the comment would dismiss it out of
hand, others accept it without question because it had originated with him: the
tradition of an Orion prince’s complete infallibility was much a cherished one
among his people.
A truly thoughtful, subtle person, though, would
ponder such an observation, examine its merits…
…and only then
acknowledge it as a truism—both for individuals and races as a whole.
Tellurian often wondered how one could even
effectively challenge the legitimacy of the statement. One was a prisoner of
one’s viewpoint, after all… and while it might evolve and change, it was always
yours. A man saw things from his own perspective, and that
perspective was what guided his decision-making.
The priests, holy men, shamans and theologians who
disagreed, he ignored. Faith was fine—for the weak, that is; he preferred
substance and logic. To that end, he had also heard various students of the
mental disciplines—telepaths, empaths, seers—argue against the position.
“One must allow the consciousness to expand… one must
learn that the mind can encompass new levels of awareness.”
“But unless your ‘consciousness’ is permanently
collective, this expansion you wax poetic about is a sham,” Tellurian always
argued. “It is like the sex act… enjoyable in the moment, but transitory. One
returns to Self, and is again alone. You aspire to that which
cannot be maintained without the loss of individuality. Would you have us be
like the Borg?”
He’d once been called a neo-solipsist by a
particularly daring little sage from Eminiar VII. Unlike his predecessors, who
might have had the man executed for his temerity, Tellurian had elevated him to
his staff.
Now Udon Thirteen was an intermittently annoying,
enlightening presence… and as such secretly pleased him. To surround yourself
with those who invariably agreed with you would have been even more a variant
of solipsism than the impertinent scholar had said.
Besides, Tellurian
thought, amused, killing him would
have proven him partly in the right...
…and we can’t have that.
Enough abstract thought for today. On to business.
He reviewed the tasks he’d wished to accomplish this
morning, and noted one in particular that had garnered his interest: Ran
Imaldris, one of his more trusted and clever servants, had informed him that a
certain Starfleet captain had requested a face-to-face meeting with Ran… and
that, intrigued at what such a man would have to say to him, Tellurian's
Syndicate boss had agreed.
The encounter was scheduled to take place here on
Rigel VII, in mere moments, within one of his paranoid lieutenant’s many bolt
holes—a safe house that might very well be leveled or sold moments after the
meeting.
Utilizing his private access codes, Tellurian
activated his personal transporter system, and sequestered himself in a small,
well-furnished chamber adjoining the upcoming discussion—a room so cunningly
designed for acoustic balance that one could hear the speakers as if they were
sitting next to you. Ran had no doubt promised the captain that there would be
no one present with them, and that the conversation would not be recorded.
It was important to keep one’s word, after all…
…but it was critical to gain an advantage while so
doing.
He sat, closed his eyes, and listened. Such an
exercise honed the senses: What could he learn simply from the men’s voices?
Ran’s, as always, was cool and cultured, but there
was a hint of curiosity as the door opened and the man Tellurian presumed was
this Starfleet officer entered.
It began conventionally enough.
“I’m sure courtesies are neither necessary nor desired, Captain. You
requested this meeting, and, much to my own
surprise, I’ve granted it.
“What is it you wish to discuss?”
The answer was surprising.
“Amnesty for one of my officers.”
There was a pause; then Ran proceeded with a light, “Ah… you mean, of course, the animal woman,
Shomira… or, if you prefer, Vaerth Parihn.”
Coldly, he’d added, “Unfortunately, that’s not possible.”
“Make it
possible,” was
the human's response. “I find it difficult
to believe you don’t have the power.”
“It’s not a matter of power, Captain Mantovanni,
but of principle. Vaerth Parihn, despite the changes in
complexion and… comportment… from what I’ve been told… is an animal woman. According to Orion law and
more importantly, tradition, she is the property of whatever master legitimately claims her. After she’d
escaped some years ago, Parihn was permitted to retain her freedom—for reasons
which are not your concern. I have no doubt she
understood that maintaining a low profile in relation to her people was vital
to her survival. Your little dancing girl set that aside when she interfered
with the
“Her contribution was minimal,” came the immediate reply. “The moment
Tellurian, despite himself, smiled. This officer had
a keen grasp of the issues.
Ran’s tone was not
amused.
“You have an impressive presence… for a man alone, in the stronghold of
an enemy. Tell me why shouldn’t I just have you beaten within an inch of your
life, and tossed out onto the street?”
Mantovanni seemed unimpressed with the threat;
perhaps because he knew there was, at this point, nothing to prevent it.
“Because I’m still marginally entertaining—for the moment.
“And you have that option in reserve.”
Tellurian's lieutenant was warming to the banter.
“Excellent response, Captain. I’ll grant you that exchange.
“We’ve reached the point where you offer me something in exchange for
the girl’s life and liberty… er, sorry. Please proceed.”
“I’ll be succinct,” was the response. “If you leave her alone, you don’t make an enemy of me.”
The laughter was unmistakably Ran’s.
“That steely glare is really very
good, Captain. I imagine your little troops are quite impressed with it.
“But tell me why I should be concerned with making you my enemy?
You’ll never see me again after today… and even if you did, you wouldn’t
recognize me.
“I, however, know exactly where
to find you… and you can die as easily as the girl.
“We’re not the kind of foe you’re used to fighting, Captain. I have no
doubt that were I to come after you with a ship or three that outgunned the
“But I’m not a military commander; I’m a businessman. I have
nothing against Sh–… Parihn personally… but
allowing her to live now is bad business. As a matter of fact, allowing you to address me in the manner you have and
escape unscathed is bad business. Simple equations… simple solutions.
“You die, when our conversation is done…
“…and the girl dies soon afterwards.”
Tellurian poured himself a glass of ale, and sipped
at it. Mantovanni’s silence had become protracted; just when he was certain Ran
was about to dismiss him into the hands of his executioners,
…and what he said was quite
interesting.
“Well, Ran, all that’s very entertaining; I’m sure your offhand malevolence impresses your little underlings… but I’m Sicilian… and we’re naturally better at intimidation in
our sleep than you Orions are after 500,000 years.
“Go ahead. Kill me… if you do, the contingencies I may have put in place would, perhaps, take
effect.”
Again Ran laughed.
“While I’m sure this is a dead man's last desperate deception,
go ahead, Captain. I mean, if you can spin an impressive enough web, I may even
let you walk out of here. Humor is a precious thing to me.”
After another brief hesitation, Mantovanni answered.
“Well, I didn’t want it to go this way… but had a feeling it
would, so…
“…perhaps I’ve taken the precaution of contacting a number of former
associates… who’ve relayed my instructions on to others in turn, and so forth.
It's entirely possible that if I don’t return, die soon after so doing…” and his voice hardened into
implacability, “…or if Parihn so
much as stubs
her toe doing the hokey-pokey, my
instructions are carried out.”
“And those are?”
“A series of random attacks with weapons of mass destruction on Orion
targets throughout the Alpha Quadrant. Nothing too organized—just wantonly devastating. If you’re lucky, only tens of
thousands will be killed.
“If I have my way, they'll be talking about rivers of green
blood for a thousand years to come.”
“You're Starfleet. You'd never do
such a thing.”
Mantovanni laughed.
“Why wouldn't I? Fear of being caught? I’ll deny it. And what are you going to do? Report me?”
“Even you don't have the resources.”
“Maybe not. But I've served with plenty of Klingons and Tzenkethi who, for some reason, admire me.
“They owe me, too... and it's entirely possible I've
already made more than a few aware of the situation.
“As you know, Klingons don't like
Orions… and Tzenkethi don't like anyone. Usually, I keep them on a short leash, but in your race's case I had
to consider making an exception.”
Ran wasn’t laughing anymore.
“You're bluffing.”
“Think so, eh?
“You think you're scary because you've personally killed dozens of
people, and ordered the deaths of hundreds more, Imaldris? I pulled the trigger
on over 100,000
during the Dominion War. I'm already a mass murderer; what's a few more anemic
green sucamingii? Plenty of your people will follow me straight
to Hell.
“And I'm just vindictive enough to have done it... and laugh
about it now.
“While you may not particularly care about your people, Ran, I’m
certain profit and loss do concern you. No doubt these assaults will hurt
Syndicate interests, simply through the law of averages. If all that is worth
it to you, and you think I’m lying, then pull out the disruptor a man like you
must have in his desk drawer and shoot me.”
When such action wasn’t forthcoming, Mantovanni
concluded with, “She's under my
protection, Ran. Take that for what it's worth.”
Tellurian knew from the subtle change in intonation
that Ran was now considering his position with more care.
“To make such grandiose threats merely to preserve a single slut,
however skilled, seems… obsessive. I mean, Captain, I know she's amazing in bed, having sampled her
myself more than once... but the girl's really affected you, I see.”
Mantovanni answered with an easy scorn.
“Parihn mentioned you once to me. She said your reputation as a man of
action is... unwarranted.
“And before you say, 'She wouldn't have known me because I'm the “man of a thousand faces,”' I'll note that they aren't the only
distinguishing feature a man possesses, Ran.
“You're evidently an excellent example of
less being more.”
Tellurian cringed, then stifled a chuckle.
Oh, very good, Captain.
“Good bye, Ran. Kill me if you dare.”
The silence that followed told Tellurian that Liberty's captain had left. Before Ran could act, the prince
activated the comm panel and spoke.
“Let him go.”
Ran gasped; then, he protested, “My lord… he won't do it.”
Tellurian Shaldara chuckled, and replied, “Actually, Ran… he already has.
“And the fact that you could not see that
demonstrates why you are a Syndicate Chief...
“…but I am Warlord.”
He sympathized with Ran's humiliation, but couldn't
allow him to act on it.
Though the temptation to move precipitously was
always present, Tellurian understood better than most the concept of
self-discipline—for he was his people, and knew that
they had fallen and risen again over the eons as a matter of course.
Long ago, Ikonia had made war upon the first great
Orion Empire; the conflict had caused the destruction of both civilizations…
and the eradication of the Ikonians as a people.
But the Orions had risen again.
Millennia later, it had been the Tkon who’d challenged
the “Rigellian” Havari Dynasty, and once more, each society had collapsed—while
only one had eventually recovered.
In the last great war, a confederacy of “free”
worlds, led by the Bajorans, had fought, and been defeated, at great cost. For
a third time, all involved had helplessly witnessed the loss of their
greatness.
For a third time, though, his people had proven the
stronger and more enduring.
Now, the great enemy was the Federation… or, more
specifically, humanity.
And while, for the moment, the Orions were no match
for the Terrans in either military or economic might, eventually that would
change. His people would gather their strength from whatever wellspring might
provide it—currently, their most useful tool was the Syndicate—and when the
moment came, decades, centuries or even millennia hence, they would again put
forth their strength and reclaim what was rightfully theirs. At its height, the
First Empire had controlled 17% of the star systems in the galaxy, and its
vessels had ranged far and wide therein, trading for what they could not easily
take, coercing that which they could… and, of course, destroying any nation
that showed the potential to become a rival.
For hundreds of thousands of years, that had proven a
successful strategy.
And it was a strategy their current lord would have
espoused, if such had been his destiny.
Tellurian, though, knew his lot: Caution; restraint…
…and the construction of the future.
Ran was a criminal, and concerned himself with
short-term gain and benefit. Tellurian was a prince; his people were always at
the forefront of his mind. And even with such tools as he had…
…he knew they would be great again.