"The Dangers of Secondary Smoke"

[Archie Phoenix 0]

“Late,” Ashlar muttered to the shadows. “Why must he always be late?”

 

Because he would -make- me wait, the Renazian Exalt thought in immediate answer. He had sat alone in this unused office room many times waiting for his secret contact. A shrewd and conniving character, that one, even in their most casual discussions -- always trying to disarm Ashlar, always looking to gain an upper hand, always treating every shared word as an attack or counter in a verbal battle. They would be our allies! -Why- must their representative treat me as an enemy?

 

Ashlar felt uncomfortable waiting here. The office was part of one of the many complexes that had been abandoned years ago by a dwindling Renazian population. It received basic periodic maintenance in the event that it would be once again needed some day, but it was mostly waiting for Renazian engineers to strip it down for building materials; perhaps one of the broad sermon centers that were lately becoming so popular would soon take its place. For now it afforded privacy, as the quarter-yearly maintenance crews were the only Renazians who ever bothered with these derelict areas. Despite this, Ashlar had the lights in the glasteel wall panels turned low, the window shutter slid closed, and no fewer than three audio dampening devices placed around the room. And despite the extra security, he still felt uncomfortable waiting for his tardy contact. If Membus and the others had any idea …if the Federation Council had any idea …

 

Finally the door to the office slid upward, admitting a hooded figure who seemed right at home in this shadowy room. “What took you so long?” Ashlar asked immediately, not bothering to stand from behind the office desk.

 

“Evasion. You did not want me followed, did you?” The contact asked in response, his smooth baritone voice gushing with the same mix of confidence and aggressiveness that it always contained. He stepped up to the desk and tugged the hood of his robe back, revealing the pointed ears, dark eyes, and shallow forehead crest which revealed that this was no Renazian.

 

“Sit.” Ashlar nodded to the leftmost of the two chairs in front of the desk, making sure his tone was commanding, not inviting. His contact, of course, took the right chair, an insufferably arrogant smirk on his face as he crossed his legs. Red eyes and black locked for an uneasy moment before Ashlar jumped right into business. “I was not sure if the last offer I received from your Senate wasn’t a tasteless Romulan joke.”

 

The contact gave Ashlar an amused expression as he reached into his robe and pulled out a narrow stick of half plastic and half paper. “’Joke,’ you say? I did not laugh when I reviewed it. I thought their offer was more than fair.” He tucked the plastic end of the device into his mouth and pulled a small switch at the middle, igniting the paper tip. A narrow stream of smoke issued forth before he inhaled sharply on the plastic end.

 

“Fair?!” Ashlar asked incredulously. “We ask nothing more than your assistance in locating a wanted criminal, and your asking price is the very same offer we made for the annihilation of the Serberites! That is our ultimate desire, Gi’Ston! If we give you the most that we have to offer for simply procuring a criminal, we would have no further bargaining position!”

 

“Ah, but you would!” Gi’Ston waved the smoke stick pointedly, ejecting more smoke around the office. “For what is the ultimate desire of -my- people, Exalted Ashlar, but to gain the wonderful secrets of immortality?”

 

“As I have told you countless times,” Ashlar replied. “We -do- -not- -share- that information with outsiders. Now, what we offer is effectively the same immortality you seek. If you were to give us what we truly desire, our Mystics would perform the soul transfer on any of your people that you desire -- your Senators, your Generals, your intelligence agents, your greatest scientists. As if they were Renazian, our Mystics would be forever at their service. I fail the see how this does not meet your Senate’s desires.”

 

“One word, Exalt. Dependency,” Gi’Ston stated with a grin, another puff of smoke emerging from his mouth to add to the room’s murkiness. “You may think you know what that word means … but you do not know what it means to a Romulan. You would have us grant you a great and enduring favor, the destruction of an entire world and its native peoples, in lasting defense of your own world and peoples. And our payment? We would be forever at the mercy of you and your … ‘Mystics,’ at the mercy of a favor that could be granted or revoked at your merest whims. We -do- -not-, as you so dramatically exclaim, accept such dependency on others.”

 

“Is it simply a matter of trust?” Ashlar asked. “You would pay me the insult of questioning my scruples? Gi’Ston, your people would have my unwavering word--”

 

“Words are meaningless to a Romulan!” Gi’Ston interrupted firmly. “We value deeds that have lasting impact and good, solid information that can be utilized effectively. Only fools trade in promises and obligations, for such things too often leave them empty-handed.”

 

Ashlar was about to raise his voice in protest but Gi’Ston cut him short with a raised hand. “Allow me to illustrate, Exalt Ashlar. You say that if we do your bidding, you would rise to a position of utmost power on this world, and would be in a place to grant us any of our wishes. We can accept that to some degree. But we Romulans have ample experience, stretching back centuries, with the cutthroat politics game. Let us hypothesize and assume that we accept your deal -- termination of your Serberite threat in exchange for the ‘services‘ of your Mystics. What if, after our deal were long since completed, there were suddenly a coup on this planet of yours? What if an angry faction of your people were to depose you from your seat of power, and put another in your place? What if this upstart were not as welcoming of his Romulan neighbors as you are? You assure me that these Mystics are under the control of your Exalted Pentad. Could not such an upstart order the Mystics to refuse the Romulan people any further service?”

 

Ashlar sighed. “The likelihood of any such things occurring would be marginal, I assure you. But, yes, it would be entirely possible for a future leader to betray our or any alliance, and refuse any further contact with the Romulans.”

 

“Mm, but it gets deeper than simple refusal, my good Ashlar.” Gi’Ston stood up and began pacing in front of the desk, waving his smoke stick toward Ashlar with demonstrative flourish as he continued. “Consider … extortion. Imagine, if you would, a great leader of the Romulan people perishing at that time, someone around whom Romulan society had begun to steadily revolve.”

 

“You mean someone upon whom you’d gotten … dependent?” Ashlar asked with a smirk.

 

“Do not interrupt me, my good Exalt.” Gi’Ston wagged a finger at him. “As I was illustrating … consider our representatives at that time coming here to Renazia, coming to your new upstart, and imploring him to restore life to our beloved leader, lest the very fabric of Romulan society be jeopardized. Consider the upstart deciding that this situation would make a -splendid- bargaining chip. Not difficult to consider at all; my own people would view it just the same. Consider that, rather than remaining true to those vaunted Renazian scruples that you speak for, the upstart decides to make several demands of our people. ‘You want your leader back? How about destroying this new enemy of ours, much like you destroyed the Serberites? How about opposing no less than the Federation of Planets? They have been getting quite pushy of late.’ Consider, Ashlar, that the Romulan people could face Civil War without the guidance of their great leader … that nothing less than total anarchy could ensue if the ’services’ of the Renazian Mystics are not acquired. If given such ultimatums by your upstart leader … could we possibly refuse any of his demands?”

 

“Your hypothesis is extreme thinking, Gi’Ston. You speak of highly unlikely possibilities that I could not be held accountable for.”

 

“Which is why Romulan negotiators are among the galaxy‘s finest,” Gi’Ston answered with a self-gratifying laugh. “We must consider every permutation, no matter how extreme, and consider the impact it could have on our bargains. You could give us the secret of immortality … and we could lose it at some point, perhaps in a conflict, perhaps as part of a mass defection. The possibility is just as unlikely as the possibility of a coup on Renazia, perhaps. But the fault would be ours in such a contingency, not yours, so we could more readily accept such a failing in our bargain. We … require … control, Exalt Ashlar. If we accept -your- offer, we destroy your enemies, -and- we also surrender control. While the deal may seem sound from your … scrupulous … Renazian perspective, we’d be giving up more than any Romulan is willing to.”

 

Ashlar shook his head. “It appears, Gi’Ston, that we are going to remain at a stalemate on this issue for quite some time.”

 

Gi’Ston shrugged and returned to his seat, glancing at the shortening paper end of his smoke stick. “Romulan negotiations of generations past have taken years to resolve, even whole decades. I would estimate that, in this particular negotiation, my people can better afford patience than yours. You have an unseen enemy out there, Ashlar, one that is out for your people’s blood … in fact, your very souls. We are merely seeking a way to avoid the cycle of death that has always consumed our prominent figures anyway. We have the advantage in this negotiation, Ashlar; make no mistake about that.”

 

Ashlar merely gave Gi’Ston a hard stare in answer. He knew that the Romulan was right -- with the Serberite menace growing, he was desperate. It was Gi’Ston who broke the silence. “Let us put that aside for now, and address the latest deal. Among the misgivings the Senate has about this ‘soul transfer’ is that we do not know if it would work on a Romulan as effectively as it works on a Renazian.”

 

“The Mystics do not believe that there would be any difference,” Ashlar replied.

 

“So they say,” Gi’Ston reached into his robe again, this time pulling out a small data strip. He placed it on the surface of the desk and slid it over to Ashlar’s side. “We would like hard proof. There is a certain Romulan Senator who has achieved a good deal of acclaim among our people. A former military commander of no small repute, he is a brilliant political mind, he is well-liked by our citizenry, and he carries the support of several prominent Romulan houses. He is also, as misfortune would have it, on his death bed.”

 

Ashlar glanced up from the data sheet, a brief profile of the Senator. “Do not misunderstand me,” Gi’Ston continued. “He is expendable, not nearly as important to our society as the ‘great leader’ of my earlier speculation. Were he to die, he would be replaced like any good Senator that has perished before him. A few of the Senate’s more critical supporters might pull out, our people would grieve his passing for a time, and the Senate would lose one of its guiding minds … but we would all move on eventually, perhaps erecting a small statue in our Hall of Monuments as the only reminder of the wisdom he once contributed. We would certainly prefer to not lose him at this time, however.”

 

Ashlar looked over the listed achievements of the Senator. A note at the bottom of the data strip mentioned a rare form of Romulan influenza and suggested that the Senator would be dead within one quarter of a Romulan year. “ … it is just this one man, then, that you wish us to perform the procedure on?”

 

“Just one man.” The paper tube on the end of Gi’Ston’s smoke stick had nearly burned out completely. The Romulan released the switch at the center, drawing the remains into the plastic end. “Consider, Exalted one, the doors for future negotiation that this small concession would open. You restore youthful vigor to our Senator, give him a new body and a second lifetime. Our people will observe him for a time making sure that he is the same man in mind and spirit. If we are pleased at the results … then, perhaps, we would become more amenable to some of your other offers.”

 

Ashlar looked up at his Romulan contact, trying to assess his expression. What was he really after? If the soul transfer were performed on this Senator, could the Romulans somehow determine how it was accomplished? Could they learn the forbidden secrets of the transfer by observing one Romulan subject? The office was full of the smoke that Gi’Ston’s device had released, and as Ashlar inhaled it he found himself feeling less and less argumentative. “ … and for this you will give us what we have asked?”

 

“We will locate the criminal Lars Man and bring him back to you alive,” Gi’Ston replied. “Or dead. Whatever you prefer. Further, we will perform the requested reconnaissance on the Serberites, determining conclusively whether they possess weaponry capable of harming Renazian souls. You want hard data, any relevant technical schematics or research reports? Our agents can procure any such things for you. We will -not- engage the Serberites in hostilities, however! We -will- remain hidden from them, even if we must wrest Lars Man from their grasp. They will never know of our presence in their nebula, and we will not make enemies of them … if that is what you are really hoping to get out of this.”

 

“It is not.” Ashlar put the data strip down. “We just want to know what Man is doing in the Bleak Zone and what the Serberites have learned from him. Your ships can navigate the nebula where ours cannot.”

 

“That is why you came to us. You recognized the advantages we have on you. And you knew we would demonstrate a willingness to share those advantages that your supposed Federation masters have not. Come, Exalt Ashlar!” Gi’Ston blustered cheerily. “The offer is not -really- that laughable, is it?”

 

Ashlar looked around the office, searching his thoughts. The smoke was obscuring his view of the dimly lit walls. His eyes were watering and his mind seemed slower. He wished the Romulan would not suck on that damnable device every time they met. As he watched the light-dampening smoke hover near the office ceiling like a dark cloud hanging over their meeting, he was reminded of the Bleak Zone, of the terrible threat that was growing within that cursed nebula, and of the mass murderer that had fled into that nebula with secrets stolen from the databanks on Zamsera IV.

 

“Very well,” The Exalt said resignedly. “Bring the Senator to us.”

 

“Excellent!” Gi’Ston intoned as he stood. “You further prove your sensibility, Exalt Ashlar; I knew that our meetings would yield progress when I learned of your true feelings toward the Federation. We will make preparations for the Senator’s transport to this world, and I will start dispensing all the relevant instructions on the Bleak Zone mission to our intelligence agents. We will both benefit greatly from this exchange.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Ashlar said dismissively. “Be careful on your way back! None of my colleagues can know of our meetings!”

 

“When have I been anything but discreet in my trips to your lovely world?” Gi’Ston laughed as he pulled his hood over his head and turned toward the door. “Relax, Exalt. The seeds of a long and fruitful relationship between the Romulan Empire and the Renazian state have been planted this night. I will be in contact.”

 

Ashlar watched the Romulan exit the office. His thoughts were unsettled, as they usually were after these meetings. The true and complete motives of the Romulans could never be guessed. As if this one really cares about the advancement of the Renazian state, he thought. They were only out for one thing -- their own advancement, preferably at the expense of their greatest foes, the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Ashlar couldn’t care less how his dealings with the Romulans impacted any of those others; he merely worried at any unforeseen consequences his own people would face.

 

Ashlar stood and made his way out of the smoky office. He would need to contact Infreg and inform him of these developments. Preparations needed to be made for the secret arrival of a Romulan Senator.