Praetor Dralath had never liked the look of his chief aide, Timol. Of course, as the leader of the Romulan Senate, it was well within his purview to have the woman killed, but she had proven quite useful to him over the years. She was very young, and very attractive, but not aggressively so. Her features were arranged in a particularly aesthetic manner, her form lithe and athletic, but no one would ever list her as one of the Empire’s great beauties—a distinction that would not go to a politician in any event. Still, her innate good looks made it easy to be distracted by her. She knew this, of course; in fact, she cultivated it. It was one of the primary reasons why she had been so useful—men told her things they would never tell someone less attractive, and she was sufficiently charming and self-effacing about her looks that women trusted her.
The very qualities that made her invaluable made her dangerous. Dralath both admired and feared that.
Now Timol came to him for their morning meeting to go over the dispatches and see to the day’s itinerary. Running the Romulan Star Empire was a difficult task, and one that required more meetings than Dralath was entirely comfortable with. Power was all well and good, but he had to spend so much time dealing with people.
All things considered, he preferred to avoid it as much as possible—hence the meeting with Timol. She was his buffer to the outside world. The Empire already was closed off from the rest of the galaxy—ever since Tomed, Romulus kept its distance from the politics of the quadrant. Dralath had no patience for it—they had enough to deal with at home.
Timol began with reports from the mines on Remus, which was the usual collection of efficiency reports leavened with the occasional bit of Reman rebellions easily put down by the overseers. The Remans will never be anything but our slaves, Dralath thought with a smile.
The domestic reports were the usual drivel—acts of sedition put down here, an economic plan involving changes in the tax laws proposed by the Senate there, and other such minutiae that Dralath did not feel the need to concern himself with.
Next were the intelligence reports. “I believe this will be of some interest to you, My Lord Praetor,” Timol said in the lilting tones of voice that, Dralath knew, she had perfected over the years. “The Cardassians have discovered an old Klingon wreck on Raknal V near the Betreka Nebula. The Klingons tried to stake a claim on the world as well, and the Federation has brokered an agreement between them.”
Dralath frowned. “An agreement? The Klingons have allowed an agreement to be brokered?” He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Are these the foes we once feared, the allies we once coveted?”
“The Cardassian Union and the Klingon Empire do not share any borders, My Lord Praetor, and the Klingons are still weakened. A war now would not be prudent.”
“Prudence has never been a watchword of the Klingon Empire, Timol.”
“Times have changed, My Lord Praetor.” She then explained the terms of the agreement, and how the planet would be occupied by both nations until one proved worthy of taking it.
Nodding, Dralath said, “I see, they’ve made it a competition. That is a language the Klingons do speak.” He rubbed his chin. “Have our agents within the Klingon Empire monitor the situation on Raknal V, but do not inform the Senate. If the Klingons are truly so weakened, we may wish to end our self-imposed exile sooner than planned.”
“Sir, we do not have any agents as such, only—”
“I know exactly what we have, Timol. Speak with the appropriate noble houses, they will do the rest.”
Timol hesitated. “I know at least one such appropriate house that will feel no great urge to aid you, My Lord Praetor.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The new taxes will have a profound impact on Alidor Ralak and his concerns on Romii.”
Dralath again rubbed his chin. Ralak was the head of a house that had close ties to several prominent Klingon families.
“Assure him that he has nothing to be concerned about regarding the new taxes—which I will be vetoing tomorrow.”
“My Lord Praetor, that may not be wise. The economic impact on the worker class—”
Pounding the table, Dralath said, “I have no interest in the worker class, Timol! Ralak is not someone I will have as an enemy. It will be done.”
“Of course, My Lord Praetor.”
Timol then went on to the rest of the agenda, but Dralath barely paid it any mind. We will be watching you, he thought at the High Council on Qo’noS. You will sit in your chambers and rebuild your pathetic empire and beg the Federation for help and forget all about us. But we will be here, waiting for the right moment to strike.