Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

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City of Rome, Magna-Roma, System 892

The office of the First Consul was decorative and ostentatious, befitting the ruler of a planetary empire. The room sat high atop a tower overlooking the Forum, with the Curia and the Temple of Saturn just visible from this vantage. This building was a recent addition to the skyline, one of the only glass and tritanium structures that had been allowed within this meticulously curated ancient city.

The sky was hazy, the clouds heavy with the ash thrown up by Mt. Vesuvius some two-hundred kilometers distant. Even the nearby Mt. Terminillo smoked menacingly, though it had yet to erupt thanks to the intervention of the Lissepians and their geo-stabilization technology.

Hrabanus Macer, First Consul of the Roman Empire, entered the chamber, escorted by four lictors, two proceeding, and two following him.

He was of average height for one of his species, clad in a light tan tunic and pants under the purple edged ceremonial toga praetexta of his office. His face was narrow, almost hawkish in its angular intensity. His light blue eyes appeared to move constantly, indicative of a mind in continuous motion, and the crest of white hair limning the sides of his head spoke to decades of service to the empire.

The Orion envoy acknowledged Macer with a deep bow. “First Consul. Thank you for seeming me on such short notice.”

“Ahmet-surah Vantiquis, welcome,” Macer said in a conversational tone. “To what do we owe the honor?”

Vantiquis, a large, thick-necked Orion noble with emerald-green skin and sporting a jewel-studded skullcap, turned from his inspection of the capital city. He was clad in a sleeveless shirt and vest made from the finest Tholian silk, the garments appearing to change both their color and texture depending on the light and from which angle they were being viewed.

“The Lissepians are leaving,” Ventiquis announced without preamble.

Macer, to his credit, appeared surprised at this news. “What? Are you referring to their diplomatic or trade delegations?”

“All of them,” Vantiquis clarified. “They’ve evacuated all their personnel from their embassy on the surface and from your Stella Gradus station. All their ships will be gone from your system by this time tomorrow, First Consul.”

Macer gestured to the chair across from his large and ornate desk, his expression now radiating curiosity and concern. “Please take your ease, Ahmet-surah. Can you explain this sudden exodus?”

The Orion stepped before the desk but did not sit. He hooked his thumbs behind the decorative breastplate woven into his tunic. “Despite our warnings, your military has continued with its raids on shipping in this and adjoining sectors. Despite our explicit caution not to do so, your ships attacked multiple Federation trade vessels and have now drawn the attention of Starfleet.”

“I fail to see the problem,” Macer said with a dismissive wave. “We haven’t had dealings with the Federation in more than five decades, and even then, the worst they could do was cause the lights to flicker.”

Vantiquis frowned, irritation shimmering at the edges of his features. “The Federation is not just a single planet, First Consul, but an alliance of worlds, hundreds strong, and presently expanding at an alarming rate. Their Starfleet numbers in the thousands of vessels. In your last encounter with them, their laws forbade any obvious interference in your society, and so tied their hands. Those laws no longer apply.”

Macer turned in his chair to fill two glasses with diluted wine from a decanter, sliding one of them across the desk to Vantiquis. “What has changed that nullifies these laws they seemed so wed to last time?”

“You were, by their standards, primitives, and they were worried about polluting your society with knowledge of other species and the wider galactic community. This is their so-called Prime Directive. The moment that we and the Lissepians made formal contact with your people, that cultural contamination became irrevocable and voided their Prime Directive.”

Macer took a long draught of wine, while Vantiquis’ sat as yet untouched. “What will they do?”

“Hard to say, First Consul. They are dispatching a squadron to hunt down your ships. I would guess that your vessels, few as they are, will be confiscated or destroyed. They will likely attempt to open negotiations with you, as that is their way.”

The consul sat back in his chair, examining the Orion over the lip of his chalice. “You know this how?”

“We have operatives within Starfleet,” Vantiquis replied. “Not as many as we would like, but sufficient to give us some measure of forewarning when Starfleet moves against our interests.”

“What can we do to defend ourselves?”

“Against a Starfleet squadron? Not much, I’m afraid. This is why we warned you to leave them be.”

Macer tapped at a small, desktop computer. “What if we were to accelerate our purchase and refit process with your people? We could bring more ships online prior to their arrival.”

Vantiquis shook his head. “It would ultimately make no difference, and it would implicate my people far more than is wise. Your people have been piloting spacecraft for a little over two decades, while Starfleet itself is nearly two centuries old. Even if you were to somehow overwhelm their first squadron, they would simply send a full fleet the next time. I told you, their Starfleet dwarfs even the collective might of all the Orion Houses.”

“We needed those ships,” Macer said, an edge creeping into his voice. “The Federation trade ships were massive, larger than anything we’d previously seen.”

“As we have explained; we can provide such transports, it will simply take time for our dockyards to expand their existing operations to provide the vessels you require, First Consul. We were also planning on subcontracting with the Lissepians and others to meet your quota.”

“It was too few ships, and too long a wait. You well know our requirements.”

Vantiquis nodded. “I do, just as I know full well that you need the Lissepians and their geothermal regulators and seismic dampers. With their departure, who will operate these advanced systems?”

“You have scientists, do you not?” Macer snarled as the consequences of the Romanii’s recent actions settled upon him.

“Not enough, and certainly too few in the areas of geology and terraforming. That’s why we invited in the Lissepians, if you’ll remember.”

Macer scowled into his cup. “May I assume that we cannot expect military assistance from the Orions?”

“Open warfare with the Federation?” Vantiquis scoffed. “No. Dead men and prisoners enjoy no benefits of latinum, women or wine. We are businessmen. We have few soldiers, as we typically hire mercenaries when open force-of-arms is needed.”

Macer looked up, his eyes gleaming. “Yes, good. Mercenaries then. We’ll pay handsomely, and the Orions will be awarded a finder’s fee for facilitating the transactions.”

“Such actions will only forestall what is to come, First Consul,” Vantiquis warned.

“The empire’s fate has turned on such moments many times in the past, Orion.”

Vantiquis radiated somber acceptance. “This was avoidable, First Consul. We asked you not to provoke the Federation or the Klingon Empire. What was so unclear about our warnings?”

Macer closed his eyes briefly, exhaling. “Our Consectetur... they have become increasingly difficult to manage. They have a habit of exceeding their mandate.”

“We warned you about that, as well. Superior abilities and intellect breed superior ambition. You’ve fallen into the same trap as so many species before you.”

The Roman leader finished his wine and glanced at his computer terminal. “I have another meeting in just a few moments, Ahmet-surah. Please convey the particulars of whichever mercenary groups you contract with to our military liaison. I will confer with the Senate over providing the necessary funds.”

Vantiquis bowed. “As you wish, First Consul.”

As he departed the office, Vantiquis weighed the dangers of remaining entangled with the Magna Romanii against the vast profits he and his house were squeezing from this venture. Three decades of commerce with this increasingly blighted world had made him wealthy beyond his wildest aspirations, but even he shrank from the idea of a direct confrontation with the Federation Starfleet.

Just a little longer, he told himself. Desperation breeds profit, and Vantiquis was determined that the impending collapse of this world could provide his house with the riches and leverage to become a leading power among the Syndicate.

* * *

“I’m sending you hunting, Mister Glal,” Trujillo said across the subspace channel to the escorting USS Gol.

The pugnacious Tellarite commander smiled from within his unkempt beard, his tusks quivering with excitement. “Don’t think that I’m not eager to run these bastards down, sir, but is it wise to split our detachment? That only leaves you with Zelenskyy for backup should the Romanii decide to engage you in-system.”

“True enough,” she agreed with a smile. She secretly missed working with her irascible former XO on a daily basis, but his talents as a commanding officer were undeniable. “I’m betting that they’ll think because we’re in their home system that their ships can maraud freely elsewhere. I’d like you to disabuse them of that notion.”

He held her gaze with his piercing green eyes, his expression suddenly serious. “What are my rules of engagement, sir?”

“Issue challenge upon encountering one of their ships, and if they refuse to heave-to and surrender, engage them with the intent to disable. Failing that, destroy them.”

“I’m not excited about the prospect of bringing Augments aboard as prisoners,” he growled. “I’ve seen the recordings of their boarding party, and I’ve read their bio-scans. They’re incredibly dangerous. The odds of even a handful of them being able to take the ship are too high for my taste.”

“I’d recommend beaming over canisters of neurozine gas and a liberal application of stun grenades. Hell, once their shields are down you can stand off and rake their vessel with shipboard phasers set to stun. Once they’re neutralized, you could place them in a specialized containment unit aboard their own ship. Fit the ship with explosives so that if they were to break free, you can detonate it remotely. Yes, they’re strong and ferocious by human standards, but strength-wise they’re on par with Vulcans, Romulans, and Klingons. As long as we’re taking rational precautions…”

“Understood, sir,” Glal said unenthusiastically.

“Glal, they’re still people. It’s not like they’re androids or some other manner of artificial life form. Knowing Magna Romanii society, it’s a good bet none of them volunteered for these enhancements. I certainly can’t condone the crimes they’ve committed, but we have to take the high road here. We can’t espouse the benefits of a rules-based galactic community to the Romanii while we’re slaughtering their soldiers without a fair trial.”

Glal raised a Vulcan-like eyebrow. “That may be the most admiralty thing I’ve ever heard you say, sir.”

She raised a hand, fully aware of the irony of her statement. “I know, I know. It appears that even I am capable of growth and change, my friend.”

Glal’s grin had returned. “You’re just sending me off to keep me away from the ambassador, aren’t you?”

Trujillo closed her eyes as if pained. “I had to hand over a vintage bottle of Tarkalian bitters to get the two of you out of the brig and get the whole incident deleted from the station’s security log. It’s too expensive for me to allow the two of you miscreants to roam around unattended.”

“The man does know how to throw a party,” Glal laughed.

She shook her head in mock consternation. “Speaking of Curzon, I have a diplomatic prep session with him in twenty minutes. We’ve learned more about the Romanii in the past six days than I learned about the Romulans in four years at the academy.”

“Send him my regards, and please let him know that I’ve been exiled due to his Flannigans.”

“Shenanigans,” she corrected with a resigned sigh. “And good hunting, Captain,” she added, terminating the channel.

* * *

“Magna Romanii culture, as I’ve noted previously, is overwhelmingly traditional and conservative," Lieutenant Helvia said, instructing many of the senior staff in Reykjavík’s windowless briefing room.

"New ideas, new technologies, and new cultural trends are all looked upon with deep suspicion,” Helvia explained. “Even when new technologies were reluctantly adopted, it was almost exclusively for military applications. The Romanii weren’t traditionally disposed to modifying such inventions for mass production or usage by the general public. The kinds of labor-saving household items popularized in Earth’s 20th century were considered unnecessary in a society where such mundane tasks were handled by slave labor.”

Garrett frowned, gesturing to the viewscreen where a large anti-aircraft missile system was displayed. “They’re clearly not still in a pre-industrialized state, Lieutenant.”

“No, but Romanii technological advancement has been driven by necessity. The Eastern cultures on Magna Roma, what on Earth would be considered China and Southeast and Southern Asia, were the first to create such technologies as gun powder, cannons, and later, aircraft. The empire was forced to adopt and adapt these inventions for their own use, and in so doing only grudgingly advanced into what on Earth was called the Industrial Age.”

Helvia stood, changing the viewscreen image to a flat, Mercator projection map of Magna Roma’s surface. It was disturbingly close to Earth’s continental layout, with only a few major differences notable from this perspective.

Eastern Asia, South America and southern Africa had large, inland seas, and an eighth continent occupied what on Earth would have been the Northern Atlantic Ocean.

Helvia gestured to the landmasses in the Western Hemisphere, the continents which on Earth would have been North and South America. “The ‘new’ continents of Aggendum and New Carthage were discovered by the Carthaginians in what would have been Earth’s second century, AD. They were first colonized by Carthaginian and Chinese settlers and were only conquered by the empire a thousand years later in what is called the ‘Barbarian Conquests.’”

Trujillo appeared intrigued. “One of the things that amazed me is that after the Magna Romanii made First Contact with the SS Beagle, their society absorbed the shock of the existence of alien life with surprisingly little upheaval.”

Helvia shrugged. “Until contact with the Enterprise six years later, the Beagle and her crew were a state secret. But, following the escape of Kirk’s away team and the arrival of the Orions shortly thereafter, the existence of aliens became public knowledge. In the end, alien cultures were viewed as just more barbarians. What does it matter if the barbarians are from the East, or from another world around another sun? Simply more beings to subjugate and exploit. When Proconsul Claudius Marcus put Beagle’s crew into the arena, they bled and died just as easily as any man.”

“So, they feel they have nothing to fear from outworlders?” Davula asked.

“They recognize the threat that aliens pose to the empire, but so far, they’ve only had dealings with a handful of non-human species. They’ve entered into any number of commercial agreements, the terms of which have been highly favorable to the empire. With slaves to sell and latinum mines still being worked, Magna Roma has become very wealthy. They have gone from nuclear power a few decades ago to fusion and anti-matter systems. So far, at least, contact with ‘Star-barians’ has brought only benefits to the empire.”

Trujillo winced and Davula laughed out loud.

“They don’t really call us that, do they?” the Bolian asked incredulously.

“It’s a modern colloquialism,” Helvia admitted.

Curzon Dax sat forward, having been silent for much of the morning’s cultural briefing. “If the planet is swimming in wealth, what is the point of Romanii piracy? Surely they can simply purchase whatever advanced technology they want from their intermediaries? Why go to the trouble to disable and board a Federation merchant vessel?”

Helvia shook his head. “Unknown, Ambassador. Perhaps the empire’s military is trying to establish control over the trade routes nearest System 892? Now that they’re in possession of warp-capable spacecraft, they may be returning to old habits of conquest.”

Curzon shook his head emphatically. “No, there has to be something more we’re not yet aware of.”

Davula studied him. “Military adventurism is consistent with their culture and history, Ambassador.”

“Oh, I don’t deny that. However, they’re a conservative, reactionary power, not one given to clumsy gestures, most especially when their technological betters are watching. I don’t think we dare attribute their actions to stupidity or political naïveté. These are dangerous people whose concept of life and death are very different from our own. Even now life is relatively cheap in their society. Sure, the slaves are provided with healthcare, but what does that matter if you’re buried in a mine collapse or killed while fighting in the arena?”

Trujillo found herself nodding in agreement. “We underestimate them at our peril.”

“Precisely,” Curzon said, his voice weighted with caution.

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