It was a dark day on Romulus. The stars shone in the daytime sky unless the usual gray cloud cover was over them, separating and trapping them. The people moved from one place to another, hurrying to get their jobs done, fearful of reprisals. Faces blank, emotionless.
The masters moved about, hawkish faces under their bird-like helmets, pride and arrogance apparent in every move. The steel-gray uniforms, metallic chain mail with the ceremonial clasp at their left shoulder. Slightly swollen foreheads, denoting the racial difference between the peoples. The Romli looked more like their Vulcan ancestors – higher eyebrows, ears with high points. Rihannsu were the more birdlike, with swollen brows and prominent cheekbones.
The military marched into the Capital city with unconscious precision steps. The Romli foot-soldiers marched, feet stepping up high, the legs falling to the ground; heels clacking. No other peoples could generate such synchronization of movement – all arms swinging in unison, feet moving at the same step in unconscious precision. They moved up the path towards the most ornate, and most well-defended building on the planet – The Praetorium where the leader of the entire Romulan Star Empire lived and ruled.
The Praetor was Rihannsu, like the rest of the overlords of the planet. Cold, arrogant, cruel and hopelessly corrupt, he kept an iron hand on the populace. To rise in society required the favor of the Rihannsu, and any patronage one got was usually through the favor of some distant relative of the Praetor. The closer related to the Praetor, the higher you rose in wealth and influence in Rihannsu society. Betting your future on the wrong family member could spell instant doom. The Praetor kept his boot heel firmly planted on the Romli neck, lest they should overthrow their masters. The Rihannsu had been lording it over the more populous Romli almost since the break with the Vulcans.
For the first time in centuries, the decay in society had reached a point where the Rihannsu had no command cadets in the Academy. The entire graduating class – 2,500 strong – was Romli. It had somehow slipped Rihannsu surveillance that the entire academy was not only Romli, but that they were all related to captains, centurions, and Marines. Influential Military families, with relatives high in Military service… there for the customary graduation ceremony and presentation to the Praetor.
That too had escaped the Rihannsu’s notice.
The class marched to the Praetorium, relatives following behind. It was an army, marching into the capital, a silent invasion.
The current high achiever of the Romulan Military Academy was Ramaar. Not especially tall for a Romulan, but with a great deal of popular charisma. Smart, determined. Long hair with metal ornaments hanging from the ends showed he was a master of the secret unarmed fighting arts that few Romulans could engage in – secret fighting arts jealousy guarded and kept hidden from prying Rihannsu eyes. Ramaar was the son of a Romli Senator, and the grandnephew of a Romulan ship’s Captain – A captain who had tried to undergo a sneak attack against the Federation and never returned. His family status was high. As Cadet Commander, he had been earmarked as a future ship’s captain.
The Rihannsu had failed to catch that as well.
Ramaar strode to the doors of the Praetorium, clad in the historic Romli uniform, gleaming chain main, belted, with a sash at one shoulder, and a badge denoting his rank, the long hair cascading over his shoulders. Two Rihannsu Centurions pulled the doors open and stepped aside.
“Advance and be recognized by the Rightful Ruler of the Romulan Star Empire.” The ritual announcement was made by a man wearing a cloak and fine clothes, stepping out of the Praetorium. D’lenes, the spokesman of the Praetor. His arrogance and cruelty seemed etched in his face, as if by years of sand and venom.
Ramaar gave the briefest nod, and they all snapped to attention, their right hands bringing their right fist to below their left shoulders. D’lenes smirked at Ramaar, eyes travelling looking across Ramaar’s cadet uniform, taking in the ribbons and medals. Ramaar lowered the fist, keeping it closed. D’lenes’ smirked grew wider. The Romli was carrying Behai, the customary present of gold coins to the Praetor, to purchase his first command. The Praetor loved the groveling of cadets, seeking command of a starship. And The Praetor loved more the gift of the gold that purchased the captain’s seat.
D’lenes held out a hand. “Does the one seek the favor of the Praetorium?” He asked, looking at Ramaar under heavy-lidded eyes. Ramaar opened his hand, holding it held down slightly. D’lenes bent lower without thinking, and the cadets exhaled as one. Ramaar had gotten the spokesman of the government to bow to him, with no one realizing it.
D’lenes took his portion of the gold coins, jingling them. “Ah… the sound of a career.” He said. Ramaar took another gold coin of infinitely higher value, and extended his hand to D’lenes, watching as the man’s face lit up. Ramaar’s fingers lost their grip on the coin as it fell. D’lenes looked irritated and bent to retrieve it.
Ramaar shouted a command in Romli. “Forward!” They moved forward, bowling D’lenes over. A comic cry of dismay rose behind them as Ramaar led them into the Praetorium. The doors opened, the Rihannsu guards crossing two heavy bladed weapons in front of the Praetor.
The cadets stopped in front of the Praetor, perfectly in formation, perfectly synchronized. They faced their Praetor, expressionless.
“Who is this bold one?” The Praetor asked. He was obese, old, clad in a dark green cloak and dark crimson clothing, so dark it almost looked black. His attire could purchase enough rations to feed a Romli city for a month.
The cadets stepped into formal parade stance. “Your servant is Ramaar.” the cadet answered.
“Does this one seek the command of one of my star ships?” The Praetor asked, amused by the formality that always led to his own personal enrichment.
“If it pleases the Praetor.” Ramaar answered.
“Let me see if it does indeed please the Praetor.” The Praetor held out his hand, sausage-like fingers beckoning. The crossed weapons separated. Ramaar’s father was standing nearby. He looked at his son, a brief nod exchanged. Ramaar opened his hand over the Praetor’s, a few coins dropping into the incredulous Rihannsu’s hand.
The Praetor laughed, a mocking sound. “A pittance! You bring a pittance to seek my favor! You dare insult your Praetor? This is not enough to buy your worthless Romli life!”
Ramaar threw the rest of the coins in his other hand into the Praetor’s face. As he recoiled, Ramaar spit in the eyes of the greedy ruler. The guards charged, but the ranks of cadets had already surged forward, hands striking in a manner Ramaar had trained them in for almost two years. Clawed hands struck throats, the guards stumbling back, choking, faces turning red. Ramaar kicked the Praetor in the stomach with a blow so hard it nearly drove several of his organs out of his back. The young Romulan grasped the outstretched Praetor’s right hand, snapping the wrist and twisting it.
Ramaar had destroyed the visible sign of the Praetor’s dominance.
He yanked the arm forward violently, pulling the Praetor towards him. A shriek of agony from the doorway told Ramaar that D’lenes had met an agonizing end as well.
The guards, the only protection between the Praetor and the cadets, dropped to the floor, desperate to regain breath they could never take again, shattered windpipes straining but impotent. Ramaar jumped forward, grasping the Praetor around the neck. He twisted his shoulders and hips, a quick, violent surge. The Praetor’s neck snapped like a dried twig. Ramaar threw the Praetor to the ground, ripping the Raptor’s Crown from the head of the Rihannsu leader.
“Know you this!” Ramaar shouted in the face of the astonished and dying tyrant. “The days of the Rihannsu trampling the Rom under foot is done! Hail Romli!”
“Hail Romli!” The Cadets thundered. The ancient cry had not been heard publicly since the exodus from Vulcan. Weapons, ancient and undetectable by modern means, dragged swiftly from inside gloves and boots. The rushing Praetorian guard found themselves outnumbered and outmatched. Green Rihannsu blood spattered the throne room.
Bodies dropped to the floor, and the struggle in the room ended, as the Praetorian guard stopped in their tracks, out numbered. Some of them were Romli, and they were eying their Rihannsu compatriots differently now.
Ramaar saluted his father using the traditional Romli manner, who saluted back – knuckles pressed backwards against the heart, instead of the Rihannsu way that rudely showed knuckles. Ramaar stepped away from the throne and extended the crown to his father. He stepped forward, lifting the proffered crown.
A million remembered dreams and frustrated ambitions swam before Ralenes’s eyes, a million insults swallowed down. A million endured humiliations at the hands of the dead Praetor tormented Ralenes for a moment. It was like an eternity.
With sadness and regret, he made the logical decision, bowing to unremembered genetic memories of the distant past on their planet of origin, Vulcan. He shook his head and stepped back. Ralanes looked at his son, and put a hand up, pushing the crown back to Ramaar. “No.” Ralenes said. “It is not appointed to me.” He settled the crown on Ramaar’s head and stepped back.
The long haired warrior stared in shock as the recruits thundered loudly. “Ramaar! Ramaar! Ramaar!” The Praetorian Guard saluted, taking up the cheer, now rising to deafening pitch.
Ralanes dropped to one knee before his son and bent his head. “Hail to my Praetor.” He said, and those Rihannsu politicians that had not taken part in the struggle quickly bowed as well, hoping desperately this would save their lives.
Ralanes turned to the cadets and gestured. “Advance, and be recognized by the rightful ruler of the Romulan Star Empire!”
“Long live the Praetor, Ramaar! Hail, Praetor!” They thundered.
And Ramaar stood, dumbfounded, as all within the throne room bent their knees before him, pledging loyalty.
The Rihannsu was done. The age of the Romli had come at last.
