The magistrate’s residence on Daloon was simply and unimaginatively called Government House. It wasn’t some grand effigy of Romulan statehood or a monolithic reminder to the people of just who really dictated their lives, but a relatively modest compound just off the heart of the city of Tama Flats. The river framed the compound on one side, walls twice the height of a man on two others, the open side facing out onto a street that separated Government House from the People’s Assembly.

The house itself was a square structure with a courtyard in the middle that would have made a decent sized park in most places, indeed was larger than a few of the parks in the city. But that courtyard was the private retreat of Magistrate Tanok L’rilt, who was today sitting at a small table, opposite his daughter, partaking of breakfast that had been brought out to them. The weather was delightful, the clouds kept the sun at bay, and the wind was just enough to occasionally rustle the trees but otherwise let them be in peace.

A peace that Tanok was determined to enjoy as much as he possibly could, for it wasn’t to last.

He was an old man, preparing to hand the reins of power over to his daughter in the next year or so, save that wouldn’t happen now. There was no Senate, by all accounts, to ratify the appointment of his nominated successor to a world that was mostly forgotten. And that ratification was the thread of legitimacy by which his family had held power on Daloon for centuries.

Rel was his only recognised heir, the only one he trusted to assume the magistrate’s office upon his retirement and now she was busy fighting to keep Daloon from collapsing into all-out conflict and war like so many other worlds. She was so much like her mother – brilliant, determined, eloquent. She had the common good of Daloon and its people at heart.

And she’d never get to lead if things weren’t managed just right in the coming weeks and months.

“What are you thinking father?” she asked him, looking up from her breakfast. She wasn’t a classical beauty, but a handsome woman, like her mother had been. Those same eyes that pierced right through him. “You’re worried about the Assembly again aren’t you?”

“I always worry about the Assembly. Take away the Star Empire and they now think they’re our equals in all matters of government instead of the advisors they’ve always been,” he said melancholically. “We’re so close to losing control and Daloon could fall into civil war, forgotten by all. Our family’s legacy for nought.”

“Should I put your heart to ease then father?” she asked, offering a wry smile. “I’ve heard back on our request for assistance and outside mediation. There’s a Starfleet vessel on its way here right now.”

“Starfleet,” he sighed, then held a hand up to quieten Rel’s protests before she gave voice to them. “I’m an old man Rel and the Federation has always been the Romulan people’s enemy.” Again he waved her protests down. “I know, I know, propaganda of the state. But you hear it all your life, louder every time you go off-world. Intellectually you know it’s not true, but’s become part of the cultural self.”

“The Republic and the Free State seemed to have shrugged such ideas off,” Rel said flatly.

“Interstellar politics is a game for the young, able to adapt and change their attitudes. We Romulans used to be the static centre for which the chaotic galaxy revolved around.” He nodded once. “But again, I show my age and my upbringing. The Assembly agreed to your terms of Starfleet over any other group mediating the transitional government after all. I guess everyone could agree to disadvantage each other at least?”

“And not to invite the Klingons,” she said with huff at the end. “Though I suspect Marik would have been happy with a klingon invasion to rally supporters to his cause.”

“Uhlan Kavos is a washed-up failure who you should pay no heed to,” Tanok found himself saying rather harshly. “How someone spent thirty years in the Navy and never proceeded past Uhlan I’ll never know.”

“I can’t ignore him, father. Daloon was a very popular retirement world for a while. We have a very large veteran population that seemingly likes what he has to say.”

He found himself setting the knife down, the toast slathered in jam, and just staring at the food in front of him. His appetite just hadn’t been the same since hearing about the massacre on Rator, or reading the missives from the Navy. It had gotten worse when this new upstart had invited Daloon, right on the edge of the sector to pitch in with his movement. Either way, he was bound to make enemies and eventually bring conflict to his world, if just so Daloon could be the feather in someone else’s hat.

“Democrats, Traditionalist, Militarists,” he recited the simple labels given to the movements that were congealing on Daloon, representatives within the Assembly siding with one faction or another, rallying those that represented as best they could to the cause. “Any other groups since yesterday I should be worried about?”

The Democrats wanted free and fair elections, a constitution written by and for the people. Total and utter anarchy would ensure afterwards. The common Romulan wasn’t fit to rule themselves. The Senatorial families were the rulers of the Empire, the Magistrates their will on individual worlds. The people couldn’t be trusted.

Then the Traditionalists had their counter – a return to the ways of old. The same ways of old that had just seemingly doomed the Senate on Rator. If the rules and style of government had seen the Romulans maintain their preeminence in the galaxy for centuries before the supernova, they could do it once more. Maybe, a few concessions for a different era, but they were fools who wanted to keep to old ways that had clearly failed.

And to round out the idiotic ideas of governance for Daloon were the Militarists. A collection of old, battered, forgotten veterans who wanted to fall in line with the dictates of Rator immediately. To pledge their loyalty to the Admiralty and impose military law across Daloon with themselves as the rulers of the world. Not a single one of them had made it past Centurion but they all had egos Praetors of old would have been jealous of.

“A new group has indeed formed actually,” Rel said with a smile. He didn’t like that smile. It meant his daughter had an idea he wasn’t going to be immediately enamoured with. The same smile she wore when she informed him of her intention to suggest to the Assembly that they request Starfleet come to Daloon.

“Who?” he demanded.

“They lack a formal name for now but are happy enough with what they propose for Daloon – constitutional monarchy.” Rel reached down, collected a datapad from her satchel and handed it to him, for business was after all going to be discussed after breakfast as it had been every morning for the last ten years since he appointed her Secretary of the House, Daloon’s day to day head of government.

“Limited concessions of governmental styling to both the Democrats and the Traditionalists without giving either side what they truly want. A Preator of Daloon with some restrictions to their power and answerable in some capacity to the Assembly.” She seemed proud of herself as she spoke while his eyes started to go over the manifesto in front of him.

The writing style, the mannerisms in the document, all of them were familiar, but he couldn’t place it, till he was two pages in. “You wrote this,” he said quietly, looking up at his daughter. “You want to throw away centuries of quiet prosperity on Daloon for this.”

“No, I want to preserve Daloon and our legacy,” she answered him back cooly. “The Democrats get their Assembly of commoners, the Traditionalists get a Senate, whose makeup we will discuss and not let them dictate, and you, father, get to become Daloon’s first Praetor. Everyone gets to claim a marginal win, yours will just be bigger, significantly bigger, then anyone elses.”

“Commoners in government. Pah!” He set the pad down and grabbed at his toast. “I don’t like it.”

“You appoint commoners to positions of authority all the time,” Rel snapped back to him. “People of good character and skill.”

“Because I test them beforehand and make sure they fit with the ideals our family have used to govern this world. Letting the people choose will result in chaos.”

“Read the document father.” Rel reached out to put her hand over the pad before he could grab it, the speed f youth compared to the frailty of age. “After breakfast and a walk around the gardens. You can tell me what you think of it at dinner.”

He grumbled before nodding his head, withdrawing his hand. He had been intending to throw the pad into the bushes of the garden around him in disgust, but his daughter, his heir and his trusted right hand had obviously gone to all this effort for a reason and he owed it to her to give it a cursory look over at least.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to like it.”

“Read the references at the end if you doubt I haven’t well researched the proposal. And I have many supporters within the Assembly and the Cabinet behind me already. Something to do with you being a fair, just, reasonable Magistrate who has never steered Daloon wrong, or our family either.”

He glared at his daughter, knowing that all of his was his own fault. Grooming her for this job, ultimately for his own. Political thought tutors, philosophy of statecraft, forcing her to accompany him when he toured Daloon and its people. He’d made her a ruler in waiting and she was seeing an opportunity to cement her claim.

It was so beautifully Romulan of her.

“Speaking of family father, have you heard from Koteb?”

He had gone from angry, to pleased with Rel, to angry once more at the mention of that name. His son, who cared nought for Daloon or its people, who had gone off-world to serve in the Navy, to make his name amongst the glittering towers of Rator and the instruments of Imperial power. His only care had been for power, not how one achieved it or maintained it.

He hadn’t seen his son off in good words, cursing him in fact when he defied his dictates and left. They hadn’t gotten along since Koteb had been a boy, the boy taking after his uncle, the famous Commander. His own brother, the idiot who died like so many because their pride had delayed them in asking the Federation for help. Koteb swore in their last communique that he’d be powerful one day, coming back with a Senatorial writ and removing Tanok from the Magistrate’s office and doing with Daloon what he wanted.

That had been the day when he’d banished his son from ever returning home. Koteb would only ever be able to come back if the Senate had granted him what he swore he’d attain. And now that would never come to pass.

He looked down at his breakfast. He’d only taken a single bite.

“I have no son, just a male offspring.”