Star Trek Terok Nor 01: Day of the Vipers

by James Swallow

  “Precisely,” said Lale. “And that is something we cannot afford. No, even though the desire for reprisal burns in all of us, we cannot…we must not act rashly.” He glanced toward General Coldri. The officer was still wearing a healing patch across his face, the result of an injury suffered during the Tzenkethi attack. “Our last attempts to do so may have led us to this place. We must tread carefully.”

  Kell cleared his throat. “The Cardassian Union will gladly assist the people of Bajor.”

  For the first time, Keeve Falor spoke up. He had been watching the unfolding conversations with a fixed grimace. “How will you do that, Jagul Kell? I would very much like to know.”

  The Cardassian inclined his head in a nod, ignoring the open challenge in the other man’s words. “My people died in the bombing and during the attacks, Minister Keeve, and that makes this a matter for the Union as much as one for Bajor. Your planet is vulnerable,” he said, “and as Minister Kubus stated, while you go about the important task of rebuilding, who will defend you?” Kell gestured toward Coldri and Jaro Essa, who glowered back at him. “The majority of your Space Guard flotilla is spread thinly across your colonial holdings, and many of the ships based near Bajor are in dry dock or incapable of meeting another attack.”

  “If another attack comes, we will fight to the last man,” grated Coldri. Jas heard the tension in the general’s voice. Coldri felt the responsibility for the aftermath of the attack, and he burned with the ignominy of his failure to prevent it.

  “To the last man,” repeated Kubus, “and what then? Bajor will be open to more assaults, worse than before.” He shook his head. “No. Pride has kept us from this for too long, and now we are paying the price for it.”

  Lale nodded. “Minister Kubus is correct. That is why today I propose an advancement into our partnership with our friends from Cardassia. I will accept Jagul Kell’s offer of military support to bolster the security of the Bajor system.”

  “A squadron of Galor-class warships and attendant support,” Kell said smoothly. “Enough to react to any threat across the B’hava’el system in a matter of moments.”

  Jas blinked. More Cardassians? Can that be right? He glanced around, and to his shock, he saw that almost all of his fellow ministers were nodding in agreement with Lale’s words. It was only Keeve Falor who looked on grim-faced and defiant.

  “Kubus,” said Lale, “you have offered some of your holdings on the moon Derna as a site for the squadron to deploy a command outpost?”

  The minister nodded. “I have—” but he was cut off as Jaro Essa stood up abruptly.

  “A military base?” The major’s normally stoic expression cracked. “First Minister, are you actually proposing that we grant an alien government the right to establish a military facility not just within the boundaries of our star system, but on a satellite of the homeworld itself?” He shook his head. “Do you expect the Militia to accept this diminishment of our authority without protest?”

  Lale’s voice hardened. “What I expect, Major Jaro, is that the Militia will do exactly what the Chamber of Ministers orders them to do. This is a democracy, not a military dictatorship, and we will do what is right for Bajor. The pride of the Militia is a consideration that comes a very distant second.”

  “This is a mistake!” Jaro snapped, glaring at Kell.

  “It is,” growled Keeve, unable to remain silent any longer. “I am in agreement with the major. How can we conscience this?” he demanded. “Lale, you are giving an alien navy a foothold at our very door! Have you learned nothing these past weeks?”

  “The Cardassians saved our planet from destruction,” Kubus retorted. “Without their intervention, the Tzenkethi ship would have laid waste to every settlement, not just a handful! This mutual defense pact will strengthen our world! The Tzenkethi won’t dare attack us again if they know we have the Union on our side. And when we are ready to seek reprisals—”

  “No!” Keeve slammed his fist down on the table in front of him, and the sound was so loud it made Jas jerk back in surprise. “I reject this idiocy, in the name of my clan and my place in this ministry! I will not place my name to this proposal, I deny it.”

  “On a matter of this import there must be consensus,” Lale warned. “If you reject this, Falor, you will have no voice in the assembly.”

  Keeve shoved away the chair behind him and strode into the middle of the hall. Jas saw his adjutant and the keep’s watchmen react with concern; the minister’s rage was so towering it seemed very possible he might strike Lale. “What assembly?” he roared, casting around. “Do you mean this pathetic rabble of frightened, cowed children? Month after month I have sat here and watched the erosion of Bajor’s government under the slow greed and self-interest of men like you!” He stabbed a finger at Lale, at Kubus, and the First Minister’s most vocal supporters. “What have you done but sell our world piecemeal to these aliens?” He rounded on Kell, but the Cardassian was impassive. “Their so-called enclaves in every city, their soldiers and priests infesting our streets, trampling over our culture, our women? It is Cardassians that are leading the rape of our lands with mining and overfarming to feed their planets, it is the Cardassians that brought the Tzenkethi to our world, and what do you do?” He turned back to Lale. “Will you give them Bajor?” He shook his head, his rage ebbing like the tide. “I…I will not remain here to see my homeworld become nothing more than another annexed colony of the Cardassian Union. Do any of you have the courage to stand with me?”

  Keeve’s gaze fell on Jas, and he felt his heart shrink in his chest. His jaw worked, but no words emerged. He broke out in a cold sweat, cursing himself for his weakness once again. His eyes fell to the table, and his hands spread upon it. Ashes and blood, he told himself, so much and yet so little has stained me.

  “I thought as much,” Keeve said, after a moment. He looked away and addressed the room with a bleak ferocity.

  “You will, all of you, live to regret the choices you make here today.” The politician turned his back on the hall and strode out of the door, never looking back.

  There was a long silence before Lale spoke again, his usual tone of neutrality once again in place. “If there are no more comments from the floor, then I move we call for a consensus on the matter of the extended military pact with the Cardassian Union.”

  Keeve Falor glanced to his side as Jekko caught up with him, concern plain on the face of his adjutant. “Sir…” began the man, rubbing at his thin beard.

  “Where is my family?” Keeve cut in.

  “On the ship, sir. The baggage as well. The freighter’s captain told me he’s ready to break orbit the moment you come aboard. He’ll have you at Valo II in a couple of days.”

  “Good.” Keeve nodded, striding out of the keep and across the courtyard. “I’ll take the shuttle straight there from the port.”

  “Sir,” Jekko began again, “what you just did—”

  Keeve halted and looked the other man in the eye. The snarling fury the politician had demonstrated in the hall was gone now, and in its place was a cold, controlled manner. “You think I was wrong to walk away? You think I made a mistake?”

  Jekko shook his head. “I haven’t been in your service for a good decade and more because you’re the kind of man who makes mistakes, sir. Frankly, I don’t think Keeve Falor has ever made an ill-considered choice in his entire life.”

  Keeve smiled slightly. “I’m flattered, Jekko.”

  “But this…You were the only one who had the steel in you to stand up to Lale and Kubus and those spoonheads. Now you just walk away, and you let them have what they want? Where’s the sense in that?” He leaned closer. “I trust you, sir, but you have to explain it to me. How does running make this right?”

  Keeve’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never run from anything,” he said firmly. “But only a fool fights a battle he can’t win.” He jerked his chin at the keep. “You’ve seen how it is in there. Lale has the scared ones scared and the greed
y ones bought. Even the men who might stand up for something are so beaten down they can’t straighten their backs anymore.” He shook his head. “No. If I stay here, I’m a threat. If the Cardassians can make this happen, they won’t give pause to removing me or my family or my whole damn clan.”

  “The Cardassians?” repeated Jekko. “But it was the Tzenkethi who attacked—”

  “Perhaps,” said Keeve, “but the result was in the Union’s favor. As much as I hate to leave my homeworld in the care of cowards, I need distance. Valo II is far enough away to be safe. Out there, I might be able to do something to stem the tide of this insanity. On Bajor, I’m just a target.”

  Jekko nodded slowly; he could see the logic of his master’s words. “The fight’s not over yet,” he said firmly. “Whatever Lale decides in there, the Vedek Assembly still has a considerable influence. The clergy could overturn his edict. It’s happened before.”

  “Only in matters that affect the spiritual life of Bajor.”

  “This doesn’t?” Jekko snorted. “It affects everyone on this planet, if they go to services or not! Kai Meressa won’t let it pass without comment.”

  Keeve’s lips thinned. “The Kai…As much as I hate to say it, but I’m afraid she is in no position to oppose Vedek Arin. Her sickness grows worse, and the shock of the attacks has done little to aid her recovery.”

  “She’s not with the Prophets yet,” Jekko insisted.

  “Where there is life, there is hope.”

  “I hope you’re right.” He put a hand on Jekko’s shoulder. “In the meantime, I need you to stay here after I depart. I’m putting you in charge of all the remaining Keeve clan holdings on the planet. I want you to be my eyes and ears…”

  Jekko found himself nodding. “All right.”

  “This isn’t the end of this, you understand me?” Keeve looked up into the sky and frowned. “This isn’t the end at all. There’s much worse to come.”

  “They’re coming!”

  Hadlo didn’t recognize the voice of the woman, but the raw panic of the cry was plain. In the corridors of the old cargo lighter, women and children in desert robes, men in penitent’s rags, and clerics in blues and yellows all mixed together in a screaming, frantic mass. The old priest had to use violence to get through their numbers, shoving them aside to make his way forward.

  He fell hard as the ship rocked again with another impact, the metallic decking biting into his knees. There was a child’s scream and the wet snap of bone as a young boy broke a limb behind him. Hadlo did not stop to minister to him; there were matters of far greater import to deal with. He went on, adrenaline driving him, making his old muscles tight with pain.

  Hellish light spilled in through the grimy portholes in the ceiling of the corridor, beyond them the sight of twisting, writhing hurricanes of yellow-gold energy. They were still inside the sector of space the crewmen called the Badlands, but the constant plasmatic storms had provided poor cover for the Oralians. In the hectic flight from Cardassia, they had not had the luxury of choosing the best men to ferry them. Two ships had been destroyed by the storms in the first day, streams of glowing fire consuming them when they ventured too close. The planetoids Hadlo had been told would serve the Oralians as a hiding place turned out to be barren and airless rocks, warrens of stone that had no functioning life support, no shielding from the constant flood of radiation that bathed everything in the Badlands.

  It had been Hadlo’s choice to stay on the ships, in the ragged flotilla of transports that were all they could muster. His choice—just as it had been his choice to leave countless adherents to the faith behind when the ships had been filled. The cleric saw their faces in the people around him, when he closed his eyes, every night in his dreams. He saw them through the portholes, watching as the last ship lifted off, leaving them to the mercy of a military that had named all of them dissidents and terrorists.

  Hadlo pushed on, batting away hands that grabbed at his robes, ignoring the pleading cries. The compartment was just a little farther away.

  Red light blazed through the windows and tore a scream from the refugees. He glanced up and saw dying energies falling back on themselves, consuming the gunmetal cylinders of the big bulk tanker; there had been at least seven hundred Oralians on board that ship.

  The cleric couldn’t see the vessels that had fired the killing shots, and he tore himself away, moving again, pushing and snarling at the living tide around him. At last he was at the hatch and he forced it open. Hadlo closed the door behind him and sank to the floor just as another blast buffeted the lighter.

  He dragged himself into the chair before the communications console, his hands shaking. How did they find us? The question rolled through his mind. The Badlands are an uncharted wilderness…This cannot be chance…The answer brought a sour taste to his mouth. Betrayal, then! Someone sold our lives for their own! Of course! One of the ship crews perhaps, or an Oralian who had fallen from the Way and lost faith.

  Hadlo tried to work the controls, but his hands were shaking. In his nostrils there was the stink of ashes and blood, and he felt a sudden rasping tightness around his feet and ankles. He did not dare look down for fear of seeing the vipers coiling around him. “The vision!” he cried. The dream granted to him by the Orb was returning again.

  Reality hazed and flowed like rain across a windowpane. Rough caresses over his legs and bare feet, a touch like old dry parchment. The snakes burying him, ashes and fire and the wind like razors, the screaming hooded faces—

  Hadlo slammed his hands on the console and shouted, “No! Oralius, I beg you! We cannot perish unknown in this place! I must…I must be heard!” The cleric punched at the controls, fear robbing him of reason. “Bennek! Bennek, do you hear me?” He stabbed at the transmit key. Nothing but snarling static answered him, and the ship howled as more shots struck it. Lights flickered as the power trembled toward darkness.

  He dropped to his knees. There would be no worse fate than this one, he realized. To die unrecorded and unremembered, all that he had done for his faith swept away in a plume of nuclear fire. I will not die in silence! I must be heard!

  “Oralius…Oralius?” He shouted the name. “Prophets! Do you hear me? Have you all abandoned me? My love is for you both—”

  “There are no gods here, Hadlo.”

  The voice made the cleric jerk back with fear. “W-who?”

  Laced with interference, the words hissed from the communicator console. “It took me a while to find you, Hadlo. But I told you this day would come, do you remember?”

  He scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the porthole in the wall of the lighter’s hull. Outside he saw two shapes moving slowly, circling the vessel: Cardassian warships. “Dukat?” Hadlo said the name like a curse.

  “You are no more use to Cardassia, priest. Your gods have forsaken you. Your faith will not protect you.” Hadlo could almost see the smile.

  “No!” He lunged at the console. “The Way is eternal, it cannot be destroyed! You must not do this, Dukat! The path to the fire and the burning cities, this will bring that to pass! I have seen it, I know the future—”

  But the signal had already ceased, and outside a salvo of disruptor bolts reached down to tear the freighter apart.

  It was a simple memorial, one among hundreds of others. There were funerals taking place every day in a dozen cities, and even as Darrah bent to run his fingers over the arc of Lonnic’s headstone, the sounds of ritual chants reached him from across the ornamental gardens. In a moment of open grief, Jas Holza had ordered that part of the keep’s grounds be consecrated as a place of rest. Markers had sprouted up overnight, and here in this eastern corner there were places for those who had perished in the reprisal fleet at Ajir. Nearby a woman and a young dark-haired boy stood holding duranja lamps in front of the stone etched with Li Tarka’s name. The woman was crying, but the look on the boy’s face was firm with determination as he laid a prayer paper at the foot of the arch.

  D
arrah rested his hand on the sun-warmed stone and thought of Lonnic Tomo. One more loss among so many. He took a breath, and it shuddered through him.

  “Sorry about your friend.” Syjin put his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable to be among the dead.

  Darrah stood. “Thanks.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Why are you here?”

  Syjin nodded at another arch. “Paying my respects, like you. The engineer on the Kylen used to crew with me.” He blew out a breath.

  “I didn’t bring any papers,” Darrah said quietly. “Didn’t come here to see Tomo, really. I want to talk to Osen.” He jerked a thumb at the keep behind them.

  “They made him a vedek, I heard.”

  “Yeah. A lot of priests died when the monastery fell, Cotor and a lot of others. Arin had Gar pushed up the ranks to fill the gaps.” He sniffed. “But now he’s got duties, what with the monks from Kendra being rehoused at the keep for the interim…”

  “And he doesn’t have time to talk to an old friend?”

  “Yeah.” Darrah nodded again. Gar’s refusal to even see the inspector wasn’t like him. He thought about that stormy night again, of Gar’s wild claims. It was one more element of a growing disquiet that hung around the lawman like a cowl of smoke.

  Syjin kicked at a loose stone. “Listen, uh, Mace. It’s best you hear this from me before someone else tells you. I don’t want you to get mad or anything, okay?”

  Darrah looked up at him and said nothing.

  “Karys and the cubs? It was me, okay? She came to me and she asked me to take them to the colony on Valo II. I didn’t put the idea into her head or anything, but I got them offplanet.”

  A flare of anger burned bright and then died just as quickly. “No. It’s all right. I’m glad it was you. You don’t need to be sorry. I feel better knowing it was someone trustworthy who did it. Thank you.”