by Olivia Woods
“You have an exceptionally well developed eidetic memory and are acutely observant of your immediate environment, especially people. You’re intelligent and mildly athletic. No notable health problems.
“You’ve just been betrothed to your childhood companion and lover of one month, Glinn Ataan Rhukal, presently beginning a five-year tour of duty on Bajor as a member of the personal staff of Gul Morad Pirak. You worry that your relationship will not survive the separation, but you believe the depth of your mutual feelings will ultimately prove stronger than the time you are forced to spend apart. You enjoy the feel of his breath on your neck ridges, especially the right side. Oh, and you hate fish juice for breakfast, preferring a light tea made from marine plants.”
Iliana felt her ridges flushing, her body heat rising with indignation, but she refused to give Entek the satisfaction of seeing it. Instead, she offered up a slow, mocking applause. “Well done. Tell me, do you enjoy dissecting people’s lives?”
“I take no joy in it at all. It’s merely a tool-one I would prefer to use with discretion, but which I’m quite willing to employ openly if a task requires it.”
“What task could you have that would possibly make my humiliation necessary?”
“You,” Entek answered simply. “I need you to understand how serious my choosing to make direct contact with you is, Iliana.”
“Excuse me, I believe I made contact with you-“
Entek shrugged. “Believe that if you must, but I can truthfully say that none of the subjects under my surveillance has ever detected me unless that was exactly what I intended.”
“And you think I’m impressed by that?” Iliana asked. “Flattered? Honored?”
“I think you’re curious.”
She folded her arms. “And what would lead you to think that?”
Again, Entek smiled. “We’re still talking, are we not?”
Iliana frowned. “Not anymore.” Without another word, she turned away and started walking.
“You’re misguided, you know.”
Iliana almost laughed, and once again she stopped and turned to face him. “Am I really?”
“You think your pursuit of the arts is something noble and pure and an end unto itself. But I’m here to tell you that you need set no such limits. You can be much more than you think you are. There are nobler and purer forms of expression.”
Iliana did laugh this time. “Service to the Order?”
“And by extension, to all of Cardassia.”
“You just got through calling me a shallow hypocrite,” she countered. “If that’s what you really believe, why would you want someone like me in the Order? It sounds rather as if you have ample reason to arrest me, not recruit me.”
“That option was considered at some length,” Entek assured her. “People have disappeared for far less, after all.”
“But not I?”
“You have far too much potential, Iliana. You’re confused and wayward, true, but not in any way that’s irreparable. The clay of your life has not yet been fired. It’s still malleable, changeable. As with most young people, much of who you are now is in flux. Left to your own devices, the useless aspects of your evolving identity will be transformed or discarded as you are molded by experience into your true and final form. But the Order can give those changes direction, focus, help you to achieve clarity of self and certainty of purpose sooner than you might otherwise.”
“In other words, you hope to program me.”
“Not at all. Forcing you to be something you are not would be disastrous. Like any proper institute of learning, we merely cultivate whatever is already there. It would have been better for both of us if you’d been identified at an early age and risen through the levels at Bamarren or Surjada, but adult recruitment is not unprecedented, and has on occasion yielded very talented operatives.
“Despite our profile of you, Iliana, I know your concerns about Cardassia are genuine. I’m merely offering you an opportunity to be part of the solution. Being chosen to fulfill one’s duty to the State through such service is no minor thing. The Union has a need for sentinels like those in the Order to stand against the enemies of Cardassia.”
Iliana shook her head, unimpressed. “First you try flattery, then humiliation, now you appeal to my sense of patriotism. How soon should I expect you to threaten my loved ones?”
Entek made a show of thinking about it. “Not for some time, I hope. With any luck, one of my other tactics will work. Eventually.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“Mm. Very well, then.” Entek rose to leave.
Iliana blinked. “That’s it?”
Entek stopped and smiled. “I’m sorry, have I disappointed you again?”
“For someone who claims to have spent the last month observing me closely, you’re giving up rather easily.”
“Who said anything about giving up?”
“Aren’t you? Are we going to go through this all over again a week from now, or do you think I’m going to wake up tomorrow and decide, ‘Entek was right. Where do I enlist?’”
Entek took a step toward her, leaned in, and said very quietly, “I don’t expect it to happen that quickly, no. But I’ve done what I came to do, Iliana. I’ve made you an offer. Eventually, yes, I think you’ll come to realize that the universe you live in isn’t one in which that touching idealism you cling to can survive. And when you understand that, and remember our conversation, I’ll be waiting.” Entek turned and walked away.
Iliana stared after him, furious. “It’ll be a long wait,” she shouted.
“If that’s what it takes,” Entek called, but didn’t look back.
3
2357-2359
My Betrothed Iliana,
My first day on this new world wasn’t at all what I’d expected. We docked at Terok Nor on schedule but were forced to delay beaming down to the planet. During the days leading up to our arrival there were a number of bombings in the district to which we’ve been assigned, and Gul Dukat’s troops were still securing the area. Ironic, given the things Pirak hopes to accomplish as the new regional administrator. What was supposed to have been a mere hour’s delay eventually stretched into a day, much to everyone’s irritation. That said, the prefect was a gracious host, and made the inconvenience of our remaining aboard his station as pleasant an experience as possible.
Dukat’s man on the planet met us when we finally transported down, a dour dalin named Sigol Rusot. He seemed impatient to be off world as quickly as possible, as if he resented having to prepare for our arrival. He clearly has no love for the Bajorans; a group of them had gathered when we first arrived, and Rusot dealt severely with a pair of youths who, in his view, had ventured too close. Gul Pirak was incensed by the unprovoked brutality, and had harsh words for the dalin before banishing him and his men back to Terok Nor. Rusot departed, but with a last look directed at us that clearly bordered on contempt.
You’ll appreciate this: apparently our base of operations on the planet once belonged to a wealthy Bajoran icon painter who in later years transformed his ancestral home into a school for artistically gifted young people. It’s unclear to me what became of him, but he left behind a sprawling compound consisting of a single extravagant mansion where he lived and taught his students, and several smaller satellite buildings that served as dormitories. Gul Pirak, his family, and his senior staff-myself included-moved into the main house. My security force is taking up residence in the surrounding structures, which form an excellent defense perimeter. The bulk of our troops, however, have been deployed throughout the region, relieving personnel rotating offworld, or where security has thinned precipitously because of casualties suffered in terrorist attacks or skirmishes with the insurgents.
I’m still preoccupied by this morning’s incident with Rusot and the Bajorans. I admit that even now, hours later, it mystifies me; the locals we saw seemed haggard, even docile, and posed no threat I could detect. For all anyone really knew, they
were just being friendly. Maybe Rusot was simply taking no chances, given the recent rash of attacks he’d been sent to quell. Maybe he wanted to send a message to any terrorists who might be watching. Maybe he’s simply a brute. Whatever the reason, it’s obvious we have a long road ahead if we’re going to show the Bajorans a Cardassian face that’s different from the one they’re used to.
From my heart to yours,Ataan
Ataan
My Betrothed Iliana,
Today was a revelation. I had the privilege of accompanying Gul Pirak on an aerial tour of our district this afternoon. Our guide was a Bajoran named Oluvas Del, a small, middle-aged man with dark, deeply wrinkled skin and callused hands. He was the Bajoran liaison for the previous regional administrator, and judging by his accommodating manner, I think he hopes to serve in that capacity for Gul Pirak.
Bajor is simply amazing. Our compound is situated just outside the city of Hathon in Dahkur Province. This region is one of the planet’s main centers of agriculture, and it’s easy to see why. Words fail to adequately describe my astonishment at the flora here-forests and farmlands that stretch to the horizon, flower beds thriving in the midday sun. You can scarcely walk ten paces without encountering a fruit tree! Can you imagine?
The city covers a hill that’s surrounded on all sides by farming communities. These lands currently blur together in a disorderly sprawl, but soon they’ll be more easily defined as we rezone the farms and reprioritize the crops grown on them. Central Command wants this district developed for maximum output, part of a larger initiative to make Dahkur Bajor’s primary supplier of food to the homeworld, now that Rakantha Province is no longer able to meet our needs.
That’s where we come in. Our mandate is to supervise the labor force and maintain security. Harvests are sent to the city for processing and transfer to Terok Nor, then shipped to Cardassia Prime. It might sound simple, but it’s a logistical and security nightmare, especially while under the constant threat of terrorist attacks, which have until now been responsible for export losses upwards of thirty percent. A shocking figure, I know. It still astonishes me that the extremists here would rather see the harvests destroyed than be used by us to stave off our food shortages back home. They don’t see-or don’t care-that they’re punishing their own people by forcing us to make up the losses from the portion of the harvests the Bajorans normally reserve for themselves. This world is so blessed-there’s more than enough for everyone, Cardassians and Bajorans alike-and yet the radicals among them, living in the midst of plenty, refuse to recognize Cardassia’s need, its desperation, to share the abundance that Bajor provides.
I can only hope we’re able to save these people from themselves.
From my heart to yours,Ataan
Ataan
My Betrothed Iliana,
Thanks for sending those holos. Everyone here is very impressed with your work. The Lady Pirak is convinced that your paintings will be on exhibit in the capital before long, and that I’ll need to ascend the ranks quickly if I’m to have any hope of keeping up with your inevitable success. (As if I didn’t already feel enough pressure!) One of the gul’s servants, a kindly fellow named Silaran Prin, was especially taken with the images; he keeps asking if you’ll be sending more.
I’ve gotten to know the locals a bit. For the most part they seem quaint and hard-working, if a bit quieter than I expected. At times I’ve tried to engage some of them in casual conversation, but with only limited success. Other times…I have to admit to being surprised and unsettled by some of the Bajorans I’ve encountered. There are a fair number of them who simply stare at us when we pass. On several occasions these encounters have even erupted into verbal confrontations, and these always sadden me; I don’t have the option to ignore seditious behavior, certainly not in front of witnesses, and I truly wish these Bajorans wouldn’t invite the punishments I’m required to mete out.
The children are inquisitive, and always look forward to the treats my men and I have taken to carrying when our duties take us to the nearby townships. Recently they reciprocated by introducing me to a local confection: jumja. The vendors claim it’s a delicacy they’ve perfected over many generations. I believe them; it actually is quite good. But I’ll tell you honestly, Iliana: it’s utterly revolting to behold. Essentially, it’s a wooden stick with a glob of dense tree sap on one end. A more objectionable-looking thing I cannot imagine. I’ll try to send you some.
I’m pleased to report that with the help of a tip from Oluvas Del, my men and I recently foiled a terrorist plot to set off a string of explosions in the processing facility where harvests are prepped for transport. By my estimate we saved one hundred thirty-five tons of food and perhaps as many as seventy Cardassians and Bajorans from injury or worse. The would-be bombers and their accomplices were apprehended, tried, and executed. After three months, I feel as if we’re finally making a difference here.
Reports of our early success in stabilizing Hathon have been well received by Gul Dukat, and the prefect has authorized us to continue our goodwill strategy. Gul Pirak recently directed Oluvas to summon the district’s community leaders to a secure meeting hall in the city, for a two-day conference to promote the benefits of peaceful coexistence, cooperation, allegiance, and vigilance. The gul spoke eloquently about the greatness of the Cardassian Union and the benefits Bajor would enjoy as part of it, once the violence had ceased. He stressed to the gathered Bajorans that as leaders of this region, they bore a responsibility to aid his efforts to keep Hathon safe and secure for everyone.
The Bajorans, for their part, spoke very little during the conference. I’ve noticed that about these people: they seem shy and withdrawn around us. It makes them difficult to read, to gauge their thoughts and emotions. Still, I think we’ve made a good start.
From my heart to yours,Ataan
Ataan
My Betrothed Iliana,
That rock project you mentioned sounds fascinating. I admit I had difficulty picturing it at first, but once you described using the landscape as your medium, I started to imagine the possibilities. I’ll look forward to seeing the results.
There was another attack in Hathon today. That makes five for this district in the last two weeks, and thirty-six since Gul Pirak addressed the community leaders four months ago. This time it was a skimmer rigged with explosives, crashing into the mining operation west of the city. Four of our soldiers were killed, three others wounded. The Bajoran casualties were even higher: eighteen laborers dead, and at least thirty others maimed or severely injured.
Gul Pirak attended a conference on Terok Nor last week with the other occupation commanders to discuss new strategies for dealing with the insurgency. One outcome of the meeting was the decision to establish a weapons depot here in Hathon that will provide support for counterinsurgency efforts throughout this part of Dahkur. Gul Pirak is to be in charge of the facility, and yes, it’s another security headache for me. But at least we’ll have easy access to a wide range of armaments.
Central Command continues to remain adamant that replenishing lost manpower on Bajor is one thing, but increasing troop strength is out of the question; our ongoing border troubles with the Federation simply make it impossible.
Other news from Cardassia has been equally troubling. We’ve known for some time that with the violence on Bajor continuing to escalate, public support of the annexation has been eroding. Now, apparently, the Detapa Council is petitioning Central Command to be allowed to conduct its own study of the matter, after which it will submit recommendations for ways to “resolve” the crisis. Gul Pirak could only shake his head at the idea. Of course, if this proposal is genuine, the study and subsequent analysis of the findings would likely take years, but I will admit to being concerned over the prospect of someday following military policy crafted by the civilian leadership.
I wish I understood why our progress here has been so fleeting. For now, all I can really do is step up patrols, continue bringing in Bajorans for que
stioning, and try not to let the crimes of a few unravel everything we’re trying to do here.
From my heart to yours,Ataan
Ataan
My Betrothed Iliana,
I have sad news. Some weeks back, you may recall, I mentioned that Oluvas Del had gone missing. We now know what happened to him. It pains me to tell you this, but a few days ago, his half-naked body was discovered in a wooded area not far from the compound. He’d been strangled, the word “collaborator” scrawled across his chest. Silaran Prin found the body. The poor man was so distraught, he needed to be sedated.
I’d grown to like Oluvas over the last year and a half, and his death has come as a huge blow to me. He was one of the few Bajorans I’d met who seemed to appreciate the possibilities for Bajor, if only we could put an end to the terrorism. When I heard what had been done to him, I was filled with such anger, Iliana, I wanted to kill the next Bajoran I saw. I didn’t, of course. I did my duty: I rounded up a number of the locals for questioning, made several arrests, and now justice for Oluvas, at least, has been served. Gul Pirak commended me on the speed with which I handled the matter.
