Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine

by Heather Jarman

  “There’s Keiko again!” O’Brien said, not quite managing to keep the pride and excitement out of his voice. Really, O’Brien could be almost endearing at times.

  And yet he had also, in the past, showed not inconsiderable skill as a kotra player himself. Garak tapped the stylus impatiently against the palm of his hand. Whatever its manifold charms, the Federation was hardly lining up to fall in with Garak’s priorities—not that that came as much of a surprise to him. In Garak’s extended and not always entirely enthusiastic experience, the Federation seemed to specialize in saying one thing and doing another. One might almost call it their Prime Directive. Yes, it might give them something of a predictable quality—but that was not quite the same as being dependable. And while Garak would be the first to agree that he was hardly in a position to reprimand the Federation for showing a certain…elasticity toward truth—indeed, while trapped on Deep Space 9 he had yearned for at least one of those earnest Starfleet officers to show just a little glimmer of corruptibility—still, right at this point, he would have liked to have counted on the Federation’s unequivocal support for Ghemor. It would be infinitely preferable to their current offering of sympathetic noises combined with lofty disinterest.

  Garak looked thoughtfully across at the broadcast. Yevir—now, that was someone moving at will around the board. And with plenty of others moving around in his wake. Garak tapped the stylus against his lips. It was exasperating how the peace process had lost its political momentum, how it had become solely the province of Yevir and Ekosha and their followings. What Garak wanted—what he would like, if everyone would just have the common courtesy to arrange themselves precisely as he wished—would be to find or, failing that, to engineer some point of connection between the two, between Yevir and Ghemor.

  Is there any way that they could be brought together?

  He turned the pen again between his fingers, and then sighed to himself. It was a fantasy, of course, and Garak had long since learned not to indulge himself in those. Ghemor was too far out already—he was perceived as too reliant on the Federation, and he was certainly too compromised by the need to juggle all the demands of the domestic political scene. Reaching out a hand in friendship to the Bajoran religious leader would only increase rather than lessen Ghemor’s growing reputation for weakness. And there was no gain for Yevir from courting the castellan, not that Garak could see. Not when Yevir was doing so well all by himself….

  On the screen, the vedek was speaking with quiet fervor about the work being done at Andak, praising the team and its leadership, and the willingness shown by so many people there, from such different perspectives, to work together for the good of Cardassia. Give him his due, Yevir’s speeches always conveyed his conviction.

  “There is one thing you can say for him,” Jartek said. “He knows how to please a crowd. And all without sounding the least bit false.”

  “Yes, but, you know,” complained Ghemor, “if I could make speeches like this, instead of ones about which agricultural reclamation technology has garnered my support, I think my popularity would rise markedly.”

  O’Brien grunted. “Well, some people get excited about technology,” he muttered.

  “And anything can be turned into a vote winner,” Jartek said, with confidence.

  Garak—safely hidden away at the back of the room—looked at him with loathing, but stopped short of baring his teeth. Jartek seemed to awaken his hitherto unsuspected inner Klingon, and Garak had quite enough on his mind at the moment without learning to embrace that….

  Covertly, anxiously, he took a good look at Ghemor, and he worried to see the stress lines that were more and more deeply en-grained on his face, fretted again at how much the man had aged in only the past few months. Ghemor’s threat to resign had frightened Garak—plain and simple. Part of his motivation for saying it, Garak knew, had been for O’Brien’s ears, to send a message back that the castellan would appreciate a little leeway from his Federation allies, a little room to maneuver. But on some level, Garak was sure, Ghemor had meant it. On some level, Garak didn’t really blame him. But if Ghemor went, who could replace him?

  The fact of the matter—whatever others might wish—was that there was no one else. No one else with the determination, no one else with the will. Or, to put it another way, no one else mad enough to push themselves forward as the focal point for all the griefs and the grievances that currently beleaguered Cardassia. Once again, as he did from time to time, Garak thought of Damar; once again he regretted him. And then he suppressed the thought as quickly as he could. Another fantasy. Garak had accumulated many regrets over the years, and not one of them had ever helped him in a crisis.

  No, there was no real candidate to replace Ghemor. And so that, Garak decided unilaterally, was not an acceptable outcome to this game.

  At least he has some allies….

  Garak’s eye fell again upon Jartek. He felt a moment’s uncertainty, and then a contemptuous smile curled across his lips. Whatever Jartek might tell himself in those long silences of the night, he was not and never would be a match for Garak. Not with that neckline.

  Anyway, there were other, more troubling competitors around, and those were far more deserving of Garak’s attention than Jartek…Entor, for one. Now, he really was a threat. And an increasingly confident one, if Garak’s instincts were to be trusted—and they were, after all, the only instincts that he did trust. Entor’s little scene this morning had been one in a long line, but it had been so blatant, so outrageous…Entor didn’t think he could lose this battle, Garak realized, with a sinking heart. Entor was convinced that the Andak Project’s days were numbered. Garak pressed the metal of the stylus against his cheek. It was cold. His hands had not warmed it.

  You’re so very sure of yourself, Entor. You know something that I don’t know—and I do rather tend to take exception to that. It really is not courteous of you at all.

  Back on the screen, Yevir was talking about his mission to Cardassia, about his hope that, between them, the Cardassians and the Bajorans could find a lasting peace. About how glad he was that the Oralian Way had been willing to take the first step with him toward that peace.

  Ways and means, Garak thought, his attention wandering away from the transmission. It’s all about ways and means. He drummed the pen against the palm of his hand again, thought about his frustration, about the way he felt the pieces were lining up against him….

  If you don’t like the rules—there’s really only one answer. So what’s the plan, Garak?

  He frowned for a second, and then allowed himself a small smile. After all, he loved a good game of kotra—and he really hated losing.

  The plan? I don’t know yet—but when I’ve got one, I guarantee you, it will be the work of a master.

  He flipped the stylus up in the air with his left hand, caught it expertly in the right, and turned back to the broadcast.

  People, he observed, were careless in their use of color. The crowd was like oil on water, a heliotrope ripple round the bright orange of the vedek’s robes, swelling and breaking with his oratory. He allowed his mind to fall in with the pattern of the words.

  And then everything went black.

  Ghemor swore under his breath. “How,” he said, looking up beseechingly to the heavens, “am I supposed to run a government when the damned power keeps cutting out!” His voice had risen too.

  O’Brien had gone over to the screen and was trying the time-honored engineer’s technique of thumping it hard. “And there was I thinking government was the source of power,” he said dryly.

  Ghemor growled. “I think you’ll find that the People have something to say on that score.”

  Jartek tipped his head.

  “The lights are still on,” Garak said flatly. Everyone turned to look at him.

  “What?” said O’Brien, puzzled, his brow furrowing.

  Garak jabbed the stylus upward at the yellow strips on the ceiling. “The lights are still on. And look
at the display.” He pointed toward it with the pen, at the control panel on it, which was flickering away, calmly and unperturbed. “This isn’t a power cut. My guess is that someone’s pulled the broadcast. Or is blocking it.”

  Garak gritted his teeth and felt the frustration rising up within him again.

  There is someone else playing on this board. Someone I missed. Someone I know nothing about…. He threw the stylus onto the desk, bitterly.

  Ghemor straightened himself up in his chair. O’Brien was still staring at Garak, his confusion beginning to turn into alarm. “Why would anyone—?”

  And then the com on Ghemor’s desk chimed, urgently.

  “Everything appears to be going rather well.”

  Redleaf tea in an antique cup is passed from one hand to another.

  “Would you say so? I take it you’ve read the report on what happened at the committee meeting? After the official transcriptions ended?” A nervous gesture toward an untidy pile on the nearby desk. “Jartek is pushing Entor very hard—perhaps too hard. I’m afraid he…he might be cracking. And then where will we be?”

  “Indeed…that could be a problem….”

  “He cannot be allowed to become careless. There’s nothing to establish a direct link, of course?”

  A crease is smoothed out of a stained but well-tailored suit. “Of course not…” Then the hand reaches out and picks up a book resting on the arm of the chair—a battered volume of stories by Shoggoth. “Another of your finds? This one has certainly been through the wars….”

  “You like enigma tales?”

  The book is set back down.

  “Do you know, I always found them rather tiresome.”

  11

  Somehow Keiko managed to keep the smile going, but inwardly she was still fuming as she accompanied Yevir through the lecture hall, past the crowd assembled there, and toward the dais at the far end. He himself was quiet and contemplative as he walked alongside her, hands folded before him, completely unreadable. She wondered what he had made of Tela’s appeal, wondered if it had altered his perception of the project—wondered if it would make him change the content of his speech….

  Of all the times for Tela to pick to let us know she’d seen the blinding flash of light and converted to democracy! And I could hardly stop her from giving her opinion, now, could I? But couldn’t she have waited until later—perhaps spoken to Yevir at the reception? Couldn’t she have just waited until there weren’t any reporters around, hanging on every freely expressed word…!

  Keiko sighed. If she was being brutally honest with herself, what she was angriest about was that she had missed it. Tela had given her a warning—in a typically elusive, Cardassian fashion, yes, but a warning just the same—and Keiko had not heard it.

  I should have guessed something like this might happen. I admit it—I misread her. I thought we’d come to some kind of understanding…. I thought she knew I was taking her concerns seriously…. Well, Tela, I’m taking you seriously now. Very seriously.

  Walking just behind Keiko, to her left, was Feric. She glanced at him, quickly. Feric was good at presenting a calm face to the world, but Keiko saw that his eyes were slightly narrowed under their ridges, saw the tightness around the edges of his mouth, saw that his hands were clasped firmly behind his back. Keiko had gotten to know Feric well and there was no mistaking how he felt. He was angry. She gave him a small, encouraging smile, but he couldn’t quite manage one back.

  Keiko looked over her other shoulder. Next to Feric walked Tela. She too seemed outwardly unruffled, although she was fingering the badge that she was wearing, just as earlier in the day she had twisted her bracelet around and around.

  Well, I hope you are feeling unsure about what you just did.

  The four of them went up the steps and onto the dais, where four seats had been set out, just behind the lectern. Courteously, gracefully, and yet both moving with a great deal of purpose, Feric and Tela put Yevir between them. It was, Keiko thought, a very Cardassian maneuver. At least they had that in common.

  Keiko went up to the stand to introduce their guest to the community at large, keyed up the notes for her little speech on her padd, and then looked out across the hall. The two rows nearest the front were filled with the children from the school, and she caught sight of Molly among them, sitting on her hands, rocking back and forth a little, excited to see her mother up on the stage. She gave her a quick grin in return. Behind the schoolkids, almost the whole of the team from Andak was assembled—the scientists, the technicians, all the support staff—mostly Cardassian, but with Federation people here and there among the rest. Naithe was sitting at the end of one row, near the aisle, chattering away at one of the young Cardassian engineers who was looking slightly frayed by the Bolian’s attentions. There were even one or two Bajorans here and there—an agricultural specialist from Keiko’s own team; a physicist that Tela had appointed…Even Tela, Keiko thought, had picked the best people for the job, regardless of their backgrounds.

  It was, Keiko realized with a rush of excitement, the first time she had seen all of the team gathered together at once. And this picture before her was so much what she had hoped for, so much as if her dreams for a community had come real, that Keiko forgot Tela, forgot the press lining the sides of the hall, forgot all of her worries, and remembered to be proud once again of all that was being done—of all that there was to be achieved—at Andak. She smiled at her team gladly, a smile that would make her husband—half a continent away—exclaim with barely concealed pride at the sight of it. And then she set her padd aside and spoke from the heart.

  “I don’t need to tell all of you how important today is for Andak. I know I don’t need to tell you, because in the past few days you’ve all shown—with all your help, all your support—just how much you understand what today means to the project, to the community. You’ve all shown me how proud you are of the work we’re doing here, how you want the whole of Cardassia, and beyond, to understand the significance of our project. To understand that what we’re doing—and how we’re working together to achieve it—can stand for Cardassia’s future in the quadrant.”

  She paused. The first rush of adrenaline that she always got from speaking in public was leaving her, and she felt a surge of nerves in the pit of her stomach. But when she looked round the hall, people were smiling up at her, encouraging her.

  “When Vedek Yevir first approached me to come and visit Andak, I knew at once that he, of all people on Cardassia today, had to come here to learn more about our work and our community. Because Vedek Yevir, too, has the future of Cardassia at heart. I knew that he would understand all that this project is about, all that it means for Cardassia and, so, the rest of the quadrant. I’m very glad that so many of us—Cardassian, Bajoran, human—have been able to come here to Andak. I’m very glad too that the vedek has come today, to meet us, and to speak to us, so that we can all learn from each other how we can build Cardassia’s future. Please, all of you, join me in welcoming him here to Andak.”

  She stepped back from the lectern and began to clap, and the rest of the gathering followed suit. Yevir took his place at the stand, but it was a minute or two before the room went quiet enough for him to begin speaking. Keiko didn’t hear much of what he said at first. Still nervous from having given her own speech, she took in a deep breath and sat down. Feric, sitting next to her, leaned in and whispered, “Nice speech, Keiko. I hope he appreciates you warming up the audience for him.”

  I hope he does too—and forgets about all that nonsense with Tela.

  She began to listen.

  “—cannot praise highly enough the principles behind the work being done at Andak—”

  She heaved a sigh of relief. It looked like he was going to stay on script, and leave any discussion of Tela’s intervention until a more private moment.

  “—in particular the direction being given by Professor O’Brien—”

  The applause from the audience that met
this touched Keiko much more than Yevir’s words, grateful though she was for them.

  Well, it’s always nice to be appreciated! And nice to know I’m doing something right!

  “—the willingness of all of you here, from so many different backgrounds and persuasions, to work together for the good of Cardassia, and the vision that you all share for the future of this planet—”

  Keiko began to relax. Yevir was a good speaker—and all of this praise was very timely for the project….

  “Because,” Yevir continued, “as I have seen and learned from my visit here today, projects like this one represent not just the physical but also the spiritual regeneration of Cardassia…”

  In the capital, Mev Jartek too was admiring Yevir’s style, and wishing to himself that he could persuade Ghemor to be perhaps a little more crowd-pleasing, perhaps a little less hard-hitting….

  “—it has been a great inspiration to find that you all share so much in common with my own vision, my own mission to Cardassia.” Yevir paused, and looked around the hall. “When I came here to Cardassia, it was in the hope that—between us—we Bajorans,” he pressed his hands against his heart, “and you Cardassians,” he gestured around the hall, “could finally find the way toward peace between us. I was most glad that the Oralian Way,” he nodded at Feric, “was willing to take the first steps with me toward that peace.”

  Well, Keiko thought, that was a pretty explicit demonstration of support for Feric. I’m going to enjoy hearing what Tela will have to say about that later….

  Suddenly, Keiko noticed a Cardassian girl. She looked no more than fourteen years old, and she was loosening the fastenings on her jacket. A little farther along the platform, Tela Maleren shifted forward and murmured, “Nyra?”

  Half a continent away, in the capital, Elim Garak was staring at the colors on the screen, staring at them hard until their pattern shifted and they merged into one another. As is the case with nearly all so-called live broadcasts, there was a minute or two delay between event and transmission, between the motion and the act; and because of this he had not yet seen—when the screen went black—Nyra Maleren walking steadily down the hall and up onto the stand. He had not cast an expert eye over the device that was strapped to her chest beneath her jacket. And neither was he there to confirm what Yevir Linjarin had said when he took a step back and muttered to Keiko O’Brien.