by S. D. Perry
The soundproof room was large, with chairs arranged in semicircular rows before a podium in the center. The design of the classroom, with graduated tiers rising up to the back of the room, made amplification devices unnecessary, helping to ensure that conversation was not likely to be monitored. Natima had personally checked for listening devices, and as she had expected, there were none. But Dr. Tuken, a professor from the settlement in the Cuellar system who had been chosen to chair the meeting this afternoon, still appeared too ill at ease to speak freely. His statements were vague, his intentions unclear. Natima felt a little annoyed, for she took the man’s unease as a sign of his mistrust in her. She found his overly cautious, halting manner to be distracting, as well.
She glanced across the room to Gaten Russol, now a gul in the military, and saw from his expression that he was thinking the same thing that she was. After so many years of friendship, she could read him like a book. He met her eye, and then he stood.
“Thank you, Doctor Tuken,” Russol said smoothly, “for that introduction. I have a few items that I wish to address.”
“Of course, Gul Russol,” Tuken said, and stepped down from the podium. If he resented the interruption, he didn’t show it; nearly everyone knew to defer to Gul Russol. If their unnamed movement had a leader, it was Gaten Russol, and while the membership remained only somewhere in the hundreds, the squabbling and lack of direction of days past was gone now. The small, committed groups around the Union had mostly narrowed their focus toward common goals.
“Regarding my communication with the Federation,” Russol began, which brought up a faint murmur from a few people seated around the room. Talk of Federation correspondence was probably the riskiest topic anyone could have chosen to address out loud, even taking the new treaty into consideration. It was certainly an attention getter. Natima thought he may have deliberately chosen it to offset Tuken’s cautious approach, and watched with mounting interest. Her friend seemed especially intense this day, his shoulders tight, his expression grim.
“The talks have been mostly fruitless,” he went on. “The Federation adheres to a very strict set of rules regarding involvement in other worlds’ affairs. They are reluctant to help us, especially now that they have a treaty with our government. The treaty has, unfortunately, weakened our position with our own people, for there were many who felt that the struggles over the border territories were drawing strength from the Union. Now, many of those Cardassian subjects who were beginning to lose faith in the military government have been placated by the treaty.”
Natima nodded, along with many of the others. The movement had lost a few of its followers as a result of the treaty, although most of the people involved with the dissidents felt that Cardassia’s social, political, and economic woes could not be solved with one insincere treaty. Natima was sure the treaty was simply a means for Central Command to buy some time while it plotted its next move. But even if it had been genuine, the treaty was no better than a sticky plaster over a terminal hemorrhage.
“We all know that Cardassia has problems that extend far beyond the border colonies,” Russol said, echoing Natima’s thoughts. “The violence on Bajor is worse than ever. Even more perplexing, it is said that the resources there will not last another generation—but Central Command will not admit that it is time to withdraw our presence on that annexed world. And yet—” Russol paused dramatically to look around the room at his friends and cohorts. “What if we did pull out of Bajor? What would happen then?”
More murmuring as people in the audience muttered the answers to themselves and to the people seated near them. Russol spoke again, his eyes shining passionately. “Some say our government would simply look for another world to exploit, instead of drawing on the strengths of our own world, our own people—we would look for other worlds to conquer, instead of forming alliances that could help Cardassia become self-sufficient. But I do not see that as a foregone conclusion.
“We know that the Detapa Council has relatively little power in our governmental structure. In leaner times, our world was forced to defer to the military, stripping the power away from our civilian leaders. However, a majority vote coming from that body can still make certain decisions for Cardassia Prime. The issue, as we all know, is that the varied interests of the council members has made it all but impossible to achieve a majority vote on anything. We know it, and Central Command knows it. But what if this were to change?”
Russol leaned forward on the podium, as if to draw his audience physically closer for what he was about to say. “We can’t rely on the Federation, or anyone else, to help us anymore,” he said. “It’s time for more drastic measures. We have talked long enough, and now we have to act.”
A hush had fallen over the room, until someone finally spoke. “What are you proposing, Gul Russol?” It was Dr. Tuken, his voice trembling slightly.
“We cannot expect any change to come about from the military—we need the Detapa Council to be on our side,” he said. “In recent years, with no small thanks to the efforts of the people here, many of the civilian leaders on the council have begun to favor a position very much like our own. In fact,” he added, “there is more than one member of the Detapa Council taking an active involvement in our movement.”
A number of people looked surprised, others seemed to know exactly of whom he was speaking. He did not say it, but Natima assumed he meant Kotan Pa’Dar—Russol would never confirm that the man was a dissenter, but Natima had long believed it was true.
“The division of power in the Detapa Council still swings in the general direction of Central Command, however. But if one seat on the council were to go vacant—were to be filled by a sympathizer—the balance would tip in our direction. Yoriv Skyl, who is an exarch at one of the Bajoran settlements, is poised to take the next open seat. I believe that Skyl would vote in favor of withdrawal, if the issue were to come to the council. Legate Ghemor and a few other important people with influence over Central Command mean to bring the item up for decision in less than one year.”
A few of the people in attendance looked poised to applaud, optimism quickly spreading from one person to the next. But Russol was quick to interrupt them.
“Our problem, of course, is how to make that position…vacant. How can we guarantee the dismissal of tyrannical and corrupt civilian prefects and exarchs when their terms have no limit? What can we do?”
The room fell absolutely silent, and Natima’s heart sank as she recognized the rhetorical questions for what they were, what Russol was suggesting. It seemed impossible, a stretch of character she would not have imagined of him, but the gravity in his voice was unmistakable. He was so desperate to pull his world’s involvement out of Bajor that he would condone assassination.
“It is for the good of Cardassia,” he said calmly.
“Is there no other way?” Natima asked, before he could put voice to the details.
“There is one other alternative,” he said, his tone belying no emotion at all. “But I believe that a few selected eliminations would be preferable to a coup, which may not produce the desired effect, and will almost certainly result in more deaths.”
Still, no one spoke, and Russol continued to sweep his gaze across the room, making steady eye contact with each person in attendance, one at a time. “I would not propose such a thing if I did not believe that it was necessary, and that now is the optimum time to act. The only time to act.”
Someone cleared his throat, and a quiet chatter began to rise once more. “But, Gul Russol,” someone called out, “how can we advocate for peace and murder at the same time?”
“We can’t,” Russol told him. “We simply must accept that we are forced to compromise our values in order to achieve the desired result—for the greater good. But it is as I say—there is no other way.”
Many questions followed, which resulted in a few short arguments, but most were quelled by Russol’s blunt responses. He had examined the issue from every angle, he i
nformed the room, and he firmly believed that the time to strike was now.
After a good hour of moderately heated discussion, a vote was taken, and though Natima was hesitant to do so, she lent her support to Russol’s proposal. In the end, Natima was not the only one who chose to agree to Russol’s controversial tactics. When Dr. Tuken tallied the votes, Natima was surprised to learn that a strong majority had voted for it as well.
So this is what we’ve come to, she thought, looking around the room at downcast eyes, faces that seemed to reflect less patriotic zeal than usual. The vote had been secret, but the looks on the faces of those present were clear enough to reveal who had voted for the advocacy of murders—the deliberate killing of Union members—and who had not. Natima knew her own expression was far from innocent. Are we any better than that which we seek to overthrow?
“Don’t patronize me, Kubus,” Dukat snapped. “I am fully aware that I look like a complete fool right now. To the Bajorans—and to my superiors in Central Command.”
Kubus Oak coughed, quickly losing hope that this conversation would be brief, his placating manner seen for what it was. He disliked the prefect’s office, preferring to keep his conversations with Dukat confined to the infinitely more comfortable comm system; but ever since Basso Tromac had vanished, Dukat had begun to treat Kubus more like an assistant than a political cohort. It wasn’t as though their relationship had ever been on much of an even keel, but Kubus had never felt so much like a subordinate as in recent years, and it seemed to be getting worse as time went by. “As I was saying, it was an unfortunate incident,” he said, “but there is no need to—”
“Incident?” Dukat laughed. “You speak as though this is some past event! My men have been unable to repair the detection grid on a global scale, Kubus, and we have only been able to maintain secondary systems in a few locales. Someone is going to pay for this.”
Kubus was ready for him. “I have heard a great many rumors from my contacts,” he offered. “They believe this is primarily the work of terrorists in Dahkur. They hide somewhere in the hills, though there has been no physical evidence of their exact location. It might be preferable to simply…” Kubus hesitated as he noticed that Dukat was shaking his head, but he uncertainly went on, “…destroy the entire region…”
“No,” Dukat told him. “There are valuable commodities in that part of Dahkur. Minerals, timber…Give me someone else, Secretary.”
“Someone else?” Kubus felt uncomfortably pressed, his mind going blank. He had been sure that the cell in Dahkur would be enough to satisfy Dukat, and he didn’t know what to say now that his suggestion had been rejected.
There was a long pause while Kubus tried to come up with something useful. “Well, there is believed to be an especially large cell in Kendra Province. I have no hard evidence that they had any involvement, but—”
“Did I ask for hard evidence?” Dukat said coldly. “Can this cell be pinpointed?”
“I…believe…their hiding place is somewhat more definitive than some of the others, but—”
“Then why have they not been brought to my attention before now?”
Kubus suddenly realized what a terrible mistake he was making. “Well…sir…that cell…It’s rumored that one of their members…is the son of our religious leader—”
“The kai’s son?” Dukat said, his expression suddenly changing to reflect his apparent interest. Kubus felt his heart sink like a stone.
“Yes, sir, that’s correct. No Bajoran is willing to reveal their exact location, but there is a general idea of where they might be found, near the forest just outside of the Kendra provincial seat…”
“Issue a statement, Kubus. If this Kendra cell does not surrender themselves, I will be forced to destroy the surrounding villages. However, if anyone from Kendra is willing to reveal their location before they surrender…well, the villages will be spared, of course…” He trailed off, a self-satisfied smile surfacing.
“Prefect,” Kubus said nervously, aware that he was inching into dangerous territory, “I’m not sure you understand the gravity of what you ask. I must tell you, I think the cell from Dahkur—”
“Oak,” Dukat said, and Kubus blanched. No good could come following the gul’s use of his given name.
“I hesitate to bring this up at such a sensitive time,” the prefect said, “But Legate Kell recently suggested to me that it would be in my best interests to appoint a new Bajoran cabinet. He believed it would be beneficial to simply execute all the current members of the Bajoran government and start anew. Of course, I assured him that I had no intention of betraying those who had been faithful to me for such a long time.”
Kubus recognized the threat, but he could not be responsible for an ultimatum involving Kai Opaka’s son. “Gul, respectfully—I don’t believe that any Bajoran would willingly reveal the whereabouts of the kai’s son.”
“Well,” Dukat said, “we’ll see if you’re right, won’t we, Secretary?” He stood from his desk, turning his back on the old man, who wasn’t quite sure whether he had been dismissed.
“I’ll take care of your request as soon as I’m able,” Kubus said miserably, rising to go.
Dukat did not turn around. “You’ll take care of it now.”
“This is Alynna Nechayev, Vice-Admiral of Starfleet Command, representing the United Federation of Planets. I am attempting to reach Kalem Apren of Bajor. This is Alynna Nechayev, Vice-Admiral of Starfleet Command…”
Apren struggled for a moment to fight his way out of the haze of sleep. He could have sworn he’d heard his name coming from another room of the house—muffled, but still distinctly a woman’s voice, and something unusual about her accent…
Kalem Apren of Bajor…This is Alynna Nechayev…
Apren was on his feet at once, dashing for the comm system that was set up in the other room of his modest stone house. He was surprised that it hadn’t woken his wife—but then, her name had not been called. He had slept like the dead, considering the excitement that had taken place in the past twenty-four hours. The people of the Kendra Valley were exhausted with hopeful anticipation. Most Bajorans were accustomed to violent outbreaks on their world, but very few of those outbreaks resulted in much measure of Bajoran victory—and never a victory as wide-scale as this one seemed to be.
He seized the transmitter device at once, and began to speak.
“Hello, hello? This is Kalem Apren, citizen of Bajor. Is…is this channel secure?” He hesitated before continuing, but the voice spoke again before he could say anything else.
“Mister Kalem, I must warn you, this channel is not secure. I repeat, this channel is not secure.”
Did it even matter, now, if the Cardassians overheard? In fact, Apren wondered if it wasn’t better that they did, considering what had been happening. The woman went on. “I have contacted you by request of Keeve Falor, who sent word to a Federation starbase that you wished to speak with a representative of my government.”
“Vice-Admiral Alynna,” Apren said, fumbling over the correct way to address the alien woman. He spoke quickly, frantically—for he didn’t know how long this connection would hold out. “Thank you for contacting me…finally.” He added the last word as a loaded afterthought, for he knew, from Keeve and others, that this was not the first time Alynna Nechayev had been in contact with Bajorans. Just prior to the occupation she had worked as an operative for her people, trying to learn more about the Bajoran situation in hopes that her government could help. But in the end, the Federation’s political structure had barred her from interfering in the so-called annexation of Bajor to the Cardassian Union.
Apren had to admit to himself that Keeve Falor’s skepticism was well-placed, but he had to maintain hope, especially now that things seemed to be taking a turn. Even as they were speaking, Cardassian targets all over Bajor were burning, and Apren expected more destruction to take place before Cardassian forces could rein in the violence.
The woman spoke. “I h
ave been hoping to contact someone to represent Bajor for a very long time now—someone, that is, besides Jas Holza or Kubus Oak…”
“Of course,” Apren said, impatient to get to the point of the conversation. “Perhaps you have heard of what is happening here today, Vice-Admiral.”
“Today? Please tell me what you mean.”
“Today has been a landmark in the fight for independence from our oppressors,” Apren said. “Dozens, possibly even hundreds of Cardassian targets were simultaneously attacked, releasing a worldwide flood of violence. Some Bajorans are fearful, it seems, from the reports I have been getting, but most are jubilant—and angry. Even farmers from the smaller villages are taking up arms. I have been taking reports all day long from contacts on every continent—”
“A global uprising,” the woman interrupted him, sounding surprised. “This is news indeed. Perhaps the situation will warrant Federation involvement, depending on the circumstances…”
Apren was disgusted. “Of course, you must discuss it with your diplomats, your politicians, and your military organizations before you can do anything. You cannot simply deduce that your assistance would be helpful here, and act accordingly. By the time you sort out whether it is prudent to become involved, it may be too late to do anything.”
