Star Trek: Terok Nor 03: Dawn of the Eagles

by S. D. Perry

  Kell’s announcement continued. “Upon taking office, the new government will declare that any member of the Bajoran resistance who is willing to turn himself or herself in to the authorities will be granted a full pardon, reliant on cooperation with the authorities.”

  Ghemor could scarcely believe that Kell thought this strategy would work. If the new government made such an announcement, the Bajorans would immediately know they were dealing with mere figureheads, powerless leaders who were being controlled by Cardassians. Apparently, Kell knew what was coming from the Detapa Council—the civilian leaders were poised to vote for withdrawal, but this was Kell and Dukat’s final attempt to give the appearance of putting down terrorist strikes before the issue came up for decision.

  Kell went on. “Furthermore, the Bajoran people will be told that Cardassia has plans for a full withdrawal. It is my hope that these proclamations will serve to quell the current violence on Bajor.”

  Ghemor was surprised, to say the very least, but he immediately knew there had to be more. Kell was too arrogant a man to truly abandon Bajor so abruptly. With the next announcement, Kell proved him right.

  “Before Cardassian personnel are redeployed, I will order the placement of several survey units to reassess the current state of Bajoran resources. The prefect assures me that there are still a great many unexploited raw materials left on that world, but that we have been long overdue for a comprehensive survey to determine the capacity of those materials. Depending on our findings, Cardassia will either make plans for a new phase of Bajoran annexation, or we will fulfill our promise to the Bajoran people and make a full withdrawal. For obvious reasons, this assessment is not to be discussed with members of the civilian government.”

  Ghemor was furious. Kell was an even bigger fool than Ghemor could possibly have imagined. Did he truly believe that he could effectively placate the Bajoran subjects with his false promises, and somehow avoid greater repercussions when he failed to keep those promises? For it was almost guaranteed that the Cardassian survey teams would find some useful vein of minerals or store of elemental raw materials that would convince the Detapa Council to stay. Even if the findings were meager, Ghemor knew that Kell was not likely to squander the expense of the survey units, nor cause such an indelible stain on his own pride. He would falsify his reports if he had to, for Ghemor knew it was nowhere near beneath him. This was simply a manifestation of a weak-minded man digging his heels even deeper into the Bajoran problem.

  The announcement was done, and Kell had signed off. Ghemor considered his options for only a moment before he contacted Gul Russol.

  “Gaten,” he said, “I have news. Do you still maintain a…relationship with the Federation?’

  Russol nodded, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

  “You will want to get in touch with them quickly. I think I finally have something that we—and they—can use.”

  Jas Holza had been deliberately avoiding contact with him, Kalem was sure of it by now. The former minister was uncomfortable with Kalem and Jaro’s insistence that he assist in acquiring the weapons he had long ago promised to help purchase. Kalem had sent many messages to Jas by way of Keeve Falor, who insisted that Holza was getting them—but still, he refused to act.

  It usually took several tries to connect with Valo II, but after dozens of futile attempts throughout the day, Kalem had finally managed to do so in the stillness of the cool night. It was late, and everyone else in Vekobet should have been asleep by now—though Kalem knew that nobody would get any real sleep for a long time to come.

  A successful call meant that Kalem would reach whoever happened to be in the vicinity of one of the very few working comm systems on Valo II, and that person would either agree to fetch Keeve, or they wouldn’t. This time, Kalem was lucky enough to have contacted someone who knew exactly where Keeve Falor was, and who was able to bring him quickly. Kalem hadn’t waited long before the other man answered his call.

  “Falor,” Kalem said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “It’s Kalem Apren.”

  “Kalem. I have conveyed all the messages you have asked of me, but Jas Holza still says—”

  Kalem interrupted. “I have another piece of news for him. I only wish for him to know that the kai’s son is dead. The Cardassians massacred Opaka Fasil’s resistance cell. The people in Kendra—the people on the whole of Bajor—have sunk into a state of complete despair.”

  Kalem heard a sound that could have been interference, or it could have been Keeve Falor sucking a hard breath. “I will pass on the word,” he said gravely.

  Kalem had an afterthought. “Just ask him…ask him if he still feels it is too great a risk for him to enter the B’hava’el system.”

  There was a pause, and Kalem repeated himself to be sure he had been heard, but Keeve finally answered. “I will relay the message to him, Apren. I hope this accomplishes your objective.”

  “If it doesn’t,” Kalem replied, “then nothing will.”

  “Kubus! Come to my office at once!”

  The gray-haired Bajoran on Dukat’s monitor frowned, his expression grim. “I cannot leave my quarters, Gul. Are you aware that Prylar Bek has committed suicide?” His manner was that of a man struggling to maintain control—a sensation that Dukat was all too familiar with. Reports of more attacks on the surface were coming in by the hour, and the prefect could feel himself coming undone at the seams.

  “Of course I’m aware of it,” he snapped. “Do you think I don’t know what goes on at my own station?”

  “You didn’t know the grid was going down,” Kubus said.

  “Is that an admission?” Dukat snarled. “Did you know that they were going down, Secretary?”

  “Of course not!” The Bajoran cried. “Would you truly doubt my loyalty at a time like this? I am perhaps the most hated man in the B’hava’el system right now, Gul! I can’t even leave my quarters—my throat would be slit by some scheming worker the instant I stepped into the corridor!”

  “You should have thought to shift the blame to Prylar Bek, Secretary.”

  “The Bajorans on the station have their own ideas about my involvement. Many of them are sure that I am entirely to blame. For the death of the kai’s son! Gul, you cannot understand what it means!”

  “I am sure it is difficult for you, Secretary, but this isn’t why I have called. I need to know who among the Bajorans still carries influence—who is an easily reachable spokesperson—”

  “I am their spokesperson,” Kubus interrupted, clearly perturbed at the implication that it was otherwise.

  “Kubus, this is no time for your posturing! You just said yourself the Bajorans would rather have you murdered than listen to a word you say. I need to know, in your estimation, who I can contact, whose voice might make a difference among the rebels.”

  “The Kai, of course,” Kubus said, still sulking. “But now that Prylar Bek is…gone…I couldn’t tell you how to reach her.”

  “Not a religious leader,” Dukat said. “Someone with political clout, someone—”

  “Don’t think for a moment that the kai does not have political clout!” Kubus said.

  “Shall I ask one of the other members of the cabinet?” Dukat asked, with false patience. “Perhaps Kan Nion, or Somah Trac?” The secretary’s dislike of some of his Bajoran colleagues was amusingly pronounced, and Dukat often brought up his political rivals’ names in order to get results from the taciturn Kubus.

  “I suppose if you’re looking for a secular voice…there is always Kalem Apren, of the Kendra Valley. Many are still quite loyal to him, or so I’m told. In fact, if you were to ask Kan Nion, he would undoubtedly tell you the same thing.”

  “Get me in touch with Kalem Apren immediately, then.”

  “But, Dukat! I can’t risk going to the surface! I told you, if I so much as—”

  “He can’t be reached by comm?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “There is no need for you to speak to him yourse
lf,” Dukat said impatiently. “Simply patch him through to me.”

  Kubus was still hesitant, and Dukat changed his tone.

  “Get me in contact with this man—I don’t care how—and I will see to it that you are relocated to Cardassia Prime, where you will be protected.”

  “A Bajoran, on Cardassia Prime? Do you honestly think I would be any safer there than—”

  “Yes,” Dukat said. “Think of it, Kubus. You would be a celebrity—an example to the Cardassian people’s cause!” Dukat felt quite pleased with the image as he saw it; for if Kubus was controlled carefully enough, Dukat was sure that he could do much on his homeworld to promote Cardassia’s position here. Dukat’s position here.

  But there was another reason the idea appealed to him: Kell had never cared for the secretary, and there was a pleasantly perverse symmetry to Kubus’s exile to Prime. After all, Kell had forced Dukat to take in that fallen operative from the Order, who had turned out to be the very man the prefect held responsible for the death of his father, long ago. And while Dukat was powerless to exact revenge, he thought it was only fitting to burden Central Command with the responsibility for protecting a Bajoran national who symbolized the benefits of continuing the annexation.

  On the screen, Kubus hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said. “I’ll find a way to contact him.”

  Dukat’s door chimed just as he said it, and he absently pressed the panel to admit his visitor. One of the officers from Ops appeared in the door, and Dukat gestured him inside as he ended the call with Kubus.

  “More reports of sabotage on the surface, sir. A worker revolt at a mill in Rakantha Province—sixteen Cardassian guards killed. The facility is burning as we speak—”

  Dukat let his head sink for a nearly imperceptible beat before snapping to attention again, to redeploy troops to the region—but his forces were simply spread too thin. Should he even bother to contact Central Command about this? Should he wait for the Bajorans to forget about the so-called massacre, for the unrest to die back down to manageable levels? But Dukat did not believe that they would “forget.” For an instant, he was taken back, to the first time he had ever come to Bajor. A Bajoran man from his memory reminded him; permanent grudges, he’d said. They were like Dukat himself, that way. Maybe it was something Dukat had started to forget, in recent years. Maybe he’d forgotten it when he’d ordered the execution of the resistance cell in Kendra, so excited was he at the opportunity to get at the son of the kai…

  He stopped to consider the possibility that the execution of that cell could have been as grave an error as he had ever made. It had only fueled the resistance, where Dukat had expected to deter them. It was all he could do now to contain the aftermath. But if it had been a mistake, it did no good to acknowledge it as such. No good except perhaps to learn from it, to use the lesson in a future he hoped he could secure for himself.

  Vaughn had been stationed on Starbase 621 for a few months now, analyzing starship movement along the Tzenkethi border, but he had maintained his Cardassian contact sporadically over the past few years. Tonight, the man had contacted him with urgency in his voice, and now Vaughn interrupted him somewhat against his better judgment, to ask him a question that had been plaguing him for a very long time.

  “Gul Russol,” he said carefully, hoping against hope that he would not accidentally offend the man. He had upheld the relationship with Russol for over two years, but had never quite been able to figure out his motives. “I don’t understand why you would choose to share this information with me. Why are you—”

  “I told you, Commander. I oppose my world’s current government. Besides the never-ending violence, the annexation of Bajor is a symptom of the disease that has infected our entire social consciousness. My world will eventually be forced to withdraw from Bajor, and when it happens, we will experience an economic depression, among other things. Cardassia has become too dependent upon Bajor and worlds like it. We will never pursue research into self-sustaining resources unless we are forced to do so. I believe that our economy will have a better chance to rebound if we withdraw sooner rather than later. Additionally—”

  “So, you have no particular sympathy for the Bajoran people?”

  “No,” Russol said flatly. “The Bajorans are a violent and uncivilized people. I prefer to maintain my distance from them.”

  Vaughn suppressed a frown—he’d met few Cardassians who weren’t dramatically xenophobic. It was a wonder this Russol had even deigned to speak to a human. But this admission seemed to at last confirm for Vaughn that the man was genuine in his pleas for help; if he had claimed to empathize with the Bajorans, Vaughn would have had much more difficulty swallowing the man’s story. “I see,” he said. “Go on.”

  “The announcements my government plans to make on Bajor are absolutely false,” Russol told him. “They are a ruse, meant to distract the Bajorans from survey teams, who are working even as we speak to determine what is left of Bajor’s resources, and how best to efficiently extract them. My government wishes to bleed Bajor dry of all useful elements, and then abruptly leave. This would be devastating to the long-term economic situation of my world—my people are in denial regarding the current state of Bajoran exports.”

  “To say nothing of what it will do to Bajor,” Vaughn said glibly.

  Russol ignored the comment. “Once the Bajorans realize they are being lied to—and they will realize it, no matter how shortsighted and foolish they may be—the violence on that world will only increase. But my government will refuse to abandon it, despite how bad it gets. It has become a matter of pride for them. And there will be terrible repercussions for the Union.”

  “What exactly is it that you would have the Federation do about it?” Vaughn asked.

  The man on the other end of the line was clearly troubled. “I don’t know the full extent of your…Prime Directive…your rules and charters,” he admitted. “But I imagine there are at least two feasible options. The first is for Starfleet to remove the Cardassian presence from Bajor…by force.” He stopped speaking, looking glum. “That option could be quick, but it would certainly be bloody. As I see it, however, it could also have much larger consequences. My people are not likely to back down from the insult, and the conflict could easily lead to full-scale war between our two governments.”

  Vaughn nodded, understanding Russol’s logic. Nobody wanted more war between the Cardassian Union and the Federation. The border conflicts between those bodies had been brutal, and Vaughn suspected Russol was a veteran of at least a few of the skirmishes. “What is the second option?”

  “The second option is for you to…somehow deliver this message to the Bajoran people. Someone in charge, I suppose, though I don’t know much regarding their civilian government…”

  “They don’t have much of one,” Vaughn told him. “But I do believe I can reach a few influential Bajorans who might have the means to pass the word around. Exactly what part of this message do you want to be revealed to them?”

  “All of it!” Russol exclaimed. “Tell them…they must not accept the offer of a new Bajoran government! Their resistance fighters must not turn themselves in! They must…they must continue to fight. They must fight harder than they’ve ever fought, because they actually have a chance of winning this time!”

  Vaughn would have been doubtful of this man’s motives if it had not been for the raw sincerity that colored his voice and expression. Russol was torn. He was betraying his own people with what he was trying to do, but he had been pushed over the edge, and he knew of no other way to fight for what he believed in.

  Russol spoke again, his voice lower. “I can see that you are taken aback,” he said, with a touch of defensiveness. “I know I am a traitor. But I have come to see that the lives of a few more soldiers are worth the preservation of my world’s integrity. This is the definition of war, and the reason that we fight. Cardassians believe deeply in the struggle for the greater good, Vaughn. I wish for peace in the long
run, but…I have come to believe that peace must sometimes be achieved through violence.”

  Vaughn was speechless for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. “You say you don’t know much of the Federation’s charter,” he said. “I can tell you right now that there may be problems with what you have just proposed. You will recall that my government has a treaty with yours. I don’t know if I can permissibly deliver this kind of information to your enemies.”

  Russol looked crestfallen. “But…you have confirmation that my people seek to deceive the Bajorans. Is that not just cause for your government to intervene on the Bajorans’ behalf?”

  Vaughn sighed. “Perhaps, but it is more likely that we would adhere to your prior option,” he said. “Diplomacy failing, of course.” He didn’t like it, and he could see that Russol didn’t either. Vaughn had reviewed the transcript of Nechayev’s latest conversation with Kalem Apren, and it occurred to him that even the Bajorans might not like it. This was their fight to win, and they would probably resent it if the Federation suddenly swooped in at the eleventh hour. Despite the ramifications, he promised Russol to try his best for the latter option—to give the Bajorans the information they needed to win the fight themselves.

  Vaughn wasted no time in contacting Vice-Admiral Nechayev once his conversation with Russol was done, but he was immediately disappointed by Nechayev’s response. “You cannot act on this information, Commander,” she informed him. “The best we can do is to confront the Cardassian leaders and demand that they tell the Bajoran people the truth themselves.”

  “They’ll never do it!” Vaughn exclaimed. “They’ll pass the word on to their puppet leaders and claim their innocence by hiding behind a cardboard panel of cowardly Bajorans!”