Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17

by John Gregory Betancourt

  We're going to have a lot of work to do to get ready for

  that trial tomorrow."

  He tapped his badge. "Sisko to Bashir. Where are

  you, Doctor?"

  "I've just been to see Gul Mekkar," Bashir replied.

  "What? How?" Sisko could barely believe it. They

  hadn't let him anywhere near Mekkar's cell.

  "I explained that he was hurt and I was his personal

  physician. They want him in top health for his execu-

  tion, it seems."

  "How is he?"

  "Two broken ribs, some cuts and bruises, a slight

  case of shock. I've done as much for him as I could, all

  things considered. I'd really like to get him back to

  DS9. How are you coming?"

  "Not well," Sisko said. "The trial begins to-

  morrow."

  Sisko spent the rest of the night cramming through

  Bajoran legal precedents. Bleary-eyed, he finally

  allowed Dr. Bashir to give him a light stimulant to

  keep him awake. Mekkar's life was in danger; he knew

  he had to be sharp for the trial. The Bajorans seemed

  to think it wouldn't last more than one or possibly

  two days at the most. He had no intention of letting

  them railroad Mekkar into a punishment he didn't

  deserve.

  Dax and Bashir pursued other lines of inquiry. Dax

  was trying to get information on the real Butcher of

  Belmast From Cardassia, but kept running into road-

  blocks. Bashir was looking for medical reasons to

  postpone the trial. Neither made fast progress.

  The night passed all too quickly. Finally it was

  nearly time to head to the Hall of Justice. Sisko sighed

  and tabbed off the computer monitor, rubbing his

  eyes. What he really needed, he thought, was a team

  of crack Federation legal experts, six months to pre-

  pare for the trial, and some Bajoran advisors to help

  him over the rough spots. Nevertheless, he would

  have to make do and trust in the truth to win out.

  After cleaning himself up as best he could in the

  runabout, he headed for the courtroom, Dax at his

  side. Bashir was still at work.

  "I'll catch up," he promised, "as soon as I have

  something."

  "It had better be fast," Sisko said. "I have a feeling

  this is going to be a very quick trial, if we're not

  careful."

  "Right." Swallowing, Bashir threw himself back

  into his work.

  It was a twenty-minute walk to the center of Bel-

  mast. By the time Sisko and Dax arrived, a huge

  crowd had already gathered outside. He had to push

  his way through. It seemed most of the city had

  turned out to wait for the guilty verdict, Sisko

  thought. It was a shame he had to disappoint them.

  Inside, a guard ushered them into a huge, cavernous

  room where the trial would take place. Security

  seemed tight. At the far end of the room, on a raised

  dais, sat the three magistrates who would hear the

  case. One of t hem, he saw, was the Bajoran who'd

  suggested he act as Mekkar's Speaker. For a second he

  considered asking the man to remove himself from

  the case--after all, he'd already made up his mind

  that Mekkar was guilty, but then Sisko thought better

  of it. All three magistrates undoubtedly felt the same

  way. Trying to remove one might aggravate matters.

  No, he would have to win them over.

  "Over here," the guard said, leading them to one

  side. A table had been set up for them.

  "Thank you," Sisko said. He glanced to the right,

  where another table sat probably for the prosecution.

  The two Bajorans there ignored him.

  The magistrates signaled their readiness. Mekkar,

  in chains but walking--no doubt thanks to Bashir,

  Sisko thought--was escorted in. He sat in the center

  of the hall, facing the three magistrates. Sisko sat

  behind Mekkar and to the left; the Prosecutor sat to

  the right.

  The magistrate in the center rose. "This trial is

  open," he said loudly, and his voice echoed through

  the vast Hall of Justice. "Read the charges."

  The Prosecutor rose. "Gul Mekkar, known as the

  Butcher of Belmast, is accused of the following crimes

  against Bajor. First, that he did knowingly and will-

  fully order the death of two thousand three hundred

  and twelve mine-workers following the Ten Day

  Strike. Second, that he did knowingly and willfully

  order the executions of four hundred and sixty-five

  Bajorans following a food riot in Belmast. Third--"

  The list of crimes went on and on. Sisko listened,

  and as he did his horror grew. The real Mekkar had

  been a bloodthirsty monster, he realized, drunk on

  power. No wonder everyone on Bajor wanted him

  brought to justice.

  Nearly two hours later, the Prosecutor finished his

  list of crimes.

  "How say you to these charges?" the magistrate

  asked.

  Sisko rose slowly. When he turned, it was to address

  not only the magistrates, but the Prosecutor and all

  the Bajorans who had assembled inside the Hall of

  Justice.

  "I am Captain Benjamin Sisko," he said, "the

  commanding officer of Deep Space Nine. You all know

  who I am, and believe me, no one has more sympathy

  for the Bajoran people than I do. Kai Opara pro-

  claimed me your Emissary, and ! have walked in the

  wormhole with the beings you call Prophets.

  "You all suffered tremendously under the Cardas-

  sian occupation. But this is now a time for healing

  and reconciliation. Cardassians are not your enemies.

  They are a people like any other--some good, some

  bad."

  "Is there a point to this?" the Prosecutor asked

  dryly.

  "Yes." Sisko took a deep breath and scanned the

  faces around him. "Mekkar is an innocent man. He

  was not here during the Cardassian occupation. True,

  there is a similarity in names, and true, there is a

  similarity in appearance. He is a distant relative of the

  so-called Butcher of Belmast. You cannot convict him

  for crimes he did not commit!"

  "You have evidence of this, of course," said the

  magistrate on the left.

  "Yes. If I may present it?"

  "Proceed."

  "My science officer, Lieutenant Commander Dax,

  has gathered the following information from the

  Cardassian government." Sisko nodded to Dax.

  Dax picked up a set of folders from the Speaker's

  table and carried them forward. She handed one to

  each of the magistrates, one to the Prosecutor, and

  one to Sisko.

  "Thank you, Dax," he said.

  She smiled and returned to her seat.

  Sisko opened the folder. The first page held two

  pictures side by side, one of the real Gul Mekkar as he

  had been during the occupation--and the similarity

  to their Mekkar was striking--and one as the real Gul

  Mekkar was today.

  "Here you see these two different Cardassians," he

  began.

  "I see no diff
erence," the Prosecutor said. "These

  photos are of the same person."

  "They are different--" Sisko began.

  The magistrate cut him off. "What proof do you

  have?" he asked. "Photos and documents can be

  faked."

  "Proof?." Sisko said. He'd been afraid they would

  say something like that. Dax had been trying to get

  through to Cardassia to get direct confirmation all

  night without success. At the moment, they had only

  his word, which might not be enough. "Look at the

  pictures. They have Starfleet authentication. You have

  my word as the Emissary and as a Starfleet officer.

  Mekkar is not guilty of these crimes."

  The three magistrates conferred briefly. Sisko

  watched anxiously as they compared the two photo-

  graphs, studied the two Mekkars' identifications, life

  histories, and war records. They frowned, then

  nodded.

  Sisko's badge chirped. He tapped it as subtly as he

  could. "Yes?" he whispered.

  "It's Bashir," he heard the doctor say. "I've finally

  reached Cardassia--"

  "Hold that thought, Doctor," he said.

  An undercurrent of talking had swept through the

  Hall of Justice while the magistrates studied Sisko's

  evidence. The magistrate in the middle looked up

  suddenly.

  "Silence!" he roared.

  "This evidence is not conclusive," the magistrate to

  his left said. "We took nearly three hundred sworn

  testimonies yesterday identifying this Cardassian as

  the Butcher of Belmast. Since you are unable to

  produce concrete evidence--"

  "Wait!" Sisko cried. "Did you hear that, Doctor?"

  ne said. "Do you have someone on line now who can

  clear our Mekkar?"

  "I think so," Bashir said. "Is there a monitor there?

  I can relay the signal through."

  Sisko looked up at the magistrates, who gave a brief

  nod.

  "Do so," Sisko said. He swallowed. Whatever

  Bashir had found, it had better be good, he thought.

  A clerk activated a holographic projector, and a

  huge image flickered to life on one side of the Hall of

  Justice. It was Bashir.

  "This image is being sent to us directly from

  Cardassia PMMR," Bashir said. "It's not the highest

  quality signal, considering the distances involved. But

  I think it will do."

  He touched a button before them.

  Static flickered on the screen, and then an older

  Cardassian appeared. He looked like Gul Mekkar,

  only a long thin scar puckered the left side of his

  mouth.

  "I am," the Cardassian said in a low, powerful

  voice, "Gul Ren Mekkar, whom Bajoran terrorists

  branded the Butcher of Belmast nearly twenty years

  ago." He scanned the faces of the magistrates, and a

  faint sneer crept into his voice. "Bajorans are a little

  people," he said, "hardly worth the attention of a

  proud and great race like the Cardassians. I spat on

  you then, and I spit on you now."

  The magistrate on the right stood. "YouJ" he said,

  voice hoarse. "You killed my father and my grandfa-

  ther."

  Mekkar sneered, "And I'd kill you too, given half

  the chance. If it were up to me, I'd put Bajor back

  under Cardassian rule tomorrow. We should never

  have left before we broke your spirits. Youre"

  "I think that's quite enough," Bashir said, inter-

  rupting the tirade. He gazed at the magistrates from

  the viewscreen. "Or do you want to hear more from

  him?"

  "No ... no," said the magistrate, sitting. His face

  was ashen, Sisko saw. He now realized what a mistake

  they had almost made.

  "I want all charges against Gul Mekkar dropped,"

  Sisko said loudly. "He is innocent."

  The three magistrates conferred for a minute, then

  nodded. "Agreed," the high magistrate said. "Release

  the prisoner," he told the clerk.

  Sisko and Dax hurried forward to help Mekkar

  stand as the clerk unlocked the chains on his arms and

  legs. Mekkar seemed to be in a state of shock, Sisko

  thought. Little wonder, considering what he'd just

  been through. Best to get him back to Bashir and DS9

  as quickly as possible.

  He put one of Mekkar's arms around his shoulders

  and Dax did the same. Together, they helped the

  Cardassian down the long aisle, past the benches filled

  with silent Bajorans, and outside.

  "Thank you," Sisko heard Mekkar whispering.

  "Thank you."

  "That's what I'm here for," he said.

  Julian Bashir watched them set Gul Mekkar free,

  then cut off his transmission to the Hall of Justice. So

  much for that, he thought. His plan had worked

  perfectly.

  He flipped back to the signal from DS9. It was

  completely secure, he knew, coming in on a scram-

  bled channel. He found the face of the Butcher of

  Betmast grinning at him.

  "How did I do?" Garak asked behind his makeup.

  "Fine," Bashir said. "I think you just saved the day.

  See you when we get back. I owe you a drink."

  "You owe me more than that," Garak said. "I have

  an Oslan silk suit here with your name on it, Doctor."

  Bashir groaned a bit, but didn't complain. It was

  worth it.

  He severed the connection and smiled. There was a

  certain irony in the solution, he thought. The Bajor-

  ans refused to believe the truth, no matter how it had

  been presented to them. But they'd been only too

  eager to believe a lie.

  CHAPTER

  27

  "WHERE IS IT.9" Kira demanded. A ship didn't just

  vanish. Someone had moved it... or taken it back,

  she realized with growing panic.

  She glanced around. None of the other shuttles

  seemed to be in use, but she didn't think they'd have

  sufficient range to make it back to DS9. But they

  might give the others a place to hide while she looked

  around.

  Then she remembered Snoct Sneyd. He said he'd

  help them if they ever needed it. Well, she thought,

  they certainly needed it now.

  "Get them over to one of the shuttles and keep

  them there," she said to Worf. "I'm going to see if I

  can find Snoct. Maybe he can help us find a new

  ship."

  Worf nodded. "Agreed." He turned to Odo and

  Orvor. "This way, quickly," he said, striking out for

  the nearest shuttle.

  Kira hesitated. Where would she find an Iffalian

  maintenance crew? Probably near the center of the

  field, she decided. That way they could be quickly

  dispatched to any ship that needed them.

  She took her bearings and started walking.

  Twenty minutes later, she saw movement ahead a

  small car on antigray skids. It was filled with

  Jem'Hadar and was headed straight for her. Turning

  to the side like she had business at one particular ship,

  she ducked out of sight.

  "You'd better work again," she murmured, activat-

  ing her cloaker.
Instantly the air around her shim-

  mered, and then she seemed to be looking out at the

  world through a thick glass wall. Everything became

  muted and distant.

  The Jem'Hadar turned where she'd turned and

  passed not two meters from where she stood. They

  slowed down, peering this way and that, obviously

  searching for her. Their starship had been deliberately

  moved, Kira realized, to prevent them from escaping.

  The changelings knew what they were up to.

  Biting her lip, she turned and sprinted up the

  landing field, trying to put as much distance between

  herself and the Jem'Hadar as she could. She only had

  a few minutes left on her cloaker, she reminded

  herself. Site began to count the seconds.

  She put a good half kilometer and ten rows of

  parked ships between herself and the Jem'Hadar.

  That ought to be enough for now, she decided,

  slowing down and ducking behind another ship, this

  one a small fighter craft of some sort. She shut off the

  cloaker and crouched there, panting, until she caught

  her wind.

  Then, carefully, she continued to jog forward. If

  anything came up, she still had a little time left on the

  cloaker, she thought. She wished she'd brought Worf's

  as well. She had a strange feeling she'd need all the

  help she could get.

  A large cluster of buildings appeared on the hori-

  zon. That had to be the central complex, she decided.

  The Iffalians had better be there.

  Then she saw movement ahead on the landing

  field--more Jem'Hadar, she realized. She glanced

  around in panic. She was a good fifty meters from the

  nearest cover. She'd never make it before being seen.

  She activated her cloaker again, hoping they hadn't

  spotted her yet. Turning, she jogged quickly to the

  side, cutting across, and just as quickly she stopped

  short. A pair of Jem'Hadar warriors were patrolling

  this area on foot, their disruptors held ready. Beyond

  them lay a couple of low buildings--little more than

  storage sheds, really. Maybe she could find cover

  there.

  Suddenly colors flickered all around her. The cloak-

  er had begun running low on power, she realized. Its

  distortion field shimmered brightly for an instant, like

  a beacon in the darkness, then returned to normal.

  She checked its readouts. Less than a minute left, she

  thought with dismay.

  "There!" one of Jem'Hadar began to shout, point-

  ing in her direction.

  Kira glanced down. The cloaker failed again, and