Star Trek: DS9: The Never-Ending Sacrifice

by Una McCormack

  “Ziyal! Tora Ziyal! Kotan, how could you?”

  The Dukat half-breed. Maleta sniffed. It had been all over the news yesterday that she had left Cardassia Prime. Quite right too.

  “Ah. Yes. I heard that she’d left.” Maleta heard the creak of the master’s chair as he sat down again. “I doubt you’ll believe me, but I had nothing to do with that.”

  “You’re right, I don’t believe you.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  “After all that happened to me. She was lonely! Pen and I had made friends with her. She could have settled down here, given time. It wouldn’t have been easy, but she was brave and clever and she could have done it.”

  “Rugal, did you hear that I had resigned from all my government appointments?”

  There was a pause. Maleta leaned forward. “What?” the young master said.

  “About six weeks ago. I resigned from the Council, the Science Ministry, and the Assembly. Alon Ghemor resigned from the Bureau at the same time. In protest over Meya’s use of this affair as a means to discredit Dukat.”

  Maleta heard the young master take a few steps around the room. “You mean that you and Alon Ghemor felt sidelined, and decided to position yourselves as a credible opposition?”

  “You can think that if you prefer,” the master said in even tones. “I found myself thinking that Dukat did not deserve to be punished for what must be the single selfless act in his entire life. Ghemor’s left Prime, by the way. Not what you’d do if you were thinking of yourself as heir apparent.”

  There was another long pause. “I’d like to believe you.”

  “You can,” the master replied simply.

  “So... what are you doing with yourself now?” The young master sounded less sure of himself. Maleta pursed her lips. Good.

  “A little reading. A lot of thinking. I’ve been following your work in Torr. You and your friends have been doing some good things out there. I wonder—do you see yourselves as a kind of commune? Your broadsheets suggest that you do.”

  Another creak of a chair. “That’s one way of describing it.”

  “You’re lucky that the central administration is so badly overstretched. Interfering with water supplies? Distributing food and medicine without the proper permits? Running a barter economy? A few years ago you would have been infiltrated by the Obsidian Order and shot.”

  “And what good would that do anyone? It’s because there’s barely any administration anymore that we have to do what we’re doing. There’s food in the depots, but it doesn’t get distributed quickly enough, and people get missed out or passed over and they go hungry.”

  “I’m not quarreling with you, Rugal. I’m simply pointing out how different things are now. Would you like to see the whole of Cardassia run this way?”

  The young master hesitated before replying. “I don’t know... I have to think about that. It might be better for everyone.... But it’s not meant to be revolution, Kotan. We just want to be left to get on with things, left in peace. What’s the problem with that?”

  “Speaking as a former Council member? Because you show up the cracks in the system. Simply by doing what you’re doing, you demonstrate how far things have broken down, how useless the administration is.” The master laughed. “Speaking as a private citizen—more power to you.”

  “Well. Thanks.”

  Another creak as someone stood up. Maleta heard the chink of kanar glasses and a bottle being opened. “I’d like to help,” the master said.

  “Oh yes? How? Actually—why?”

  “Money would help, I imagine—”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “But perhaps you don’t want my money. Very well... what about influence? Experience? Access? Come to dinner next week. I’ll gather up some friendly faces, potential donors. Industrialists, directors of charities, owners of hospitals that I worked with when I was at the ministry. They might want to supply you with funds—or material, if you don’t want their money either. I’ll feed them and you can tell them what you’re doing and why it’s important.” He paused. “I’d be obliged if you avoided using the word ‘revolution,’ however. Or ‘commune,’ if it comes to that. The people I’m thinking of have sensitive stomachs.”

  The young master didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “If you’re still trying to position yourself as a credible opposition to Rejal, I won’t have it. I won’t let you use us in that way.”

  “My dearest boy, my days as a politician are over. I buried those ambitions with Geleth. But my days of duty to the people of Cardassia? They are not over, and will not be until I myself am buried. I want to help because it is my duty to help. No other reason.”

  Maleta didn’t hear anymore because at that point somebody closed the study door. She heaved herself to her feet, brushing out the creases on her apron. So he wasn’t interested in the master’s money, was he? She gave a snort of laughter. Give it time.

  In the year after his resignation, Kotan Pa’Dar was the happiest he had been since the death of his wife. The work that he was doing was the most satisfying since his earliest days as a scientist. He brought all his experience and good reputation to the task. He greased palms and stroked egos to make sure necessary projects were pushed through. He made important links between administrators in other urban centers, and he did not forget the famine-threatened provinces or the desperate refugees from the Maquis. Nor did he remain secluded in his part of the city; he was prepared to go and get his hands dirty in the harder-hit sectors. His efforts barely scratched at Cardassia’s structural woes. But for Kotan, it was deeply satisfying work. Best of all, it brought him into regular contact with his son.

  This was Rugal’s fourth year on Cardassia Prime. At nineteen, he was a spare young man who never laughed and rarely smiled. His resemblance to his paternal grandmother was striking. He was frequently angry, but he had learned to control the emotion, and he was most at his ease in the company of the Khevet girl. The girl herself was also quiet, but in a calmer way, as if she inhabited some private fortress that she had constructed for herself, where the exigencies of her life were not able to touch her. Together, they looked exactly like the lowborn couple in the painting by Agrat: dutiful and accepting of their station. Kotan might have worried it was a joyless sort of life they led, except that his son, with Penelya, was somberly tender, and the girl, with his son, was radiant. Kotan wondered when she would agree to join with him. He hoped it would be soon. He wished them all the happiness that he and Arys had shared, but for their whole lives.

  One evening, Kotan invited them both to his home, for a triple celebration. Rugal had recently qualified as a paramedic. Penelya had scored at the top in the first-year examinations at the School of Agronomy. And Kotan, for his public service and work in the Torr sector, had been awarded a Civilian Commendation. Geleth would have been livid, Kotan thought, with mild pleasure.

  After supper, which was sparse but companionable, the three of them sat in the sunroom and talked through some of the difficulties they had been having distributing medical supplies around the east side of the Torr sector. They were interrupted when Kotan received an urgent incoming message. He read it, frowning. “This is odd,” he said. “From Ithas Bamarek, of all people. He says I should see what’s happening on the viewscreen.”

  The three of them went into his study and pulled up chairs. On the screen, Skrain Dukat was announcing to the Cardassian people that, on their behalf, he had brought them under the authority of the Dominion.

  “Kosst...” Rugal whispered. He put his arm round Penelya’s shoulder.

  Kotan stood up. He started pacing around the room. “I don’t believe this.” On the communication console on his desk, red lights began to flash.

  “You might ask,” declared Dukat, “should we fear the Dominion? And I answer you, not in the least...”

  “Prophets,” said Rugal. “Sometimes I think he believes everything he says.”

  “Dukat a
lways believes what he says,” Kotan replied. “At least for the moment that he’s saying it.”

  “Cardassia will be made whole... for my son, for all our sons.”

  The screen went black. “No daughters, I notice,” Penelya remarked. “Poor Ziyal.”

  “Kotan,” Rugal said in a low, scared voice. “What’s going to happen?”

  “I honestly have no idea,” Kotan said. The screen began to blink. “Wait, what’s this?”

  The picture resolved into an image of two women standing side-by-side in front of the symbol of the Cardassian state. One of the women was Teretis Geyl, the Chief Archon, the senior judicial figure in the Union. The other was Meya Rejal. Geyl spoke first, fluently and with assurance. “People of Cardassia, we reject the extraordinary statement made by the traitor Dukat. It has no basis in law; it is a direct infringement of the new constitutional arrangements made under the Declaration of the Transference and Assumption of Powers. We reject his authority to speak for the Union; we reject his claim to power. We recognize the authority of the Detapa Council.” She turned to her companion.

  “People of Cardassia,” said Meya Rejal shakily. She had a hunted look. “I call on us all to stand united at this time. Let us not bow down to tyranny; let us not give way to threat. We are a proud people and we will survive.” She put her hand against her heart. “I swear,” she said, and now her voice was steady, “that I will fight for you. I will fight for Cardassia.”

  The screen went dead again, and they could find no other transmissions, not even on the unofficial channels that Rugal knew. “Kotan,” said Penelya urgently. “Are you safe?”

  Touched, he reached out to pat her hand. “Dear girl. I’m sure Dukat has more on his mind at the moment than settling some ancient score with me.”

  “We’ll look after you,” Rugal said robustly. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

  On Kotan’s insistence, Rugal and Penelya left shortly afterward. Rugal took Penelya back up the hill to her uncle’s house, and then took the shuttle out to Torr. At the security checkpoint, four Jem’Hadar boarded the shuttle behind the regular police unit and followed them down through the carriages as they checked identities. The Cardassian officers looked uncertain. The Jem’Hadar looked implacable. Back at home, he and Arric and Serna watched fearfully as a fireworks display took place somewhere in the Paldar sector. At least someone in Cardassia City was pleased at this turn of events.

  Seven

  But bravely spoken and defiant words were not enough to save Teretis Geyl and Meya Rejal. Not in the face of overwhelming force. Taking refuge in the bunker beneath the Council chambers, they attempted to organize the city constabularies and the few troops still loyal to the administration as a defense against the Dominion invasion.

  A third before the first bell, when it was still dark, the building was stormed by the Jem’Hadar. They marched in, seized the Chief Executor and the Chief Archon, dragged them out and executed them on the spot. The images played on every channel for weeks afterward, in between repeat showings of Gul Dukat’s accession speech.

  The purge that followed the end of civilian rule was unparalleled even in Cardassia’s recent bloody history. Ithas Bamarek was shot following the dissolution of the Cardassian city constabularies. A civilian militia was created—a fifth of the strength of the previous police force and directly answerable to Dukat—but the Jem’Hadar took over maintenance of law and order in all urban centers. The rest of the Detapa Council was tried and executed for “weakening the Cardassian state.” Some high-ranking Assembly members shared this fate; others were interned in labor camps or placed under house arrest. As for the rest of the Five: Erek Rhemet, who had been offworld at the time, was rumored to have sought asylum in Mathenite space, joining Tekeny Ghemor to form a government-in-exile. The Cardassian Intelligence Bureau was made a subsidiary agency within Dominion Intelligence. There was no news from the Peyit system of Alon Ghemor. He had disappeared into the cold and dark space. Kotan assumed this was good news. If Dukat had captured Tekeny Ghemor’s nephew, he would surely have broadcast both the news and the subsequent execution widely.

  As for Kotan himself, his recent charitable work—and the fact that he had quit his government posts to carry it out—saved his life. He was one of the few members of the civilian administration held in genuine public affection. He was not even placed under formal house arrest. He did wake up one morning, however, to find two Jem’Hadar stationed outside the front doors and another two on the avenue beyond. He had told Penelya that Dukat would have better things to do than bother with him, but in his heart Kotan knew that he had not been forgotten. The presence of those four Jem’Hadar confirmed it. As soon as Dukat was sure his position was secure, as soon as the Cardassian people proved their unconditional love for him, he would start settling old scores. In the meantime, Kotan kept to his house and hoped that Rugal would have the sense not to do anything foolish enough to get them all killed.

  Dukat’s coup had overwhelming popular support. Food and goods from Dominion territories began to flood Cardassian shops and depots, and the new masters of Cardassia proved able to distribute them, particularly in the provinces, where the Jem’Hadar were quickly embedded. Within weeks, news was released of military successes against the Klingons. Dukat’s popularity soared. Tora Ziyal was forgotten. People began to talk, in sentimental terms, of the great Cardassian family, with Dukat at its head. They took their children out to the Akleen sector to see the Jem’Hadar drill, and they cheered as they watched. In the streets and on the walkways, people congratulated each other on surviving the past few years, and said how glad they were to have been delivered.

  One afternoon, Rugal joined Arric on the roof of the free hospital for his break. Now an auxiliary medic, Rugal and his ilk reigned supreme up here. (The doctors went somewhere else.) They talked about Dukat’s accession and, because they were in private, Arric asked, “Do you know what’s going to happen to you?” Rugal had long since trusted him with the story of Dukat’s part in his kidnap. “Will Dukat be coming after you and your father?”

  “I don’t know.” Rugal replied honestly. He gave his friend a wry smile. “Don’t worry. The first sign of trouble, I’ll be gone. I don’t want any of you hurt either. Particularly Tela.”

  “Rugal, I didn’t mean that—”

  “I know you didn’t, but I do. It’s possible he’s forgotten about us. He has a war on his hands, after all.” In truth, Rugal was deeply fearful on Kotan’s account. He had gone past the Pa’Dar family house and seen the Jem’Hadar there, but he hadn’t dared to contact Kotan directly. In the meantime, he and his friends were watching with despair the collapse of their work in Torr. For over a year they had labored to get the people of the sector working together to deliver supplies and services to each other, and now their fellow citizens were abandoning the effort in favor of Dominion handouts. “So much for the project,” Arric said, one evening at home.

  Elat, Serna’s friend, took a more practical view of the matter. “What’s the problem? There’s food in the shops, there’s a reliable supply of drinking water. Isn’t that the kind of thing you were trying to get done around here?”

  “That’s not freedom,” Rugal objected. “Simply being fed isn’t freedom.”

  “It’s better than working all night and then having to queue for hours just to be able to eat enough to go back to work,” Elat replied.

  “Some people will always rather be fed and enslaved than hungry and free,” Arric said despondently. “Or so it transpires.”

  Serna picked up their small daughter and kissed her on the top of her head. “People have been hungry for so long,” she said. “There are limits to what anyone can be expected to bear.”

  In the summer, Dukat proclaimed a three-day holiday across the Union to coincide with the longest day in the capital. Festivals were held across major urban centers throughout the Union. The centerpiece of the occasion was a massive military parade through the capital city to mark
the defeat of the Klingon Empire. The parade would culminate in the unveiling of a new statue of Dukat in the Plaza of the Union.

  Rugal and Penelya went along to watch. Attendance wasn’t compulsory, but word was likely to get around if you hadn’t seen it, and he was loath to draw attention to himself and Kotan. As the afternoon wore on and the spectacle showed no sign of abating, Penelya said in a quiet voice, “This might even be good for Cardassia.”

  Rugal gave her a puzzled look.

  “What I mean is... if we’re part of the Dominion, then we can rely on them to bring food and medicine, and build houses. So we won’t go and do what we’ve always done in the past. I mean, invade other worlds and take what we lack. Perhaps this really will mean peace and prosperity, for all the people of Cardassia.”

  “I’m not convinced this has anything to do with the welfare of the Cardassian people,” Rugal said. “As long as we do what we’re told, as long as we’re grateful for what we’re being given, then there’ll be peace and prosperity. But if that ever changes...” He looked down at the ranks of Jem’Hadar beginning to take their places around the still-covered monument. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to them, the omnipresent soldiers of an occupying power. “We might turn out to be surplus to requirements.”

  Brass instruments blasted out a fanfare of ear-popping stridency. When it ended, there was silence in the plaza, a silence that—if the screens were anything to go by—was stretching out across the whole Union. Three metrics passed this way, in honor of the fallen in the recent war. And then, slowly, to the beat of drums, the statue of Dukat was unveiled. “Rugal,” Penelya whispered. “I have to tell you something.”

  Someone sitting behind them made a shushing sound. One of a pair of Jem’Hadar positioned nearby looked their way. “Does it have to be right now, Pen?” he whispered back. She subsided, but then, as the last covering was removed, and the black and silver figure of Dukat was revealed, and the crowd rose to their feet to applaud and cheer madly, she said softly, “I’m leaving Cardassia Prime. I’m going back to Ithic.”