A Stitch in Time stdsn-27

by Andrew J. Robinson

  “That’s true,” I replied.

  “What usually happens to people in your culture who suffer from a . . . mental imbalance?” Hans was now treading delicately; clearly, they needed my help with Maladek. I wondered if he had really gone to them, or if they had enticed him in some way. Or was this all a lie?

  “We kill them.” Something very sharp emerged from the blue depth of Hans’s eyes, and for the first time I was afraid I had gone too far. But it was too late to back down; I had to rely on human prejudice.

  “Cowardice and madness are unforgivable,” I went on. “They reflect flaws in the Cardassian character that can never be redeemed.” This was to a certain extent indeed true of cowardice; madness, however, was looked upon as a mysterious disease, and those who suffered were isolated and treated well. In any event, no one was killed unless the cowardice occurred in battle.

  “My God,” Hans breathed, confirming, I’m sure, his belief that we were capable of any kind of atrocity. I hated his self‑righteous superiority, and calculated the several moves that would send him flying into the abyss. Instead I turned and sat down on a rock that still held warmth from the departed sun. I put my head in my hands to give him the impression of my utter vulnerability.

  “So, Alardig. What do we do now?”

  “Father had hoped that if he brought Begom on this trip–got him away from home and the pressures–but it’s only gotten worse. Father can’t even concentrate on his work. We never should have come here. I’m afraid. . . .” I stopped as if I’d gone too far.

  “Of what?” he asked. I just shook my head.

  “I understand,” Hans said, thinking that he had me. There was a long silence. “We’ll take care of Begom. You have my word. I think I know a way.” I looked at him, full of gratitude.

  “Thank you, Hans.”

  “But we will need your participation. I am going to set up a meeting as soon as possible.”

  “With Begom?” I asked, hiding my concern.

  “No. With the people who are helping him.”

  “Anything I can do . . .” I assured him with heartfelt sincerity.

  “I know. Well . . .” Hans looked around, smiling again.

  “. . . we’d better get back before we lose the light.”

  As we came down the trail, I wondered about Maladek and his illness, the people who were “helping” him, and the exact nature of my participation.

  That night I reported to Limor, and he checked and double‑checked every detail I had related with probing, specific questions. I assumed that it was because the situation had reached a critical point and he was concerned that a probe was in the middle. But the discomfiting thought did occur to me, as I patiently responded to his interrogation, that he was also scrutinizing my veracity. I was about to ask him if he doubted what I was reporting, when he preempted me.

  “I may put you on the enhancer.”

  I said nothing. It was enough of a challenge just to return his look.

  “How would you feel about that?” he asked.

  “I would . . . submit, of course.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me, Elim?”

  “No.” I continued to hold his look and knew better than to ask him anything now; I would only appear defensive. I waited in the long silence, and refused to back down.

  “Consult your comm chip. There is some information I want you to pass on to Hans Jordt when you see him next.” I was dismissed.

  Hans contacted me two days later, and we took another hike up the Mandara. Once again he set a grueling pace on a different, steeper trail. As I struggled to keep up, it occurred to me that breaking me down physically was certainly a part of his strategy. When we stopped to “admire the view” (Hans’s sentimental expression), I didn’t try to hide my exhaustion. I flopped down, panting heavily, and giving the not untrue impression that I couldn’t go any further.

  “Are you all right, Alardig?” Hans asked, barely showing any effects at all of the arduous hike. I nodded. He watched me as I “struggled” with my breathing. He took a small instrument from his pocket and waved it over me. I was warned by Limor to deactivate my comm chip, because Hans would check to see if I was recording the conversation. He was satisfied that I wasn’t.

  “We’ve found someone who can help Begom.”

  I nodded again, pretending that it was still too difficult for me to speak.

  “But to give him the help he needs, we’re going to need some information.”

  I waited for Hans to continue.

  “He speaks of betrayal, and he mentions you.”

  “Me?” I didn’t have to feign surprise.

  “Yes. Why would he say that about his own brother?” Hans asked.

  “I don’t know.” And I didn’t know how to reply to this. “What else did he say about me?”

  “He told us not to believe anything you tell us. According to him you’re here to pass on misinformation regarding the Cardassian position, and you represent an intelligence agency that wants to scuttle these talks. He says that you’re not even his brother.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What did Maladek think he could accomplish by telling them this? Was this his revenge for what happened at Bamarren? Or was this another example of having only the information I needed for the moment? I had no choice but to stay with my story. I didn’t even try to hide my true confusion from Hans.

  “Are you a spy?” he asked.

  “No. And I really don’t know what there is to spy about. The negotiating positions seem to be common knowledge. Troop withdrawals from the neutral zone. Unarmed observers on all planets in question to monitor the truce and withdrawal. Cardassian control of Dorvan V. These are the main points. What’s left are the details.” This was an accurate summation.

  Hans thought for a moment. “You’re well informed.”

  “I’m here to work with my father and learn. And I thought Begom was as well. Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?” Hans asked.

  “Unless he’s playing a dangerous game. No one pretends that a settlement with the Federation has the unanimous support of the Central Command. There are elements in the military who’d like to see these talks fail. I’m just afraid that Begom may have gotten involved with them.”

  “So now you’re accusing each other.” Hans was skeptical.

  “But why would he say such a thing about me?” I asked fervently. “He hasn’t been well ever since he came back from Bamarren.”

  “And Bamarren is . . . ?”

  “It’s our state security school. He suffered a terrible humiliation there, and I know he wants to do something that will somehow erase the shame. I’m afraid he’s involved in something that’s way over his head. He’s playing some kind of game with you, Hans, and I think he’s trying to impress someone.”

  “Who?” Hans asked.

  “Father,” I said, as if finally understanding. “Father always expected that Begom would be the one who’d go to the diplomatic institute and follow in his steps. When Begom went to Bamarren, Father was hurt and turned to me. Ever since, he’s been trying to prove to Father that he made the right choice, but after the fiasco at Bamarren. . . .” I nodded vigorously, kicking up dust as I paced our small clearing.

  “I don’t know what he’s telling you, Hans, but if it’s anything like what he’s said about me, then be careful. He’s angry and he’s disturbed, and he’s going to say whatever he feels he needs to to redeem his pride and honor. He’s always been an adventurer, and this whole spy business–I’m certain–is just another game to him.”

  Hans didn’t say anything. He looked out over his beloved rain forests receding to the distant string of volcanoes, and his face was a mask.

  “What was the information you wanted from me?” I asked after a long silence. Hans grimaced as if to dispel an unpleasant thought.

  “No, Alardig, I think you’ve told me what’s necessary,” he said with formal politeness.

  “I
hope it’s of use in helping Begom.”

  “I think this is a family matter, don’t you? Begom and his father need to sort things out.”

  “Ah, if only they could, Hans,” I said with a sigh.

  We traced our way back down the volcano. I never saw Hans Jordt again.

  I reported to Limor that evening. As I gave him every word, gesture, and detail he never took his eyes off of mine. After I had finished, I sat in silence while he made some notes on a comm chip that seemed to come out of his hand. The silence deepened as he waited for what I guessed to be a reply to his notes. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but by now I knew that I was only going to get the information I needed to proceed–and nothing more. I had no idea as to what Maladek was up to, and I was worried about my improvisation that afternoon with Hans. Limor looked up from the comm chip.

  “You will return to Cardassia tomorrow morning. Stay in your quarters until someone comes for you, and be ready to leave immediately.” Limor’s tone was flatter than usual, and I was worried even more that somehow I had botched my assignment–whatever that assignment had been. I nodded and moved to the door.

  “You did well,” he said in the same flat tone. It was amazing how quickly and completely my spirits changed. “But tonight you are to leave your comm chip on, so I can hear everything in your room. Do you understand?” I wasn’t sure if I did.

  “Yes, of course,” I assured him.

  Limor just looked at me. “Stay on your toes, Elim. This assignment is not over.”

  The first thing I did when I returned to my room was to check the eyepiece, but Maladek wasn’t in his room. I wondered if he would ever return. Had he gone over to the Federation? Had they murdered him? My imagination was attempting to fill in the missing pieces. What was this about? I packed my things to be ready in the morning, and sat in a chair fully clothed with my phaser concealed but accessible. I adjusted the comm chip so that Limor could monitor. What I was waiting for I wasn’t quite sure, but I had an idea.

  * * *

  There were all kinds of eyes staring at me. Strange blue ones that studied me like a specimen. Soft brown ones that signaled regret. Hard red eyes that looked at me with unaccountable hatred. I opened my eyes, and the red eyes were still staring at me. They belonged to Maladek, bloodshot with an inner torment I had only witnessed through the eyepiece. I realized that I had fallen asleep. How long had he been in the room?

  “Maladek–what?” I started to get up, but he pushed me back. I didn’t resist, because I saw that he had a small phaser in his hand, and I was better off in the chair anyway because that’s where my phaser was.

  “When I saw you at the cell meeting I knew you were nothing but trouble. Just as before.” His deadly tone sent my hand for the phaser, but I couldn’t find it.

  “Maladek, I have never meant you any ill. . . .”

  “From the beginning. With Charaban. You were an instrumental part of my betrayal.”

  “What betrayal?” I asked. “It was the Competition, and it was my duty to fight you and try to win.”

  “But you weren’t supposed to win!” he shouted, raising the hand with the phaser. I still couldn’t find mine. It must have slipped deeper into the cushions.

  “Of course we were. Winning is the obligation of any Cardassian.” I didn’t know what he was talking about. He laughed with that loud, unpleasant bark.

  “You’re good, aren’t you? They sent me back. They said I wasn’t stable enough to trust. They said I should work it out with my Father!” He laughed again. “If they only knew. What did you tell them?”

  “Tell who?” I asked.

  “Don’t play with me again!” He raised the phaser and moved toward me. I wondered if Limor was hearing this. “Twice is enough, Ten Lubak!” Another bark. “A Ten!” he said with spitting disgust. “You threw that body at us and I knew Charaban wasn’t keeping his end of the bargain.”

  “What bargain?” I suddenly didn’t care about the phaser.

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  “No.”

  “It was supposed to end in a stalemate. Neither of us would win. That way, Charaban could still assume leadership, and my placement after culmination would have been higher than an Obsidian probe.” He suddenly looked at me as if he was seeing another person.

  “Why did you leave Bamarren?” he demanded.

  “I was told to,” I replied.

  “Why?” He couldn’t compute this. “You were one of the unit leaders. You should have advanced with the betrayer.”

  I said nothing. I was not about to explain my own betrayal. Maladek began to weep.

  “What did you say to them? You said something about my father.” Somehow I knew he wasn’t talking about “Oonal.”

  “I told them that you were in over your head and that it was because you were trying to prove something to your father.” His eyes were suddenly furious, and he grabbed my neck with his free hand and held the phaser up to my head.

  “What do you know? What do you know about anything?” he screamed in my face.

  I easily grabbed the wrist of his phaser hand and disarmed him and kicked him back onto the floor. I stood up and held the phaser so he could see it. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard footsteps moving away from the door outside.

  “What am I going to tell him? They’re sending me back. You seem to know everything that’s going on in my life. How do I tell him I’ve been disgraced again? What do I say?” The look on his face–the red eyes and contorted muscles–sent chills through me. He actually expected me to give him an answer.

  “Just tell him . . . you did the best you could.” The bark this time shocked me. It was loud and mocking and had a concussive effect. I backed up, fully expecting him to attack. Instead, he walked to the door, opened it and left. I didn’t follow him; I was too stunned by the last grotesque image he’d presented. I went to the eyepiece, but he didn’t return to his room. I didn’t know what to do. Somehow the fiction, created in a moment of need, had become blended in with an awful reality, and I felt that once again I’d been the unwitting instrument of Maladek’s abysmal failure.

  “Come in, Elim.” Tain had his uncle smile working today. I entered the office, which was more cluttered than ever. There was barely room for me to stand.

  “We did very well on Tohvun.”

  “I hope my contribution. . . .”

  “Yes, we were able to scuttle those misconceived talks. We complained that the Federation was more interested in harassing our embassy people than they were in bargaining in good faith.”

  I nodded. There were so many questions. How I had managed to function during that mission, when I never knew what it was about or what I was supposed to do, I’ll never know. This was my first experience with Tain’s working methods. For him it was all a puzzle, and we were the separate pieces he put together at his pleasure. I had to accept that the final result–destroying the talks–was the one he wanted. But there was one question I needed to ask. Maladek’s final look haunted me still.

  “What is it, Elim?” Tain asked.

  “What happened to Maladek?”

  “You didn’t hear?” He seemed surprised. “A terrible thing really. He killed himself.”

  I didn’t move a muscle. I felt my throat begin to constrict. Tain watched me.

  “Very upsetting. It was the reason the talks were cancelled. We had no idea he was so unstable.”

  That was the word the Federation had used when they sent him back. And while I believed that Hans Jordt had decided that Maladek was too much of a liability, Tain’s unblinking look made it clear to me that this was a far more complicated world than that of Bamarren and the Competition. For one thing, the penalty for losing could be final. For another, we can never be certain what purpose we are serving. At least Maladek didn’t have to worry about what he would say to his father now.

  9

  The city is rising from its ashes. From reports coming in, it seems that cities an
d communities all over Cardassia are digging out and establishing a new life. But it’s difficult, Doctor. We have so few natural resources (which dictated our expansionist policy to begin with), and our infrastructure has been ravaged. So the Cardassia that’s emerging is splintered and primitive. And dangerous. Each sector is attempting to organize so that food distribution can proceed in an orderly manner. I must say that the Federation has been prompt and generous in its response. However, I don’t know how many more of these “ready meals” I can stomach. Give me the Replimat any day.

  One of the problems with the reorganization is the quality of person who is answering the call for political leadership. The previous leadership structure has been discredited; people are aware that the military was the most influential group, and their agenda was to keep the mechanism for conquest and expansion well oiled. As long as they brought back the spoils of this policy, they were able to hold on to their power. And while I think most people now understand that direct responsibility for our current circumstances has to be placed at the door of the military, there are still many who believe otherwise.

  In our own sector, a man by the name of Korbath Mondrig is attempting to take political control by appealing to our fears. He maintains in public speeches that a return to our former glory is the only way we will be able to protect ourselves from our ancient enemies, who now see us as easy pickings. But what pickings? We have nothing left. However, people are believing his idiocy, and his organization is growing.

  Another man from our sector, Alon Ghemor, the nephew of Tekeny Ghemor, the legate who believed that Colonel Kira was his daughter, is organizing based on the political belief that we have to rebuild a new society administered by civilian leadership, one that lives in what he calls “creative harmony” with the rest of the Quadrant. What’s interesting is that I went to school with Ghemor. I saw him at a rally that was held here (yes, my little Tarlak has become a focal point for the sector). When he appeared I yelled, “Five Lubak!” He didn’t recognize me at first, but then his eyes widened, and he answered, “Ten!” He seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Dr. Parmak, who’s an ardent supporter of Ghemor and organized the rally, was quite impressed. It’s encouraging to see that my old schoolmate has remained a decent man.