Star Trek: Terok Nor 02: Night of the Wolves

by S. D. Perry

  “Certainly.” Kell nodded.

  “It does us no good to downplay the Bajoran threat,” Darhe’el said. “It may seem as though containment is a simple affair, but in fact the resistance has proven to be surprisingly resourceful, and their numbers are only increasing. This suggests to me, as it does to many, that all Bajorans have rebellion in their hearts, and to award them any freedom is an invitation to further attack.” Darhe’el looked pointedly at Dukat when he spoke the last bit.

  “I must respectfully disagree,” Dukat replied, his jaw clenching only slightly. “My colleague has presented a very common misconception. In fact, the Bajorans are quite easily made compliant, as just a little leniency seems to go a very long way with them. While it is true that I plan to conduct most of my business from Terok Nor, I have been a student of this planet since first contact, and I will be forging personal relationships with individual Bajorans in order to foster an atmosphere of trust between our two peoples. I am certain that a gentle hand is necessary for maximum output.”

  Kotan Pa’Dar, the former scientist who now served as the civilian exarch at the Tozhat settlement, broke in. “I must agree with Gul Dukat, for a change,” Pa’Dar said coolly, and Dukat acknowledged him with a curt nod.

  “Only time will tell which strategy is most effective,” Legate Kell said. “It makes no difference to me how the threat is contained, only that it is. Gul Dukat has been appointed prefect of Bajor, and will manage the annexation as he sees fit—with the resources presently at his disposal.”

  Damar saw the glint in the prefect’s eyes as Kell spoke, though he didn’t know what it meant. He knew that the two men had a history, and that Dukat did not hold Kell in high esteem, but the legate seemed to be supporting Dukat, and continued to do so throughout the surprisingly brief meeting. Dukat touched on a few other topics and wrapped everything up a short time later, announcing to those who were physically present that anyone who was interested was welcome to gather in the reception room for refreshments.

  Damar deactivated the feed before he set about gathering the discarded glasses. Dukat had lingered behind to speak to one of the legates who had traveled from Cardassia VI, and as the legate retired to his quarters, Damar caught the gul’s eye.

  “I think the meeting went well,” Damar said hopefully.

  Dukat smiled, looking tired. “It went as well as could be expected, considering those fools from the civilian government were invited. So many of them have succumbed to weakness, and I know that at least a few have spread their biases around regarding the situation here. I have no doubt that Kell was unable to see them for the cowards that they are.”

  Damar was puzzled. The only “civilian” who’d spoken up had been Pa’Dar. “But…Pa’Dar…he agreed with you. It was Gul Darhe’el who said…”

  “Yes, on the surface it would appear that Pa’Dar is aligned with me, and Darhe’el is not. But it is much more complicated than that, I’m afraid. It is always important to know who your friends are, who your enemies are, and what their ulterior motives may be for agreeing or disagreeing.”

  Damar felt awed in the presence of such a complicated man. “I am sure that Kell appreciates which men are sincere.”

  Dukat laughed. “Are you, Damar? I don’t know where Kell stands at this point, although he at least pretends to have some faith in my abilities.” The gul’s expression narrowed. “As well he’d better. For although it’s clear that very few can understand my strategies, I will be successful, whether Kell is willing to acknowledge it or not. You can make no mistake about that.”

  “I know you will be,” Damar replied earnestly.

  Dukat’s expression grew more relaxed. “Will I see you in the reception room, Damar?”

  “Oh.” Damar was taken aback. “I thought it was reserved for attending officers.”

  “I don’t see why we can’t bend the rules a little, considering that I’m the one who makes them.”

  Damar was pleased, but in truth he preferred not to attend. Earlier today he had seen Basso Tromac with a group of scrawny and bedraggled Bajoran women, a group that he later saw being herded into the conference room after they had been cleaned up and dressed in tawdry gowns. He quickly deduced that they were meant to attend the reception, and the thought of mingling with the Bajoran females made him uncomfortable on several levels. “I am honored that you would extend the invitation to me, Gul, but I’m unusually exhausted this evening.”

  “Of course. No doubt you’re eager to get to your quarters so you can place a communication to your beloved on the surface.”

  Damar smiled, thinking of Veja. “If you could see her, you would agree that I can’t be blamed for my impatience.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Damar. Still, it might do you well to come and socialize with the officers. You could learn a thing or two.”

  Damar spoke with unbridled honesty. “The only officer I wish to learn from is standing here with me right now.”

  It was not prudent to travel by foot for a few days after Lenaris’s arrival at the settlement outside Tilar, for the spring rains had made it too wet to be practical. But when a dry day finally arrived, Lenaris joined Lac and Taryl as they picked their way through tessipates upon tessipates of unproductive land, some barren, some choked with noxious weeds. Without irrigation, these fields would doubtless wither into a dry tinderbox in the late summer, and Lac confirmed that wildfires were common.

  Lenaris stopped along the way to pick wild alva fruits, which grew in abundance along the old hedgerows that had once marked the boundaries between farms. Lenaris had learned that dried alvas were a mainstay of the Ornathia diet, since they were plentiful and provided enough nutrition to ward off many serious infections. Lenaris popped the fruits in his mouth, savoring the burst of fresh flavor that was severely diminished once the fruits had been dried for preservation.

  Lac had insisted that they walk. Though he was confident that the Cardassians could not trace the balon signature of his raider, he did not want to take any chances that the derelict warp vessel would be discovered, and so it was that the three had set out on foot to have a look at the craft.

  “This was all productive farmland when I was a boy,” Lac said, gesturing to the knee-high weeds that surrounded them. “We had the most reliable irrigation system on all of Bajor. It was built millennia ago, but it never needed to be restructured. The network of ditches, conduits, and underground canals was incredibly elaborate. I was always warned as a child not to go into the tunnels. They had never been mapped, so it was near-certain that you would get lost—if you didn’t drown first.”

  “So, what happened to the waterways?” Lenaris asked him, though of course he already knew. It was the same story everywhere on Bajor.

  “The Cardassians,” Taryl answered simply. Lenaris nodded.

  Lac continued where Taryl had left off. “They dug up the main canals and diverted all the water to a point about thirty kellipates inland, for a mining operation that they abandoned less than five years later.”

  “What a waste,” Lenaris said.

  “Yes, it’s their way. They’re a very irresponsible people.”

  Lenaris laughed at the understatement.

  Taryl broke in. “But really, we’re fortunate that they stripped out the minerals they wanted so quickly. When they deserted that mine, they left us to go back to farming as we had before. But with the irrigation systems the way they are now, most of us have to rely on the elements for watering our crops. The Cardassians have their own system for delivering irrigation to the vineyards, but it’s not sustainable. Some of us started trying to restore the canals, but most of us feel that fighting the Cardassians takes precedence over a convenient way to water the crops.”

  Lac grimaced. “The older generation, as I’m sure you can imagine, doesn’t particularly agree with us. Which is why we don’t spend a lot of time at our parents’ farm anymore.”

  “The mining operation is near the village,” Taryl explained, gestur
ing back to where they had come. “We followed the water, basically. Its most abundant flow is back where we built our houses.”

  “Does Seefa know where you are?” Lac asked his sister, and Taryl shook her head.

  “He doesn’t need to know where I am at every minute of the day,” she said crisply. “So, Holem, do you know where this Tiven Cohr is, or not?”

  Lenaris didn’t care to discuss Tiven Cohr, but he wanted Taryl to think him agreeable. “I think so,” he ventured. “I know a few people who could possibly have spoken to him recently. People from my old cell.”

  “What happened to your cell, anyway?”

  Lenaris frowned. Much as he wanted to engage Taryl in meaningful conversation, he did not want to explain how the cell had broken up. “Just went our separate ways,” he said vaguely.

  “Yeah, but—why? If the rumors are true, you had some very skilled people working together. Why would you throw all that away?”

  “I don’t think he wants to get into it,” Taryl’s brother said quietly, and Lenaris looked to his friend—for he had come to think of Lac as a friend—with gratitude.

  “Is that it?” Lenaris said, pointing to some low foothills that were coming into view.

  “Yeah,” Lac confirmed. “She’s right at the base of the smallest of those hills. They’re riddled with kelbonite—the Cardassians’ scanning equipment doesn’t work well here. It’s how she’s avoided their attention all this time.”

  No one spoke as they came upon the massive ship, mostly buried in dirt and dense foliage. It was well camouflaged. Lenaris could see from the outline that it had been a mid-sized carrier. Someone, presumably Lac, had excavated part of one wing and a section of cockpit that permitted access to the interior. Ground birds had nested in the gentle fall of rock covering the ship, spiders had spun their webs across the dark, jagged entrance holes; the vessel had a desolate feel, dead and abandoned.

  “You’ve gone inside?” Lenaris asked, his heart thumping.

  Lac nodded. “A couple of times,” he said. “It’s a little spooky in there…but I didn’t find any bodies—at least, not yet. I think whoever was inside must have bailed out before she came down—I couldn’t find any escape pods.”

  Lenaris started to clamber up the incline that led to the exposed cockpit, Lac right at his heels, but Taryl hung behind.

  “What is it?” Lenaris asked.

  Taryl frowned and looked at her brother.

  “You don’t have to come in, Taryl,” Lac said, sounding uncertain. “I mean—maybe you shouldn’t have even come along, if—”

  “No,” Taryl said. “I want to come in. I just…”

  “What?” Lenaris repeated, trying not to let his impatience show.

  “It’s just…I promised Seefa I wouldn’t.”

  Lenaris looked to Lac for explanation, since Taryl didn’t seem to want to elaborate.

  “Seefa thinks—and some of our cousins as well—they think it’s a bad idea to fool around with this ship. Besides thinking it’s a lost cause, they’re afraid the Cardies are going to find her. Once they’ve seen that she’s been boarded recently, it’s going to lead them straight back to the settlement.”

  Lenaris scratched his head. “Well, but…you’re just farmers. You wouldn’t pose any threat to them, just trying to find salvage out here to make your lives a little easier. They’re not going to expect you to be trying to…to fix the thing, right?”

  Taryl’s mouth twisted. “Lac and I agree with you,” she said. “But Seefa and some of the others are worried that the Cardies will find out that we’ve been using balon to power our impulse and sub-impulse vessels—ships that we aren’t authorized to be flying in the first place.”

  “How would they—?”

  “We’ve been shunting balon to the surface at a point near where the mining facility was abandoned—just a stone’s throw from here, in a skimmer. If the Cardies were to find our laboratory, the place where we fuel our raiders—they probably wouldn’t continue to underestimate our abilities so much.”

  Holem frowned. He could see the logic well enough, but he couldn’t bear to simply ignore the warp vessel here, just waiting to be fully excavated and repaired. With a warp ship, they could finally regain access to Prophet’s Landing, or Valo II, or any of the other pre-occupation Bajoran settlements. They could conduct a serious assault on occupying forces if they could network with other Bajorans outside the system. Maybe they could even organize an offworld attack.

  That would surely make waves among the spoonheads, Lenaris thought, with a helpless grin. He avoided the persistent voice that told him he just wanted to have a crack at flying a warp vessel. This was for the resistance. For his people, his world.

  “She’s been here this long without being detected,” Lenaris said. “I say the benefits outweigh the risks. Let’s just have a look inside. If the damage isn’t too bad, maybe we won’t even need Tiven Cohr. I know a couple of things about simple flyer repair—if we just put our heads together…”

  Lac didn’t need any persuading, but Taryl lingered behind for another minute before she finally succumbed to what she really wanted to do, anyway, and followed them inside the ship.

  Vedek Opaka had set about on this day to tidy and sweep the dust from her stone cottage. Fasil had offered to help, but she sent him off to be with his friends, to enjoy the weather. Summer had finally come to the valley, which meant both good news and bad for the Bajorans who called it home. More and more people went without proper food and shelter with each passing year, and summer was a time for respite from the elements and the inevitably lean colder months. But the hot weather also meant more Cardassian activity on the surface. Opaka knew that many of the local resistance fighters chose to spend the summertime in hiding, plotting their next moves for the winter, when the Cardassian troops would again be at their weakest.

  She’d learned as much from some of the people she’d been meeting. Opaka had taken the warming weather as her cue to begin meeting with the scattered groups of people in the valley who did not attend services: the elderly who could not travel far from their camps, the more cynical and despondent Bajorans who believed the Prophets had abandoned them, and of course the restless young people who had begun to live like nomads—many of whom fought in the resistance. These were the people, Opaka had decided, who most needed to hear the message. She’d begun to travel regularly to the camps on the outskirts of the village on days when her duties were light, speaking to whoever would listen. She didn’t preach so much as try to make connections, to remind people that the Prophets were real and that Bajor had a future, and she had been pleased with the mostly positive reception.

  She had changed the bedding, dusted and swept the result out the cottage’s front door. She propped the door open and went to wrangle the wood-and-glass panel that covered the tall window near the roof, to air the cottage out. As she turned from the window, she started a bit when she saw the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun.

  “Kai Arin,” she said, bowing deeply. “You honor me with your presence. Welcome to my home.”

  “Thank you, Vedek Opaka.”

  “Please, sit.” Sulan gestured to one of the turned-leg chairs at the wooden table in the center of the room.

  Kai Arin sat and immediately began to make small talk, something Opaka had come to expect from the kai when he wished to calm himself. Obviously, he had something to tell her.

  “You know…did I ever tell you…this house, many centuries ago…Kai Dava used to live in it. Did you know that?”

  Opaka shook her head. “No, I didn’t, Your Eminence. I suppose I knew that someone lived here…I mean, someone besides the porli fowl.”

  “It’s true, or at least, so I’m told. In fact, it is rumored that before the old shrine was built, he kept the relics here, in this very house.”

  “You mean, a Tear was kept here?”

  The kai looked away. “It’s only a rumor, of course.”


  Kai Arin’s faraway look spoke volumes. Eighteen years ago, he had tried to save the Orb of Truth, when the Kendra Shrine was destroyed. He had tried to save it, but he had almost died doing so. He had never spoken of it, but Opaka knew he carried guilt, remorse for choosing to save his own life over making every attempt to save the Orb. The Orbs—the Tears of the Prophets—represented a fundamental aspect of Bajoran spiritual life, the ability to connect directly with the Prophets. No one judged Arin for what he had done—no one but Arin himself. He was a spiritual man, and felt keenly the responsibilities of his service.

  She quickly changed the subject. “There was a fire here, I was told, long ago…”

  Arin spoke quickly. “Yes, it burned the roof off, and the dwelling sat vacant for some time. It was later converted into a springhouse, or something of that nature. It was a toolshed when I first came here, and then, as you say, it was a coop for the fowl, with a batos pen on the other side. Funny, nobody seems to keep batos around here anymore.”

  “I suppose nobody can afford to feed them,” Opaka said.

  “Things are certainly different now.”

  Opaka nodded, recognizing that he was coming to his point.

  “Vedek Opaka, I’m told you have begun to preach outside the sanctuary.”

  She breathed deeply, nodded.

  “I commend you for wanting to bring your message to those who cannot or will not attend services, although that’s usually left to monks in other orders besides yours.”

  “Yes, I understand, Your Eminence. I…was only following my heart. I believe this is what the Prophets wish of me.”

  “Perhaps you are meant to preach outside of the sanctuary, Opaka, but I don’t believe that you are meant to spread dangerous ideas to people already impressionable in their unhappiness.”

  Opaka had nothing to say. She had known that it would eventually come to this, but not so quickly. She had not yet prepared a response.

  “Vedek Opaka, it is our obligation to spread the words of the Prophets. And those words include the message of Bajoran tradition. It is not our place to reinterpret the Prophets’ words to serve our own personal beliefs.”