Star Trek: Typhon Pact - 10 - The Fall: The Crimson Shadow

by Una McCormack

  “Why are you not dead?” she asked.

  “Because when I go to the city constabulary and make contact with an undercover agent who tells me that the True Way is responsible for the death of the president of the Federation, I assume the meeting has not gone unnoticed and that the matter of my removal will be a top priority.” He shifted in his chair, which was not particularly comfortable. Chairs in little rooms like this were never comfortable, on either side. “I can only be grateful that Captain Picard was willing not only to break a directive disallowing our entry to this establishment, but also to assume that I was not indulging in—what was it? Oh, yes!—‘a paranoid fantasy.’ I was transported here, to HARF, well before my skimmer exploded.”

  Garak suppressed a slight shudder. In fact, it had been a matter of seconds, and he’d been fairly shaky ever since. He’d grabbed some sleep here and there, but most of the day had been spent frantically trying to contact Mhevet and Dygan, who had unfortunately—if sensibly—taken his assassination as a signal to go to ground. Garak was not feeling at his most relaxed. But the castellan didn’t need to know any of this.

  She looked at him steadily. “You can’t prove anything.”

  “No, but you can and will tell me the truth. Was it you?”

  “Of what am I being accused now? Murdering Bacco? Or attempting to murder you?”

  He shrugged. “Take your pick.”

  “How dare you—”

  “I know that you’ve been set on ignoring my advice at whatever cost, Rakena, but on this occasion I would strongly advise you to speak plainly to me. Hitherto we have simply not succeeded in being friends. I would advise you not to make me your enemy.”

  “What kind of person do you think I am?”

  “I think you’re the product of a violent and brutal civilization whose leaders have always indulged themselves to excess. Tell me why I shouldn’t believe that you are a murderer and an assassin. I know I am.”

  “You?” She was pale gray with rage. “You are all that was worst about the old Cardassia! All that was poisonous and deadly! The Obsidian Order!” She spat out the words. “Central Command! Skrain Dukat! You were the ones who brought us to the edge. How many died because of men like you? How does a man like you survive?”

  Garak didn’t reply. He didn’t disagree with anything she had said. Softly, he asked, “When did you find out about Bacco?”

  “Just before Picard brought the news about President Ishan’s shift of policy over the withdrawal. The deputy director of the CIB came to see me.”

  “The deputy director? Not Crell?”

  She gave him a cold look.

  “No,” Garak said. “No, of course not. . . . As a matter of interest, when exactly did Crell stop answering to you? No, you don’t have to answer that. I’ll work that out for myself.” He recalled her sudden moment of distress in the meeting, which he had put down to shock. It had indeed been shock—but of a different kind. “Yes, I see now why that meeting with Picard was so alarming. You must have thought Ishan already knew and was beginning to pull back from us, without even a courtesy call . . .” He examined his nails. “You realize you’re going to have to resign?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your position really is impossible.”

  “I have no intention of resigning—!”

  “You won’t survive this, so you may as well go on your own terms. Rakena, a Cardassian has murdered the president of the Federation. The CIB, if not implicated in some quarters, has, at the least, attempted to cover it up—with your cognizance!”

  “Nobody close to me had a hand in Nan Bacco’s death!”

  “No? How did the assassin get on board DS9? How did they get within range?”

  There was a pause. Her hand went up to cover her mouth.

  “They’re not a paranoid fantasy, Rakena,” he said. “They think of everything. They mean to control us. They have taken parts of the CIB, and they’re taking the constabulary as we speak. And soon they will remove you from your position and put Evek Temet in your place.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes.

  “It would be better if you resigned,” he said gently.

  “What is the alternative?”

  “The alternative,” he said, “is that they destroy you.”

  “I won’t let them.”

  “You won’t be able to stop them. Leak after leak after leak . . . Do you want me to map this out for you? It could end with your impeachment.”

  “I’ll fight them all the way.”

  “You’ll lose. And Temet’s elevation to castellan will be assured.”

  “I’m prepared to take that risk.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” he said. Again, he studied his nails. “There is another alternative,” he said.

  “Oh, yes?” She was looking at him with hope in her eyes. Now she was listening. Now she wanted to hear what he could do for her.

  “I destroy you first,” Garak said.

  They stared at each other. Neither of them blinked. “Do your worst,” she said.

  “Oh, Rakena,” he said softly, looking away. “You really shouldn’t say things like that.”

  * * *

  “Well?” asked Picard, when Garak walked into Fry’s office. “Did she know?”

  “Not before the act,” Garak said. “But soon after.” He paced slowly around the room, coming to a halt by the commander’s desk. He began to sort through the pile of books stacked there.

  “Have you gained any insight into what’s happening?” Picard asked.

  Garak sighed and put down the book he was holding. “There’s plainly some kind of struggle for control happening at the CIB,” he said. “Elements there wished to conceal their information about the assassination even from the castellan. Whether because they were implicated or because they were terrified to expose the extent to which they were out of control—I don’t know. Possibly both at once, which is alarming. But the deputy director, at least, had the sense to inform the castellan—who then, alas, decided to conceal her knowledge in turn.” He rested his hands lightly upon the top of the books. “If only she’d trusted me. . . . But then why should she?”

  Picard felt himself relax, slightly. “I must confess it’s a great relief to learn Rakena Garan was not involved in any way. But tell me, Garak, what is the hold that the True Way has on your people? Where did they come from?”

  “The True Way? Oh, that’s a long story. . . . Legend has it that their origins stretch back to our early history, when our society was largely in the control of some very powerful families. Tain’s family was one—or so family tradition had it—and that was the start of the Obsidian Order. Whether or not this was true, I don’t know, but certainly it was part of what drove Tain, and, I suspect, part of what drives those who consider themselves the True Way.” He picked up one of the books, looked inside, then put it back on the pile and resumed prowling, coming to a halt near the door.

  “Like the feudalism of Earth’s history,” Picard said.

  “That’s correct. The Obsidian Order was created, in part, to end the strife between those families, to put that way of life behind us. It was intended as an instrument of the state: an organization that did not serve a single family, but served them all. The purpose was to put an end to civil war and to provide stability.” He gave a low laugh. “And it worked—rather better than perhaps anyone anticipated. It was very good at preventing civil unrest.”

  “Rather too good, wouldn’t you say?”

  “In fact, I would say that, now. But this was how Tain justified himself, you see.”

  “I see.” Picard nodded. Despite all, the captain couldn’t help being fascinated by this glimpse into the dark, secret heart of Cardassia. “One doesn’t commit evil actions in the belief that one is acting wrongly. What allows one to commit such acts is the belief that it will contribute to a greater good.”

  “Yes, that’s largely what’s going on inside your head,” Garak said. �
�It’s different for the sociopaths, of course. They’re just along for the ride.”

  “The True Way stood for the past?” Picard asked slowly. “The restoration of the great families and their way of life? That was their justification. Is their justification.”

  “Exactly that. This made them the natural enemies of the Order, which was the instrument created to secure the new Cardassian state. I have to say that the True Way’s methods were always tediously similar: they’d install their people in key institutions—the Detapa Council, the Order, Central Command—and those people would work to concentrate power in their hands. Always the same, and always a trial to police. A great deal of my work at one point involved preventing the True Way from gaining control of the upper levels of the Obsidian Order hierarchy. . . .”

  Garak paused and frowned in recollection. Picard shuddered at the thought of what those purges must have involved.

  “You can see,” Garak went on, “that they’ve not changed much, despite the passage of time and the tragedies of our recent past.”

  “And they survived the Dominion War?”

  “Oh, yes—well, something of everything survived the Dominion War in one way or another. I became aware of them again when Ghemor was alive. They sent a suicide bomber—a teenage girl—to destroy a Federation science project in the Andak Mountains.”

  “I recall that case,” Picard said slowly. “Miles and Keiko O’Brien were there at the time.”

  “Yes, that’s right. If I hadn’t been set against the True Way already, I would certainly have been after they threatened Miles O’Brien’s family. . . .” Garak smiled down fondly at the floor. “Anyway, we stopped them. But I’ve been vigilant ever since. I’m all that remains of the Obsidian Order, and watching for the True Way was our primary purpose. . . .” Garak shrugged. “Perhaps they’re the same people, or perhaps these are their inheritors, but they need to know that I am still here, and I will never allow them to reestablish themselves. Cardassia is different now, and it will remain different.”

  “Why was President Bacco targeted?”

  Garak sighed. “Who knows what tortuous logic lies behind that crime? Nevertheless, being of a similarly devious cast of mind, I shall attempt an explanation.”

  “By all means do.”

  “We are once again at a moment when Cardassian political life hangs in the balance. The Federation is leaving. Democracy is taking root. And if Rakena Garan were to win another term—which she can’t now, of course—this would certainly have secured a democratic way of life on Cardassia for . . .” Garak tapped his finger against his cheek. “Well, one hesitates to say ‘indefinitely,’ but certainly beyond my lifetime and, really, that’s the best one can hope for.”

  “And that’s not what the True Way wants,” said Picard, understanding. “They want power back in the hands of the elite.”

  “Yes, indeed. So they conceived a bold plan: one that would, with a single action, reshape our internal politics and external alliances in their interest. And you, Captain—or, more specifically, the Federation—have been the target. Strike at the Federation, and you strike at the new order.”

  “But why the president?”

  “That’s a statement of power and reach: ‘We have gotten past all your security, all your defenses, and we have killed your beloved leader—and you don’t even know who we are.’ ” He smiled. “A blow to a Federation already suffering a crisis of confidence from the Andorian succession—”

  “And framing a Bajoran for the crime only further undermines our confidence in our stability and plays to Cardassian prejudice—”

  “Yes, indeed.” Garak laughed. “And what ‘true’ Cardassian wouldn’t want to see a Bajoran imprisoned for this?”

  “That hasn’t quite worked out, though,” Picard said. “The Bajoran has been proven not to be guilty.”

  “No, but I rather imagine they are feeling somewhat emboldened at the moment. They have successfully assassinated your president, they have, as far as they know, successfully assassinated me, and the mood here at home seems to be swinging away from the castellan and her pro-alliance stance. Now, they’ve set you at odds with the Tzenkethi, and, meanwhile, at home, they maneuver someone friendlier to their interests into the position of castellan.”

  “Evek Temet.”

  “Yes, indeed, my new bête noire.” Garak’s face darkened. “With the Federation in chaos, Temet as castellan would be well placed to take an isolationist position: ‘We must withdraw from the alliance, avoid other peoples’ wars, blah blah blah. . . .’ So the Union sits out any ensuing conflict between the powers—and who will be the major power after the dust settles?”

  “Cardassia,” said Picard.

  “Yes, indeed.” Garak paused. “It’s a bold plan and quite elegant. I might have tried it myself once upon a time.”

  “It also seems to be working well.”

  “Relatively well, hitherto,” Garak replied. “Fortunately, you and I are now on the case.”

  “What drives such people?” Picard asked. “Why commit such terrible, destructive crimes?”

  Garak looked at him. “Do you want me to answer that?”

  “Yes. I think I do.”

  Garak opened his hands. “Love, Captain. What else?”

  “Love?”

  “For this beautiful, stricken world—”

  “Many love their homes, Ambassador, but not all are driven to atrocities because of that love.”

  “But then there’s also the pain, Captain. The pain that comes of seeing one’s home wounded and the desire to protect it from coming to such harm ever again.” He held his hands close together. “I’m not trying to justify such actions. Not any longer. Never again—never. I’m merely trying to explain them.”

  A wounded world, Picard thought; yes, that was how it was. A civilization that had harmed itself again and again and was now struggling to put this long cycle of hurt behind itself. But all it took was someone who could not live past the pain.

  Garak stirred. “Once again I must apologize on behalf of my people. I find myself doing that far too often. . . .” He fell silent for a moment. “What do you intend to do with this information, Captain?”

  Picard pondered this. Regulations required he report this. He imagined speaking to Ishan Anjar and telling that stern and unbending man, a victim of the Occupation, what he knew. He wondered if by withholding the information, the Federation might be pulled into a war with the Typhon Pact.

  “If I may,” Garak said quietly, “what matters is the alliance. If this destroys the alliance between the Federation and the Union, Bacco’s assassins will have achieved what they set out to do.”

  The captain looked around the room at the half-empty shelves, the packing cases lying open. “I won’t make a report until the current situation is resolved,” he said.

  “You mean with the castellan?”

  Picard nodded. “What do you think she intends to do?”

  “What she intends to do is neither here nor there. Tomorrow morning she will tell the ’casts that she intends to serve out what remains of her term but that she will not be running for reelection.”

  “And how do you intend to persuade her of that?”

  “I have my methods.”

  “Garak,” Picard said, “I cannot be involved in the removal of the democratically elected leader of another government—”

  “No?” Garak looked disappointed. “Why, Captain—you’re no fun at all.” He sniffed. “Sisko would have been willing.”

  “Yes, well—I’m not Benjamin Sisko.”

  Garak gave a measureless smile. “Indeed, no! No, you’re not! But you need not trouble yourself. I believe that I may yet be able to persuade the castellan to fall upon her sword.” He gestured around the room. “You have merely provided the setting for the crime, Captain. Fear not. Someone else will commit it.”

  “You know that I’d like to believe that,” said Picard. “But you’re not that persuasive, Ambas
sador Garak.”

  * * *

  Arati Mhevet, watching Ambassador Garak leave Fry’s office, stepped out of the shadows and followed him a little way down the corridor. He soon turned to face her.

  “Did you want something, Investigator?”

  Slowly, she walked up to him. “I was listening, just now.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I heard everything you said about the Obsidian Order and its origins.”

  “I wondered if you might find that of interest.”

  “I did. . . .” She struggled to say what was on her mind.

  “Take your time,” he suggested. “What you want to say will be difficult to express, I suspect. I only found a way to say it very recently.”

  She looked down the corridor. “All my life,” she said, “despite everything that happened to our people, despite everything we did, I knew there was something about us that was good. Something worthwhile.”

  “I agree. Not least that we’re almost indestructible. Fortunate, really. But we do take a terribly long time to learn.” Garak touched her arm. “Go on.”

  “And I sensed . . . that at the same time there was something pernicious, something bad, something that was always struggling to dominate. Was that the True Way?”

  “The True Way is one form that it takes.”

  “And the Obsidian Order?”

  His eyes were pained. “Came to resemble its enemy, sadly.”

  “I don’t want to be Obsidian Order.”

  “None of us do.” Folding his hands around hers, he gave her a steady, sky-blue look. “But you understand, don’t you, that the institutions don’t matter? The Obsidian Order, Central Command, the True Way, Starfleet, empires, unions, federations—these are names and names only. They are tools. They count for nothing if the purpose is flawed. That was my mistake for a long time—confusing the purpose with the instrument. It took me a long time to learn the truth.”

  “What is the truth?”

  “The truth?” Garak laughed, softly, as if he had never imagined that he would be asked such a question. “The truth is that the institution flourishes only when the people who comprise it flourish. And if the people are sick, the institution will be sick.” He squeezed her hand. “If there’s anything I could teach you, I’d teach you that.”