Текст книги "Dawn of the Eagles "

Автор книги: Stephani Danelle Perry

Соавторы: Gene Rodenberry,Britta Dennison
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

22

Dukat resented Kell’s presence on the station, but the aging legate made it a point to visit at least twice a year. This time, he had come without the courtesy of a scheduled announcement, leaving Dukat to feel as though he were victim to a surprise attack.

Dukat took his superior on the requisite tour around the station, knowing that none of it held the least bit of interest to the old man. His visits here were part of a simple effort to project the image of “involvement,” and to assure the Cardassian people that Bajor was indeed safe.

“Over here is the operations center’s new science station—”

“I have seen it,” the Legate said brusquely.

“Ah, yes, of course, on your last visit here we had just completed it.”

On the Promenade, Kell observed the opening and closing of the gates that barred the Bajoran laborers from entering the Cardassian side of the station without proper authorization. Two Bajorans were admitted as the legate looked on, accompanied by a press of Cardassian escorts.

“What business do those men have on this side of the station?” Kell demanded.

“I couldn’t say without asking the sentries who admitted them,” Dukat said. “I’m sure whatever the cause, it is legitimate—and trifling enough that you and I don’t need to concern ourselves with it.”

“Has security on this station always been so casual?” Kell asked.

Dukat bristled for a moment before forcing himself to smile. “Security on Terok Nor functions quite effectively, Legate.”

Kell turned back toward the habitat ring, and Dukat relaxed slightly; the old man looked as though he planned to retire for the night. “Security was not functioning effectively when the detection grid was compromised,” the legate said.

Dukat’s smile remained in place. “It’s true, Legate—and the situation would have spiraled out of control had I not acted promptly, with the strategic deployment of troops. I have repeatedly asked Central Command to send more troops here, and my requests have repeatedly been turned down—which I find puzzling, now that the situation with the border colonies is finally said to be diffused.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with the goings-on at the border,” the legate said gruffly, though Dukat had made no indication of being troubled—something that immediately suggested to him that there might be more going on in the so-called demilitarized zone than he had been led to believe.

“I am only able to do so much with the resources I have been appointed,” Dukat told him. “As you know, when my last chief of security left, I was not assigned a qualified replacement in sufficient time to maintain order, and I was forced to choose an alien to fill the position. Which isn’t to suggest that I am unhappy with the shape-shifter’s performance,” he added quickly, remembering the old man’s suggestion that he dismiss Odo, “but it is a fine example of the improvisational nature of my leadership. I have been—”

“Well, it isn’t the sabotage of your detection grid that compels me to warn you, Gul. You must be especially wary of assassination attempts.”

“Assassination! Legate, these Bajorans plan a new attempt on my life practically every week. If you weren’t aware of the danger here, then perhaps you should have stayed at home.”

“I am not speaking of Bajorans,” Kell told him, “I am speaking of Cardassians. Dissidents, Dukat. Perhaps you didn’t know it, but a very influential member of the Detapa Council recently turned up dead. All evidence suggests he was poisoned. His seat is to be filled by Yoriv Skyl. I believe you know the man.”

“Yes, the former exarch of Tozhat,” Dukat acknowledged. “His position on Tozhat has not been filled yet, thanks to the hysteria that has been so long propagated by the Detapa Council.”

“It is a difficult position,” Kell replied. “But Skyl’s resignation was not a surprise. He was given the opportunity to return home. Many men would jump at the chance.”

“Of course,” Dukat replied, “But I am not one of those men.”

Kell eyed the prefect, and then went on. “I fear that it is only a matter of time before members of Central Command are targeted. There have been no leads as to who could be responsible for the death of Yoriv Skyl’s predecessor—a colonialist, I might add—one who understood the importance of military control.”

“No leads!” Dukat exclaimed. “Is a definitive lead necessary to make an example of someone? Can’t you simply find a suitable scapegoat and call it done?”

“Of course we could,” Kell said sourly. “But do you believe it would deter subsequent attacks, if the murderer learns that he can continue to strike and see another man pay for his crime? Tell me, Dukat, is this the method you use to keep your Bajoran subjects in line? Because I must say, it seems to me that such a tactic would only be effective in frightening children and old women, while doing nothing to discourage potential violence by those who pose the greatest threat.”

Dukat had no reply, especially since random executions were a method for which Kell himself had long advocated, and he could not argue with the man without outwardly calling him a hypocrite. He escorted the legate back to his quarters in a cold fury.

“There’s one last thing, Dukat,” Kell said as he turned to face the gul after crossing the threshold to his stateroom. “I was contacted recently by Enabran Tain. He has asked for a favor that I have chosen to grant.”

“What is that to me?” Dukat scoffed. “Tain is retired.”

“Don’t be naïve,” Kell snapped. “Retired or not, one does not ignore personal requests from a man who was head of the Obsidian Order. That’s especially true for you in this case, since it involves this station of yours.”

“I see,” Dukat said through his teeth. “And the nature of this request?”

“One of the Order’s operatives has become something of an embarrassment to the organization. For whatever reason, sanctioning the man isn’t an option Tain is willing to entertain. He wishes the operative exiled here.”

Dukat fumed. “Terok Nor isn’t a retirement facility.”

“No,” Kell agreed. “But Tain is under the impression that, for this individual, it will be a satisfactory humiliation. He’s to be give the opportunity to serve the Union here in some menial capacity, without privilege or status. But—and we need to be absolutely clear about this, Dukat—he is not to be touched. Is that understood?”

Dukat’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who is he?”

But Kell, now wearing an unsettlingly amused expression, had already turned his back on the prefect and allowed the cabin door to close in Dukat’s face.

Natima’s blood ran cold when Russol contacted her at home, for she knew the reason for his call. The dissident movement had been weakened as a result of what had recently been done, many of the followers dispersing to worlds outside the Union grasp, for the fear of repercussion proved to be more powerful than the hope of governmental reform.

Natima didn’t know which of her comrades had actually killed the colonialist governor who had been replaced with Yoriv Skyl. She didn’t know exactly how the man had died, though the comnets were all saying poison. Russol had emphasized that it was best if the dissidents knew as little as possible regarding the actual deed; in case any of them were captured, they could tell no tales of that which they did not know. But Natima felt as certain as if he had told her so, that it was Russol who had done it. While she supposed it should have made her opinion of him waver, it did not. She still admired and trusted him as much as she ever had; after all, he was a soldier, and this was not the first time he had killed. But something had changed, something she could not put name to. She would always look at him differently, somehow, if only because he had made her see exactly how driven he was to see things change.

“Natima,”her friend said, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. “It is for your own safety that I propose this.”He spoke carefully, avoiding reference to particular topics, but still his message was plain. “The Sadera system is the safest place for us.”

“I can’t leave,” she told him. “Please understand. Cardassia II is my home. I…can do too much good here to just leave.”

“You can always return when the…climate is more favorable.”

“But I am to attain my professorship in only a few months time,” she told him. “I know you understand what a great honor and accomplishment this is for me. I did not expect to be awarded this position for another year. If I were to leave now, I could lose my seniority…and it would disappoint many of my students, who have come to trust me as a mentor.”

Natima did not know how to explain to Russol the relationships she had with many of her students—the almost familial ties she had begun to forge with some of her younger protégés was especially powerful. It made her feel more like a mother than she ever could have imagined—something she had never expected to experience.

“I know that you can do much good in your current position, Natima…but I beg you…”

“I don’t want to leave my work behind,” she said firmly. “I feel that my teachings can be an inspiration to the next generation of Cardassians. It’s too early for me to leave, Gaten.”

He sighed. “Very well. But I…will miss your friendship. I will be going to the Sadera system myself before long. I have only a few more assignments to carry out before the end of my commission, and then…perhaps…in the future, I will see you there.”

“In the future,” she told him. “I will hope for that.”

Natima ended the transmission, thinking how much she would miss her old friend. He had been to her like family, but within the university, she had a new family now—a new generation of thinkers, of independent-minded individuals who would help to make the Cardassia of tomorrow a better place than the Cardassia of today.

The Shikina Monastery was mostly silent, the monks of the order going about even more somberly than usual, the vedeks scarcely speaking among themselves. Prylar Bek had been putting through frantic transmissions to the vedeks of the assembly for over a week, but none had any advice for him that could allay his fears.

Since learning the news of the threat on her son’s life, the kai had taken to her quarters, a secret room visited by only the most senior members of the Vedek Assembly—and Vedek Bareil. Bareil approached her there, though he knew that she had asked for solitude so that she could meditate. He was still desperately trying to work out a solution to the current danger. It was looking more and more as though it would be the villages—over a thousand people—and not the resistance cell, which would bear the brunt of Dukat’s anger. Nobody in the Kendra Valley was willing to turn over the son of the kai, just as Bareil had expected.

“Your Eminence,” Bareil reported. “As it currently stands, the villages are slated for destruction in less than twenty-six hours. I have contacted Kalem Apren.”

“Oh?” the kai replied, but she did not look at Bareil.

“Yes, Your Eminence. I know you feel that Kalem is somehow going to be instrumental to Bajor’s rebirth, in the time of the Emissary…”

“I have never spoken of such things with you, Bareil.”

“No, but—” He stopped. She had never spoken her thoughts to him, but he knew. “I tried to convince him to save himself—that perhaps there is some means of smuggling him out of the village—but he refuses to even consider it. He says his people need him.”

“They do need him,” Opaka said. “Now more than ever, but they will continue to need him.”

Bareil went on. “I have been considering—if I were to go to Dukat with a false location outside the Kendra Valley for your son’s cell, perhaps it could buy us enough time to contact another resistance cell—someone who could help those in the rest of the villages to escape.”

The kai appeared quite tired, and seemed somehow smaller than her already small size, as though she’d shrunk within her skin. “Vedek Bareil, the resistance does not have the means to evacuate the villages. Even if it were possible to convince Dukat that Fasil’s cell was elsewhere, there are many people in the villages who could not tolerate evacuation—elderly people, terminally ill people, people with small children…”

“We could get them to the forest, somehow. The detection grid is still nonfunctional, Your Eminence—we must use this fact to our best advantage!”

“You have concerned yourself with this matter far beyond your call of obligation, Vedek. I would request that you go to the Dakeen Monastery until this incident is concluded.”

“Eminence! I cannot leave at a time like this!”

“This is exactly the time for you to go, Bareil.”

“Kai—Eminence—” He could not express the frustration and horror he’d felt, watching this conundrum unfold. He knew he was overstepping his bounds, but he could not help himself. “What is it that you have foreseen? Why will you not act?”

The small woman sighed, her shoulders hunched as though the weight of their world rested upon them. “All I can tell you is that this is the way it must be. Whatever happens, it is Their will.”

Bareil felt frustrated by her answer. Ambiguity and pessimism were unusual for Kai Opaka. “Your Eminence…you have always told me that the Prophets look after those who look after themselves…that we show our greatest trust in the Prophets by having faith in our own abilities to solve our troubles.”

“I have faith in my own abilities,” Opaka said, her voice soft. “And I have faith in my own visions, as well. I have foreseen this, Vedek Bareil.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Your suggestions…will lead to an unfortunate path.”

“Then we must ask the Prophets for the right answer!”

“The right answer, Vedek—or the answer that you want to hear?”

Bareil wished that for once, the steady leader would question her own beliefs. “You cannot be sure that—”

“Vedek, I am ordering you to go. I will not tell you again.”

Bareil felt gripped with misery. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

“But before you go, Bareil, you must put me in touch with Prylar Bek.”

“Prylar Bek?” Bareil repeated. “Do you mean…you would like me to convey a message to him for you?”

“No, Vedek Bareil. I will speak to him myself. Please arrange it for me, and then go.”

Bareil left the kai, holding out a thin ray of hope that perhaps Prylar Bek was still in contact with his Oralian, or perhaps he could somehow exercise some sort of influence over Kubus Oak—even Dukat himself. Perhaps Opaka knew something that she wasn’t telling, something that could keep her son safe. Perhaps she was protecting Bareil from a greater threat that she could not reveal. He struggled with his own doubt, but he was not ready to disobey a direct order from the kai. He headed to his room to gather some things, and to contact Prylar Bek.

The streets of Vekobet were empty but for a scant bold number of Bajorans. Soldiers spilled out into the abandoned regions of towns, searching the old, ruined habitat districts for the hiding place of Opaka Fasil and his resistance cell. They would not find them—of that, Kalem Apren was sure. Theirs was one of the most carefully concealed cells on Bajor, the secret of their location fiercely guarded by the few who knew it. Most Bajorans were reluctant to give up any resistance cell, but none would turn the kai’s own son over to the Cardassians.

Kalem was in his basement, the same place where he had conducted so many clandestine council meetings for the citizens of Kendra. Today, the low-ceilinged root cellar was more packed than it had been at the most hopeful of those gatherings, and Kalem still knew that it would offer them no protection from what was to come. They were here as much for the company of one another as for the false sense of security they conjured while huddling tightly together in the sweltering, sour-smelling dark. Raina had brought some chairs down from the main floor of their home, but most people were sitting together on blankets that had been laid on the hard dirt floor. Some were talking, halting amiability having begun to return to their conversation in the past few days. Others were tending to their children. Several were praying, but most were still sleeping—the best refuge they could have sought.

Kalem had made hasty arrangements with the others in his village. Anyone who requested shelter was not to be turned away, but so many had come, and how could Kalem refuse them? Despite how very futile it must be to hide under the flimsy floorboards of an ancient dwelling, at least they would not have to die alone.

Kalem continued to venture outside from time to time with a few of the others, gathering supplies as necessary and making futile attempts to communicate with the Cardassian soldiers, and with the few stubborn Bajorans who continued to go about their business, refusing to hide. Few had attempted to evacuate; it was well understood that no one could get far enough away to make any difference. There was still a hopeful current in his mind that insisted there might be a way to negotiate with the Cardassians—if the Cardassians would only answer his requests for a conference. No word from anyone about when to expect an attack, only frightened comm transmissions back and forth between the few households that had access to communications equipment.

Then all the soldiers, without exception, abruptly departed Vekobet.

It was mid-morning, or at least, Kalem thought it was, when he began to hear the sound of ships overhead. “Stay calm, everyone,” he announced. “Perhaps they are coming to negotiate. We will wait to be contacted before we make any assumptions.”

It did little good. People began to cry, those who were sleeping quickly awakening to slap their hands over their ears and cling to their loved ones in terror. Kalem did his best to calm them, but nobody was listening to him, only tilting their faces upward to the floor of the house. A few stumbled over one another to get to the stairs, wanting to see what was going to happen; others held them back, arguing and wailing. All the while, the terrible growling drone from overhead continued to crescendo. A single word permeated Kalem’s consciousness. Soon.He waited for the flotilla overhead to drown out the crying all around him.

But there was no sudden press of fire and devastation, no wild screaming as bombs fell, no intense flashes of heat and light. Instead, there was a discernible shift in the direction from which the flyers seemed to be coming, and everyone else heard it too. The stillness of the air in the basement returned as everyone stopped crying to listen, even the children seeming to know that something had changed.

“They’re heading for the forest,” someone announced fearfully, and Kalem did not waste another moment clambering up the stairs, followed by many others who wished to confirm what they were all thinking: their lives were to be spared, but at a cost that none felt they could afford.

Kalem ventured outside to look up at the sky, and instantly he saw the small formation of attack craft in the sky—headed away from the village, passing it over for another target. There were not nearly enough ships to have taken out the entirety of the Kendra Valley, Kalem realized. And he knew then that he was going to live, but he took no joy in that realization at all.

Many other people were standing in the streets now, looking to where the Cardassian flyers were headed. “Are we saved?” asked a small boy, standing just outside Kalem’s brick home next to his sniffling mother, and the woman held her son close.

“Shhh,” she said to him, leaving Kalem to wonder how much the child had known of what everyone believed was going to happen. Had his mother explained any of it to him, or simply insisted that he come along to spend the nights in a stranger’s house? How well-behaved the children have been these past days, Kalem thought to himself, and he imagined the things these children had seen in their short lifetimes, so different from his own carefree childhood. He would do almost anything in his power to change it for this youth—for all of them.

“You’ll be just fine, son,” Kalem told the boy, swallowing down the lump in his throat and trying on a smile. A few others made attempts at weak reassurances to one another, more and more people coming up from the basement now and out into the glinting sunlight of a cold morning.

But those assurances quickly turned to sorrow as the flyers began to dive, at a point too far away from where they all stood now to get a proper picture of what was happening, but the resultant echoing thunder in the sky gave a clear voice to the unseen horror, and the people commenced to wailing again, even louder than when they had thought their own lives were in danger.