Star Trek: Terok Nor 03: Dawn of the Eagles (12 page)

“Biran says we can’t. He said if we try to open it any further, it’ll cause a cave-in.”

“Sure,” Kira muttered. “Fine, I’ll do the weather report. But this is the last time this month. I’ve done it four times in a row.”

Kira followed her friend through the hole that had been chipped away in the rock, reluctantly letting him pass into the arm that led down to his own cell’s hideout. She headed back through the winding passage until the ceiling abruptly dropped to the height of her chest, and she was forced to crouch. The rock scuffed her clothes, and dust crumbled into her hair.

It seemed to take an eternity to scuttle through the squat passage. She kept expecting to hear the wind soaring through the trees as she came closer to the tunnel’s mouth, but she heard nothing, and when she finally came upon the opening, she saw why.

There was no storm today. The sky had minimal cloud cover, and the air was moist, but warm. A perfect day.

And I’m spending it inside a hole in the rock.
She squinted out at the sky, the blue color beyond the clouds so impossibly uniform. She did not want to go back inside. It was such a beautiful day, reminiscent of her childhood, and early summer days playing springball with her brothers.

She crouched there for a few moments before she found herself poking her head farther out of the tunnel, her neck and shoulders and waist following. She just wanted to stand up and stretch before reentering that cramped passage. She stepped out onto the ground, still wet from the rain the night before, and let her joints expand for a moment. Nobody had ever been caught this close to the tunnel; the kelbonite shielded them until they got to be a few paces away. Of course, there was always the chance of being spotted, but Kira felt certain that there would be no soldiers nearby. These days they were sent out only if the detection grid was tripped; otherwise, they stayed in their stifling barracks where they could…do whatever it was Cardassian soldiers did in their free time. Kira didn’t care to speculate.

She took a few steps forward, acknowledging a desire to run out into the open and enjoy the day, enjoy the natural beauty of her world. She inhaled deeply. She could smell the rain-soaked spice of the wild
salam
grasses, the pitch from black rubberwood pines.

Maybe I should go home, too.

Not forever, just until they could figure out some way to beat the grid. Gantt had talked extensively about going back to his family instead of waiting around for nothing to happen. Some of the cells had disbanded, she knew, the members slipping back to their families, back to their old lives. But Kira didn’t accept that the resistance movement was beaten. It was a temporary setback; they’d find a way to—

She froze. A rustling in the trees, just ahead of her. She immediately ducked, crouch-stepped backward to the cave, eyes wide and watchful, and then she saw it—not a Cardassian soldier, but a lean cadge lupus, its lips curled back over its sharp yellowed teeth. Kira froze, and the animal licked its lips, its ribs showing, its belly undoubtedly empty. Would it follow her back into the cave? She didn’t want to chance it. She reached for her phaser—and it wasn’t there.

Don’t run.

She’d never faced one alone, but everyone knew basic safety. Never try to outrun a cadge lupus. You could try to charge it, make noise, make big movements; sometimes—often—that drove them off. Otherwise, look for the tallest tree you could climb and get off the ground. Kira acted. She lunged at the animal, swept with her arms, making the fiercest sound she could muster. Unfortunately, it came out sounding weirdly shrill and decidedly harmless. The lupus didn’t budge, only continued to growl at her, the grizzled fur on the back of its neck spiking with aggression.

If it leapt for her, went for her throat, she’d be dead. If it followed her into the tight cave, she’d be trapped, unable to run in the narrow passage.

Kira spotted a tall tree with low branches, not too far behind the animal. She didn’t stop to think, only took an enormous breath and ran for it. She sprinted so close to the lupus she could have reached out and patted its head. She must have confused it, for she reached the tree and was shimmying up the trunk before the beast came after her.

She reached a branch high off the ground, tried vainly to catch her breath as she perched on the peeling wood where it joined the trunk. The lupus paced the ground below, growling and whining.

Think.
If the lupus went away soon, maybe she’d still have a chance to get back into the passageway before her biosign tripped the grid. But if not…she’d be better off letting the animal have her. Better that than bringing Union soldiers down on the warren.

How could she have forgotten her phaser? It was Tahna’s fault, catching her off guard while she was in the middle of cooking breakfast, trying to conceal her meal from the others in the cell—after this, she’d never eat more than her fair share in a day, she vowed it to the Prophets a hundred times over.

Finally, the lupus seemed to lose interest in her, and it skulked off silently into the forest. But Kira knew better than to move right away. It would stay close, watching to see what she’d do. How long should she wait? Half an hour? Ten minutes? How long until the detection system locked onto her—if it hadn’t already—and she’d end her life as a Cardassian practice target up in this ridiculous tree? She recalled her earlier thoughts, and decided that if the lupus meant to have her, so be it. It was better than the alternative. She edged toward the trunk of the tree, reminded anew that coming down a tree was a much more difficult undertaking than climbing one.

The clouds were creeping in, the perfect day beginning to turn into something else again. Fine droplets of rain had begun to fall by the time she reached the ground, and she dashed for the nearby cave entrance, squirming considerably as she fought her way through the hateful passage, imagining the creature slipping through the dark behind her. She would not be doing the weather report for a good long time after this. And the supply run? She’d be using the west entrance, thank you very much, no matter how risky it was said to be.

To her great dismay, Lupaza was waiting for her when she finally made it back to the primary chamber. The older woman held the remains of Kira’s ration packet in her hand. These wrappers were not composted—like most products manufactured by the Cardassians, they were made without consideration for the long-term impact of their existence. The wrappers were usually pitched into one of the streams, where they would wash up at a point not far from Dahkur town with the rest of the cell’s trash. Scavengers usually picked those things out and found ways to reuse them.

“Girl!” Lupaza exclaimed. “I’ve told you and told you…”

“I know, Lupaza, but I promise I’m not going to be hungry again until tomorrow. I feel a little sick, actually.”

“Where have you been? Weather report again?”

Kira nodded.

“What’s it doing out there? Rain, like they said?”

“Rain, like they said. You know—you’ll think I’m crazy, but I’m going back to bed.”

Lupaza shrugged. “I’ve always thought you were crazy, Nerys.”

“Thanks.”

Kira slid past the older woman and walked to the sleeping barracks, where the rest of the cell was still asleep. She settled down onto a wide pallet that held the slow-breathing forms of Shakaar, Latha, Chavin, and Mobara. Chavin was snoring. Kira wondered, as she tried to relax into elusive sleep, how she’d managed to escape detection this time. Without even a false life sign! Was it because she was too close to the kelbonite? Or was it really just luck? Probably, it was the kelbonite. Otherwise, wouldn’t the Cardassians have found their hiding place by now? Kira didn’t know, and she was too tired to properly consider. Her mind raced for a while before she finally started to drift, just as the others began to stir.

“Wake up, lazy!” Chavin chided her, pulling the blankets away, and Kira waved him off, too tired to challenge the insult. Thankfully, the others finally left, and Kira could sleep. She dreamed of a pacing cadge lupus, and a tree that was somehow sinking into the ground, lowering her to the animal’s waiting jaws.

2363 (Terran Calendar)

D
ukat was exhausted when he disembarked at the docking ring of Terok Nor. The funeral had been spectacular, one of the biggest Cardassia Prime had ever seen. Dukat had expressed polite condolences to Gul Darhe’el’s family, but he secretly felt that the whole thing had a certain ostentatious crudeness about it. Darhe’el was hardly worthy of such an honor, and regardless of his character, there were some Cardassians, Dukat among them, who felt that death was a solemn occasion, not the appropriate time for garish displays. Darhe’el’s family apparently felt differently. Gul Darhe’el, rot his petulant soul, would certainly have approved.

The funeral had been tiresome, and his few days at home had been less than peaceful. Athra had brought up the idea of moving to Terok Nor yet again, a topic he thought they’d closed long ago. A military ore processing station was no place for children. She knew that, and if she was so lonely, she might be a bit more welcoming when he did get time away, might make an effort not to argue over subjects long decided—and their bed had been cold for much of his stay. The bittersweet pride he usually felt upon seeing how his children had grown had too quickly faded, the lost years telling in their watchful young eyes. Two of them were in secondary training already…Even his habitual visit to Letau had failed to rouse his spirits. He had been bone-weary since before the long, cramped flight back to Terok Nor.

He was greeted, as he filed off the transport ship, by several members of his staff, all vying for his immediate attention regarding every manner of station business. Dukat tried to wave them off, but at least one glinn had news that Dukat knew he’d do best not to ignore: Legate Kell was on the comm, calling for the third time this afternoon.

“He knows how long it takes to travel from Cardassia Prime to Terok Nor,” Dukat complained to Glinn Trakad, as they started for operations. “I saw him on Cardassia Prime not twenty-six hours ago. What could possibly be so important that he needs to contact me before I can even get my bearings after such a long journey?”

The dull-witted Trakad had no answer for him, and Dukat sullenly recalled the loss of one of his favorite aides, Corat Damar. Dukat sorely wished he could find another officer as loyal and agreeable in person as Damar had been, but then, of course, in the end, Damar had chosen his personal life over station business. Enough time had passed that Dukat supposed he was willing to forgive the younger man for it, but the recollection was still irksome.

Kell was waiting for him on the comm when he arrived in his office and put on the lights. The room felt cold and deserted, after only two days, but he heard the environmentals kick on as he sat.

“Legate,” Dukat addressed his superior. “I didn’t expect to converse with you again quite so soon.”

“Dukat, it has recently come to my attention that you have changed religious policy on Bajor,”
Kell said. “Again.”

“Ah,” Dukat replied, a smile spreading across his face. “And this…concerns you, Legate?”

“You know perfectly well it does!”
Kell snapped.
“When you abolished religious counsel in the work camps and placed restrictions on the open practice of the Bajoran faith, I thought it was one of your more intelligent decisions. Now you’ve reversed it. Explain yourself!”

Dukat’s smile didn’t waver. “You have my reports. You’re aware that there has been a measurable drop in terrorist activity since the implementation of the new sensor sweeps.”

Kell scoffed.
“A drop, perhaps. But not an end.”

“Restoring the Bajorans’ religious freedom demonstrates that they can only benefit from abandoning the insurgency,” Dukat pressed on. “Besides, I have found that it is useful to give the Bajorans something precious to them, once in a while.”

“Useful?”

“Yes. So I can threaten to take it away again.”

Kell shook his head, his expression conveying annoyed disapproval.
“There was a time, Dukat, when you understood how dangerous rampant, unchecked spirituality could be—when you recognized it for the cancer it is, and didn’t hesitate to excise it.”

Dukat’s eyes narrowed. “I have not forgotten,” he said tightly.

“And yet now you’re using the Bajorans’ religious freedom as part of some self-serving strategy, as if running Bajor was a game of
kotra.”

“Violence is down. Productivity is up. If the annexation were indeed a game, I daresay I am winning.”

“But you haven’t won yet,”
Kell pointed out.
“Cardassia can scarcely afford to risk Bajor’s long-term usefulness on your overconfidence.”

Dukat was growing weary of the conversation. “I assure you, Legate, Bajor is under control.
My
control. Will that be all?”

“For now,”
Kell said,
“But this conversation is not over.”
The legate abruptly cut the connection, and the prefect stared at his now-empty holoframe for a moment, imagining the day when Kell would pay for every slight, every obstruction, and every wasted moment he had ever caused Dukat.

That day will come soon,
he assured himself.
This I vow.

Mora was still flushed with pride regarding the reception Odo had received, though it had been several hours since the Cardassian dignitaries had left the Bajoran Institute of Science. Mora had induced the shape-shifter to take on the forms of several animals, but it was the so-called “trick” he’d done with his neck that had garnered the most reaction. Mora couldn’t quite gauge why the Cardassians had responded as they had, but he didn’t much care. That his work was being considered important was the best outcome he could have hoped for.

Yopal had insisted that Odo be put aside for months at a time while Mora attended to other matters that interested the Cardassians. In the past two years, Mora imagined he had only worked with Odo the collective equivalent of a few weeks. Being idle seemed not to have a physical effect on Odo, but it concerned Mora nonetheless, if for no other reason than that he could not use Odo as an excuse to avoid collaborating on Cardassian projects. But that was probably going to change, now. The occupation leaders, including Gul Dukat himself, had been so impressed with Odo, Mora was now beginning to hope, even to believe, that he might be able to work exclusively with Odo once again.

It was with these cheerful thoughts that he was running his customary bioscans on Odo’s signature tonight, when the shape-shifter assumed his humanoid form and began to ask questions.

“Doctor Mora, have I been here for a long time?”

Mora was a bit taken aback by the question, until he recognized that Odo might not have any concept of what was meant by “a long time.” Ten minutes might feel like a long time to the shape-shifter, or it might not feel like much time at all. They’d discussed the concept, of course, but it occurred to Mora that he’d never actually questioned Odo about his feelings in the matter. “What do you think, Odo?”

Odo looked away from Mora. “I am thinking, Doctor Mora, that I have been here for long enough.”

Mora had to stop what he was doing in order to reexamine and internalize what the shape-shifter had just said. The coordinates denoting Odo’s mass—many times greater than when he could still fit in a handheld beaker, so many years ago—flashed by on the screen of his padd, but it was as though he didn’t see them.

“What…could you possibly mean by that, Odo?”

“I would like to leave this place.”

“Leave?” Mora was so surprised, he laughed. “Odo, where do you presume to go?”

“I am very unhappy here,” Odo replied, and the tone in his voice undeniably reflected it.

“Unhappy! Odo, you have never given me any indication before that you were not happy.”

“Haven’t I?”

Mora took a step back. In a rush, he came upon the uncomfortable realization of what Odo was telling him; the many times that Odo had appeared to be sad, or even hostile. Mora had taken care never to acknowledge those reactions as anything but awkwardness on Odo’s part, a fumbling, perhaps, for the correct response, never to be considered at face value…but in his heart, perhaps Mora had known it. And yet, what could he have done? Odo was his life’s work. Mora had ignored Odo’s misery out of necessity. For a fleeting moment, it filled him with deep shame, but his own sense of self-preservation chased it away.

Odo went on. “I want to live as a Bajoran lives, Doctor Mora.” He seemed uncomfortable as he said it.

Mora spoke stiffly. “Well, Odo, I’m not sure if you know exactly what that entails. In fact, typical Bajorans…don’t enjoy most of the comforts that you and I do. It’s a harsh world out there, and—”

“Doctor Mora, I…do mean to leave.”

“Odo!” Mora exclaimed, feeling himself growing angry. The shape-shifter had never spoken to him so firmly before. “You aren’t ready to leave! Nowhere near it! You and I still have years of work ahead of us…many things to do…before you could even consider it!”

“But, Doctor Mora, there is no way for you to make me stay.”

Mora was stunned at what he was hearing. “Odo, are you trying to imply that you…would simply walk out, on your own?”

“You would not be able to prevent me from it,” Odo said. “But I wished to tell you before I go.”

Mora tried to steady his breathing. He was at least grateful that Odo hadn’t simply run away, but the very idea…that he somehow believed Mora would ever condone his leaving the laboratory. He raised his gaze to meet that of the shape-shifter, and Odo quickly dropped his own. He had learned humanoid expression just well enough to have picked up some affectations almost naturally, but still, he would never blend into the general population. People would always know there was something naively peculiar about him, even if he learned to perfect his humanoid form. He’d be lucky to last a week in the real world.

“Odo. You must reconsider. It would be very dangerous out there for you. If I could escort you into the outside world, I would do it, but you know I’m not permitted to leave the facility…”

“I am sorry about that, Doctor Mora. I wish you could leave, too.”

Mora saw, then, that Odo had felt even more of a prisoner here than he himself had. He could sympathize with his wanting to leave, but if there was any way to stop it from happening…

There isn’t
. He’d worked with Odo long enough to know what his capabilities were…and to know that the creature could be surprisingly obstinate, when the mood struck him.

“Odo,” he finally said, “I must emphatically insist that you stay.”

To Mora’s chagrin, the shape-shifter merely shook his head from side to side, still not looking up.

“So. You would leave me. The only person who has ever shown you any kindness, the only person who cares about your well-being…”

Odo was silent, but Mora could see that he was just as determined as before. He let out a frustrated breath, feeling sick with defeat. If Odo was gone, there was nothing to keep him from collaborating with the Cardassians, or, rather, to keep him from having to acknowledge that was what he’d been doing all along. Working with Odo, he’d been able to forget the rest of it, at least for a time. He tried a different approach.

“You will find that the Cardassians out there, they will not be nearly so pleasant as those you have met inside.”

Odo was silent for a minute. “Doctor Reyar was not so pleasant,” he said.

Mora laughed sharply. “Doctor Reyar is a
hara
kit compared to the Cardassians you are likely to meet outside the facility.”

Odo seemed to consider this. “I will be careful,” he said firmly. “I can take care of my own needs. I can travel as an animal to avoid them, if it is necessary.”

Mora’s heart sank as he saw that cautionary tales were unlikely to change Odo’s mind. He wondered, then, what the Cardassians’ reaction to him would be. Of course, Odo was not a Bajoran, and he would not register against the detection field that existed outside most of the boundaries. He would likely be able to travel wherever he wanted without stirring up the Cardassian troops…

The code
, he thought, and the rest of a plan suddenly came together.

“Odo,” he said, “if you are determined to do this…I would ask that you would do one thing for me.”

Odo did not answer, only appeared wary—at least, Mora thought he looked wary. It was not always easy to tell. He went on.

“I’m not permitted to leave, as you know. I can only contact my family very sporadically, and those exchanges contain nothing of substance. I would like for you to deliver a message to them.”

“Of course, Doctor Mora,” Odo said, seeming relieved, “I would be happy to do it.”

“Thank you. I hope you will stay at least another twenty-six hours, Odo, so that I can get…get all my notes together,” he said, fumbling for an excuse. He felt a deep ache of misery as he said it, revisiting the unhappiness he had been living in almost exclusively since he had been forced to work as a collaborator. Now his most important work—a creature he had come to feel great affection for—was going to leave him. He would have no one, no respite from his loneliness. But if Odo could deliver a message to the Ikreimi village, if Keral’s claims of knowing someone in the resistance had any merit at all, maybe then, some degree of the self-loathing he had come to experience could be dialed back, at least to tolerable levels.