Star Trek: Terok Nor 03: Dawn of the Eagles (36 page)

“It is far too late for you to pray for guidance, Secretary,” Prylar Bek told him.

“But—”

“No, Secretary, if you are to pray, it must be for forgiveness. I hope They can forgive you—because I doubt any Bajoran ever could.” It was on that note that Prylar Bek turned away from Kubus, lighting another
duranja
and making clear with his posture that he had nothing more to say to the man. If Kubus Oak did not set this thing right, then all the prayers in the world would not help him.

D
ukat 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.”