Bennek let out a small cry of despair as he took up the mask and a part of it came away in his hands, a piece from the orbit of the right eye, whorled with delicately worked filigree in latinum and jevonite. “It must have been damaged when I ran from the encampment.”
“It’s only a small impairment.” Gar appraised the mask.
“This is an impressive relic.”
“It is one of the original Faces of the Fates, from the time of the First Hebitians on Cardassia,” said the other priest. “I’ve kept it safe for years…” He blinked, shaking away a moment of distraction. Placing the mask on the table, Bennek delved into the bag again and brought out a nested set of tubes made from murky glass. More etchings in the careful Hebitian script covered the exterior. “The Recitations,” explained the Cardassian. “This is one of only a few complete copies of the Word of my faith. This, my Bajoran brother, is the holy text of the Oralian Way in its entirety.” Bennek’s hands were shaking as he touched it.
Gar was no stranger to the religion, having seen Bennek and the members of his congregation perform their rites on many occasions. They would don the masks, ceremonially assuming the role as the avatar of their god, before speaking the lessons of Oralius as read from their sacred scrolls. The vedek assumed that somewhere there had to be definitive originals of the text, but he had never dared to imagine that one of them might be here, on Bajor. Bennek’s breathless awe in the face of these two objects was ample illustration of the incalculable value the Oralians placed on them. “Why do you show me these things?” he asked.
The Cardassian was on his feet, nodding to himself. “You cannot hide me, I was wrong to ask it of you. I will leave this place, but in the name of our twin faiths, I ask you to do this for me, Osen.” He pointed at the relics. “Conceal them. Hide the mask and the scrolls from the soldiers and promise me you will never reveal their location as long as you live, not until the soul of Cardassia grows strong again, not until the Voice of Oralius is ready to be heard once more. Tell me you will do this.” Bennek thrust the scrolls into Gar’s hands, and the vedek rocked back. “Swear it!”
There were more footsteps out in the corridor: the heavy thud of armored boots matched with the splintering of doors being kicked open. Gar heard gruff voices shouting and calling out commands to one another.
Bennek’s eyes were pleading, shining with fear. “In the name of your Prophets,” he cried, “swear it!”
TEN YEARS AGO
2318 (Terran Calendar)
1
He made his way along the gridded walkway across the central span of the mess hall, throwing curt juts of the chin to the other junior officers who saw him pass. Glinn Matrik gestured toward an empty chair at his table, but Skrain Dukat ignored him and passed on by, stepping down into the sunken level of the dining area, to a bench with only one occupant, the surface of the table a controlled mess of padds.
Kotan Pa’Dar glanced up from the bowl of tefla broth before him, and his eyes widened in mild surprise. The scientist toyed briefly with the spoon in his hand as Dukat sat down opposite him with his tray of edibles. Pa’Dar aimed his utensil at the other man’s bowl. “The broth’s quite horrible,” he began. “I think the dried rokat might have been a better choice.”
In spite of himself, the dalin’s youthful face soured. “There’s a saying in the Central Command,” Dukat noted. “The Union Fleet runs on three things. Determination. Obedience. And salted dry rokat fillets. Serve a term or two aboard a starship, Kotan, and you’ll come to hate that fish as much as any of us do.”
Pa’Dar smiled slightly. “I’ve never really eaten it that much, I must say.”
“It’s a staple on every fleet ship and installation from here to the Spinward Edge.” Dukat sipped the broth; and it was horrible. “I imagine rokat doesn’t appear on the plates of families from Culat that often. Perhaps you’re used to the finer things in life.”
The scientist’s face darkened around his jaw ridges. “It isn’t that.”
“Oh?” Dukat broke off a piece of black bread and soaked it in his soup. “It’s always been my understanding that your family is one of…shall we say, one of those better equipped to deal with the hardships of life?” He snorted. “When I was a boy in Lakat, there were times when a meal of overcured rokat would have seemed like a feast. For many, that still holds true today, perhaps even more so.” For an instant, Dukat felt the ghost of an empty stomach, the memory of tightness in his gut from malnutrition. Even now, with two full meals a day at his command as a serving Union officer, the echo of the hungry child he had been still shadowed him there at the edges of his thoughts. He shook the moment away.
“You’re teasing me, Skrain,” said Pa’Dar. “I can’t help where I was born any more than you can.”
He nodded after a moment. “Yes, I am teasing you. It’s because you’re such an easy target.” He grinned, showing white teeth, and sucked at the bread, savoring the simplicity of it.
Pa’Dar relaxed a little. The stocky young civilian had a bright mind, but he was sometimes so very naïve for a Cardassian. In truth, Dukat felt a little sorry for him. A life growing up in a relatively wealthy councillor clan from a university city, and then nothing but service to the Ministry of Science…Kotan Pa’Dar was a sheltered fellow, and the dalin felt obliged to repay him for his diverting—if sometimes rather bland—company by opening his eyes.
“Is that why you’re eating with me?” Pa’Dar shot a look over at Matrik and the other glinns two tables away, making rough sport of some off-color joke. “Before I came aboard this ship, my experience of dealing with military officers was usually one of clipped orders and dour disdain. At the best, scornful looks and faint distrust.”
Dukat gestured languidly. “That’s the soldierly mind-set for you, my friend. We’re trained to regard you civilians as a regrettable impediment to our endeavors.”
Pa’Dar glanced at him, and Dukat could see once again that Pa’Dar wasn’t really certain if his friend was being honest or mocking. “So, then. Why are you joining me here, instead of making fun of me at a distance?”
“Don’t you like my company?” Dukat replied. “As dalin, I am a ranking junior officer aboard the Kornaire.” He spread his hands to take in the room, the starship. “I know this is hardly the gul’s private dining chambers, but still…”
“I’m just trying to understand you a little better, Dukat. I’m a scientist, that’s what I do. I see phenomena, I seek answers.”
“Phenomena.” Dukat repeated the word, amused by it.
“I’ve never thought of myself in that fashion.”
“Your behavior is rather atypical for a Union officer.”
Dukat stroked his chin. “Quite correct. I am atypical, very much so.” He leaned closer. “There’s too much rigidity in our people, Kotan. Compartmentalization and stratification. It breeds stagnation. Why shouldn’t a scientist and a soldier share a meal and speak plainly to one another? Narrow-mindedness won’t serve Cardassia in the long term, and I aim to serve Cardassia for a very long term indeed.”
The doors slid open to allow the priests to enter the dining chamber, and they swept in, in a rustle of azure and cream-colored robes, long lines of square metallic beads trailing away along the lengths of their arms and the layered wrappings across their torsos. The larger of the two scowled through the thick luster of his beard and aimed a narrow-eyed glare at Kell; the gul sat indolently at the end of his table, pouring himself a generous glass of rokassa juice.
In return Kell saluted with the jug and gestured to the room’s other occupant, an austere female in the duty fatigues of the science ministry. “Forgive me, Hadlo, but Professor Ico and I were quite hungry and we started without you.” He smiled, a smug expression with no real humor in it. “There’s still a serving for you and your, uh, associate.” Kell nodded to the younger of the priests, who hovered nervously at the older man’s shoulder.
Hadlo took his seat at the gul’s table and gestured for his
aide to join him. “We were detained by matters of the Way,” he explained. “The day-meal must be marked by a brief thanksgiving to Oralius. I have explained this to you before, Gul Kell.”
Kell nodded. “Ah yes, of course. But the Central Command’s military regulations are quite strict on the scheduling of refreshment periods during shipboard operations. I’m sorry, but I cannot delay a meal in order to accommodate your…unique requirements.” He sniffed. “Perhaps you could arrange to have your ritual earlier?”
“Oralius does not follow a mortal clock,” said the younger priest. “Her Way has remained unchanged for millennia.”
“Bennek,” said Hadlo, with a warning in his tone. He helped himself to a healthy serving of broth. “Perhaps, Gul, you might consider attending us at some point during our journey to Bajor. The space you graciously provided my group in the Kornaire’s cargo hold has proven most adequate to our needs. I would enjoy having you visit to hear a recitation.”
Ico took a purse-lipped sip of the rokassa and watched the interaction, faintly amused. She’d seen the same thing play out a dozen times over the course of the journey from Cardassia Prime, and the woman found herself wishing she had kept track of the barbs that lanced back and forth between the two men. It would be interesting to tally a final score between priest and soldier by the time they arrived at Bajor.
Kell’s face was a barely concealed sneer. “As diverting as your readings might be, I’m afraid the very real and pressing matters of commanding this starship occupy every moment of my time. I have no opportunity, or indeed motivation, to sit and listen to your scriptures.” He grunted. “Central Command would prefer me to attend to issues of certainty, not ephemera.”
Ico decided to press upon the sore spot, just for the sake of alleviating her own boredom. “I wonder. Have your recitations drawn the attendance of any members of the Kornaire’s crew?”
Bennek answered for his superior. “We have seen some new faces, Professor, yes. Admittedly, less than I had hoped.”
Kell colored. “I’ll have the names of any of my men who shirk their duties to hear you talk about phantom deities,” he growled.
Hadlo chuckled dryly. “My esteemed Gul Danig Kell, you remind me of Tethen, the proud man from the fourth codex of the Recitations. Like you, he refused to open his eyes, even when the Faces of the Fates spoke directly to him—”
“Spare me,” Kell broke in. “I thought we agreed last time that you would leave your holy scrolls at the door.”
“Just as you agreed not to mock our faith,” Bennek said hotly.
Kell eyed the youth. “Have a care, boy. Remember whose starship you’re standing on. Remember whose air you’re breathing.”
Ico put down her glass with an audible clack. “This is the Union’s starship, is it not?” She took a deep breath. “And this is the Union’s air as well. As much the property of the Cardassian people as it is that of the Central Command.” The woman nodded to Hadlo and Bennek. “And these men, as much as you or I might take issue with their beliefs, are still Cardassian.”
“Correct, as ever, Rhan,” Kell allowed silkily. “Sometimes it escapes me that we all have a function to perform in this endeavor.”
“We would not be here if our presence was not vital to this delegation,” Bennek continued, unwilling to be mollified. He took a terse sip of rokassa. “The Detapa Council asked us to attend this mission in order to open a dialogue with the Bajorans. I find it difficult to understand why they agreed to let a commander who so clearly finds our presence distasteful direct this formal contact!”
Ico studied the youth; he had fire, that was evident, but he was untrained, and he lacked the ability to focus his passion that Kell or his mentor possessed. She imagined that he would learn that lesson soon, or else he would find himself facing men who were less inclined to suffer his foolishness. “Gul Kell is one of the Second Order’s most highly decorated officers,” Ico offered. “I’m sure he would never let even the smallest of personal prejudices affect the performance of his duties.”
“Quite so,” Hadlo added, making an attempt to derail any further argument before it moved forward. He gestured to himself, then to Ico and Kell in order. “The Oralian Way, the Ministry of Science, and Central Command have all entrusted us with this important formal contact. Together, we will meet Bajor and show them the face of a unified Cardassia.”
“Unified?” The youth wasn’t willing to let the matter drop; and indeed, Ico could see a small quirk of pleasure on Kell’s lips as well. The gul was in the mood to argue, she could see it in the tension around his eye ridges. “What unity is there in Cardassia these days, beyond the unity of suffering?” Bennek put down his glass and stared at Ico. “Have you seen the datastreams from the homeworld, Professor? The reports of the famine and the dissent among our people?”
“Our people?” Kell said quietly. “Some would say it is your people who have brought those things to pass, Oralian.”
Bennek ignored the other man, his watery gaze still on the scientist. “The planets of our species are pushed ever closer to the edge of poverty, the forced austerity imposed by the military stretching our civilization to its limits. And for what? So that we can engage in pointless, unresolved conflicts with the Federation, and petty skirmishes with the Talarians?”
“I am not a soldier,” Ico ventured in a mild tone, “but even as an academic I recognize the threat the Talarians pose to our borders, Bennek. Do you not agree that they are a warlike race, expansionist and violent? Have you not seen the records of the raids they made on our fringe colonies?”
The young priest swallowed. He had clearly expected Ico to support him in the face of Kell’s bellicose manner, and now that she had not done so, he was floundering. “I…I have,” he returned. “But I question the need for us to commit so much matériel and men to fighting them. We’ve warned them off. If they keep out of our space, shouldn’t that be enough? Why do we have to invade their republic again and again when the effort of that war could sustain lives at home?”
Kell grunted with laughter. “Military doctrine by way of a priest. I never thought I’d see the like.” The gul leaned forward. “Boy, all you have done is show your ignorance. For the record, the conflict with those Talarian savages is not a war. They don’t deserve the honor of such a thing. It is a punitive engagement.” He made loops in the air with his free hand. “They’re like voles. Small, sharp teeth, quick, and numerous. Kept down, you understand, they are nothing but a minor impediment. But allow them to breed too much and you’ll soon find an infestation on your doorstep. The Talarians dared to come into our space, the voles into our house.” He grinned at his own analogy. “So we drove them out. And now we must cull their numbers. For their own good.”
“And what about Cardassia’s good?”
Ico sighed inwardly. The priest did not know when to be silent. Ignoring Hadlo’s hand on his arm, he turned to face Kell, his cheeks darkening with anger. A more seasoned man might have known that this conversation was on a downward spiral, but Bennek was not a seasoned man. Ico knew that there was only one way this meal would end now, and it would not be quietly.
“Instead of sending ships to blockade Talaria, why not use the taxes paid to build them to construct hospitals and fabricators instead?” Bennek continued. “Then there would be no hungry millions, Gul Kell. If there were no great Cardassian war machine, there would be no need for the poor to starve! There would be no need for this mission, for us to seek aid from worlds like Bajor!”
“We do not seek aid from Bajor,” Hadlo broke in, “only a partnership in kind that will—”
Kell glared over his glass at the young man, ignoring the old cleric’s words. “Oh yes, there would be such peace and riches if only the Central Command did not squander our Union’s scarcity of wealth on warships,” he said in an arch voice. “How many times have I heard that from the lips of fools who have never left the homeworld, fools with their noses buried in scrolls full of dusty old leg
ends!” He put down his drink hard and aimed a finger at the priest. “Oh, there would be such peace, Bennek, such peace indeed, and food aplenty for even the lowest commoner to gorge upon! Perhaps your utopia might last a week, a month at the most, before our worlds were crushed under the boot heels of invaders! Tholians, Breen, Tzenkethi, whichever ones got there first…And the people would ask you ‘Where are our defenders, Bennek? Where are our swords and shields?’ And you would have to tell them that you traded their safety for a few full stomachs!” He drew himself up, his dark duty armor glinting dully in the dining chamber’s muted orange lights. “You are right about one thing, boy. Cardassia is lean and hungry, and it must remain that way. A fat, content animal is a slow one, a victim in waiting. A hungry animal is a predator, feared by the herd.”
Ico kept her face neutral, but beneath her placid expression she wanted to laugh at the man’s retort. Kell’s armor did only a passing job of hiding a well-fed girth that showed the gul’s leanings toward indulgence and excess.
“You mistakenly believe that your participation in this mission allows you a degree of leeway, of input.” Kell glared at Bennek and his master. “It does not. You Oralians, with your chanting and your ridiculous masks, you think your rituals have great majesty and import, but they are meaningless to me. You are aboard the Kornaire on my sufferance, because I have been ordered to take you to Bajor.”
Hadlo gaped. It was clear to Ico that the cleric had never expected Kell to speak so bluntly in front of his aide. “This delegation…” Hadlo said, struggling to recover some dignity. “The Detapa Council asked the Oralian Way to initiate this diplomatic mission! We are leading it!”
Star Trek Terok Nor 01: Day of the Vipers Page 2