There was the briefest glimmer of irritation on Kell’s face, a hardening of his jaw, and then it was gone. “Perceptive, Minister Jas, very perceptive.” He nodded. “Very well. We have seen your vessels, craft like your scoutship Eleda and the frigates that greeted us on our arrival in the B’hava’el system. What if I told you that Cardassia has technology that could double the speed and range of those craft? New advances in deflector shield technology, spiral-wave disruptors far more powerful than the energy cannons you currently employ. Is that not something you would find useful?” Kell indicated Colonel Coldri and Captain Jaro across the room from them. “I imagine your military officers would find such devices of great interest.”
“And you would demand much in return!” snapped Verin.
“Bajor’s wealth in minerals and foodstuffs is quite apparent,” noted Ico.
The First Minister’s eyes narrowed. “We have been careful to ensure that our planet has remained in balance for thousands of years. To begin taking more than we need from her would upset that equilibrium.”
Jas rubbed his thin beard. “Admittedly, swifter starships would be of use to us. Our settlements on Golana, Valo, and Prophet’s Landing would benefit. It would bring them closer to us.”
Verin sniffed with contempt. “The people on those worlds chose to leave the safety of the homeworld, Minister. If they have put themselves at a great distance from Bajor, then that is a matter for them. They should not be coddled.”
Jas said nothing; Verin’s platform among the Council of Ministers had always been an isolationist one, and he had never made a secret of his disdain for Bajor’s colonial efforts.
“You are proud of your world, and rightly so,” allowed Ico. “Would you not consider the merit of giving your planet greater security?”
“Bajor has made no enemies,” Verin retorted. “We are not an expansionist people. We keep to our own borders, unlike other species.”
Unbidden, Jas’s hands tightened into fists. He thought of his scoutship, of all his vessels out in the void. Better technology might have saved the crew of the Eleda from their ignominious deaths in deep space.
Kell looked across the table at the First Minister, ignoring the old man’s thinly veiled insult. “And yet, one need only examine a starchart to see that your sector lies between the frontiers of a handful of alien powers.” He waved a hand at the air, as if he were taking in the space all around them. “The Breen Confederation. The Tzenkethi Coalition. The Federation. Even the Tholians or the Talarians might find their way here.” Kell smiled coldly. “None of them would be as good a friend to Bajor as Cardassia.”
Ico nodded. “It is well known that the Federation has designs on expansion into this area of space.” She looked to Hadlo for agreement. “I doubt that if they came to Bajor they would do it out of respect for the souls of your dead.”
The cleric hesitated. “The United Federation of Planets is a largely secular nation,” he said finally, with distaste.
“We are aware of that,” Verin bristled. “We have no dealings with them.” A grimace formed on his lips. “They…do not approve of our societal structure. They consider our D’jarras to be an impediment to our progress.”
“Your caste system,” said Ico. “How like the humans to be so judgmental. It is clear to me that your culture functions perfectly well in a stratified arrangement. Cardassia would never be so bold as to think we could tell you how to run your world.”
Kell’s lips drew back into a smile. “We believe in the partnership of equals.” He met Jas’s gaze. “Is that not the basis of all strong friendships?”
Jas nodded slowly, the image of the Eleda’s shattered hull rising to the surface of his thoughts.
Verin took a careful sip of springwine. “All of Bajor respects what you have done for our citizens,” he said levelly, “and you have our gratitude. But your overtures will find little purchase here. If that is truly why you have come to our world, then your journey has been wasted.”
The rest of the meal continued with awkward small talk and there came a moment when Dukat felt as if he had eaten his fill: not because he had no more room in his stomach, but because after a while the richness of the Bajoran food had soured on his tongue. Glasses of Kubus’s springwine did nothing to wash away the cloying taste, and as the meal slowly drew to a close he found it progressively more demanding to stay in the same room as Kell and the others, watching them chatter and go around in circular conversation. Picking his moment, he excused himself and stepped out of the hall. On their way in, as they had walked the keep’s corridors, Dukat had noticed an arched door opening onto a wide stone balcony, and he strode over to it.
Night had fallen across the planet while the feast had progressed, and the sky was dotted with low, thin clouds. Unfamiliar constellations looked down on Dukat as he wandered to the edge of the battlements. As if it were a reflection of the heavens above, the city spread out below the keep was a mixture of dusky patches of parkland and municipal districts glittering with lanterns. He raised a questioning eyeridge as he spotted faint plumes of smoke issuing up from the streets. His first reaction was to wonder if there was some sort of discord in progress, that those were fires set by malcontents; but he heard no sounds of gunfire, nothing that could be considered violence. On a breath of wind came the faint noises of music and revelers, and his lip twisted. More feasting and carousing? Is that all these aliens do?
The wind brought scents with it as well, and Dukat sniffed at the air like a hunting dog. He detected a pleasant, slightly resinous odor.
“Bateret leaves,” said a voice. “We burn them. It’s a Peldor Festival tradition.”
Dukat turned to see a Bajoran man standing in an open-topped stone cupola some short distance down the length of the ramparts. A soldier? The Cardassian read the man’s manner instantly from the way he stood, the wary edge in his voice. The Bajoran turned toward him hesitantly, as if he were uncertain it was permissible for him to speak to Dukat. The dalin saw a simple chain glitter on the man’s ear, and he took in the ochre-colored uniform, the holstered gun at his hip. He noted how the Bajoran’s hands never went anywhere near the pistol. Not a soldier then, perhaps. But certainly one used to dealing with unknown threats. The corners of Dukat’s mouth drew up in satisfaction at the thought of being considered in such a way. “You are holding a festival in our honor?”
A brief flash of amusement crossed the Bajoran’s face. “Uh, no. I’m afraid not. You just timed your arrival to coincide with one of our annual celebrations.” He nodded toward the city. “The Gratitude Festival. We ask the Prophets to help us with our troubles and watch over us in the coming year.” He sighed. “It’ll be over by tomorrow.” The Bajoran paused. He was clearly finding the situation awkward.
Dukat elected to say nothing; until this moment, every alien he had met on this planet had been a politician or a priest. He found himself wondering about the men who served below them, the workers and the warriors like this one. Like me.
“Do you have celebrations like this on your world?”
Dukat looked back at the city. “Some. On Union Day, all of Cardassia unites in honor of the formation of our society. We mark the anniversaries of the deaths of our ancestors, the births of our children and…and their namings.” His throat tightened a little on the last few words, and he frowned at himself.
The Bajoran heard the catch in his voice. “I have children. A boy, Bajin, and a girl, Nell.”
For a brief instant, Dukat considered turning around and leaving; instead he found himself answering. “I have a son,” he replied. “He has yet to be named.”
“A newborn?”
Dukat shook his head. “He is a few months old. I have been on detached duty and unable to return home to join his mother for the ceremony. Both parents must be present for the naming to be formally recognized by the state.”
“But you have chosen a name already?” The Bajoran came closer.
Dukat nodded. “Procal, afte
r my father. I fear my wife may have other ideas, however.” He felt the weight of the holograph rod in his wrist pocket, and the pictures came to the front of his thoughts once again. His saw his family, out there in Lakat, waiting for the supplies to arrive. And here he was, only a few feet away from a room brimming with food he could not give them. The greasy aftertaste of a Bajoran meat dish he had eaten came up at the back of his throat and his hands gripped the stone lip of the battlements.
“I’m Darrah Mace,” said the other man.
“Skrain Dukat.”
Darrah accepted this with a nod. “You’re military.”
“As you are.”
“Not exactly.” Darrah frowned. “I’m a Militia officer, but not a line soldier. I’m a law enforcer, part of Korto’s City Guard.” The Bajoran followed Dukat’s gaze out over the conurbation. “I imagine the demands of our duties are similar, though. Sometimes, family has to be served second.”
Dukat shot a look at the man, and he was ready to censure Darrah for his forwardness. The urge dissolved as quickly as it had come upon him. Careful, Dukat, he told himself. Do not reveal too much to these aliens. For all he knew, this chance meeting might have been engineered deliberately by Verin and the others to take the measure of the Cardassians. And if they are anything like us, this man will report every word we have shared to his superior officer the moment I leave. The furrows on his brow deepened. He was allowing the matter of the naming ceremony, of his concerns for the welfare of Athra and his son, to play on his mind. The resentment was there again, and some of it fell at the feet of Kell. The gul knew Dukat’s circumstances, and he had denied the dalin’s request for a temporary leave of absence prior to the Bajor mission.
The Bajoran didn’t seem to notice the turmoil behind Dukat’s eyes. “We all have our responsibilities,” he said, and Dukat detected an air of resignation in the other man’s manner.
He was still forming a reply when a figure stepped out onto the balcony behind him. “Skrain. There you are.” Kotan Pa’Dar approached him. “Minister Jas has provided us with guest quarters for the night in the keep’s east tower. Professor Ico felt it would be best if we accept. A refusal might offend the—” He caught sight of Darrah and hesitated. “Our hosts.”
“Of course.” Dukat gave the Bajoran a nod. “Perhaps we will speak again?”
“Maybe so,” offered Darrah.
Pa’Dar spoke quietly as they walked away. “What was that about? You were talking with the alien?”
“It was nothing,” said Dukat, with a finality that silenced the scientist.
5
There was something about a library that instilled a sense of reverence in Gar Osen. Just as he would have on entering a temple of the Prophets, or one of the great halls in the monastery, his voice fell into soft, respectful tones. Before he accepted the calling of the Prophets, he had grown up in a house filled with books—his mother was a minor playwright—and Osen had understood from an early age that books were a doorway to other worlds, to the past or to schools of thought that were vastly different from his own. He had never lost the veneration that being in such surroundings brought upon him. It was second only to the satisfaction he felt in the temple, when he spoke with the Prophets.
Even now, late at night with the light of the floater-globes hovering in the galleries at their lowest setting, the chamber was still impressive. The Naghai Keep’s library was one of the finest private collections on Bajor, with works that the Jas clan had gathered from across the planet since the era of the First Republic. Gar had seen the deep vaults beneath the library proper where they now walked, where stasis field pods kept documents that were millennia old safe from the ravages of time. Admittedly, the keep’s current master, Jas Holza, did not have the same sense of respect for the library as his father had shown, but the minister was savvy enough to know that it was a treasure. Still, there had been times when Kai Meressa and Vedek Cotor had applied gentle pressure to ensure that the minister kept hold of certain works instead of selling them to collectors in other provinces.
At his side, the kai gestured upward to point out the three levels of the collection’s stacks. “It’s hard to imagine, but this library began in ancient times as a simple compilation of agricultural charts and works of botany.” Cotor was nodding in agreement, and behind them the two Cardassian clerics, Hadlo and Bennek, walked slowly, tipping back their heads to take in the scope of the place. “It houses works of all kinds, from fiction through to sciences, religious works, historical documents. An original copy of Shabren’s Prophecies resides here, and it is said that in this very room the treaty of the Nine Tribes was first drawn up, ushering in the age of the Third Republic…” Meressa drew her hands together. “Forgive me. History is a passion of mine.”
“A most impressive collection,” offered Hadlo. “You spoke of religious works here? Is that typical of your world, that they would be part of a clan’s personal holdings? Doesn’t your church keep important books itself?”
Cotor shook his head. “You misunderstand, Hadlo. The Naghai library is commodious, of that there is no doubt, but it is not primarily a store of holy works.” The vedek’s head bobbed in agreement with his own words. “The monastery at Kendra, some distance to the south, is Bajor’s greatest repository of devotional literature.”
Meressa smiled, her face lit with amusement. “Ah, I think the monks at Kiessa might take umbrage at that statement. They like to think that they lay claim to that status.” She halted at a hexagonal table in the middle of the chamber. Lined in wood and cut from local red stone, the broad desk presented a reading screen and an ornate crystal keyboard. “This device is a stand-alone database of all known writings, protected and preserved. As Minister Jas has often bragged, if you cannot find what you wish to read in its written incarnation, you will likely find it in a virtual one stored here.” She patted the table. “But, as Vedek Cotor notes, we believe it is important that we preserve as much of our written culture as we can in its original form.”
Bennek nodded. “The Oralian Way shares that sentiment, Your Eminence. If no substance of a faith remains, then it may become like smoke on the wind.”
Hadlo frowned briefly at the younger cleric’s words before continuing. “Forgive my companion if he speaks with more drama than is necessary. Esteemed Kai, I would very much like to hear more about the Kendra monastery, and of the tenets of your faith.” He paused. “During the meal, I heard the young prylar speaking of a pagh. You used that word during the ceremony for the lost in the courtyard…”
Meressa glanced at Gar. “Osen? Why don’t you explain the term to our visitors?”
Gar swallowed hard; he hadn’t been expecting to take a direct part in any of the discussions. “Of course, Eminence.” He cleared his throat and touched a hand to his ear, where his D’jarra signet dangled. “The pagh is the name we give to the elemental life force of all living things. It is the ephemeral energy of the soul, the source from which we draw our strength and our courage. Our will to live, if you like.”
“Your spirit, then,” said Bennek.
“Correct. In our faith, we conceive the pagh as a flame, a candle that is set burning by the Prophets in the Celestial Temple at the moment of our birth. At times of great hardship that flame may burn low, it may even be snuffed out if death claims us unexpectedly. But we believe that through our faith in the Prophets, they sustain us, replenishing our pagh through their love.” He touched his bare left ear. “The light of that energy blooms through our flesh here.”
“Fascinating,” said the Cardassian. He raised his hands to his face. “In the patterns of the Way, we see the blessings of Oralius in a similar fashion. Her eternal strength flows through us and keeps us strong. We don masks to symbolize our union with her, and the energies that animate us…like your pagh.”
Hadlo nodded sagely. “And like all things, it can turn to light or to darkness. It is the duty of the Oralian Way to show our people the road into the light.” Gar saw a ne
w understanding bloom on the alien’s face. “Kai Meressa, it is our belief that Oralius plots a path for every one of us, for a greater fate than we may know. At this moment, I feel as if I am on the verge of a revelation!” The old man’s voice rose. “Yes. This journey here to Bajor, our meeting. It is her will.”
Cotor smiled. “Then perhaps too it is the will of the Prophets that we are here to greet you, Hadlo.”
The elder cleric’s eyes glittered. “This simple moment…five souls in a chamber steeped in history…My friends, dare we think on the import of such a thing?” He stepped forward and touched Meressa on the arm, and she returned the gesture. “We reach out and find kindred spirits among those not of our world. What does this tell us?”
Gar’s mouth went dry; it was difficult not to be caught up by the quiet potency of the Cardassian’s words. He understood at once how the old man had risen to such high office in his faith—there was a way about Hadlo, a sagacious, metered passion that made one want to listen to his words.
The kai showed the same enthusiasm. “It tells us that barriers of species and distance cannot deny the simple truths of existence.”
“Yes! Yes!” Hadlo’s face split in a grin. “My friends, we share the same path! We can learn so much from one another. The Way of Oralius, the road of your Prophets…What if they are intertwined?”
Gar glanced at Bennek. The younger Cardassian was muted, his face the mirror of Osen’s. It was hard to know what to make of the conversation unfolding before them. Both the priests were wary, and yet they were both daring to hope that Hadlo could be correct. To find aliens who shared a belief system that echoed their own—the theological implications were simply staggering.
Meressa nodded. “Hadlo, you must come to the monastery at Kendra. I will see to it, and there you shall put this question to the Prophets themselves.”
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