by Dayton Ward
Crusher’s communicator badge chirped.
“Data to Doctor Crusher,” said the voice of the Enterprise’s second officer.
Setting aside her coffee, Crusher grunted as she exchanged knowing glances with Kadohata. “So much for break time.” Tapping her badge, she said, “Crusher here. What can I do for you, Commander?”
“I am sorry to disturb you,” the android replied, “but a new group of refugees has just arrived at the medical station, and your presence has been requested.”
“Is there an emergency?” Crusher frowned, moving toward the Justman’s ramp.
“Not that I am aware of, but some of the new arrivals are Cardassian.”
Crusher grunted. “Understood, Commander. I’m on my way. Crusher out.”
“I was wondering if we’d be getting any,” Kadohata said as Crusher stepped off the ramp and they both set off toward the medical station. “Most of the Cardassians we’ve found so far have been beamed up to the Farragut.”
“Which is probably why they’re still alive.” Crusher knew that in the wake of the mass exodus from Jevalan, those Cardassians left behind had been at the mercy of the surviving Bajoran workers. Early reports from the first Starfleet vessel to reach the planet, as well as those submitted by Commander Riker and other survey teams taking stock of the situation, detailed how many of those Cardassians had not been treated with anything resembling compassion. There also were reports of Bajorans protecting small bands of Cardassians from retribution, for reasons that at this point remained unknown. Were the Bajorans collaborators, or perhaps they merely were acting in what they perceived to be the best interests of the remaining workers in the event their Cardassian overlords returned?
All questions for somebody else to answer.
Crusher and Kadohata made their way to the security checkpoint that served as the entrance to the medical station. A protective perimeter had been established around the temporary encampment, consisting of portable force-field generators. Four checkpoints were set up around the barricade, each manned by a two-person team from the Enterprise’s security detachment. As she and Kadohata drew closer, Crusher saw that other members of the security cadre were working to organize the newest group of arriving refugees into columns for orderly movement into and through the processing station. Two lines of people had formed to either side of the checkpoint, one consisting of Bajorans and the other containing Cardassians. While the Cardassians were standing in silence, some with their heads bowed while others glared with defiance either at the Bajorans or the Starfleet officers, the former labor camp workers were making their displeasure known. Verbal assaults filled the air, and once or twice Crusher saw a rock or clump of mud thrown in the Cardassians’ direction.
“Well,” Kadohata said, keeping her voice low, “this looks like fun.” Crusher glanced down to see that while the lieutenant had not brandished her phaser, her right hand now hovered near the weapon.
Despite the shouting and gesturing, Enterprise security personnel, most of them wielding phaser rifles, seemed to have the situation under control. The entrance to the checkpoint was clear, and Crusher and Kadohata were waved in by a female lieutenant whose face Crusher recognized but whose name escaped her. She had only a moment to consider the small lapse before she entered the medical station’s receiving area to find Data waiting for them.
“Good evening, Doctor,” the android said. “I know that you were resting, but it appears we have an unusual situation with one of the new arrivals.”
“The Cardassians?” Crusher asked as she moved toward the entrance to the main treatment area. “What’s wrong?” Though she had done her best to make sure that every member of the Enterprise’s medical contingent was capable at least of diagnosing injuries and illnesses in numerous species from across and even outside the Federation, she knew there always would be some abnormality that might at first defy classification. She further expected that to occur in situations involving members of races that her people might not encounter on a regular basis. So far as she was aware, she possessed greater experience treating Cardassians than anyone else on her staff.
Gesturing to an area of the treatment center that had been cordoned off with privacy screens, Data replied, “We were preparing this group of Cardassians for transport to the Farragut, but one of them insists on speaking with you first.”
“Is he someone in authority?” Kadohata asked. “If so, then Lieutenant Worf or Commander Riker is going to want to talk to him.”
“No, Lieutenant. He claims to have been assigned to the Olanda labor camp during the Occupation, which the U.S.S. Centaur is overseeing for refugee processing, but he asked to be sent here.” Looking to Crusher, Data added, “He specifically requested to speak with you, Doctor. He says that he is a physician.”
“Wait, what?” Crusher asked, her eyes widening in realization. “A doctor? You’re sure?” She knew it was a silly question to ask Data of all people, but she could not help the reflexive response. Hastening her pace, she asked, “Is he hurt?”
“He has suffered only minor injuries, Doctor,” Data replied, following her as she reached for the privacy screen and pulled it aside to reveal a cot and a chair, and Crusher could not help but smile as she recognized the Cardassian male standing before her. There were cuts and bruises on his head and face, his hair was dirty and mussed, and the clothing he wore—not the typical heavy armor of a soldier, but instead a simple gray jumpsuit—was torn and dirty.
“Ilona,” she said, reaching out to take the extended hands of Ilona Daret. “I can’t believe it.”
Daret returned the smile. “Beverly Crusher. I think it would be beneficial to both of us if we ceased meeting like this.”
Thirteen
Jevalan, Doltiri System
Standing at the edge of the ridge that acted as the western boundary of the joint Bajoran-Cardassian temporary settlement, Beverly Crusher studied the remains of the Tabata labor camp. Even though more than half a kilometer separated her from the site, she still was able to identify the different structures as well as the network of connecting paths that cut patterns through what once had been the central courtyard. While the area at that time had been well manicured due to the thankless efforts of Bajoran workers, unchecked grass and other vegetation had long since reclaimed the expanse of open ground. Such was the case with the rest of the encampment, with the bases of the perimeter fence stanchions as well as the towers that once had held armed guards now obscured by weeds and other local flora. The odd member of the indigenous wildlife could be seen wandering around the deserted camp, searching for food or shelter.
A chill gripped Crusher as the wind kicked up, and without thinking, she hugged her arms close to her chest. Her hands brushed against the rough material of her top, and she looked down to inspect the clothing she now wore in lieu of her Starfleet uniform. It was Lieutenant Konya who had suggested they wear civilian attire—specifically, clothing favored by Bajorans—in order to better blend in with the personnel living and working here and at the nearby excavation sites. It was a weak ploy, Crusher knew, unlikely to fool anyone tasked by President Ishan to track them, but if it gained them even a few moments’ worth of advantage or surprise over any would-be followers, then it was worth the effort.
For the same reasons, Konya and Lieutenant Cruzen had taken steps to conceal the runabout that had brought them to Jevalan. Rather than keeping the craft here on the surface, he had programmed the Dordogne’s onboard computer to maintain a fixed orbit over the planet’s northern magnetic pole in order to better conceal it from sensors. Crusher had smiled upon hearing the lieutenant’s suggestion, asking him if he had learned that trick from Admiral Riker, to which Konya had replied, “You can’t go wrong with the classics.”
Footsteps behind her made Crusher turn to see Ilona Daret walking toward her, following one of the narrow paths leading up from the archeological and forensic expedition’s small base camp. The Cardassian’s gray hair moved with the breeze wa
fting across the ridge, and he was a bit stoop shouldered as he walked. Still, his pace was impressive for one of his years, though when he arrived at the top of the ridge to stand beside her, Crusher noted that his breathing was somewhat labored. He gestured past her toward the plateau and the abandoned encampment.
“I imagine it looks much different than the last time you saw it. Current plans call for the entire area to be turned into an historical monument, you know.”
Crusher replied, “So I’ve heard.” She watched as he straightened his posture and took a deep breath. The simple action seemed to calm him. “The fresh air seems to agree with you.”
“I haven’t been this active in ages,” Daret said, smiling. “I’ve done more meaningful work in the year I’ve spent here than the last five spent in clinics and laboratories.” Seeing her expression as she eyed him with skepticism, he added, “Oh, don’t misunderstand me. I miss my patients from my practice on Cardassia Prime, and I did not come here without first ensuring all of them were to be well cared for by my replacement.” He gestured toward the abandoned labor camp. “This, however? There’s a chapter of history—not just our history but also that of the Bajorans—that needs to be preserved and remembered, for all time. That’s why I’m here and why I’ve spent so much time over there.”
The aged Cardassian pointed past the main camp to another, larger compound just visible beyond a row of trees, which featured buildings and other structures similar to the closer location. Even from this distance, Crusher could see figures moving about, a few walking alone, but most of them working in clusters of four or five. Land vehicles maneuvered over the broken terrain as well as along narrow paths pressed into the barren earth that allowed the vehicles access to different excavation sites.
“That is where the real story of this world is to be found,” Daret said, “beneath earth and rubble, beneath sweat and blood, beneath tears and lies.” He paused, shaking his head. “There are many things about my people in which I take great pride, but what happened here will never be one of them.”
Crusher reached over and placed a hand on her friend’s arm. Ilona Daret always had been something very different from the other Cardassians she had encountered during her career. While she had met ones similar to Daret who seemed to possess an awareness about morality and their people’s place in the interstellar order of things, it was her experience that such individuals tended to get lost amid the quite valid perception of the Cardassian Union as a militaristic state. This, despite the Cardassian people’s rich history of appreciating science, literature, and the arts. Much of that was long past, of course, owing to the growth of the Cardassian military industrial complex, numerous conflicts with rival interstellar powers, and an ill-fated alliance with the Dominion. Cardassia Prime still suffered the scars of those choices and the attitudes that had allowed them to occur in the first place. The path to healing would be long and littered with obstacles both known and unforeseen.
But with the help of people like Ilona, they at least have a chance.
“Your companions have returned from your ship,” Daret said. “They are securing your equipment and . . . other items . . . in my cottage.”
Crusher’s eyes narrowed at her friend’s euphemism for the weapons Konya and Cruzen would have brought with them from the Dordogne. “It’s just a precaution, Ilona. I don’t think we can be too careful, about any of this, and you haven’t even told me the whole story yet.”
“I know,” Daret replied. “It is well past time that I show you what I’ve been safeguarding, and for what I now need your assistance.”
Leaving the ridgeline, Crusher followed the Cardassian back to the small settlement that—according to Daret—had started here as a collection of emergency shelters nearly two years earlier. Over time, it had grown to encompass more than two dozen buildings of varying size, arrayed in haphazard fashion around an open field that was treated as the community’s “town square.” The buildings themselves were the sort of prefabricated structures designed for easy assembly and removal. To Crusher, the scene resembled any number of new colony outposts she had visited over the years, including the small villages in which she had lived as a child with her grandmother on planets like Arvada III and Caldos II. Those colonies on those two worlds eventually had grown and thrived into cities and other communities scattered across their respective planets, both of which now were full-fledged members of the Federation. Would something like that happen here, one day? It would be interesting if representatives from Bajor and the Cardassian Union, especially given their people’s joint, tragic history, elected to found a permanent home here.
Stranger things have happened, Crusher conceded.
Dozens of Bajorans and Cardassians, as well as a handful of humans and members of other species, moved about the various buildings. Everyone was dressed in some variation of simple attire designed for working hard and getting dirty. Not a uniform or other indicator of a government or Starfleet or other military presence was visible. In this respect, at least, Crusher and her team now blended with the rest of the population. According to Daret, transports and other private vessels made routine stops at the planet, either to transfer personnel or with new supplies and other equipment, so the arrival in camp of three new faces would—in theory—not attract undue notice.
Navigating the walking path leading across the square, Crusher followed her friend to the simple, one-story structure that served both as his domicile as well as his primary workspace when he was not visiting one of the excavation sites. As they entered the building’s foyer, Crusher once more saw the collection of diagnostic and forensic equipment arrayed around the small laboratory. While another, larger mortuary facility had been designated for the delivery, processing, and examination of remains, it was staffed at all hours of the day as new discoveries were retrieved from the camps or the graveyards that sat adjacent to those compounds. Daret and a handful of the project’s senior members had set up their own work areas in order to escape the morgue’s constant activity, allowing them to work in relative quiet and privacy.
Lucky for us.
Footsteps echoed from a narrow passageway connecting the foyer with rooms farther inside the building, as Konya and Cruzen walked into view. Over their own simple work attire, both security officers wore light jackets, which Crusher suspected was a means of concealing whatever weapons with which the security officers had chosen to arm themselves.
“Everything settled in?” Crusher asked.
“Yes, Doctor, and the Dordogne is parked in its polar orbit. I’ve programmed the onboard computer to maintain a lock on our comm badges.” Konya opened his jacket to reveal his own communicator, pinned to his chest as if he still was wearing his Starfleet uniform. “It’ll respond to normal verbal commands, but if something happens and you need a fast beam-out, just tap your badge twice. That’ll activate the emergency extraction directive I’ve given the computer.”
“Are you expecting trouble, Lieutenant?” Daret asked.
Cruzen replied, “We always expect trouble, sir. It’s part of our job description.”
The aged Cardassian smiled. “Prudent.” He turned to Crusher. “Since you’re all here, I see no reason to delay this any longer.” After first tapping the keypad near the entrance, which Crusher saw was the control to engage the door’s lock, Daret gestured for her and the others to follow as he led them into his lab. A computer workstation resided atop a small desk in one corner, but it was the only piece of equipment Crusher recognized, save for the examination table occupying space at the room’s center. The table sat atop a cabinet with two large drawers running its length, and a display monitor was mounted to its far end. Crusher saw from the unit’s construction that contents from the drawers could be moved out of storage and into position atop the table without having to touch the body or remains in question.
“Do the drawers act as stasis chambers?” Cruzen asked.
“Indeed they do.” Daret nodded, as though approving of
the lieutenant’s astuteness. “Each unit is self-contained so that it can be moved from this table via anti-gravity implements back to the mortuary while protecting its contents from possible contamination.”
Konya said, “I read about your work. I’m amazed at the number of . . . recoveries . . . this expedition’s been able to make. I would’ve thought more of the Bajorans who died here, particularly those killed in the final attacks, would’ve been vaporized.”
“The commander presiding over all of the camps, Gul Pavok, was more benevolent toward the workers than others in his position. He allowed the Bajorans to bury their dead in accordance with their customs.” Daret paused, then released a small sigh. “Of course, he had his own idiosyncrasies, and he was not above ordering harsh punishments—including executions—if he felt it necessary. As for the attacks that came with my people’s withdrawal, the evidence we’ve found was that the damage inflicted by the departing ships seemed aimed more at infrastructure than people. Because of that, most of the fatalities, while numerous, were due more to trauma from shrapnel, or being crushed inside collapsing buildings, or buried within the mines, and so on.” He stopped again, reaching up to wipe what Crusher saw was a single tear from his left eye.
Clearing his throat, Daret stepped to the monitor at the table’s far end and tapped it. When the screen flared to life, he touched one of the controls on the unit’s interface keypad, and the door to the bottom drawer slid up, allowing a metallic case to slide out. The case moved up along the unit’s embedded tracks and raised itself to the table. Now Crusher could see that the case’s top was a form of dark glass or composite material, and there was a low yet noticeable hum from the internal power generator that supported the case’s stasis system. Such units had been in use for decades, but most designs with which she was familiar were more streamlined than this version. This piece, on the other hand, was of a more ruggedized design, better-suited to environments such as this remote settlement where repairs and other maintenance would be carried out by the people who used the equipment, rather than relying upon engineers or other specialized technicians.