He sighed to himself and glanced up. One of the light strips on the ceiling was flickering slightly, and Miles had a strong suspicion that four or five hours of that—never mind all the blathering from a bunch of self-important politicians—would be enough to drive him mad, or at least to jump up and take a screwdriver to the damned thing. Tempting to take a screwdriver to some of this lot too, he thought, glancing around the room, but he put that notion aside regretfully. Cardassians liked the sound of their own voices after all. And when on Cardassia…
Well, the day was certainly shaping up to be a long one. Two rival projects chasing the same bit of funding. Andak or Setekh. Miles was objective enough an engineer to know that it was not just—not at all, in fact—because Keiko headed the Andak Project that he was backing it. The Setekh Project, in Miles’s opinion, was a quick fix, and not even a good one—like slapping some sealing tape over a volcano, and hoping it would hold back the flow of lava. The idea was sound enough—the people at Setekh were working on new soil-reclamation technologies—but the way the project was being implemented…Well, that was the rub.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t just a question of may the best project win. There was a whole host of political agendas surrounding this decision, some of them to be explicitly aired in these sessions, some of them remaining very strictly implicit…. Miles grimaced and remembered Keiko’s frequent complaint: Forget the science, Miles! Don’t you know that what really counts is the politics?
Alon Ghemor himself was presiding over the session. The committee room was arranged with rows of chairs lined up behind a single chair and table, where a spokeswoman from an independent scientific team was drawing to the conclusion of her report. The committee members themselves sat in a row behind tables facing the rest of the room, representatives from the Directorate sitting to Miles’s right, representatives from the government to the left. Ghemor was sitting at the center. He had steepled his hands before his face, and was tapping his thumbs thoughtfully against the ridge on the base of his chin, listening intently. His gaze was fixed on the woman before him but, every so often, Miles saw him cast a swift, sideways glance at his fellow committee members, monitoring their reactions. As Garak had said, Ghemor did look dedicated, and determined too. The news transmissions picked up all that. What they didn’t pick up so much was that he also looked very tired. Miles hoped at least some of that was just an effect of the artificial light.
Although keeping this whole show on the road must be taking it out of him. You’d think at least he’d be able to delegate this hearing out to someone else.
But then Ghemor had publicly and repeatedly spoken in favor of the Andak Project, after all. It was no wonder he was chairing these sessions. However he might prefer to fill his day, he was stuck with this one, no question about it. If Andak lost its funding after all this debate, it would be a very personal humiliation for the castellan.
The light flickered again. Miles pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He was up next and, if what Garak had said about the types of question he could expect were true, he could definitely do without developing a headache before the whole thing was done and dusted. The coffee that he’d had at breakfast had been a lot weaker than he liked it. And the technical discussions so far—the details of which he knew at least as well as anyone in the room—were hardly stimulating. Still, he tried to force his concentration back on Dr. Remar as she made her closing comments in support of the work being done at Andak.
His attention was pulled away from her again almost straightaway when a door slid open just behind Ghemor, and a Cardassian slipped in. He handed a padd to Ghemor and then went to sit down at the far side of the room.
Garak tapped Miles’s arm. Jartek, he mouthed, nodding his head in the man’s direction.
Ghemor’s new political advisor. Miles looked at him with interest. Youngish, thinnish, with hooded eyes that darted about him, and bearing a bland expression that was just a shade too studied. Garak could teach him a thing or two about that, Miles thought. Jartek seemed to be trying to blend chameleon-style into his surroundings, but he wasn’t quite succeeding. Garak could probably teach him a thing or two about that as well.
Remar had finished speaking. Ghemor set his hands down before him on the table, sat up straight, and addressed her. He was a tall man, and knew how to use this to his advantage. And his voice was strong, and he took care to make it carry.
“Dr. Remar, thank you for contributions this morning. I’m sure I speak for all the committee when I thank you for the clarity of both your presentation and your conclusions.”
Remar inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgment.
“I’d now like to open the floor to my colleagues,” Ghemor continued, gesturing to either side, “who no doubt have some questions for clarification to put to you. First of all, I’ll call upon Merak Entor, who is the senior representative on the committee for the Directorate. Merak,” he said, in very neutral tones, turning to address the man seated at his far left, “I imagine you have some things you’d like to ask…?”
Ah, so this is the infamous Entor? The light flickered again. O’Brien ignored it, and stared at the former gul.
You could tell a mile off he was ex-military. Despite his civilian clothes, he was holding himself like he was still in uniform, and when he spoke it was as if he was addressing a roomful of cadets. Did they train them particularly to swagger in the Cardassian military? Miles wondered, and not for the first time in his life.
Remar folded her hands on the table in front of her as Entor made his opening—and lengthy—remarks. At least he remembered the common courtesy of thanking her again for attending the session, although perhaps barking it out like an order wasn’t entirely in the spirit of things.
Miles watched as Ghemor glanced over at Garak, a faint smile twitching across his lips. Garak rolled his eyes in response. Get on with it, Entor!
“Dr. Remar,” Entor said at last, “you have been a remarkable advocate for the Andak Project.”
“I strongly believe,” she replied, leaning forward in her chair to emphasize her point, “that the research being conducted there has the potential to transform Cardassia’s future—”
“Yes, yes—we’ve heard this argument from you already this morning, in detail and at great length.”
A couple of the panel members from the Directorate smirked. Remar pursed her lips. “When explaining difficult technical matters,” she replied mildly, “it is important to take into account the…level of expertise of one’s audience.”
She smiled, almost demurely. Entor scowled. Garak chuckled.
And does everyone on Cardassia learn how to do the verbal tango? Must be on the curriculum at their schools.
“What I would like to know, Dr. Remar,” Entor continued, undaunted, “is precisely how objective you have been in coming to these conclusions.”
Remar blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“How objective are you in your support of the Andak research?”
“Objective? I was asked—as a former member of the Science Academy—to provide a comparative report of the two projects on the basis of their scientific strengths, the respective quality of the teams concerned, the potential benefits to the reconstruction of Cardassia…” She ticked the points off on her fingers, and then shook her head. “To be perfectly frank, Councillor Entor, I’m not sure I entirely understand the purpose of your question.”
Entor gave her a cold and predatory smile. “Then let me make an explanation which takes into account your…level of expertise of political matters. Is it not true that the deputy director of the project to which you have given such unequivocal and eloquent support was once your lover?”
Miles raised a hand to his mouth and just managed to turn his laugh into a cough. For a moment, he felt like he’d entered into some kind of cheap holodrama. Beside him, Garak seemed to be thinking much the same thing. He folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. “Oh, please!” he m
uttered.
Remar, however, was not laughing. In fact, she looked humiliated. Can’t be pleasant, Miles thought, having your personal life dragged out like that. And in front of the cameras. He shuddered slightly. Would Entor do the same with him? He thought again, fondly, of that screwdriver….
“Almost twenty years ago…!” Remar said, and then collected herself. “How could you possibly suggest that I would—”
Entor ignored her, turning to address the members of the panel from the Directorate. “Dr. Feric Lakhat—we heard his evidence at the start of last week. A follower of the Oralian Way, I understand,” he said. Several of the panel nodded, as if that bit of news explained a great deal. O’Brien heard Garak draw in a hiss of breath.
“Councillor Entor,” chimed in Neret, sitting at the other end of the panel, “I have to say that I don’t believe that this line of questioning is either helpful or relevant.”
“I believe it is of extreme relevance,” Entor shot back.
“You’re implying a degree of corruption on the part of Dr. Remar which would run counter to all her principles as a scientist—”
“That’s correct,” Entor replied, squaring himself aggressively.
Remar had now regained some of her self-possession, but was quite plainly furious. “Councillor Entor,” she said, “I believe that your question says a great deal more about the mind-set of the former military than it does about the scientific community. My recommendations were based solely on the scientific evidence and on the merits of the two projects concerned!”
“And I believe,” added Neret, “that Councillor Entor has over-stepped himself. I sincerely hope he intends to retract that obnoxious accusation and apologize to Dr. Remar—and to the rest of this committee. As ever, the Directorate appears to be bent upon sabotaging rather than participating in the democratic process—”
“And as ever,” Entor replied angrily, “that process is shown up as the sham that it is!”
At that, it seemed to Miles that the whole committee broke in, their voices rising as they each struggled to be heard. It took Ghemor a good couple of minutes, but eventually his voice overpowered the rest, drowning out the uproar. His eyes were blazing and his lips were thin with fury.
“This is unacceptable! I will not have these hearings reduced to the level of a barroom brawl.” He stood up abruptly. The rest of the room followed protocol and did the same, some rather more shamefaced than others.
“We’ll continue this afternoon,” he said, giving the assembly a rather sour look. “When perhaps we might aspire toward constructive debate rather than outright farce.” He turned on his heel and made his way out through the door behind his seat.
Jartek stood up smoothly. “I think we can take it that the meeting is adjourned.” He reached over and turned off the transcription devices. “This time, Councillor Entor, I think you may have gone a little too far.”
The room erupted into a frenzy. Jartek slipped after his master.
Garak swung round to face Miles. “You see now what I mean about Entor?” He was seething, Miles saw, actually seething.
“I most certainly do.” Miles eyed the former gul uneasily. No shamed face there—in fact, Entor looked pretty pleased with himself. A couple of cronies had gathered round and seemed to be encouraging him in this. “He’s hardly subtle about it, is it?”
“And yet somehow he manages to create chaos. It’s idiots like that,” Garak ground out, “who will cripple Cardassia before she’s even had a chance to get up off her knees. And all in the name of her greater glory. Well, we tried that once, and where did that get us?”
Was that a flash of idealism, Garak? Didn’t think you had it left in you, if it had ever been there in the first place….
No, that was unfair, Miles decided. Cardassia had always been the one thing that had mattered to Garak.
He watched as Garak sighed, and composed himself—and then nodded to O’Brien to follow him. “I think we should seize our window of opportunity and have you meet with our illustrious leader. If he’s not crawling up the walls, that is.” His eyes narrowed; his expression sharpened. “So, before we go in—what did you think of Jartek?”
Miles stared at the closed door and barely noticed as the light strip guttered one more time and then went out. “Not really got much to go on yet,” he answered. “But you’re dead right about one thing. It’s a terrible suit.”
7
Keiko pressed her hand against the security panel to unlock the office door, and then stepped back politely to allow Tela to enter first. The older woman hesitated for a moment on the threshold, and then went in ahead. A draught came out through the open door, and Keiko drew in a quiet sigh, relieved to feel the fresh air again upon her face. She always kept the temperature fairly low in her office—it was her haven from the heat of Cardassia. Feric complained about it all the time, amiably, but Tela never had—although, as Keiko stepped past to take her place behind the desk, she thought that she saw a frown briefly trouble the other woman’s cool, set face.
“Please,” Keiko said, gesturing to a chair, “do sit down.”
For one fraction of a second, Tela remained standing—upright, proud, with the apparently instinctive bearing that made so many Cardassians appear overwhelming. Then she nodded slightly and lowered herself into the offered chair, smoothing a nonexistent crease from her skirt and still seeming very tall. Dealing with Tela was like participating in a dance, Keiko thought—a very precise, formal dance…and sometimes Keiko felt as if she were being forced to improvise, making up her moves while Tela sidestepped her, again and again.
We should be friends, Keiko thought, a little sadly. We’re both scientists, both women, both mothers…and yet we shift cautiously around, neither of us able to take a first, real step toward the other.
Tela was casting an eye around the room. Was she imagining herself in this office, behind this desk? Tela had applied for the directorship of the Andak Project, Keiko knew, and the decision not to give the post to a Cardassian had been deliberated long and hard by the I.A.A.C. But if Tela was bitter about Keiko’s appointment—and then Keiko’s choice of Feric as her deputy over Tela—she had never shown it. She had, in fact, kept a thoroughly professional distance. But, nevertheless, whether intentionally or quite unconsciously, Tela contrived to give the impression that she was on the wrong side of the desk, as if she had been somehow dispossessed from what was rightfully hers. This office. My office, Keiko told herself firmly.
After a moment, Tela leaned forward in her chair. She reached out a long, thin hand and, with a cautious finger, tapped the school bell that stood on one side of Keiko’s desk. It made a dull sound.
“What is this?” she asked. It seemed to be genuine curiosity.
We are both scientists, after all.
“That’s my school bell,” Keiko said, and laughed a little. “A relic from my former career!”
Tela looked up at her, an eye ridge raised in surprise. “You taught school?”
“For a while—on Deep Space 9, when Miles was posted there. The children had nothing to keep them occupied and were getting into trouble and…well, there was hardly much call for a botanist on a space station. A happy combination of circumstances.”
Well, not always entirely happy….
Tela’s eyes widened, as if something had suddenly become clear to her. “Ah—now I think I understand better about these classes you’ve asked us all to give.”
“On the station, we found that the school was a good way of bringing very different and diverse communities together,” Keiko explained, deciding that perhaps it would be good politics at this point to pass over some of the difficulties. “So yes—that’s why I’d like us all to take some part in educating the children here at Andak. Not so much that it interferes with the work we have to do, of course,” she said quickly, “but there are some brilliant, gifted people here, and I think it would be a real opportunity for the children on the base to be exposed to their ide
as, to learn from them.”
Tela had listened to this speech impassively. Her eye fell upon the bell again. “May I?” she said, touching the handle.
“Please do,” Keiko replied.
We are so very courteous to each other….
Tela picked the bell up, carefully.
“It’s quite solid,” Keiko assured her. “It’s meant to be rung vigorously, over the noise of children playing!”
The bell clanged a little. Tela quickly reached for the hammer. She turned the bell upside down and examined the mechanism, tapping the hammer against the metal, recreating the dull sound. “Did you really use this on the station?”
“Oh no, of course not—it would have deafened everyone! Resounded all along the Promenade. I wouldn’t have been popular if I’d done that first thing every morning!” Keiko smiled in what she hoped would be taken as a friendly manner. “No, it was a joke on Miles’s part, really, when I started the school. I was very nervous about the whole project.”
“Nervous?” Tela gazed up at Keiko, pinning her with an inquisitorial stare. Keiko berated herself inwardly.
That was a little bit too much information. One of us has to take the first step, make the first move forward, yes—but I’d rather have Tela unbend!
“The whole project was a risk,” Keiko replied firmly. “We didn’t know whether the Bajoran parents would accept a school that didn’t teach their faith as an explicit part of the curriculum.”
“And did they?”
“With time, and with effort—yes, they did.”
With a surreptitious glance, Keiko checked the time on the display. It was several hours yet until Yevir was due to arrive, but she still had much of the base to check on. It wasn’t fair to leave it all to Feric—it was her responsibility. Why, Keiko wondered, did Tela have to pick this morning—of all mornings—to indulge in small talk?
Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine Page 4