Tela set down the bell, brushed away another crease in her skirt that Keiko, at least, couldn’t see, and then folded her hands before her. When she lifted up her gaze again to look at Keiko, she was a study in composure. Plain but perfect clothes; her long dark hair held up in an intricate style which seemed effortlessly achieved—although, when Keiko looked a little closer, she could see the strands of gray flecked among the black. Very few of the Cardassians at Andak other than Feric had spoken to Keiko of their experiences during the war and Tela Maleren most certainly had not. She had a daughter here, Nyra, but had never mentioned a husband or a partner. Keiko didn’t even know if there had been more than one child. And she had to wonder, as she often did, how much of a toll the brutalities of the war had taken upon such a cultured, civilized woman as this.
“I used to love teaching when I was younger,” Tela said, simply. “When I became principal of the Science Academy, I had less and less time for it. I regretted that.” She looked at Keiko coolly. “I’m sure you understand about administrative burdens. Do you miss teaching, Director O’Brien?”
“I do miss it, a great deal,” Keiko said, marking the shift back from first names to titles. “And I’m sure,” she added, doggedly,
“that we love teaching for the same reasons.”
A very small smile, like a fault line, crossed Tela’s face. “Do you think so, Director O’Brien?”
“Well, I love to teach because I love to give children and students new ideas—to see their minds opening. To see them take what I have and to make something new from it, which is their own.”
“Then—as I suspected—we are not in accordance. When I taught, it was to pass on to my students their tradition, their heritage. Everything that made us Cardassian, which had been given to me, which I loved and wished to give to them in turn.” Tela had begun to finger a silver bracelet around her wrist. With a flash of insight, Keiko grasped that she was very distressed.
And confused…. Surely the Oralian Way is all about Cardassia unearthing her lost past…? Shouldn’t she welcome it…?
“Professor Maleren…Tela,” Keiko said carefully, although she could not keep some urgency from creeping into her voice, “we’ve worked alongside each other now for nearly two months, and you’ve never chosen to speak to me like this before. I’m glad that you’re talking to me now but, please, you must tell me what it is that’s brought you here this morning.”
“There is so little left,” Tela said, tracing the filigree and the small red stone on the bracelet and looking beyond Keiko out of the window. “And yet there seems to be no will to protect it; worse, there seems to be a desire to destroy even the little that remains. You say that you taught in a school which did not let belief pass through its doorways. And yet here, in Andak, you allow the open practice of religious faith.”
Suddenly, again, Keiko understood. “You’re talking about the service yesterday, aren’t you? The Oralian Way?”
Tela’s lips thinned. “It has no place in public here at Andak. No other groups or affiliations at this base practice their faith or air their views as openly as the members of the Oralian Way did yesterday. It is not acceptable—”
“Professor Maleren, I’m not going to use my authority to bar any adult here from expressing their beliefs however they choose—privately or publicly!”
“Where there are children watching, Director O’Brien!”
They stared at each other across a desk which now seemed to be cavernously wide.
“I have a daughter, you have a daughter,” Tela said softly. “Can you care so little about what she learns? Do you see so little of worth in your own traditions, your own values, that you have no wish for those to be hers too?”
“Molly has lived most of her life among other cultures. Her own mother and father are from different cultures. Of course I’m happy for her—and for Yoshi—to learn all that they can from everything around them. Those are my values.”
Again, the fault-line smile. “Infinite diversity is a luxury—and one among many that Cardassia has never been able to afford. All that I have left now to give to my own daughter is ruins, Director O’Brien. Perhaps if that was all you had, you might wish to protect it too.” She frowned. “At the very least, if I cannot make an appeal to you on these grounds, let me appeal to your sense of pragmatism. There are many, many people here who are not happy with what took place in the square yesterday. You are serving neither yourself nor the project if you ignore this.”
Keiko had to look down for a moment to collect her thoughts, but when she could face the woman opposite again, it was with determination in her eyes. “Tela, I don’t underestimate your concerns, and I do understand them. I won’t hide away from this, that’s not my style. I want us to find a way to solve this, to everyone’s satisfaction. But, for the moment at least, while the project isn’t yet secure, while—today!—all of Cardassia, and beyond, is going to be watching us, we have to pull together.”
Tela sighed a little. “I must not leave you doubting my commitment to this project,” she said, and then she smiled. But her smile was sad, and it touched only the very edges of her eyes. She looked out of the window. “You know, don’t you,” she said, softly, “that if our work here is successful, it will change Cardassia forever? And not just Cardassia, but its people. We will change the air we breathe, and the land we use to grow the food we eat—and so we will be changed ourselves.”
Keiko did not answer, but waited for Tela to finish.
“You do realize that even if we could return to how we were—that I have committed myself, committed my work, to that change?”
“I know, Tela. I know.”
“But still, there is so little left,” Tela explained again, raising her hands in a hopeless gesture. Then, with a swift and elegant movement, she rose, and made for the door. When she reached it, she stopped before touching the panel, and turned.
“There is one other thing that I have to say—that you will be making a mistake, Keiko, if you try to treat us as if we were Bajorans. We are not superstitious—we are rational; too rational, perhaps. But we are alike in one way, I’ll grant you. Alike because of what they learned from us—to be hard, to be obdurate.”
“I understand that, Tela,” Keiko said. “And I’m not dismissing this, nor underestimating the gravity of your concerns. This is something all of us will have to deal with, if we really want to be a community here at Andak.”
“Ah yes, the community….” Tela gave a dry smile and opened the door. “It’s a worthy vision you have—but I fear you may be building castles in the air.”
“I hope not,” Keiko replied. And I can be adamant too, she thought, as Tela nodded a courteous farewell and left.
8
The overwhelming sensation gained on entering Ghemor’s office was one of information overload, from the viewscreens taking up most of one side of the room. Six of them, stacked three by two, and each, so far as Miles could make out, tuned to a different channel. Two were streaming out information on foreign markets—it was close of business in at least three different places and it looked to Miles’s admittedly untutored eye as if the Cardassian drokna was continuing its stately decline in all of them. The other four channels were all broadcasting news, from various parts of the quadrant.
The excess of data that was bombarding him meant that a moment or two passed before Miles noticed something odd about the screens themselves. They were square and plain and ordinary—not the oval and too-ornate displays of distinctively Cardassian design that Miles had become accustomed to on DS9. Here, at what was supposed to be the center of his power, the castellan relied on Federation technology to keep his office running. The news was brought to Ghemor from around the nation that he now led via six screens just like any that you could see anywhere in Federation territory.
Ghemor had not, Miles noticed gratefully, chosen to listen to all six channels at once. Right now, he seemed to be focused solely—and very intently—on the Federat
ion News Service, which was transmitting a report from…wasn’t that Andak? Miles looked a little more closely at the screen. Yes, that was Andak. He recognized those mountains and that particular shade of gray to the buildings. That was Vedek Yevir arriving. And there was Keiko, greeting him, and looking grand! Miles smiled at the sight of her, and wished once again that he could be there with her, but he knew Keiko would cope admirably. She always rose to the occasion. And there was no way he could have missed coming to this meeting—which he could only assume was going to reconvene that afternoon. Bloody annoying to come all this way and not get to make the S.C.E.’s presentation, and this such an important day for Keiko…He looked again at the display. The report was wrapping up.
“…And with the future of the project currently under discussion, Vedek Yevir’s presence here can only be seen as a boost for the team working at Andak, and for their political backers, including the Cardassian castellan Alon Ghemor and his struggling administration…”
Ghemor made a slight noise at the back of his throat, which sounded to Miles to be ominously murderous.
“…this is Teris Juze, reporting from Andak…”
“Don’t worry about it, Alon,” Jartek said. His voice was smooth and soothing, and easily smothered the sound of the broadcast. “Federation news, remember? Yes, it’s the best—but, still, you can’t be surprised if all the good in the world is attributed to the vedek.”
“It’ll be laying on of hands next,” Ghemor said morosely. “Vedek Yevir Linjarin heals the sick. I’d give my right arm for just half of his favorable coverage. No, strike that—I’d give my right arm for just half of his coverage period, favorable or not.”
“These things take time,” Jartek said patiently, reaching out to turn down the volume on the display. “And effort. Don’t worry about it, it’s all under control.”
“Who’s the elected leader around here, anyway?”
This all sounded, Miles thought, like an habitual grouse. Garak seemed to think so too, pushing himself up from the wall and stepping forward to cut off the flow.
“Before you launch yourself into that one again, allow me to introduce Chief Engineer Miles O’Brien, of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers. You might want to try to give a good impression….”
Ghemor gave Garak a half-smile that combined more than mild irritation with something that Miles suspected might be verging on affection. Then he turned to Miles, and offered his hand. Miles took it. Ghemor’s grip was resolute; Miles returned it, and managed not to recoil at the sensation of the scales of the other man’s skin. Friend, Miles told himself firmly, not foe. Ghemor did look genuinely pleased to be meeting him. And, this close, he looked even more determined—and even more tired.
“Welcome to the capital, Chief O’Brien—”
“Miles, please.”
“Miles.” Ghemor nodded in acknowledgment of the courtesy, and then waved a hand toward a chair, and took his own seat. “I appreciate your coming all this way. Is there anything you’d like? I myself thought it was a…dry session this morning, and I can’t think hearing all that scientific data again can have been fascinating for you.”
“Wouldn’t say no to a coffee,” Miles said, with a grin, settling back into the chair. Straightaway, without being prompted, Jartek pressed a button on the com on the desk, and murmured a few instructions. Then he sat down, on Ghemor’s left, regarding Miles from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. Garak remained standing—Miles could just see him out of the corner of his eye. He had returned to his place by the wall, folding his arms and with his head leaning back. Something seemed to be amusing him, or why else would he have that slight smile? Miles watched Jartek look over at Garak, frown, and then lick his lips. For a split second, he was thoroughly and overpoweringly reptilian. Miles shuddered. A pit of vipers, he thought.
He pulled himself together.
“Does Entor regularly break up sessions in that way?” he asked.
Ghemor did not try to conceal his frustration. “Too damned often.”
“He’s not subtle, but he does seem to be effective.”
“Were I a different man, and this a different time, I’d trump up treason charges and have him executed,” Ghemor said bluntly.
Just beside him, Miles felt Garak shift forward slightly. Jartek’s pale eyes were on him in an instant.
I’m guessing Ghemor doesn’t know about my brush with Cardassian law. I’d like to know how Garak knows. Actually—no, I wouldn’t.
“Different place now, Cardassia,” Miles said, equably. Garak leaned back. Jartek uncoiled a little. “Or so they tell me. This is a democracy now.” He quirked up an eyebrow at Ghemor.
Who threw his head back and laughed. “So they tell me, too!”
You know, I think I actually like this man.
Ghemor seemed more relaxed now, and was looking at Miles as if he had also decided that this was a man he could do business with.
“Let’s get down to it, Miles,” he said, putting his elbows on the desk, and leaning forward. “I’m hoping you’re here to tell me that the S.C.E.’s recommendation is that we fund Andak over Setekh. My secret dread in the dark watches of the night is that Starfleet has suddenly had a change of heart.”
“Then rest easy,” Miles replied. “There’s no way we’d support any resources going to the work being done at Setekh.” He hesitated, and then went ahead and broached the matter uppermost in his own mind. “You’re aware, aren’t you, that the technologies being developed there have military applications?”
Ghemor curled his lip. “That is, I think, perhaps the worst-kept secret on Cardassia Prime at the moment. Yes, I’ve read Remar’s secondary report—so’s everyone on the committee. Half the damned capital knows the contents of it, although it’s supposed to be classified. Which means, so far as I can tell, that so long as it’s not reported in the press, everyone can talk about it to their hearts’ content.”
“Ah, those are the perils of freedom of speech, unfortunately,” Miles said. “Do you know who leaked it?”
Ghemor looked over at Jartek.
“We’ve got a very good idea,” the younger man said, “but no proof. An aide to one of the Directorate representatives on the committee.”
“For all their dislike of it, the Directorate seem to be remarkably competent when it comes to the democratic process,” Ghemor said. “Or remarkably competent in subverting it, at any rate. And even if the committee votes in favor of Andak, you can see, I assume, where the Directorate will go afterward?” He gave a short laugh. “Give them their due, they’ve played this one very well. It’s a no-win situation for Ghemor and his government—leaned on by the Federation and other aliens, blocking a project which, as everyone knows, had certain…” He waved a hand. “…ancillary benefits—”
Miles looked at him in disbelief. “Who the hell in their right minds wants to see Cardassia armed to the teeth again right now?”
“That could be considered something of a Federation perspective…” Garak murmured.
“Whole bloody quadrant more like!”
“A fair point,” Garak conceded, “and one I’ll grant you. But you have to look at it from the ground here on Cardassia. There’s the military—dispossessed, more than a little disgruntled. But most of all…” He shook his head. “Democracy is slow, Chief, and sick and hungry people are not so patient.”
“There’s a great deal of will for change, Miles,” Ghemor said quietly, “but there’s also a great deal of fear. These are delicate times. Dangerous, too. The word ‘security’ has a lot of potency.”
“And what does a democrat do,” added Garak, “when the popular will is not for democracy, or the people don’t care enough about democracy to protect it?”
“When did you take up philosophizing?” Miles said, twisting his head to get a proper look at him.
“Exile,” Garak replied dryly, “not only broadens your horizons, it also gives you time to think.”
There was a silence, broken only w
hen the door opened and an aide came in bearing a tray of drinks. They all feigned ease. The aide set the tray on the desk and left. Ghemor pushed Miles’s cup toward him and began to pour from a pot. Miles caught the distinctive tang of redleaf tea. Garak came and took a cup and then withdrew to his station by the wall.
Miles stared at the window. Rain was beating down upon it, heavier and heavier, and the morning was fighting a losing battle against it, and against the pictures streaming from the viewscreens. Jartek reached out, hit a control on the desk, and the strip lights came up, bathing the room in mock-yellow. He sighed as he did it—the first completely involuntary thing he’d done, Miles thought, as he picked up his own cup. He sipped gratefully at the hot coffee. On DS9, he had downed mug after mug of raktajino, but since he had come to Cardassia, he seemed to crave instead the food and drink of home.
This time the coffee was strong enough and he felt it begin to push back some of the heaviness still lurking behind his eyes. All this weak artificial lighting was playing havoc with his head. God only knew how the Cardassians put up with it all the time.
Miles sighed. “What I have to make clear, Castellan,” he said, “is that if the Andak Project is voted down, that sends a message that it doesn’t have the support of the Cardassian government. And that won’t be looked upon favorably by either Starfleet or the Federation.”
The rain drummed on against the synthetics of the window.
“If I wish to look plausible as a democrat,” Ghemor said at last, seeming to weigh each word carefully, “I cannot ride roughshod over the decision of the committee. Particularly the members of the Directorate.”
Miles looked straight back at him, and didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. Which was why he wasn’t a politician.
“The Federation makes for…an interesting ally.” Ghemor said. “As I said before, it’s a no-win situation for Ghemor and his government.” He stared at the displays before him. The Federation news had switched over to a live feed from Andak, where Yevir was about to make a speech. “You know,” he continued thoughtfully, tapping his thumbnail against the ridge on his chin, “if the committee does vote against Andak and the project is killed, I think I’ll resign. Point of honor.”
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