Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine

by Heather Jarman

  “That’s the first I’ve heard of this!” Garak levered himself up from the wall and took a step forward, wielding his cup with menace. Jartek too looked like he had something to say, but Garak got in first. “Need I tell you just how bad an idea that is?”

  Miles quickly hid his own alarm at the prospect. It would be chaos. Ghemor was the one holding the political scene in Cardassia together—and he was only just managing it. If Ghemor went down, the democratic reform would go with him. And what was there to replace them?

  “Sometimes it seems like a very good idea,” Ghemor replied softly.

  “I can’t imagine any circumstances under which that particular piece of insanity could seem a good idea,” Garak persisted.

  “During those dark watches of the night.”

  There was a pause.

  “Keep it there,” Garak advised, but his voice was almost kind, Miles thought.

  Ghemor laughed ruefully. “Very well, Garak!” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “We’ll strike that from the plan, then, shall we? No resignations on points of honor.”

  “Better idea,” said Garak. They stared at each other for a moment longer, and then Ghemor smiled and shook his head, looked over at the display, and waved a hand.

  “Turn the sound up will you, Mev,” he said. “Looks like the vedek’s going to start talking soon. Let’s hear what he has to say for himself today.”

  9

  Vedek Yevir was not, Keiko reflected, turning out at all as she had expected. The ogre responsible for Kira’s Attainder was a tall but unassuming man who still seemed in many ways to be rather like the minor military officer he had once been.

  I don’t remember him from the station at all, Keiko thought, anxiously brushing from her face a stray piece of hair that had been picked up in the light breeze. Which must say something about what he’s like—well, what he used to be like.

  Because there was certainly something else to Yevir now. Keiko would not have forgotten this man if she had met him before.

  The previous night, after Miles had set off for the capital (leaving their quarters almost tidy), Keiko had bitten the bullet and contacted Kira on Deep Space 9. Once they had caught up with each other, swapping news of the station and of the family, Keiko had got to the point of her call.

  “You’re going to be seeing pictures of me shaking hands with Vedek Yevir, Nerys,” she admitted. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be, Keiko. The Prophets know, I’ve had to extend the hand of friendship often enough in the past to people I’d rather be strangling!”

  They’d both laughed, and exchanged a few cheerfully grumbling and mutually sympathetic remarks about the way politics intruded on the real business of life. Then Kira had gone rather thoughtful.

  “Yevir might not be what you expect,” she said, biting her lip. “I…don’t know if the Prophets have touched him, but I do know that that’s what he believes. And it shows—it comes through, Keiko. Whatever I might think of the man himself, I can’t deny that.”

  And she was right. It was as if there was some kind of light within Yevir, Keiko decided. Most of the time it was veiled, but when he was listening intently—and he did a lot of that, listening intently—something would flicker behind his eyes. It unnerved Keiko, but it also drew her to him. She thought she understood a little more now why this man had such a following, why he had once been favored to be the next kai. Like Kira, Keiko had no idea whether the wormhole aliens really were guiding Yevir on his path, but there was no doubt that the man had that self-belief, and that in itself was a powerful and attractive force. Like a moth to a flame.

  It would be an awful lot easier if I could just detest him….

  The photographs and the formalities seemed to take an age. It was with relief that Keiko could finally introduce Yevir to Feric, and switch off her public smile, even if it was just for a few moments.

  “Dr. Lakhat,” Yevir said. He was softly spoken but his voice too had that same self-assurance, that same lack of doubt. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you. I am always glad to meet more followers of the Oralian Way.” And then he took the unusual step of reaching out his hand and placing it upon Feric’s ear, as if to judge or embrace the Cardassian’s pagh.

  A ripple of murmuring behind her made Keiko once again conscious of the reporters nearby. They were lapping up this little display of cross-cultural unity.

  Feric bowed his head slightly, granting Yevir full permission to give the blessing. “Welcome to Andak, Vedek Yevir. It’s an honor to meet the man who has placed so much faith in my own faith.”

  Yevir smiled. “I could not be here on Cardassia were it not for the Oralian Way. And Cleric Ekosha’s willingness to take upon herself the mission to Bajor was the act of a brave woman. One with vision.”

  Ekosha, Keiko remembered—the kind of woman whose faith might bring peace where the politicians had failed. An uncomfortable thought came to her. Doesn’t the vedek have the same kind of faith? Might he be the same kind of man? Feric seems to think so…. Unsure where to put the thought, Keiko turned back to Feric, hoping her face did not betray her.

  “I went to a gathering led by Ekosha once when she was still here on Cardassia Prime,” Feric said. “She was remarkable. She’s a fine ambassador, not just for the Way, but for all of my people. As you are for yours, Vedek.”

  Yevir bowed his head in acknowledgment and, the friendship established, he turned back to Keiko, folding his hands before him. “Director,” he said, “I would be honored to learn more about the work you are doing here at Andak.”

  “And I’d be delighted to show you, Vedek,” she said, loud enough for the reporters to catch her. “Please, step this way, and I’ll tell you a little bit more about the project and about the settlement.”

  As they moved off, the crowd of staff members and their families that had been assembled for Yevir’s arrival dispersed. A handful of them were going back to their posts, but most headed toward the lecture hall on the north side of the square. Yevir, Keiko, and Feric would join them there a little later—Yevir was going to give a speech to the whole community after his short tour of the base. There was to be a reception afterward…. All in all, Yevir was taking a fair amount of time out of his schedule to see Andak.

  I’d better not waste this opportunity then. I want everyone to see just how important the work is that we’re doing here. Just how much it matters to Cardassia.

  A breath of wind was coming down from the mountains, easing the heat of the day, following them as they walked southward across the square.

  “I noticed,” Yevir remarked, “how many children there are here.”

  “That’s right,” said Keiko, nodding. “Andak isn’t just a scientific project, Vedek. We’re a long way from anywhere out here, and so the scientists and the technicians on the team brought their families out with them.”

  Or what’s left of their families. Keiko left it unsaid. Feric knew it well enough, and Yevir too was a survivor of an occupation. They both knew the cost of war, better than Keiko did.

  “And so we’re trying to build a community here as well,” she concluded. “There’s a school, for example—” She gestured to her right, over to the west.

  “And Keiko,” Feric interjected dryly, “having once experienced life as a teacher, is very eager for us all to be tested in the same way.”

  Yevir smiled. “You’re to be applauded, Director. That kind of work is as difficult and as valuable in its own way as the scientific project you are carrying out.”

  Keiko nodded her thanks. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that only a handful of the press was following them—most had gone to set up in the lecture hall.

  “What I want to show you first, Vedek,” she said, “is the very heart of the work that we’re doing at Andak.” She pointed ahead, south, toward a long, low gray building that ran the length of the square. “That houses the equipment that we use to measure and intervene in precipitation levels h
ere.”

  “That is the heart of Andak?” Yevir asked.

  “Almost—but not quite.” She smiled in anticipation. “That lies just the other side.”

  She led him past the long laboratory building, to a low fence. There she stopped and pointed out across the plain. “This is what Andak is about, Vedek,” she said.

  He looked out over the fields, shielding his eyes from the glare of the white sun. The lands ahead were yellow and barren, and the soil was poor and dusty. Anything here would be scratching a living, and barely surviving. He turned to Keiko, his face puzzled.

  “If our work goes according to plan,” said Keiko, “then you should come back here in two years’ time. Because then that plain will be green.”

  “Can you feel the breeze upon your back, Vedek?” Feric said softly. “The mountains at Andak, and the shape of the valley and the plains, produce some unusual atmospheric effects. Effects that we’re hoping to be able to harness, and then to replicate.”

  “Preliminary work on increasing precipitation levels has been extremely encouraging,” Keiko said.

  Did Yevir understand? Could he glimpse a little of the vision that Keiko had, that Feric had—that all of them at Andak shared, whatever their other differences?

  When Yevir spoke again, it was slowly. He had clasped his hands before him once again. “I…believe that I understand what you are telling me, Director O’Brien, and I have to marvel at it.” He looked up at the sky, which was vast and bright and empty, but behind them was the ever-present shadow of the mountains. “Here, in the desert, where there is only sun and stone, where there is no water—you’re going to make it rain.” He looked sharply at Keiko, and the light flickered again behind his eyes, like the shards of black glass that sometimes gleamed on the mountains of Andak.

  “That’s right,” said Keiko. “And I’m sure you can see what the benefits are for Cardassia. If the work we do here is successful, we’ll have taken a major step toward making the planet agriculturally self-sufficient. These few fields here,” she gestured out to the enclosures beyond, “may look bare now, and it’s true that they won’t be able to provide enough of a harvest to sustain the whole of Cardassia. But if we can expand our work—not just here, but elsewhere on the planet, at other places where the population is too great and people are struggling to subsist on poor land—then this could be a long-term solution to what, historically, has been Cardassia’s greatest lack. The lack that drove them to invade—and occupy—other, more fertile worlds.”

  Yevir raised his eyebrows. “So you are looking to address a social problem, not just an agricultural problem.”

  “It’s not just that,” Feric said quietly. “For some of us, this is about cultural change. Cultural regeneration. A commitment to a new way for Cardassia.”

  Yevir stopped and looked all around him, at the dry yellow fields and the bare black mountains; looked back toward the dusty square and the fragile settlement clustered around it.

  “Only the Federation,” he said at last, “would conceive of a project on this scale. Cardassia lacked water and so became an aggressor? Then the Federation will bring them water, and with it peace.” He looked at Keiko thoughtfully. “I do not know much about Earth and its philosophies, Director, but one word, one idea, comes to mind now. Hubris.”

  “Excessive pride and ambition,” said Keiko, squaring her chin and looking straight back at him.

  “When mortals try to take on the aspect of gods,” Yevir said, and then he smiled at her, and his mood lightened. “Do you see yourself as a miracle worker, Director O’Brien?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Hardly! This is a scientific and technical project, Vedek,” she said firmly. “We’ve defined a problem, and we’re designing and implementing solutions for it. That’s all that we’re doing.”

  “Although your solutions could well have extraordinary effects—”

  “Well, I certainly hope so!” Keiko said, and then laughed again. “It’s a big team to put together to achieve something small!”

  She gestured to him to follow her, and they went back alongside the laboratory. The wind was on their faces now, still no more than a whisper, but enough to make the heat endurable.

  Yevir listened closely—intently—as they walked back along the square and Keiko pointed out the offices, the accommodation blocks with their hopeful green, the smaller labs on the north side; but as she spoke she watched him, and she could see how his mind was turning over what she had told him.

  When they reached the entrance to the lecture hall, the other members of the senior staff were there to meet them. The little group of reporters that had been following them lined up nearby as Keiko made the introductions. A tall and graceful woman stepped forward first.

  “Vedek Yevir, this is Professor Tela Maleren. She was formerly principal of the Cardassian Science Academy and now heads our team of physicists. She is one of the most eminent scientists in the quadrant, and we are very glad to have her here at Andak.”

  “Professor,” Yevir said, bowing his head in greeting. “It is an honor to meet you. May I ask what the phrase on your badge means?”

  With rising alarm, Keiko took a proper look at Tela.

  Sure enough, the woman was wearing a small badge. In clear white Cardassian characters upon a black background were the words Protect What Remains. Keiko glanced around the rest of the senior staff. Two others were wearing the same badge. Beside her, Keiko heard Feric let out a soft sigh of exasperation.

  “Thank you for asking, Vedek Yevir, and I hope that your visit here to Andak is proving an informative one,” Tela replied. Her tone, Keiko noticed, was one that she used when addressing meetings—well modulated, carrying. Once again, Keiko became very aware of the reporters gathered round. A young Bajoran woman was signaling to the man with her wearing a camera headset to move in closer.

  “These badges,” Tela continued, “are a formal protest. They are intended to express the concerns of many at Andak that certain members of the community are permitted to worship in public here, while other individuals extend the courtesy of expressing their beliefs in private.”

  Keiko kept a bland, pleasant expression on her face and fumed inwardly. So this is how you show your commitment to the project, Tela? I’d hate to see what you’d do if you were against it!

  “When you speak about worship, am I right in thinking that you are referring to the Oralian Way?” Yevir asked.

  “That’s correct, Vedek. A public gathering of the Way was held here at Andak yesterday. I would like to see this prevented from happening in future.”

  “Cardassia is now governed according to democratic principles, Professor. Why should these people not be free to express their beliefs publicly?”

  “I don’t think,” Keiko said, with a slight edge to her voice, “that this is either the time or the place for this discussion—”

  Yevir raised a hand—politely, but to stop her speaking nevertheless. The cameras remained fixed on them. “On the contrary, Director—I would very much like to hear more about Professor Maleren’s worries. Professor,” he said, addressing Tela directly once again, “I believe I understand now the nature of your protest, but,” he pointed at her badge, “I do not understand what you mean by this. Protect What Remains? Do you truly see the Oralian Way as such a threat?”

  Tela’s glance for a moment passed over Feric. “When something has been weakened, it’s easy to damage it beyond all repair.”

  “But the Oralian Way seeks to restore to Cardassia a past that had been lost. A history that had been forgotten. It too wishes to protect what remains—all that remains.” Yevir’s voice was soft. “Are you not being inconsistent, Professor?” He left the gentle accusation in the air for a moment, and then carried on. “Change is inevitable.”

  A wave of sorrow passed over Tela’s face. “If I thought otherwise, I would not be here at Andak. But not all change is for the best.” A wisp of hair had come adrift from the intricate stylin
g, and she brushed it away. Again, Keiko noticed the threads of gray among the black.

  “Vedek Yevir,” Tela said sadly, “there is so little remaining of Cardassia, and I fear that what there is might be lost. I would ask you, please—respect what we have left and return to Bajor. Let us find our own peace, among ourselves.”

  Keiko stepped forward. It hadn’t, thankfully, turned into the scene that she’d been dreading, but it was time now to put a stop it. “People will be waiting, Vedek,” she said, gesturing past Tela.

  Yevir nodded, and then looked once again at Tela. “Perhaps we might finish our discussion later, Professor?”

  Tela inclined her head. Gently, but firmly, Keiko guided Yevir onward, out of the Cardassian sunlight, and into the cool, modulated air of the lecture hall.

  10

  Garak leaned a shoulder against the wall at the back of Ghemor’s office, watched the broadcast from Andak, and turned over in his mind the state of play on the kotra board on which he now found himself.

  He felt—not for the first time in recent months—a certain frustration at the disordered and protracted way in which the game had to be played these days. Far too many of the pieces were beyond his control for his liking. Worse—far too many of them seemed to be moving according to their own will. He glanced quickly and surreptitiously about the room. Ghemor, Jartek, and O’Brien were all engrossed in the broadcast from Andak.

  And you’re only as good as the pieces you have left….

  Keeping half an eye on the display screen, he reached out and picked up a stylus from Ghemor’s desk, and began toying with it absently, twisting it between his fingers.