Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine

by Heather Jarman

  Keiko’s hand shot up to cover her mouth. “Who?” she whispered.

  Who at Andak could have done such a thing?

  “Unfortunately, Nyra isn’t being very forthcoming in that respect. I think she feels she’s done enough betraying this evening.”

  “Are they still here?” Keiko shuddered, thinking of all the people milling about her in the square….

  “Oh, no—I doubt that very much, Director! They’ll be long since gone—”

  “Oh dear,” interrupted Naithe suddenly. “Oh dear me.”

  I’m not going to throttle you yet, Naithe, but I might have to, soon….

  “Oh dear,” Naithe said again, and his eyes were almost popping out of his head. “Director, I…I do believe I might know a little bit about this.”

  Keiko felt her hold on her temper start to slip. Really, Naithe—not everything is about you and your bloody research—

  “Please,” said Macet silkily, “do continue….” He raised his mug, concealing most of his face, but not his eyes. The resemblance to Dukat became striking.

  “Oh, well, you see—in the course of my studies here, I sat in on some meetings of a little discussion group run by one of the junior staff…. It was for one or two of the older children, you know…. An interesting little group, they talked a great deal about Cardassian culture and history and philosophy—”

  “And what did they have to say?” Macet said, his eyes reptile cold. Had she been standing in Naithe’s shoes, Keiko would have been feeling more than a little afraid by now, although the Bolian seemed blithely unaware of Macet’s fury. And, what was worse, Keiko could feel her own heart sinking too.

  It was my idea to encourage everyone at Andak to take part in teaching the children. Which means that whoever it was holding these meetings could do it and not arouse a single suspicion. A sick and helpless anger surged up in her as she thought how something she had valued so dearly, something she had been so proud of, had been so callously used. These people really do warp everything….

  “Oh, well,” Naithe said, “you see, Cardassian culture isn’t something I know a great deal about; really, I couldn’t say, I was watching the group itself, you understand, how it interacted, and how it would fit in with the rest of the community here…. Oh, but, you see, I’m quite sure—quite sure—that these meetings were completely innocent, the young man who was leading them was quite personable—charming, in fact; he was very interested in my research—”

  “Naithe,” Keiko said, and was amazed at how patient her voice sounded coming out, “who was it?”

  “Oh yes! Of course!” He gave the name of one of the junior researchers.

  “Do you know him?” Macet asked Keiko.

  “Not very well…he was on the statistical analysis team.” She frowned, cast her mind back to when she had stood up on the stage and looked round the hall. “You know, thinking about it, I’m not sure he was at the lecture….”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Macet said. “If it is him, he’ll have left hours ago—probably before Yevir even arrived here. But we’d better not jump to conclusions….” He shoved the padd into his pocket, and then thumbed on his combadge and issued a few quiet instructions to his men to start searching the base.

  Keiko, feeling suddenly even more weary, put her hands up to her head.

  “These people are experts at infiltration, Director,” Macet said quietly, and even kindly. “Your recruitment procedures wouldn’t have been set up for this—I suspect not even your security protocols would have picked him up. It’s certainly not your fault.” He turned to the Bolian. “Dr. Naithe,” he said, rather dryly, “I wonder if I might take a look at your records concerning these meetings you attended.”

  “Oh, well, you know, these interviews are meant to be confidential….” Naithe caught Macet’s expression. “Although perhaps I might make an exception in this case—”

  “That would be very generous of you, Doctor,” Macet replied. “It would certainly save me the trouble of arresting you for impeding my investigation.”

  “Oh dear me, no,” murmured Naithe, indistinctly. “No, that certainly wouldn’t do. Er…come along with me, please, we’ll go over to my office straightaway….”

  As they turned to go, Keiko addressed Macet one last time.

  “Gul Macet,” she said, “do you know where I can find Tela Maleren?”

  “Last I saw, she was waiting outside the room where we’re holding Nyra.” He gestured across the square toward the office blocks. “Be gentle with her,” he added.

  Keiko nodded.

  Should I go? What would it achieve?

  She looked across the square to where her quarters were.

  Really, I ought to go back to Miles and Molly and Yoshi…. But I have to see her. I can’t not….

  The decision made, she started to cross the square, stopping now and again to speak to members of her staff, to hear their stories and share in their relief. It was some time before at last she reached the offices, and she stepped out of the noise of the warm night into the quieter, cooler corridor.

  At the far end, Keiko saw Tela Maleren. She was sitting with her head resting back against the wall, staring up at the gray ceiling. The door next to her was closed. As Keiko approached, her footsteps sounding along the corridor, Tela raised her head and turned to look at her. The intricate styling of her hair had come unbound, and she had tied it back, very simply. It gave her an odd look, Keiko thought, almost as if she had been stripped down to no more than the bare essentials.

  “Director,” Tela said, and her voice came out much calmer than Keiko would have thought possible. “Was there something that I could do for you?”

  Keiko was momentarily taken aback. Did this woman never lose her poise? Her gaze fell upon the silver bracelet around Tela’s wrist. Tela was not twisting it now. Her hands were resting flat upon her lap, and they were still.

  “I thought…” In her confusion, Keiko stumbled over the words. “I thought there might be something I could do for you…?”

  “No,” Tela said simply. “No, thank you, I don’t think so.”

  They fell into silence. Tela rested her head against the wall again. Muffled noises came from the square, but nothing could be heard from beyond the door.

  There’s nothing I can do here, Keiko thought. And I don’t think I’m wanted. I should be with my own family.

  “Nyra will not see me,” Tela said suddenly, and as if reporting nothing more than a very simple fact. “Nor will she speak to me.”

  “I would imagine she’s very confused at the moment,” Keiko offered, carefully.

  “Indeed, I imagine so. In addition, I believe that in some way she holds me responsible for what has happened today.”

  Keiko could not think of a response to that.

  “Which, I have to say,” Tela continued, in the same terrifyingly objective tone, “I am coming to believe has a great deal of truth to it.”

  “Oh, no, Tela.” Keiko shook her head emphatically. “That’s just not true—”

  Tela stopped her with a look. “Not true? Where, precisely, do you think, Director, that Nyra learnt to be suspicious of humans, or Bajorans—even the Oralian Way, Cardassians, all of them? Where did she learn this, if not at home? Where, too, did she learn the idea that she should protest against them in some way?”

  “But whenever you had a problem with the way things were being run, Tela,” and Keiko was struck with the realization that she was speaking as if Tela’s part at Andak was already in the past tense, “you always followed procedure. You were always willing to discuss things. Surely it was clear to everyone that you had no desire for any more violence—”

  “And yet the evidence before me leads me to conjecture that such subtleties may well be lost on children.” Tela gave a very bitter smile. “I have no doubt whatsoever that Nyra proved to be easy prey for the people who persuaded her to do this insane, destructive thing. They would have found that much of their work h
ad been done for them already.”

  “Tela,” Keiko began, shaking her head—but then stopped at the sound of the nearby door opening.

  Vedek Yevir came out, folding his hands within his robes. He nodded at Keiko, but it was Tela he spoke to first.

  “Nyra and I have been talking for a while, Professor, and I believe that she is willing to see you now.”

  Slowly, Tela stood up, smoothing down her skirt, trying to draw together some remnants of her dignity. “Thank you, Vedek,” she said. “I hope that you’ll remain outside. No doubt Nyra will want to see you again shortly.”

  “Of course, Professor. I’ll be here as long as I’m needed.”

  Tela went inside and closed the door.

  Yevir turned to Keiko. He looked as exhausted as everyone else at Andak.

  “Well, Director,” he said, his voice very low. “I must say that this was a rather excessive response to my visit. If you had not in fact wanted me to give a speech here, all you needed to do was refuse my request.”

  Keiko could not help but laugh—even if she could only manage a little.

  Nobody said he had a sense of humor as well.

  “How does it feel to be a miracle worker, Vedek?” she asked.

  He glanced back over his shoulder at the door and sighed. “I have worked no miracles here,” he said. “All I did was find a little common ground. The Prophets guided my hand. And the Prophets will have to take care of the rest.”

  He looked at her, very closely, and for just a second she caught that veiled intensity once again, the power that he seemed to have to lead people, to persuade them to his purpose. “You look very tired, Director,” he murmured. “I wonder if you should go home, to your family. Too many at Andak are not able to do that tonight.”

  Count your blessings, Keiko—that’s what he means.

  She nodded her agreement and, before she turned to go, she said, “You’ll always be welcome here at Andak, Vedek.”

  And she prayed that Kira would understand.

  21

  Garak stood for a moment outside the door to Ghemor’s office, examined his nails, and contemplated the nature of accountability. There was, he decided, a strange and—in his experience—not always entirely fathomable relationship between deed and punishment, between merit and reward.

  He opened the door quietly and slipped inside.

  Ghemor was half-sitting, half-leaning upon his desk, grimly eyeing one of the screens in front of him. “They’re going to win prizes for this, aren’t they?” he said. “What’s that thing called, Mev?”

  “The Wurlitzer, Alon,” Jartek murmured, as he poured Ghemor a cup of redleaf tea. It appeared silently on the corner of the desk by Ghemor’s hand.

  “That’s the one, the Wurlitzer.” Ghemor took the cup and drank some of the tea. “They’ll win the Wurlitzer for this.”

  “That depends,” said Jartek pointedly, “on how—and if—you let these pictures out.”

  Garak leaned against the door frame and folded his arms. “Ah, the freedom of the press! Another watershed for Cardassian democracy, eh, Jartek?”

  Jartek jumped a little, surprised by his sudden appearance, and glared at him. “Just making sure the right message gets across.”

  Garak smiled at him mirthlessly.

  “I’m sure it’s not called the Wurlitzer,” Ghemor muttered. He looked at Garak, eyes very sharp. “Well?”

  Garak pushed the door closed behind him and walked over to stand by Ghemor’s right hand. On the display screen—as he could, really, have predicted—the footage of Yevir talking to Nyra was playing, over and over again.

  “Very nice,” he said, nodding at it. “I bet they win the Pulitzer for it.” Jartek shot another glare at him, unsure, as always, whether the humiliation was deliberate.

  “And what prize do we take away this evening, Garak?” Ghemor took a sip of tea, and his eyes glinted as he looked at him from over the rim of the cup.

  “Oh, all manner of trophies,” Garak said cheerfully, joining him on the edge of the desk and stretching out his legs. “Korven turned out to be as informative as ever he was. And as accommodating.” He paused.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” Ghemor said.

  “It was the True Way behind today’s events,” Garak confirmed.

  “And do I need to have Korven arrested?”

  “No,” said Garak. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” He smiled. “We’ve come to an agreement, Korven and I. He had all manner of interesting things to tell me—and I don’t doubt there’ll be more—but, perhaps most satisfyingly, I was delighted to discover that during his erstwhile career in the military, he was once Councillor—formerly Gul—Entor’s commanding officer….” He left the corollary of that hanging in the air.

  Ghemor caught up with him in a split second, Garak was pleased to see. “You’ve got to be joking….” Ghemor said. He put his cup down on the desk with a clatter.

  Garak shook his head.

  Ghemor began to laugh, very softly. “Mev,” he said, turning his head slightly, “get me Councillor Entor on the com, will you?”

  Jartek frowned. “Are you sure? It’s pretty late, Alon—”

  “Oh, I think he’ll speak to me!” Ghemor was grinning from ear to ear now.

  “I think he will too.” Garak smiled. After he had left Korven, he had taken the trouble to check for any outgoing communications, and he knew for a fact that Korven had contacted Entor directly after Garak had left him. “In fact, I rather imagine he’ll be waiting for your call….”

  And less than pleased that that link has been established.

  Jartek began to punch through the communication. He looked miserable, Garak thought. Which was in and of itself a happy thought. Garak filed it away lovingly for future contemplation and enjoyment, and then turned back to Ghemor.

  “It’s not substantial proof of a link between Entor and the True Way,” Garak told him. “But it’s good enough for our purposes, I’d say. Embarrassing enough.”

  “Good enough—embarrassing enough—for the Directorate to drop their opposition to Andak?” Ghemor looked at him hopefully.

  “Well, given all the Directorate’s recent lip service to the democratic process, I would think that being found to have even the slightest possible association with the terrorist group that tried to wipe the Andak project off the face of Cardassia would hardly inspire confidence in their claims to be committed to that process.” Garak curved his lips into a hungry smile. “I suspect that our good friend Councillor Entor will be very anxious not to have that particular piece of information broadcast widely about Cardassia Prime. And, I should imagine, he will be very keen genuinely to become a good friend.”

  “Garak,” said Ghemor, with undisguised admiration, “you are a miracle worker.”

  “Perhaps,” Garak replied, with a reasonable attempt at modesty, examining his nails once more. “I prefer to think that I’m merely…attentive to detail. And to loose ends.” He gave Ghemor a sly smile. “They’re talents that serve well in tailoring—and in all manner of other occupations.”

  Jartek coughed politely, softly but surely inserting himself into the conversation. “I’ve reached Entor’s secretary, but she says he left his office several hours ago—”

  “Then try his home, Mev!”

  “Alon, we really should be thinking about what we’re going do about those pictures—”

  “We will, Mev, in a minute! Get me Entor first. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing—I don’t care. He can damned well fit in with me for a change instead of the other way round!”

  “I doubt, somehow, that you’ll be dragging him out of bed,” Garak said dryly.

  “Pity,” Ghemor said bluntly. “I’d have enjoyed that. He’s given me enough sleepless nights.”

  Jartek sighed and turned his attention back to the com.

  That’s right, Mev—you keep yourself busy. While I have a quick and quiet word with Alon….

  “It’s
a strange thing,” Ghemor said, contemplatively.

  “What is?”

  “Well, just that while I’m delighted this situation is resolving itself so well—”

  “Very well,” Garak corrected.

  “Very well,” Ghemor conceded, “but still, I do find myself wondering what part democracy played in it. We’re going to get the funding for Andak confirmed—but not because of any argument I or anyone else made at the committee. It’s all because of Yevir, and because of what you knew about the True Way—because of a whole set of lucky circumstances, really….”

  Garak shook his head. “No, that’s not right. Because when it comes down to it, what matters is that we won through negotiation. We didn’t win using the same tactics as the True Way were trying. We didn’t win through resorting to violence.”

  Well, except to Korven. But that was seventeen years ago.

  On the monitor, Yevir received Nyra’s hand again.

  Garak contemplated the image for a moment. It was sublimely iconic. “You know,” he murmured, staring at the display screen, “Your messenger boy over there is right about one thing—these pictures are going to have a profound effect.”

  “You’re not actually agreeing with Mev, are you, Garak?” Ghemor’s voice too had dropped to be close to a whisper.

  “Well, not entirely—”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’m fairly certain my system can’t take too many more shocks today.”

  Garak pursed his lips. “I’ve said this to you before, but why you keep him around, I’ll never understand—”

  “And I’ve said this to you before—it’s because he’s useful. Let’s skip this argument tonight, Garak, I’m too tired for it.” He sighed, and gestured at the display. “What do you think I should do about the footage?”

  “What grounds are you using to hold it back?”