by S. D. Perry
“Be that as it may—”
Vaughn was beginning to lose his temper. “Vice-Admiral, forty plus years ago, the Federation could do nothing to prevent the Bajoran annexation from happening. Our hands were tied by bureaucracy. Right under our noses, the Cardassians stole an entire world from the Bajorans—and now we have the chance to give it back to them. Let’s not let that red tape tie our hands again! Alynna, you were there! Of all people, you should be most willing to look the other way for the sake of what’s right!”
Nechayev was only shaking her head in response. She was beginning to look angry, her usually unflappable severity coming undone, but Vaughn went on.
“If we inform the Cardassian leaders of what I learned today, we risk putting my contact in danger, and it will do nothing to help the Bajorans.”
“The treaty—”
“Damn the treaty!” Vaughn said. “The peace we have with Cardassia is anything but genuine, and you know it!”
Nechayev’s mouth tightened in annoyance. Vaughn winced, waiting for the inevitable fallout, but after a moment, the vice-admiral’s expression changed, as if she had decided something.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” she said softly. “In fact, this conversation never took place.”
Vaughn’s eyes narrowed.
“I trust you will do the right thing, Commander.”
“I…thank you, Vice-Admiral.”
As the communication ended, Vaughn decided it was the closest thing he’d get to permission. There would be no safety net if the information was traced back to him. But then, he worked best without a net. Whatever consequences he faced personally, he could bear it knowing that he had at least tried to save Bajor from the fate of indefinite occupation. Before he could change his mind, he entered the approximate communication code for the post on Valo II.
24
Kalem was quick to answer the comm this time, as it awoke him from the early stages of sleep. The timing of the communication suggested a contact point from somewhere outside Kalem’s own time zone—but since few people from the Kendra Valley ever sought to contact him in this manner, Kalem could have assumed as much anyway. Holza, he thought hopefully, though he wasn’t sure he recognized the voice as Jas Holza’s.
“This is Kalem Apren. State your business.”
“Mister Kalem. I understand you are something of a spokesperson for your people. I have a proposition that I hope you will find interesting.”
“With whom am I speaking?” he asked, still confused from sleep.
“I represent the Cardassian Union.”
Kalem was taken aback, to say the least. A Cardassian representative was certainly the last person he would have expected to hear from—the last person he wanted to hear from. But his curiosity dictated that he listen. “Continue,” he said.
“As I stated, my sources have informed me that you have a great deal of influence over the people on your world,” the voice said silkily. “If this truly be the case, then my people hope that you will help us to convey a message to all of Bajor.”
“What message might that be?”
“That we intend to withdraw our interests from this planet—from this system. Can I count on you to relay this message?”
Kalem felt the discernible rush of blood in his ears, the amplification of his own heart. Had he really heard what he thought he’d heard?
“Yes,” he said, feeling all his hopes held hostage by the possibility that this was not really happening. “I…will convey the message…”
The voice continued. “But I think you will agree that an abrupt withdrawal could warrant disastrous results. Your people will need an interim government, someone trustworthy to steer Bajor through the difficult storms ahead. Bajor has very little of its own infrastructure intact, and one hopes that a new Bajoran cabinet could help to reestablish some of the basic necessities that will help keep the Bajoran populace from escalating into chaos.”
Kalem thought it sounded reasonable, but the initial burst of jubilance suddenly seemed further away. The voice continued, but Kalem was losing focus, only half-hearing the offers that were being made to him.
“…an election, of course. I look to you for advice regarding some suitable candidates for various positions…”
What is this?
“…we want to represent the will of the people, but I feel we can be reasonably certain that the status you currently enjoy will translate to your being involved in the next generation of Bajoran leaders—a new generation, you understand, a generation that is for Bajor only. My people are tired of the violence, Mister Kalem, and on my homeworld, the cries for withdrawal have become too loud for us to ignore. We recognize that the best course of action…”
Kalem scarcely realized it when the Cardassian had stopped speaking, and grappled with the distinct sense that he had just been asked a question. He spoke, not entirely sure what he was answering to—something about Terok Nor, an invitation? “Your offer…sounds generous…sir,” he began, looking for the words, and the strength, to continue. “But right now…I am very occupied with…my people…with—”
“Of course you are,” the disembodied voice said smoothly. “It is my understanding that Bajor still looks to you for advice and assistance. I have polled a great many of my Bajoran advisers and colleagues, and their responses led me directly to my decision to contact you first. Of course, if you don’t feel you are suitable for nomination, I understand that Jaro Essa is—”
“Jaro Essa will never accept any offers from you,” Kalem laughed. “While I suppose I should be…flattered…that my name has come up in discussion with your advisers, I must respectfully decline the opportunity. I cannot leave my people at this time. You see, I am far too busy consoling the families and friends of those who were killed in the massacre here in the Kendra Valley—”
“Massacre!” the voice replied, and something in his tone confirmed to Kalem that he was speaking to the prefect. This was Gul Dukat; he knew it. “Kubus Oak has assured me that the people executed in Kendra were part of a dangerous terrorist organization. Tell me, did Secretary Kubus misinform me? Because if that is the case, Mister Kalem, then I must point out that this is exactly why the current Bajoran government must—”
Kalem interrupted, feeling his gorge rise at the sound of Kubus Oak’s name coming from the mouth of a Cardassian. From Dukat. Was the prefect looking for a new puppet, then?
“There will be an election,” he said forcefully. “But the Cardassians will have no say in it. That election will occur after your people are gone, not before.” Kalem abruptly squashed his thumb against the disconnect button without waiting for the prefect’s reply. His breath was coming hard. He had another call waiting for him, and whoever it was, it had to be someone whose conversation would be preferable to Gul Dukat’s.
“This is Kalem Apren,” he said, struggling to keep the angry breathing from overcoming his words.
“Apren!” cried Keeve Falor’s voice, heavy with interference between Bajor and distant Valo II. “I have news that is of the utmost importance! I have just spoken to a Federation contact who received pertinent information for us. The Cardassians—they are going to try and negotiate with us—”
Apren was stunned. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I…I know, I spoke to Dukat…”
“Tell me you did not agree to any of his offers!”
“Of course I didn’t, Falor! You ought to know that I wouldn’t have!”
“Oh…oh, thank the Prophets. Yes, of course I knew, but…”
Apren explained where his thoughts had been throughout his entire exchange with Dukat. Now he knew his instincts had been correct. “If the Cardassians are negotiating, Falor, it can only mean one thing—they are genuinely on the defensive now. They are frightened.”
“You’re more right than you even know, old friend. You must tell the people on Bajor—they must not hold back now, no matter what happens. Now is the time to fight—and win.”
&
nbsp; “But the resistance cell here in Kendra—they were all massacred by the Cardassians. Jaro Essa still has a few scattered contacts, but—”
“This message is not just for the resistance, Apren,” Keeve said. “Everyone must know of this. The Prophets have given us the opportunity we need, but we must show them that we are capable of defending our world ourselves—”
Kalem interrupted as the thought entered his mind. “Weapons, Falor.”
“Weapons?”
“We need weapons. Does Holza know of this new development?”
“Not yet, but I will—”
“You should have contacted him first, Falor!”
“I had to be sure that you wouldn’t agree to anything!”
“Falor, you should have known that I wouldn’t have. Tell Jas Holza about this immediately!”
“I will do my best to get word to him, but we can’t wait for him to come through, Apren! There must be no delays in communicating this message to the people of Bajor!”
“I understand,” Kalem answered, though he wasn’t sure he did. He wanted to know more about the Federation contact, about the sudden change in climate that would make a full-scale victory a tangible possibility; about the true nature of the offers that Dukat was trying to make. But from Keeve’s tone, it was clear that this was not the time to ask questions—this was the time to act.
“What is this place?” Tahna Los asked Biran as they crept closer to the low-lying building, several kellipates outside of Dahkur. It was old and poorly kept, with a deserted feel. “An armory?”
Kohn Biran shook his head. “I think we’ve managed to get all the armories around here. Between us, the Shakaar, and the Gertis cells, we’ve practically crippled the spoonheads in this region.”
“So, what is it?”
Biran looked stern. “Don’t tell anyone in the Shakaar cell. It’s an orphanage.”
“We’re bombing an orphanage?” Tahna didn’t mean for his voice to sound so incredulous, and he cleared his throat, glancing uncomfortably at Jouvirna. “I mean—”
“Baby vipers are still poisonous,” Biran said. “Remember what I said about the Shakaar. Especially the women.”
“Nerys probably wouldn’t have a problem with it,” Tahna said, though he wasn’t certain. “But Lupaza…”
“Don’t worry about them. We need to do this—to send a message.”
It had been six weeks since the announcements. They had heard the news repeated from the Krim cell in Rakantha, the Carean cell from Ba’atal, the Gertis cell, and many others that Tahna couldn’t even name. Jaro Essa was saying that this was the time to push harder than they had ever pushed, if they wanted to be free of the Cardassians. And they were pushing. Tahna knew that there was still heavy Cardassian presence in other parts of the world, but at least they had made headway here in Dahkur. The Kohn-Ma cell had only encountered a single Cardassian soldier tonight, angry and clearly frightened. Most of what they had encountered had been wreckage—bodies, shrapnel, burning ships and equipment. All lent an apocalyptic desolation to the once-beautiful landscape.
“So, we’re going to kill them,” Tahna said, laboring to avoid sounding grim as he studied the pathetic building.
Jouvirna shrugged. “We could blow them up, or we could take them hostage—use them as bargaining chips to get farther into the city, should we meet with a sizeable contingent of soldiers. But probably, the spoonheads wouldn’t respond to hostages—they don’t care about the orphans. We’re doing them a favor by killing them, if you ask me.”
Tahna wasn’t so sure—and anyway, he thought it might be useful to have some leverage in case of Cardassian encounter. He hadn’t forgotten the beatings he had suffered at the hands of his Cardassian captors, the horrible devices they had used in their efforts to coerce him to reveal the location of the rest of his cell. But the memory wasn’t enough to dissuade him from continuing to fight. If anything, it fueled him, especially now that he believed the end was so near. Yet, there seemed to be little glory in carrying through with this particular target.
Tahna kept his views to himself as they moved in. The building was only a hecapate away, but before they could come close enough to detonate their explosives, a white sheet of blinding fire rose up from beyond the gates of the facility. Tahna threw his body backward to avoid the fallout of shrapnel, and the blast of heat washed over them. But after a moment, he saw that they had been far enough away to avoid contact with any flying debris. He sheepishly rose.
“Someone beat us to it,” Jouvirna said, his voice tinged with awe.
“Someone else blew up the orphanage,” Tahna said, stating the obvious, finding some measure of relief in the revelation. This wasn’t the first time his cell had conspired to kill Cardassian children, or even the children of Bajoran collaborators. He found some reassurance in the discovery that other cells were capable of such an act.
Shouting had followed the explosion—shouts of Bajoran men, at least two of whom seemed to be headed in Tahna’s direction. A beat later, a middle-aged man stepped out of the smoke, approaching Tahna and the others.
“Ho there,” Tahna called. The man wore the garb of a farmer, dun-colored coveralls that were permanently grassy-green at the knees from kneeling for the harvest. As he came closer, Tahna saw that he was missing three teeth on the left side of his mouth, probably a result of poor nutrition. “What cell are you?”
“Cell?” The man called out. “None! We live in Petrita village, that way.” He gestured to the east as a second man joined him. “We have been planning to destroy this site for over a week. It’s the only place around here the spoonheads haven’t abandoned.”
“Are you sure?” Biran called out.
“Positive,” answered the second man. He wore a stained leather vest over his tunic. “We’ve been scoping out all the local Cardassian sites. The only place they had anyone left was here at the orphanage. But don’t worry, the children were all gone.”
“Gone?” Biran said. “But the Cardassians don’t claim the children of others…?”
“The young ones were taken in by Bajoran families,” he said. “They’re too little to know any different. If they’re lucky, they can just forget they were ever Cardassian.”
“The young ones?” Tahna asked. “So…who was left?”
“There were three teenage boys in there who fancied themselves heroes,” the farmer said. “They barricaded themselves inside and started taking potshots at us when we came near, though I couldn’t tell you where they got their weapons—probably stolen from dead bodies around here somewhere. We figured we’d have to bomb them out—and so we did.” He gestured back to the smoking rubble that had been the squat building as the other man raised his fist in victory.
Tahna felt strange as he considered the Cardassian teenagers. Abandoned here on an unfamiliar world, fighting for the very people who had left them behind. He briefly wished he hadn’t asked. It was easier just to look on the remains of a building and feel triumphant.
“Are you all right, mister?” One of the farmers directed his question toward Tahna, who realized that he must be wearing his uncertainty. He forced a laugh, just before the bulky comm unit he carried alerted him with a squawk.
“This is six-one-six calling kejal-three-two…” It was Kira, back at the caves.
“This is kejal three-two, six-one-six, go ahead.”
“Kejal three-two, reports of attack ships sighted in the Musilla region, headed toward Dahkur Province, estimated arrival one half-hour. Best to take cover, over.”
Tahna’s heart sank. “Copy that,” he responded, looking to the others in his cell. Judging by their grave expressions, they had all heard it. The two farmers had heard it, as well, and did not hesitate to scurry back in the direction from which they had come.
“Helpful chaps,” Biran remarked sourly.
“More spoonheads,” Tahna lamented. “We had them all but wiped out in this province…”
“Forget it, Tahna, we’
ve got to go,” Jouvirna said, gesturing to the others as he broke into a jog. “We’ve got just enough time to make it back to the tunnels.”
Tahna wasn’t so sure that they did have time, but he sprinted alongside the others, pushing himself into the state of dogged numbness that was usually required for long-distance running. The four men crashed through brush, ambled up hills and back down them again, weaving through trees and over creeks. Tahna had once known all these routes by heart, but they had grown dimmer since the grid had gone up, every outside errand or mission turning into a carefully formulated and executed plan. It had been exhilarating to think that the grid was down for good—though a new onslaught of Cardassians in the area might mean that these days of freedom were coming to an end.
They made it back to their hideout in record time. Crawling through the tunnels gave Tahna the opportunity to catch his breath, though his mouth tasted like metal from the ragged heaving of the smoky air. He coughed as he shimmied after the Kohn brothers, and the sound echoed eerily throughout the connected caverns and passageways.
Nerys was waiting for him in the larger passageway that connected the Shakaar and Kohn-Ma burrows. She followed them into their cavern, not wasting any time with what she had to say, a bright urgency in her voice. “Jaro Essa just issued a statement over the comm.”
Kohn Weir replied. “Jaro himself, or—?”
“It was Jaro,” Kira confirmed. “He says that someone from the Valo system is bringing a massive shipment of weapons into Dahkur tomorrow—modern phasers, raw materials for explosives, and—”
“Who is bringing it?” Jouvirna inquired.
“What difference does it make?” Kira exclaimed. “They’ve already smuggled a shipment to Kendra. Prophets willing, the pilot will be here tomorrow with even more. Jaro said they’ll be bringing shoulder-mounted missile launchers that can be fired from kellipates away, and long-range particle cannons for the raiders! We can take out heavy weapons emplacements, flyers, mechanized infantry units—all of it!”