We're going to have a lot of work to do to get ready for
that trial tomorrow."
He tapped his badge. "Sisko to Bashir. Where are
you, Doctor?"
"I've just been to see Gul Mekkar," Bashir replied.
"What? How?" Sisko could barely believe it. They
hadn't let him anywhere near Mekkar's cell.
"I explained that he was hurt and I was his personal
physician. They want him in top health for his execu-
tion, it seems."
"How is he?"
"Two broken ribs, some cuts and bruises, a slight
case of shock. I've done as much for him as I could, all
things considered. I'd really like to get him back to
DS9. How are you coming?"
"Not well," Sisko said. "The trial begins to-
morrow."
Sisko spent the rest of the night cramming through
Bajoran legal precedents. Bleary-eyed, he finally
allowed Dr. Bashir to give him a light stimulant to
keep him awake. Mekkar's life was in danger; he knew
he had to be sharp for the trial. The Bajorans seemed
to think it wouldn't last more than one or possibly
two days at the most. He had no intention of letting
them railroad Mekkar into a punishment he didn't
deserve.
Dax and Bashir pursued other lines of inquiry. Dax
was trying to get information on the real Butcher of
Belmast From Cardassia, but kept running into road-
blocks. Bashir was looking for medical reasons to
postpone the trial. Neither made fast progress.
The night passed all too quickly. Finally it was
nearly time to head to the Hall of Justice. Sisko sighed
and tabbed off the computer monitor, rubbing his
eyes. What he really needed, he thought, was a team
of crack Federation legal experts, six months to pre-
pare for the trial, and some Bajoran advisors to help
him over the rough spots. Nevertheless, he would
have to make do and trust in the truth to win out.
After cleaning himself up as best he could in the
runabout, he headed for the courtroom, Dax at his
side. Bashir was still at work.
"I'll catch up," he promised, "as soon as I have
something."
"It had better be fast," Sisko said. "I have a feeling
this is going to be a very quick trial, if we're not
careful."
"Right." Swallowing, Bashir threw himself back
into his work.
It was a twenty-minute walk to the center of Bel-
mast. By the time Sisko and Dax arrived, a huge
crowd had already gathered outside. He had to push
his way through. It seemed most of the city had
turned out to wait for the guilty verdict, Sisko
thought. It was a shame he had to disappoint them.
Inside, a guard ushered them into a huge, cavernous
room where the trial would take place. Security
seemed tight. At the far end of the room, on a raised
dais, sat the three magistrates who would hear the
case. One of t hem, he saw, was the Bajoran who'd
suggested he act as Mekkar's Speaker. For a second he
considered asking the man to remove himself from
the case--after all, he'd already made up his mind
that Mekkar was guilty, but then Sisko thought better
of it. All three magistrates undoubtedly felt the same
way. Trying to remove one might aggravate matters.
No, he would have to win them over.
"Over here," the guard said, leading them to one
side. A table had been set up for them.
"Thank you," Sisko said. He glanced to the right,
where another table sat probably for the prosecution.
The two Bajorans there ignored him.
The magistrates signaled their readiness. Mekkar,
in chains but walking--no doubt thanks to Bashir,
Sisko thought--was escorted in. He sat in the center
of the hall, facing the three magistrates. Sisko sat
behind Mekkar and to the left; the Prosecutor sat to
the right.
The magistrate in the center rose. "This trial is
open," he said loudly, and his voice echoed through
the vast Hall of Justice. "Read the charges."
The Prosecutor rose. "Gul Mekkar, known as the
Butcher of Belmast, is accused of the following crimes
against Bajor. First, that he did knowingly and will-
fully order the death of two thousand three hundred
and twelve mine-workers following the Ten Day
Strike. Second, that he did knowingly and willfully
order the executions of four hundred and sixty-five
Bajorans following a food riot in Belmast. Third--"
The list of crimes went on and on. Sisko listened,
and as he did his horror grew. The real Mekkar had
been a bloodthirsty monster, he realized, drunk on
power. No wonder everyone on Bajor wanted him
brought to justice.
Nearly two hours later, the Prosecutor finished his
list of crimes.
"How say you to these charges?" the magistrate
asked.
Sisko rose slowly. When he turned, it was to address
not only the magistrates, but the Prosecutor and all
the Bajorans who had assembled inside the Hall of
Justice.
"I am Captain Benjamin Sisko," he said, "the
commanding officer of Deep Space Nine. You all know
who I am, and believe me, no one has more sympathy
for the Bajoran people than I do. Kai Opara pro-
claimed me your Emissary, and ! have walked in the
wormhole with the beings you call Prophets.
"You all suffered tremendously under the Cardas-
sian occupation. But this is now a time for healing
and reconciliation. Cardassians are not your enemies.
They are a people like any other--some good, some
bad."
"Is there a point to this?" the Prosecutor asked
dryly.
"Yes." Sisko took a deep breath and scanned the
faces around him. "Mekkar is an innocent man. He
was not here during the Cardassian occupation. True,
there is a similarity in names, and true, there is a
similarity in appearance. He is a distant relative of the
so-called Butcher of Belmast. You cannot convict him
for crimes he did not commit!"
"You have evidence of this, of course," said the
magistrate on the left.
"Yes. If I may present it?"
"Proceed."
"My science officer, Lieutenant Commander Dax,
has gathered the following information from the
Cardassian government." Sisko nodded to Dax.
Dax picked up a set of folders from the Speaker's
table and carried them forward. She handed one to
each of the magistrates, one to the Prosecutor, and
one to Sisko.
"Thank you, Dax," he said.
She smiled and returned to her seat.
Sisko opened the folder. The first page held two
pictures side by side, one of the real Gul Mekkar as he
had been during the occupation--and the similarity
to their Mekkar was striking--and one as the real Gul
Mekkar was today.
"Here you see these two different Cardassians," he
began.
"I see no diff
erence," the Prosecutor said. "These
photos are of the same person."
"They are different--" Sisko began.
The magistrate cut him off. "What proof do you
have?" he asked. "Photos and documents can be
faked."
"Proof?." Sisko said. He'd been afraid they would
say something like that. Dax had been trying to get
through to Cardassia to get direct confirmation all
night without success. At the moment, they had only
his word, which might not be enough. "Look at the
pictures. They have Starfleet authentication. You have
my word as the Emissary and as a Starfleet officer.
Mekkar is not guilty of these crimes."
The three magistrates conferred briefly. Sisko
watched anxiously as they compared the two photo-
graphs, studied the two Mekkars' identifications, life
histories, and war records. They frowned, then
nodded.
Sisko's badge chirped. He tapped it as subtly as he
could. "Yes?" he whispered.
"It's Bashir," he heard the doctor say. "I've finally
reached Cardassia--"
"Hold that thought, Doctor," he said.
An undercurrent of talking had swept through the
Hall of Justice while the magistrates studied Sisko's
evidence. The magistrate in the middle looked up
suddenly.
"Silence!" he roared.
"This evidence is not conclusive," the magistrate to
his left said. "We took nearly three hundred sworn
testimonies yesterday identifying this Cardassian as
the Butcher of Belmast. Since you are unable to
produce concrete evidence--"
"Wait!" Sisko cried. "Did you hear that, Doctor?"
ne said. "Do you have someone on line now who can
clear our Mekkar?"
"I think so," Bashir said. "Is there a monitor there?
I can relay the signal through."
Sisko looked up at the magistrates, who gave a brief
nod.
"Do so," Sisko said. He swallowed. Whatever
Bashir had found, it had better be good, he thought.
A clerk activated a holographic projector, and a
huge image flickered to life on one side of the Hall of
Justice. It was Bashir.
"This image is being sent to us directly from
Cardassia PMMR," Bashir said. "It's not the highest
quality signal, considering the distances involved. But
I think it will do."
He touched a button before them.
Static flickered on the screen, and then an older
Cardassian appeared. He looked like Gul Mekkar,
only a long thin scar puckered the left side of his
mouth.
"I am," the Cardassian said in a low, powerful
voice, "Gul Ren Mekkar, whom Bajoran terrorists
branded the Butcher of Belmast nearly twenty years
ago." He scanned the faces of the magistrates, and a
faint sneer crept into his voice. "Bajorans are a little
people," he said, "hardly worth the attention of a
proud and great race like the Cardassians. I spat on
you then, and I spit on you now."
The magistrate on the right stood. "YouJ" he said,
voice hoarse. "You killed my father and my grandfa-
ther."
Mekkar sneered, "And I'd kill you too, given half
the chance. If it were up to me, I'd put Bajor back
under Cardassian rule tomorrow. We should never
have left before we broke your spirits. Youre"
"I think that's quite enough," Bashir said, inter-
rupting the tirade. He gazed at the magistrates from
the viewscreen. "Or do you want to hear more from
him?"
"No ... no," said the magistrate, sitting. His face
was ashen, Sisko saw. He now realized what a mistake
they had almost made.
"I want all charges against Gul Mekkar dropped,"
Sisko said loudly. "He is innocent."
The three magistrates conferred for a minute, then
nodded. "Agreed," the high magistrate said. "Release
the prisoner," he told the clerk.
Sisko and Dax hurried forward to help Mekkar
stand as the clerk unlocked the chains on his arms and
legs. Mekkar seemed to be in a state of shock, Sisko
thought. Little wonder, considering what he'd just
been through. Best to get him back to Bashir and DS9
as quickly as possible.
He put one of Mekkar's arms around his shoulders
and Dax did the same. Together, they helped the
Cardassian down the long aisle, past the benches filled
with silent Bajorans, and outside.
"Thank you," Sisko heard Mekkar whispering.
"Thank you."
"That's what I'm here for," he said.
Julian Bashir watched them set Gul Mekkar free,
then cut off his transmission to the Hall of Justice. So
much for that, he thought. His plan had worked
perfectly.
He flipped back to the signal from DS9. It was
completely secure, he knew, coming in on a scram-
bled channel. He found the face of the Butcher of
Betmast grinning at him.
"How did I do?" Garak asked behind his makeup.
"Fine," Bashir said. "I think you just saved the day.
See you when we get back. I owe you a drink."
"You owe me more than that," Garak said. "I have
an Oslan silk suit here with your name on it, Doctor."
Bashir groaned a bit, but didn't complain. It was
worth it.
He severed the connection and smiled. There was a
certain irony in the solution, he thought. The Bajor-
ans refused to believe the truth, no matter how it had
been presented to them. But they'd been only too
eager to believe a lie.
CHAPTER
27
"WHERE IS IT.9" Kira demanded. A ship didn't just
vanish. Someone had moved it... or taken it back,
she realized with growing panic.
She glanced around. None of the other shuttles
seemed to be in use, but she didn't think they'd have
sufficient range to make it back to DS9. But they
might give the others a place to hide while she looked
around.
Then she remembered Snoct Sneyd. He said he'd
help them if they ever needed it. Well, she thought,
they certainly needed it now.
"Get them over to one of the shuttles and keep
them there," she said to Worf. "I'm going to see if I
can find Snoct. Maybe he can help us find a new
ship."
Worf nodded. "Agreed." He turned to Odo and
Orvor. "This way, quickly," he said, striking out for
the nearest shuttle.
Kira hesitated. Where would she find an Iffalian
maintenance crew? Probably near the center of the
field, she decided. That way they could be quickly
dispatched to any ship that needed them.
She took her bearings and started walking.
Twenty minutes later, she saw movement ahead a
small car on antigray skids. It was filled with
Jem'Hadar and was headed straight for her. Turning
to the side like she had business at one particular ship,
she ducked out of sight.
"You'd better work again," she murmured, activat-
ing her cloaker.
Instantly the air around her shim-
mered, and then she seemed to be looking out at the
world through a thick glass wall. Everything became
muted and distant.
The Jem'Hadar turned where she'd turned and
passed not two meters from where she stood. They
slowed down, peering this way and that, obviously
searching for her. Their starship had been deliberately
moved, Kira realized, to prevent them from escaping.
The changelings knew what they were up to.
Biting her lip, she turned and sprinted up the
landing field, trying to put as much distance between
herself and the Jem'Hadar as she could. She only had
a few minutes left on her cloaker, she reminded
herself. Site began to count the seconds.
She put a good half kilometer and ten rows of
parked ships between herself and the Jem'Hadar.
That ought to be enough for now, she decided,
slowing down and ducking behind another ship, this
one a small fighter craft of some sort. She shut off the
cloaker and crouched there, panting, until she caught
her wind.
Then, carefully, she continued to jog forward. If
anything came up, she still had a little time left on the
cloaker, she thought. She wished she'd brought Worf's
as well. She had a strange feeling she'd need all the
help she could get.
A large cluster of buildings appeared on the hori-
zon. That had to be the central complex, she decided.
The Iffalians had better be there.
Then she saw movement ahead on the landing
field--more Jem'Hadar, she realized. She glanced
around in panic. She was a good fifty meters from the
nearest cover. She'd never make it before being seen.
She activated her cloaker again, hoping they hadn't
spotted her yet. Turning, she jogged quickly to the
side, cutting across, and just as quickly she stopped
short. A pair of Jem'Hadar warriors were patrolling
this area on foot, their disruptors held ready. Beyond
them lay a couple of low buildings--little more than
storage sheds, really. Maybe she could find cover
there.
Suddenly colors flickered all around her. The cloak-
er had begun running low on power, she realized. Its
distortion field shimmered brightly for an instant, like
a beacon in the darkness, then returned to normal.
She checked its readouts. Less than a minute left, she
thought with dismay.
"There!" one of Jem'Hadar began to shout, point-
ing in her direction.
Kira glanced down. The cloaker failed again, and
Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17 Page 22