Star Trek: DS9: The Never-Ending Sacrifice

by Una McCormack

  “I agree that we can rely on Garak’s information,” Dukat said. “And you cannot begin to imagine how much I dislike saying that.”

  A more considered but still deeply troubled silence descended upon the room. “But this is incredible!” Rhemet said. “What possible reason could the Empire have to attack us?”

  Dukat took a pace or two around the room until he was standing behind Rejal’s chair. Kotan watched as Meya put her hands flat on the table and gritted her teeth. Dukat sneered down at them all. “That’s very simple,” he said. “They think you’re all Changelings. How else could half a dozen untried civilians have toppled the mighty Central Command? I have to say it’s a persuasive analysis.”

  All around the room, shoulder ridges quivered in rage. Rhemet said, with new venom, “If this Garak was one of Tain’s men, how do we know this isn’t a rearguard action by the Order? Some scheme by whatever’s left of it to claw back a degree of power?”

  “The Order’s dead,” Alon replied flatly. He had gone very still. Kotan’s heart went out to his friend. Only the most fanatical Order agent could have enjoyed purging their former colleagues, and Alon was a deal maker, not a zealot.

  “Alon, forgive me,” Rhemet said, “but we all know you were one of them—”

  “Believe me, that particular cancer has been cut from the body politic. That’s the task Meya gave me when she appointed me to the Bureau. That’s what I’ve done.”

  “It could still be a feint—”

  Dukat finally lost patience. “Believe whatever you want. Believe it right up to the moment that fifty Klingon birds-of-prey scream down on the Council chamber and blast you to pieces. They’re coming. That’s a fact. Do you want to talk about it further, or do you want to do something about it?” He leaned down over Meya’s shoulder, his face close to hers. “What’s it to be, Chief Executor? Will you restore the military to full powers?”

  “Gul Dukat, when I took office, I promised the Cardassian people I would limit the power of the military. I put a resolution to that effect before the Detapa Council, and the Council agreed on it. Therefore, the Council would need to debate any restoration of powers.”

  Dukat reacted with scorn. This plainly made no sense to him. “You’ve already let us take up arms against our own citizens, and you won’t give us free rein against Klingons?”

  “No!” Meya said quickly, holding up her hand. “That was not a military operation. I drafted those units as special police—”

  “This is sophistry!” Dukat slammed his hand against the table. As if jerked into life by this, red lights on the console next to Meya’s right hand began to flash. Kotan saw that her hands were trembling as she reached out to view the communications. She read for a moment, and then turned to her colleagues. “Information from our listening posts along the border. They at least are in no doubt about the fleet’s existence. More conservative estimates now put their arrival on Prime around sunrise, capital time, the day after tomorrow.”

  Dukat strode toward the door. “We’re done here. It’s time to end this nonsense. We need to be able to act without constraint—”

  “Meya,” Bamarek said, “if you do that, you may as well resign. Whatever political capital you have left comes from your commitment to rolling back Central Command. If you’re going to hand back the power you’ve taken, you’ll be left with no credibility—”

  “Unfortunately,” Alon said, “Meya’s credibility as leader of the Cardassian Union does depend upon there still being a Union left for her to lead. Meya, it was a good policy, it’s still a good policy. But we have a war on our hands. We didn’t ask for it, but it’s happening. We need to be able to respond.”

  “Meya,” Rhemet said urgently, “this is exactly what I was talking about before. The old regime, the Central Command, this is what they’ve been waiting for, the chance to take over again—”

  “A moment ago it was the Order you were complaining about,” Dukat said. “Now it’s the military. You’re a fool.”

  That stung Bamarek. “The Order, the Central Command? What’s the difference? Meya, don’t fall for this! You’re the head of the government. They have to obey you!”

  “By law, yes.” Meya glanced back at Dukat. “But would they in fact?”

  Kotan looked at her with deep sympathy. It was an impossible situation. Would Central Command refuse to take orders from her? Could she take that risk? Did she have enough political support left? He doubted it. “Executor,” Dukat said, “let us do what we’re good at. Let us act.”

  “I second that,” Ghemor said. He got up from his chair, waiting to be able to get on with handling the crisis.

  “Kotan?” Meya said, and he understood now why he had been asked to attend this meeting. She trusted him. By opposing her and risking the loss of his position, he had somehow earned her confidence. He was sorry for her. Tekeny Ghemor, a former legate, could have pulled the military in his wake, but Tekeny would not have needed to set himself up in opposition to the Central Command in the first place. “What else can you do, Meya?” Kotan said. “Nobody could possibly have predicted this. No one will blame you for changing your mind. But they’ll certainly blame you if you hesitate and lives are lost as a result.”

  She nodded. Again, Kotan felt pity for her. Did it always have to end in defeat? Perhaps it was inevitable. If life was a battleground, all you could ever be was a victim or a victor.

  “Very well,” Rejal said. “Using my authority under the Declaration, I hereby impose a state of emergency and empower the Central Command to pull whatever miracle it can out of its collective ass.” She waved one finger down, like a conjuror performing a trick. “There. Cardassia returns, in part, to military rule. Don’t get too excited, Dukat,” she called after him, as he swung out the door. “This will be reviewed by the Council at the end of the week.”

  Dukat halted in the doorway. “Ah yes. The Council. I’m afraid I cannot guarantee its safety on Cardassia Prime. I propose therefore to evacuate its members to a place of greater safety. Perhaps Deep Space 9? I believe I can prevail upon the commander there to offer you sanctuary.”

  Meya put her head in her hands. Rhemet said, “Abandon Prime? We couldn’t possibly do that! We might as well not bother coming back.”

  “By all means remain,” Dukat said. “I, however, shall be taking a ship away from Prime at oh two hundred. Any member of the Detapa Council that wants to be on board is welcome. The rest can take their chances with the Klingons.”

  The group split up in focused and somber mood. Kotan, falling into step beside Alon Ghemor, reflected on something Rhemet had said. Dukat, Ghemor, himself—it had taken the three of them to persuade Meya to make this decision. The military, the Order, the Council: old Cardassia, once again. They had fallen back into their parts as if they had never stopped playing them, as countless generations had done before.

  “A miracle,” Ghemor muttered. “I think it’s going to take one. You should get that boy of yours praying to his Prophets.”

  “I don’t think he believes in them. Besides, do you think Bajoran gods are likely to come to the aid of Cardassia?”

  “Any god will do right now. True, false, friendly, hostile—I’m open for business.”

  It was not a bad philosophy. For himself, however, Kotan preferred to put his faith in phasers.

  “One day you might be glad this happened,” Geleth said. She was now too weak to sit up, and was confined to bed. “Nothing like a war to bring the great unwashed out behind their government. One great Union, bound together in a single purpose by threat and loss. And nobody wants to seem a traitor, do they? Except your son...” She sighed, and it seemed to Rugal that she expelled a little more life as she did so. “When do you leave Prime?”

  “I don’t,” Kotan said bluntly.

  Geleth’s fingers twitched on the coverlet. “Not the best time to discover your sacrificial side.”

  “Mother, I can’t leave you behind.”

  “You’re an
idiot,” she replied.

  “All right, if you prefer it this way—I don’t want to be indebted to Dukat.”

  “You’re an outmaneuvered idiot.”

  Kotan picked up her hand. Geleth closed her eyes. Rugal, standing behind Kotan’s chair, leaned down to whisper, “Go. I’ll stay with her.”

  Kotan rubbed his eyes. “I could certainly do with some sleep.”

  “I mean, you should leave with the rest of the Council. There’s still time. I’ll stay.”

  Carefully, Kotan rested his mother’s hand upon the bed. He nodded to Rugal to follow him out into the corridor. “I can’t go.”

  “You certainly can’t stay.”

  “I can’t leave her! She has to have family with her when she goes.”

  “I’m family,” Rugal said. “Or so you keep on insisting.”

  Kotan shook his head. “It’s out of the question. You’re not old enough—”

  “I’m nearly nineteen.”

  “It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “Kotan,” Rugal said gently. “I’ve been Cardassian on Bajor and Bajoran on Cardassia. Do you honestly think I can’t look after myself?”

  “Whether you like it or not, you’re the son of a prominent politician. If the Klingons take Prime, and you’re here, you’ll be an obvious target—”

  “I’ve been a target one way or another for most of my life!”

  “This is entirely different. They’ll take you hostage. Capture is dishonorable. You won’t be treated well.”

  “I doubt I will. But if you’re still here...” Rugal fumbled around for inspiration. “If you’re here, they’ll probably kill you instead of imprisoning you, and if I’m standing next to you at the time—which I would be—then they’d probably kill me too. So, altogether, it’s much better for me if you go because that way you actually increase my chances of survival.” He paused for breath. “If the Klingons take Prime.” The “if” was ironic. Even the state news broadcasters were currently employing the ironic “if.”

  “There are rituals to perform,” Kotan said faintly. “You don’t know anything about them. She has to have it all done properly.”

  “Penelya will know what to do. I’ll ask her to come. She’ll come. We’ll do it all perfectly. You can trust us, Kotan.” Rugal gave him a wide-eyed look that, unbeknownst to him, irresistibly increased his resemblance to Arys.

  Kotan muttered something inaudible and probably profane. “All right! I’ll abandon my elderly mother to the care of two adolescents and flee Cardassia Prime. Happy?”

  Hardly, but at least Kotan was soon on his way to safety. Penelya arrived not long afterward, shortly before the curfew came into force. She hurried inside; they locked the big front doors behind her and put up all the force shields. “It’s strange outside,” she said. “The whole city has gone silent. Except for the patrols.”

  The army back on the streets? That was the end for Rejal’s government, surely? What would take its place?

  “I’m sure everyone feels safer now.”

  “Apart from the invading fleet hurtling toward us, you mean? Yes, I’m sure everyone’s quite relaxed. How’s your grandmother?”

  Rugal sighed. “Difficult to say. She isn’t awake very much, although when she is, she’s completely lucid. She stopped eating yesterday, and she’s only taking a little water. I’m glad Kotan isn’t here any longer. It was tearing him in half.” Catching her expression, he said crossly, “I’m not completely heartless! I can’t sit and watch someone watch his mother die and not feel some sympathy!”

  She took his hand. “Shall we go and see how she is? We probably shouldn’t leave her alone for too long.”

  “All right. Hold your breath. It’s like a flower show in there.”

  They went into the bedroom, dimly lit, and heavily scented from the huge floral displays that had been arriving over the previous weeks. Even in these uncertain times, the Cardassian aristocracy had observed all the proper forms: hardly a day had gone past without the delivery of yet another lavish and richly perfumed bouquet from a neighbor or colleague or junior official eager to commend himself to the councillor. Penelya coughed slightly. Rugal shifted a chair round to the bed for her, then sat down opposite. Disturbed by the sound of them, the old woman flicked open her eyes. “Has he gone?”

  “Kotan?”

  “Who else, idiot boy?” she rasped. “The gardener?”

  “You needn’t worry—they’ve both gone.”

  “Good. Kotan mustn’t die.” She eyed Rugal. “You’re dispensable.”

  “Thank you, Grandmother.”

  “He can still find someone else, marry her, have more children. It would do him good to stop fretting over that girl. It would put you in perspective too. A man should have more than one child. Children die so easily, it makes no sense to pin all your hopes on one.” She aimed one malevolent finger at him. “Look what happens if you do.”

  “You only have one child.”

  Geleth laughed like rusting metal. “So I do! There’s a reason for that.” To Rugal’s alarm, she began trying to pull herself up. Penelya moved quickly to help, steadying her, propping pillows behind her. “Are you the Khevet girl?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m his niece.”

  Geleth sank back into the pillows and rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling. “What has our great race come to when the best that can attend your death bed is a skrit and a boy who believes he’s Bajoran? Never mind, it will have to do. Rugal, get rid of the girl. I want to talk to you.”

  Penelya stood up immediately and headed for the door. Rugal hurried after her. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s called shri-tal,” Penelya explained quietly. “The last thing any of us do. She’s going to tell you all her secrets.”

  “Kosst, Pen, I don’t want her secrets! Who knows what she’s done in her time?”

  Penelya squeezed his hand. “I can’t stay for this, I’m sorry. It would only distress her. But I’ll be right outside. Shout if you need me.” She glanced back at the bed. “I don’t think she’s got long.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek and then left, shutting them in behind her. Rugal stood for a moment with his hands clenched and then went back to the bedside. Geleth opened her eyes. “Has the skrit gone?”

  It was street slang for someone without parents—about as vile a word as Rugal had heard in two cultures with half of century of grudge between them. “If you call her that again you can die by yourself.”

  Geleth made a dry sound, probably laughter. “Very well. Has your girl gone?”

  “Penelya is waiting outside, yes.”

  “Check the room.”

  “What?”

  “How long have you lived here now? You’re still no cleverer than a Bajoran. Surveillance, you little fool. I’m not spilling a single secret if there’s the slightest chance anyone’s listening.”

  Stubborn and skeletal, she directed his sweep of the room, sending him to corners he had only ever half glimpsed. “I thought Kotan would never go,” she complained as he went around. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could last. There he sat, holding my hand, waiting for me to start, and all I could think was, ‘When will you leave so I can talk to Rugal?’ Well, he’s gone now, so we’d better get this done and I can finish with this filthy business of dying. They didn’t say it would hurt so much—no, they don’t mention that when they talk about glory! But most things have hurt, over the years. You’ll discover that yourself one day. Don’t pull that face! For all your talk of Bajor, I bet you’ve never been thirsty before this year, Rugal, not really thirsty. You have no idea what that’s like.” She gestured at his chair with a bleached hand. “Sit down. Don’t speak. Listen. I think even you can manage that without causing trouble.”

  Silently, Rugal took the place she had appointed for him. Geleth licked cracked lips. “You seemed to be paying attention when I told you about my childhood in Anaret.”

  Rugal nodded.

  “Good. Now, you also need to kn
ow that I wasn’t born there. That’s very important. It’s not simply a matter of pride—although who in their right mind would want to come from such a hellhole? No, I was born here, in Coranum. My parents had a house farther up the hill, not far from where your parasite of a girlfriend lives now—don’t glare, it’s only the truth! But our house, now... Oh, it was even more beautiful than her uncle’s! Plenty of room, plenty of money, plenty of everything, as it should be. My parents, myself, my younger brother, and eighteen staff. My father was an important man, he owned several transportation companies, and food replication plants throughout the southern hemisphere. So how did we end up starving in Anaret? That was thanks to a man called Ghret Pa’Dar.”

  She watched dryly as comprehension dawned on Rugal’s face. “But that’s—!”

  “Kotan’s grandfather, yes. So you have learnt some family history. Good. Never did anyone any harm on Cardassia Prime. All the best feuds are handed down. Ghret Pa’Dar was Kotan’s grandfather—your great-grandfather. He and my father were in business together. He was the cause of my father’s ruin.”

  Something cold started snaking up through Rugal’s stomach. It must have shown on his face; Geleth began to smile. “Now, let me see if I can get this straight...”

  “I’m sure you won’t miss a thing, Geleth.”

  “Well, it was all a very long time ago, and I was very young, and these things are usually complicated...” She hesitated, frowned, as if a new thought had crossed her mind. “I say that, but it all comes down in the end to need. Needing to have more than anyone else. Perhaps now you’ve seen one of our droughts, you understand why. Gather all you can to you, because as sure as the hot sun rises in the morning, the rain will stop and the food will run out. Gather up everything you can, from wherever you can. How else can you be certain to survive?”

  You could share, Rugal thought, but he chose not to argue. She was too frail, and besides, he wanted to hear what had happened.

  “So. My father and Ghret Pa’Dar met as young men at the Institute of Commercial Endeavor. Pa’Dar was not very highborn, you know.” She sniffed. “Father used to say all the time how lucky Pa’Dar was to have made friends with us. And Father was really very generous—our families spent holidays together, summers by Lake Masad, winters in the Retlak Mountains... It was all very friendly, right up to the moment Ghret Pa’Dar informed the Ministry of Agriculture that my father had been running his replicators below capacity and claiming it was power shortages. It pushed the prices up, you see. Everyone did it, only one didn’t want to get caught. Father was forced to resign, and Pa’Dar took over his directorships. Our poor family lost our lovely home, and Father was assigned a service position at a food distribution depot in Anaret. I was thirteen. I spent the next ten years there, through the whole drought...” She frowned, as if working on a puzzle. “I’ve often wondered if Ghret somehow found out the drought was coming. The Order controlled the release of weather forecasts to stop panic buying, but if he did know, it would have made sense to remove my father and take full control of the business before demand soared. I imagine Father would have done the same. But who knows, at this late date?” She waved a brittle hand. “Get me some water. I’m going to need it after all.”