He had been distracted by the proceedings and hadn’t been listening properly. He turned to her. Ridiculously, he laughed. “What did you just say?”
“Ithic. I’m going back.”
He took her by the hand and they started to weave their way through the crush. One of the pair of Jem’Hadar, seeing them, raised his weapon slightly. “She’s sick,” he muttered. “Too much excitement.” The Jem’Hadar nodded, let them past, and they hurried out of the plaza.
The walkways were quiet. Everyone was watching the parade. They walked along for a while in silence. She had on that awful expression she wore when she was trying to look pleased about something bad that was being done to her. When they got to the small park by the statue of Legate Artoc, he dragged her over to one of the stone benches. “It’s good news really,” she said, in a sharp, bright brittle way that made his heart crack.
“Penelya...”
“I’ve wanted to go back there for ages. You know that. It’s my home.” She glanced back in the direction of the plaza. “It’s thanks to the Dominion, I suppose. If we had never joined the Dominion, we would never have beaten the Klingons, and as long as we were fighting the Klingons, we couldn’t fight the Maquis... But the Maquis are gone now. Ithic is back under Cardassian control. Dominion control. Whichever. It makes no difference. So I’m going back.”
“Don’t. It’s a terrible idea—”
“All my parents’ holdings are back in my uncle’s possession. And he’s decided that the best thing for me to do is go out there and find out how the operation is run. Learning on the job, he says. Which is good, isn’t it? It pays my uncle back for all the money he’s spent on my upkeep, and it means I get to do something that contributes directly to Cardassia’s food problems, and you know how I’ve wanted to be useful, to earn my place—”
“Kosst, Pen, stop it!” Rugal said angrily. “What about your studies? He promised to put you through the institute. Now he’s sending you out to the middle of nowhere while you’re still unqualified so that you’ll always be dependent on him. He’s cheating you!”
“Don’t!” Penelya shot back. “Don’t say anything like that to me ever again!” She stopped to collect herself, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want anything like that to be the last thing that we say to each other, Rugal. I want us to stay friends—”
“That’s not good enough. Penelya, don’t go. Stay here. Marry me. Kotan likes you. He won’t mind, not now he knows you. We can make a life here. You can come and live with us in Torr. You can carry on studying. You don’t need your uncle’s money. We’ll get by. Kotan will help.” Yes, he thought, if it would keep her here, he would take Kotan’s money. He would do anything to keep her here. He would even call himself Kotan’s son, call Kotan Father. “You don’t have to go where your uncle sends you.” Hope rose in his heart as he said these things to her, as he sketched out this possible future to her. It all made perfect sense. She couldn’t possibly refuse.
Penelya let go of his hand. She stood up and walked to stand in the shade of a huge mekla bush whose scarlet flowers were brilliant in the sunshine. It was a glorious day. Of course she would say yes... “It’s not that I don’t want to say yes,” she said, and his heart split in two. “I do, I swear I do. But I can’t. My uncle could have left me to live on the streets, and he didn’t. He took me into his house, and he took care of me—No, it’s true!” she said, when he shook his head. “I owe him a great deal for that. And I need to repay that, before I can be... well... free.”
“If you stayed with me,” Rugal said quietly, “then you would be free.”
“I wouldn’t, Rugal. There would still be the debt.”
“There isn’t any debt!”
“Yes, there is. But, listen! There is another option. You could come with me. Why not?” she said eagerly, going back over to him. “It’s a colony world. It’s only just getting back on its feet. Someone like you, a medic, would be very welcome there. Why not come to Ithic with me?”
He took her hands within both his own. Could he do that? Ithic was so far away... If Cardassia Prime had been the end of the line, Ithic might as well be the end of the world. “I can’t,” he said with difficulty, weaving his fingers through hers. “I have to go back to Bajor. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I can’t stay here forever. I know it makes no sense, I know it must seem like madness, I know that nobody has ever believed me when I’ve said it—”
Gently, she leaned down and kissed him, stopping the flow of estranging words. “I have always believed you, every time you’ve said it. I have never doubted that one day you would go back to Bajor. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay, that was wrong. But you have to understand—that need to go back, that sense of having to be somewhere, that’s how I feel about Ithic. That’s how I feel about my duty.”
There was no answer to that. He kissed her in return, on the ridge between her eyes. “Perhaps one day you’ll change your mind,” he said. “I’ll wait, in case you do. I promise.”
“I won’t hold you to that,” she said, and already she seemed to be speaking from a great distance.
“Too late,” he said fiercely. “I promised.”
He missed her beyond words. She had been his first friend on Cardassia, the only thing that had made his earliest years here bearable. Since the deaths of Etra and Migdal, she had been his chief reason for carrying on. Now that she was gone, he was purposeless. He worked, he slept, he ate. He sat and watched the triumphalist newscasts and military recruitment drives that filled up the channels until it was the early hours of the morning, when Serna and Elat would get back from work and make him go to bed. He was lying on the couch staring at a ’cast when he heard the announcement of the death of Tekeny Ghemor.
His first thought was of Kotan. Tekeny had been a father figure to him. He would be devastated. Over the next few days, while he helped with the new inoculation program that was being implemented at the free hospital, Rugal pondered whether he ought to risk contacting his father. One evening he took the shuttle out to Coranum, but there were still Jem’Hadar outside the house, and he didn’t dare go past them. He didn’t want to use the comm at home or one of the ones at work, and eventually he went out to eastern Torr and used the public comm unit in a geleta house he had never been to before.
Kotan, seeing him, was alarmed. “My dear boy, what are you thinking of—?”
“I heard about Tekeny,” Rugal blurted out. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”
Kotan’s expression softened. “Thank you. Thank you. That means a great deal to me, Rugal. Tell me, how are you?”
“Fine... How are you?”
“Much the same as ever, although Maleta is feeding me too much and I’m not able to get any exercise. How is your lovely girl?”
Rugal clenched his fists. “She’s gone, Kotan.”
“Gone?”
“Mikor sent her back to Ithic.”
“Ah.” Rugal watched as Kotan worked out all the ramifications of that. “I see. I’m very sorry to hear that. I was hoping to see you joined. Well, perhaps it can still happen one day. When I can move freely again, I’ll speak to Mikor. I gather he’s doing very well at the moment...” He collected himself. “Rugal, don’t stay on this line any longer. I’m very grateful that you’ve been in touch. Look after yourself. I’m sure we’ll be able to see each other soon.”
“Good-bye,” Rugal said. “Take care.” He cut the transmission and gave a deep, shuddering sigh. It had been good to see Kotan, after all these months, and he was glad to know that the man was still safe. He was glad, too, to have spoken to someone about Penelya. Arric and Serna were good friends, but Kotan was the closest thing that he had to a history. It had been the right decision to get in touch, he thought, as he went back home. His sadness seemed to have lessened as a result.
Perhaps it was this communication. Perhaps it was only a matter of time. Whatever it was, a few weeks later, Rugal was called to his supervisor’s office. When he went in, he was me
t by two officers from the civilian militia, who promptly arrested him on a charge to be specified at a later date. So this is it, he thought as they bundled him into the back of their armored skimmer; by the end of the week he would be dead, or en route to some barren and forsaken moon for corrective labor. Even despite the shock tactics—cuffing him hand and foot in front of his supervisor, shuffling him out of the hospital in full view of his workmates—Rugal felt oddly tranquil. He realized he had always assumed that, if he hadn’t escaped to Bajor, this would be how it would end.
They drove for about twenty or thirty metrics, during which time Rugal sat, as instructed, with his head between his knees. When at last the skimmer stopped, he was ordered to get out; he obeyed, dizzy and stumbling slightly. He blinked at the bright sunlight streaming down on the grand building in front of him. This was not Maklar Prison, he thought—unless Maklar Prison had recently been refurbished as a country house in the style of the Second Republic.
The two officers led him inside through a plant-filled atrium and down along several elegant corridors to a small sunroom. They ordered him to sit down, releasing his ankles but not his wrists. Then they took up guard positions, one by the door to the room, the other by the largest of its three windows. Nobody spoke. Rugal stared down at the chain between his hands. After another ten or fifteen metrics, he heard footsteps in the corridor. He looked up as Dukat walked in. Behind him was Kotan.
Even with the sun streaming down on his back, Rugal shivered. Dukat beamed at him and clapped his hands together. “How glad I am to be here at this family reunion! Even better, to be the agent of it! Kotan,” he barely glanced behind him, “do take a seat—how about there, next to your boy. Rugal, has anyone offered you a drink?”
Rugal held up his wrists. “I think I’d have trouble with it.”
Dukat nodded at one of the guards, who came and released his wrists. Rugal rubbed them, looking sideways at Kotan. The man gave him a warm, anxious smile and reached out to place his hand, briefly, on top of Rugal’s. Dukat watched the whole exchange like a voyeur. “Here,” he said, holding out two glasses of kanar. He took a chair opposite them and held up his own glass. “To families! Long may they remain together!” He drank deeply; Kotan sipped gingerly. Rugal held his own glass out in front of him as if it were a grenade.
“Not drinking?” said Dukat.
“No thanks,” Rugal replied. “I’m on duty at the hospital. Was there something particular you needed from me? I’d like to get back.”
Dukat blinked at him, wrong-footed and baffled. Rugal heard Kotan smother a laugh. “I’d like to get back too,” Kotan said carelessly. “I had a busy afternoon in the garden planned. For a man with a military dictatorship to run, Dukat, you have a lot of time available for face-to-face gloating.”
Dukat stared at them both in disbelief. He gestured behind him to the armed guards standing by. “You do understand that I can order these two men to kill you and still be well within the law?”
Kotan’s good humor subsided. “If you had intended to kill either of us,” he said quietly, “I don’t think you would have bothered with this whole charade.”
“No,” Dukat agreed. “No, I wouldn’t.” He stood up and began to pace the room, coming to a halt by one of the windows, where he began slowly to play with the dimmer control. The room began to darken slightly. Rugal glanced at Kotan; when he caught the man’s eye, he gave him an encouraging smile, receiving one in return.
“You’re a difficult man to track down, Rugal,” Dukat said.
“It’s a big Union. And I’m sure you’ve been busy.”
“Your father,” Dukat nodded at Kotan, “was considerably easier to find. While I was busy fending off Klingons, he seems to have been making himself popular with the people.”
“That’s because he was doing good work,” Rugal said, quietly and truthfully. “And they appreciated his efforts.”
“And yet my efforts on their behalf have been considerably more popular, wouldn’t you say? Nobody’s starving on Cardassia Prime now, are they? Not like in the good old days, when the Five were in power.” The room went a little dimmer. “Speaking of the Five, have you heard from your old friend Alon Ghemor recently, Kotan? I wonder if he has heard of his uncle’s deathbed recantation. I’m glad Tekeny saw reason, just in time.”
“Wherever Alon is,” Kotan said, in measured tones, “I’m sure he was as devastated as I was to hear about Tekeny’s death. And I’m sure he knows exactly what to believe about it.”
Dukat shrugged. “Alon Ghemor doesn’t matter. I’ll find him eventually. But you, now, Kotan, let’s talk about you. The only other member of the Five. The last surviving member of the old Detapa Council...”
“Dukat,” Kotan replied in a clear voice. He sounded more in command than Rugal had ever heard him. “Must we continue in this way? You did terrible harm to me when you stole Rugal. I hated you for a very long time. But I will not be consumed by it any longer.” He put down his glass and stood up. “We can end this. I mean you no harm—I cannot mean you any harm! And I would never have harmed your daughter.”
Dukat swung away from the window. He strode across the room, stopping only when he and Kotan were standing face to face. Kotan swallowed, but he did not flinch. “It was the Detapa Council that drove us into exile, the Council that drove my daughter away—a Council of which you were a member!”
“Kotan had nothing to do with that,” Rugal said quickly. “He resigned over it.”
Dukat stared at him, and then back at Kotan. Rugal held his breath. Then Dukat shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It makes no difference.” He strode away, back to the window. “Most likely you’re lying anyway.”
“Then what do you want from me, Dukat?” Kotan held his palms out. “A declaration of my loyalty, like you wanted from Tekeny? My life? You can have both, if you want. If you really believe that they will satisfy you.”
Dukat looked at him in contempt. “Begging, Kotan? I knew you were a coward. I don’t want your loyalty, and I don’t want your life.” He looked out the window. Casually, as if he was asking for the time, he said, “I want your son.”
Before Rugal’s eyes, Kotan seemed to crumble. What was it Geleth had said? All the best feuds are passed down. Once upon a time, Kotan Pa’Dar had threatened Skrain Dukat’s position. So Dukat had stolen his son. In return, Pa’Dar had used Dukat’s daughter to ruin him—or so Dukat believed. And now Dukat was powerful again, and the debt had to be repaid, in kind. Except that there wasn’t any debt. Kotan had not harmed Tora Ziyal. And it didn’t make any difference whatsoever. “Dukat,” Kotan said. “Please...”
In the end, Rugal couldn’t bear to listen to his father beg. Not on his account. “Dukat,” he said quickly, ignoring Kotan’s frantic gesture telling him to stop. “What do you want? Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
Dukat turned and smiled at him. When Dukat smiles at you, Rugal thought, it’s like being served up on a plate in front of something large and hungry and in possession of a very sharp knife. He could not understand why Ziyal loved this man. He was the closest thing to a monster Rugal had ever met—and Rugal had met Geleth.
“Well,” Dukat said, “and speaking confidentially, you understand, it’s entirely possible that we may soon find ourselves at war.” His eyes flicked between father and son. Kotan, suddenly understanding, said, “Oh no! No! I absolutely forbid it!”
“It’s not your decision,” Rugal pointed out. He still had his eyes on Dukat, who was still smiling. I’ll let him live, he seemed to be saying, if you do what I want.
“Rugal, I did not bring you home and risk public disgrace just to have you killed fighting whatever war this maniac has planned—”
“Kotan, please, shut up!”
“The young man is right,” Dukat said. “It’s not your decision, Pa’Dar.”
Rugal got up from his chair and began to pace the room. He came to rest by the window. He altered the dimmer so that the sunlight could stream bac
k in, and he stared out across a lavish green garden. This strange planet, he thought. Wholly alien and wholly familiar, all at the same time. Once he had hated it, without qualification. Now, after four years, he was not sure. He knew he did not love Cardassia—or at least, he did not love what people said Cardassia was meant to represent. What he had come to love were specific people, certain qualities. He loved Penelya’s fortitude, how she always kept her dignity even when she was treated with contempt. He was proud of his friends, and the people of Torr, who had been cold and hungry and afraid and had not turned on each other, but had worked together. He had been in awe of Ziyal’s courage, her vision, how she had tried to communicate it and make it tangible. He had, in the end, come to admire Geleth, who had survived unspeakable losses with her spirit unbroken.
And what about Kotan, who had dragged him away from his family and from Bajor, and had brought him to this strange cruel place? In the end, he had to say that he did love Kotan, and for one simple reason. Kotan had loved him without condition. Whenever Rugal had been angry or bitter or accusatory, Kotan had not responded in kind. He had loved Rugal because he was his son, and he had asked for nothing in return. And that, in its turn, was unanswerable. “I’ll do what you ask,” Rugal said to Dukat. He felt light as he said it, almost happy, as if he was releasing himself of an obligation that he had not until now known existed. “I’ll join your ridiculous army.”
That last took some of the edge off Dukat’s triumph, Rugal was pleased to see. As for Kotan—he didn’t look at Kotan, because he didn’t think he could quite bear to see what this particular sacrifice was costing his father.
• • •
Between the start of Rugal’s basic training and being commissioned into the Second Order, the war that Dukat had promised began. The Federation mined the wormhole, preventing Dominion ships from coming through from the Gamma quadrant. In response, the Dominion took Deep Space 9. Who knew where it would end?
Star Trek: DS9: The Never-Ending Sacrifice Page 18