The ambassador, who had been watching him with undisguised merriment, blinked. “Yes, it is,” he said softly. His face was transformed, revealed, as though a mask had slipped. “However did you know that?”
“I met her, twice. First when she was on Cardassia Prime and then when I passed through Deep Space 9 on my way to Ogyas.” Rugal reached into his pocket, where he kept his treasures, and drew out the piece of paper that had traveled with him for so long now. “She gave me this.”
The ambassador held out his hand. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Tenderly, Garak unfolded the page along its well-worn creases. “Well, this is certainly you, I can tell from the frown. May I ask who the young woman is? It’s not Ziyal.”
“No. Her name was Penelya Khevet.”
“Was? Do you know that for certain?”
“She was on Ithic when the Jem’Hadar turned on us. Then there was a second round of massacres on Ithic—”
“Yes, I get the reports from HARF. I’ve been pushing for a criminal inquiry. There’s some debate as to whether it will only cause further ill-feeling and destabilization, but I would prefer justice to be served in this case. You went looking for your friend there, I imagine?”
“Yes, but she wasn’t there. That’s where I found Hulya, though.”
“Not a bad outcome. But, from all you’ve said, you have no idea either way whether or not your friend died?”
“I don’t think she would have left her farm.”
“People are on occasion forced to leave their homes. You know that.”
“I can’t think where she would go—”
“Anywhere, I should imagine, if it would keep her alive. Bolt-holes can be the strangest of places.”
Rugal smiled. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, sir, but I have to accept that she’s dead. There’s nothing to be gained from pretending otherwise.” He realized how deftly the subject had been changed. “Did you try to pretend Tora Ziyal was still alive?”
In the blink of an eye, all of the ambassador’s sparkle vanished. Suddenly, he seemed old and careworn. He studied the drawing for a moment longer, and then, carefully, he folded it up and handed it back. “My dear boy,” he said, “sometimes I can scarcely believe she ever existed.”
It was several weeks before Rugal’s case could be heard, during which time he and Hulya remained guests of the ambassador. When Rugal was not preparing for the hearing with his advocate, Dravid, he and Hulya saw more of Earth. Rugal thought he ought to get to know the world that he hoped would soon, in a legal sense, be his—and was, in a historical sense, already Hulya’s. They explored further the exquisite city that the ambassador had elected to make his home. They went to another city, on an island north of Paris, that was huge and grand and had unmistakably once been at the heart of an empire. And they went east, to an ancient city with many names that stood on two continents, and which Hulya’s grandparents had left years ago for Ithic.
She was thoughtful on the way back. “It isn’t home,” she said. “But in a way it felt like home. Even though I’d never been there before, it felt like it was a piece of me or I was a piece of it. Does that make sense?” It made complete sense to Rugal. He would have been hard pressed to think of a better description of his relationship to Cardassia Prime.
The more Rugal saw of Earth, the more he envied Ziyal’s friend Jake Sisko. This beautiful, benevolent world was his birthright. Rugal wondered how his own life would have been different if he had come from a world like this. How about Penelya’s or Ziyal’s? Seeing this place, Rugal thought he could understand why Commander Sisko might have chosen to send him back to Cardassia. People who had been happy in their homes often lacked imagination; they lacked the understanding that what had been a source of joy for them might be a prison for others. This was the only reason he could find to explain Sisko’s actions—other than cruelty, which did not seem likely in a man that Miles O’Brien respected. Earth explained a great deal—although perhaps it did not excuse it.
They saw more of the ambassador than Rugal had expected; he seemed to enjoy their company. Hulya was entirely at her ease around him. “Do you have any children, sir?” Rugal asked, late one evening after Hulya had said good night.
“Not advisable in my line of work,” the ambassador replied briskly, thereby confirming Rugal’s suspicions of his previous career. “Tell me, have you given any thought as to what might happen should you be unsuccessful in your application?”
“There’s a right to appeal. But in the meantime I guess the Cardassian government would request my extradition.”
“Regrettably, that would have to be the case.” Garak tapped his thumbnail against his bottom lip. “You’ve been the subject of several lengthy late-night conversations between me and Ghemor, you know.”
“I am sorry—”
Garak waved a hand. “What else are we here for? Alon’s concern is that he can’t be seen to be treating you any differently on account of his friendship with your father. Nepotism has no place in the new democratic Cardassia. Very commendable on the part of the castellan. I, however, am considerably less scrupulous. You only have to say the word, and you and that young lady will be spirited away to wherever in the quadrant you choose. Ithic, if you want—although that’s the first place people will go looking for you.”
Rugal pondered this offer for a while. “I’m grateful,” he said, “but no. I’d spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. I can’t think that would be good for Hulya.”
“Neither would your being shot for desertion.”
Rugal sighed and rested his head on his hand.
“What do you have planned for her?” Garak asked gently.
“We’ve talked about this. Hulya wants to go back to Ithic. Keiko O’Brien has said she’ll make sure she gets back safely. We’ve got friends who will look after her.”
“It seems to me that she would prefer to be looked after by you.”
“I think... I need this to be resolved one way or the other. Besides, it’s come too far now. Too many people are involved. It would be wrong to betray their trust.”
“Very honorable. You’ll make a model Federation citizen. But the offer stands, should you change your mind.”
Rugal did not change his mind. He continued to work with his advocate, and when the day of the hearing arrived, he dutifully took himself over to the bland bureaucratic building where his fate was to be decided.
Three officials from the Federation’s immigration department were hearing his case. The process was not adversarial, but a supporting and an opposing counsel each presented evidence, with witnesses to support them if necessary, whom they were able to question and cross-examine in turn, and whom the panel of three could also question. Most of the first day of the hearing was a detailed examination of Rugal’s time on Cardassia Prime: he answered questions about his education, his political activities and organizing, his medical training—all of which was being presented as evidence that he had been committed to his life on Prime.
It was an exhausting process, and Rugal found it hard to disagree with the general thrust of the argument. Of course he had been committed to it. He had done it all to the best of his ability. But he had still wanted to leave. “It was difficult to make any contact with Bajor,” he tried to explain, when Dravid cross-examined. “And it was impossible to return. You have to understand what it was like living under the eye of the Obsidian Order. Any wrong move and the people I lived with might have been killed. I had to make what I could of the life I had there.” Under Dravid’s careful questioning, they painted a picture of his old life on Bajor. Rugal spoke about his parents, about his adoption, and brought out his earring. “I carried it everywhere with me,” he said. “Even to the front. Would I have bothered, if it hadn’t mattered?”
That afternoon, they came to the matter of his desertion. The substance of the opposing claim, as Garak had suggested in their interview, was that Rugal’s applic
ation for citizenship was being made so that he could avoid the consequences of his actions on Ogyas. “If this case fails,” the opposing counsel said, “it is likely that the Cardassian government would make an application for Glinn Pa’Dar to be extradited to face a court-martial.” She addressed Rugal directly. “I’m assuming you know the penalty for desertion?”
“I do,” he replied. “But that’s not why I’m here—”
The chair of the committee stopped him from speaking further. When Dravid cross-examined, however, Rugal was able to make some defense of what he had done. He tried not to think of the people he had left behind, and instead, he carefully reported what had happened that day when Dukat had had him dragged from the hospital and brought him and Kotan to his house in the country. He was only partway through his narrative when the chair of the committee intervened. “It’s a remarkable story that your client is telling, Mr. Dravid,” she said, “but do you have any evidence to support it?”
“We have evidence of a long-standing feud between his father and Dukat, the reason that my client was taken away from his biological family in the first place.”
“But to support his claim that he was forced to enlist?”
“Regrettably, neither of the other two people present survived the war.”
“Then we should move on.”
The following morning, Keiko O’Brien gave evidence. She recalled her meeting with Rugal on DS9 and, at Dravid’s request, described how unhappy he had been to return to Cardassia. Under cross-examination, she was asked whether she had intervened on his behalf to prevent that return happening.
Keiko looked unhappily over at Rugal. “I did not.”
“So you must have thought that even if it was a difficult situation, the right decision had been made?”
“At the time I didn’t know which was right. With hindsight—”
“We all wish for hindsight, Professor O’Brien.”
“But in this case, I think that matters. If Ben Sisko had known he was sending Rugal back to a collapsing planet, and civil war, and Dominion occupation, I doubt he would have done it—”
The chair of the committee held up her hand. “I think this is now hearsay.”
“But we ought to put it right,” Keiko said urgently. “An injustice was done—”
Politely, but firmly, she was asked to stop speaking. When she stepped down and came to sit next to Rugal, he saw that she was deeply distressed. “I wish we’d done something,” she whispered to him, squeezing his arm with her hand. “I’ll never forgive myself for doing nothing.”
He was whispering back to her that she shouldn’t worry, when he became aware that the small room had quietly but suddenly filled with security. Glancing to look behind him, Rugal saw that Garak had arrived. He sat down behind Rugal and gave him a sunny smile. “Is this your usual security detail?” Rugal whispered. “Or are they here to arrest me?”
Garak shushed him. “Let me listen to the closing statements. I love courtroom drama. Even when I’m the one in the dock.”
The opposing counsel summed up their case, that the application for citizenship was chiefly to avoid prosecution for desertion. Dravid responded that the legal case was clear: Rugal Pa’Dar had been adopted on Bajor, and the citizenship of his adopted parents was his by right. As the committee began to gather up their documents, Garak stood up and addressed the chair. “Would you mind if I said a few words? Before you begin your deliberations?”
She looked at him dryly. “It’s not usual. And the case will be decided according to law, rather than appeals to our better natures. But, as a matter of courtesy—” She gestured to Garak to continue.
“What I chiefly wanted to say was that these are tragic times for my people. And it seems to me that the chief tragedy of our history is the demands we have made and the obligations we have placed upon generation after generation. I have come to believe that if Cardassia is ever to escape this prison of our history, it must begin to reciprocate these obligations and no longer require these sacrifices. Most of all, it must learn to let go.” He gave a wry smile. “You say this case will be decided by law rather than by any appeal to your better natures. Perhaps what Cardassia needs to know at the moment is that she can still appeal to the better natures of her neighbors.” He rested his hand lightly on Rugal’s shoulder, and then drew it back. “I hope you’ll let us let him go.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Rugal said to him after the committee left.
“Do you think so?” the ambassador replied. “I rather thought I did.”
The committee returned after about an hour. The chair addressed the people that were gathered there. “This is an emotive case,” she said, “but—with all respect to the ambassador—one should try to judge dispassionately. We agree with opposing counsel that for someone who claims he wanted to leave Cardassia, Mr. Pa’Dar showed a very high degree of commitment to and involvement in Cardassian society during the time that he was living there.”
Garak leaned forward to whisper in Rugal’s ear. “That’ll teach you to get mixed up with radicals.”
“Sadly, there are no surviving witnesses to substantiate the claim that the enlistment was made under duress—I say sadly, given the presumed circumstances of the death of Kotan Pa’Dar. But we do have several other pieces of evidence to consider. Let me go through them.” She lifted up the padd that had been resting on the table in front of her. “Firstly, the place of birth: Tozhat, on Bajor. Secondly, we have evidence of formal adoption under Bajoran law by Proka Etra and Migdal. Thirdly, we have evidence of repeated attempts over the course of two years by Proka Etra and Migdal and later Proka Migdal alone to appeal the decision taken by Commander Sisko on DS9. In their eyes, at least, Rugal Pa’Dar remained their son, right up to their deaths.”
Rugal felt his eyes begin to water. They had never given up, never abandoned him. He reached for his earring, but Hulya, feeling him move, took hold of his hand before he could find it.
“In the end, however, it is a matter of law. Entry into the Federation has not obliterated or superseded Bajoran law. The decision taken to return Rugal Pa’Dar to Cardassia was, I believe, not in accordance with Bajoran law. So I’m overruling it. Rugal Pa’Dar was the adopted child of Proka Etra and Proka Migdal and so, by extension, this makes him a Federation citizen.” She smiled over at him. “Welcome aboard, Rugal. I believe you may be the first person of Cardassian descent to join us. I’m sure someone will correct me if I’m wrong. Ambassador,” she said, glancing past Rugal’s shoulder at Garak, “can I assume from your earlier intervention that your government is not planning to request an extradition hearing?”
“Madam, you assume correctly.”
“Then this session is adjourned.”
Rugal’s arms were full of Hulya. He bent down and kissed her on the top of her head. “Congratulations, Rugal,” Keiko said, embracing him in turn as soon as she had the chance. “Where now? Now that you can choose?”
“Bajor, first, I think. Then Cardassia Prime. I have to go back to Cardassia Prime.”
The ambassador gave a dry smile. “It does tend to draw one back,” he said.
Bajor was as beautiful as he had remembered. It was home but not home. Following the instructions that Darrah Bajin had given him, Rugal found the grave of Proka Etra and Proka Migdal in the grounds of a small temple on a hill near where Korto City had once stood. He had decided to bury his earring here with them. Hulya was their true bequest.
She stood and watched him while he carried out the task: cutting a small piece of turf, laying the earring down flat, covering it over once again. When he was done, some words came into his mind. They seemed right, so he said them. “We are the sum of all that has gone before. We are the source of all to come.”
“What’s that?” she said.
“Something I learned from my father.”
She asked, “Are you finished now?”
“Nearly,” he replied.
They entered Cardassi
a as Federation citizens. The official at the border looked at their details, then at him, then shrugged and let them through. “Look at that,” Rugal whispered to Hulya. “It’s easy when you know how.”
Their first stop was HARF in Cardassia City, to deliver the documentation needed to begin the process of formally adopting Hulya. He wasn’t going to let anybody take her away from him. “I’m not your daughter though,” she told him firmly. He touched her gently on the cheek. “Of course you’re not. You’re something else. Perhaps we’ll think of a word for it one day.”
At the site of what had been the Pa’Dar house, now rubble, Rugal knelt down and sifted ash through his fingers. He had nothing to bury here, and enough had been buried already. Instead, he simply said thank you—for the gift of life, for unconditional love that had not in the end gone unappreciated. Then he left the ruin of the house behind and he walked on up the hill.
The city was gone; only the afterimage remained. He thought as he walked of another walk he had made years ago, with Erani and Tekis, the three of them stumbling in the dark through barely understandable terrain. They might have made it, he thought; and the idea cheered him, made his heart lift. There were not as many of them as there had once been, and anything that had come through the fire was rare and precious.
She was waiting for him in the wreckage of the stone garden. She was older, like him, and marked in the way they all had been. When at last he was standing before her, she said, “I changed my mind.”
“I thought you might,” he said. “So did I.”
“You went to Ithic?”
Star Trek: DS9: The Never-Ending Sacrifice Page 30