The Art of the Impossible

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Have to admit to being surprised to see you here, Vaughn. You never really struck me as the partying type.”

  “I have some personal business to take care of on Betazed.” That was as much as he was willing to share.

  “Fair enough. It seems to be a day for surprises. I thought for sure that Lwaxana Troi would be present—I’m told she never misses a party—but she’s not around, either.” Dax hesiated, then took a sip of his punch. “Listen, I’m glad you’re here, actually. I was so caught up in the political nonsense on Qo’noS after we left the Great Hall I never had a chance to thank you.”

  Vaughn almost choked on his Scotch. “Excuse me?” Curzon Dax is actually expressing gratitude? To me ?

  “Well, for your help, for one thing,” Dax said with a smile. No doubt he’s enjoying my discomfiture. “Your tracking down those records proved to be a very handy bargaining chip. I think it’s safe to say that relations with the Empire are stronger than ever.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes.” He shook his head. “I have to ask, Commander—how did you obtain that information?”

  Rather than answer, Vaughn simply stared at the older Trill.

  “All right, fine, don’t tell me. I suppose it’s probably safer this way. In any case, I’m also grateful to you for seeking me out on Risa two years ago. I have to admit, I let the entire Raknal V situation get away from me. I should have been keeping a closer eye on things. Hell, I should never have proposed that solution in the first place.”

  “Not that I don’t agree—” Vaughn started.

  Dax grinned. “Considering that you said so from the beginning.”

  “—but why do you say that?”

  “I thought I understood how to make both sides talk to each other, but I couldn’t have misjudged the Cardassians more if I tried. Klingons thrive on that sort of competition, but the Cardassians think it’s their destiny to overrun the galaxy. I’m not even sure they have a concept of competition. They just prefer to run roughshod over everything. As for the Klingons…” He smiled. “If I’ve learned nothing else over the years, it’s that the only people who can deal with Klingons are Klingons.”

  “That’s very profound, Ambassador,” Vaughn said, almost meaning it.

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant Commander Vaughn?”

  Vaughn turned at the new voice, which belonged to a young woman with dark black eyes. “Yes?”

  “Your transport is ready.”

  Dax gave a small bow. “I assume this is your personal business. I will leave you to it. Safe journeys, Commander. Perhaps we’ll meet again some day.”

  I sincerely hope not, Vaughn thought. Not quite impolitic enough to say that, but not trustful enough of himself to say anything else, Vaughn simply returned the bow, then followed the Betazoid woman to the transport.

  Lwaxana had said she would meet him there. Deanna was not coming along, as the ten-year-old girl did not like to go to that place. Lwaxana probably left her with Mr. Xelo.

  Leaving the reception behind, Elias Vaughn got into the transport that would take him to the grave of Ian Troi.

  Epilogue

  Giv’n to the

  Strong

  A World in the

  Cardassian Union

  The girl could feel the pull of the hevrit on the line.

  “That’s it,” Father whispered, a proud smile on his face as they sat in the boat in the middle of the river. The sun was out, reflecting off the crystal clear water. Father held a fishing rod of his own in his hands, but he soon set that aside to make sure that the girl would be able to bring in her catch. Father had been teaching her to fish because his own father had taught him to fish, and his mother had taught him, and her mother had taught her. Families did that sort of thing, he said. It was their second day out on the river in the small wooden boat.

  “Bring the fish in,” Father then said.

  Slowly, gently, she moved the lever on the control that would wind in the fishing line. The mechanism was sensitive, and she had to get the speed just right—not so slow that the hevrit would have time to wriggle off the end of the line, but not so fast as to cause the hevrit to come loose on account of too much force.

  “Take it easy,” Father cautioned her.

  She eased the lever to a slower speed, then realized that was too slow and made it faster again. Soon she got it just right.

  When Grandfather purchased the land on this world, he had invited his entire family to spend a vacation here, and the girl had never enjoyed herself more on a trip in her life. Her sister and brother could play silly war games all they wanted. She preferred spending this time learning to fish with Father.

  When the end of the line with the hevrit attached burst through the water with a cold splash, she grinned so widely she thought her cheek ridges would fold over her ears. With Father’s help, she removed the hevrit from the line, where it had been attracted by the sonic vibrations emitted by the device on the end—a wonderful piece of Cardassian ingenuity. The meter-long fish was quite heavy, as big as anything she had ever seen Father, Grandfather, or Great-Grandmother catch—and she caught it!

  Father placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and grinned. “Your first catch. I think Grandfather will be very proud of you. And Mother will enjoy something new to cook. Good work.”

  The girl happily replayed those words in her mind over and over again as she and Father steered the boat back toward the shoreline. Mother and her brother and sister were waiting for them, along with Grandfather.

  “Father,” her sister was whining even before they docked the boat, “he’s making me play the Bajoran terrorist again. I want to be the gul this time!”

  As Father went to settle yet another stupid argument between her siblings, she carried the container with the hevrit over to Mother and Grandfather.

  “I see you brought dinner,” Mother said with a laugh.

  “I caught this!” she said enthusiastically. “Father helped a little, but I caught it all by myself!”

  “Good for you,” Grandfather said. “That’s the way it should be done.”

  Few compared to Mother when it came to cooking. Not only that, but she showed her daughter all the tricks, from how to skin the hevrit, the best way to remove the tiny bones from the meat, the proper removal of the head, and so much more.

  Night fell, and Mother, Father, Grandfather, and all three children gathered around a fire that was more for illumination than warmth, as it was quite balmy here. As they feasted on the hevrit, the girl turned to her grandfather and asked him for a story.

  “That seems only fair,” Grandfather said. “I think a story’s damn fine payment for this meal you’ve given us.”

  Grandfather took a moment to adjust the way he was sitting, and he also set his plate aside. Then he leaned forward and started speaking to the three children. The girl was rapt with attention—she loved stories.

  “Once there was a people who were very happy. They lived on the greatest planet in the galaxy, and everyone had enough to eat and they were strong. But soon they started to run out of food. And the planet that had given them so much soon ran out of things to give them. The people then became very unhappy. They suffered and starved and they were no longer strong.”

  Then Grandfather sat up straight, startling the girl. “But soon, they found their way to the stars! And from the stars, they gained salvation, for there they found many more worlds that had food and minerals and so much else. Once again, they were well fed. Once again, they were strong.”

  Her brother said, “Who are they, Grandfather?”

  “Stu-pid,” her sister said, “he’s talking about us.”

  Grinning, Grandfather said, “Yes, I do speak of our people.”

  The girl was confused. “We were unhappy?”

  “Not for very long,” Grandfather said in a reassuring tone. “Because we are strong. We are, in fact, the strongest people in the galaxy. All that stands against us now are the many inferior spec
ies around us—humans, Bajorans, Klingons, Trills, Romulans, Vulcans, Andorians, Ferengi, Lissepians—but the Cardassian Union will always triumph. It is our destiny to spread our greatness throughout the cosmos.”

  Grandfather leaned forward again. “Once, we found a world called Raknal V. It was ours for the taking, of course, but Klingon treachery tried to take it away from us. They made a fraudulent claim on the world, and the gullible fools of the Federation took their side. A senile old Trill tried to trick us into accepting a ridiculous competition, to make us fight for what was rightfully ours. In the end, of course, we triumphed. The Klingons gave us the world and the Trill let them. No amount of trickery, no amount of butchery, no amount of posturing could keep us from our destiny—nor will it ever.”

  “Now then,” Mother said, “you should finish your hevrit. It’s time to get some sleep.”

  Even as her siblings complained that they weren’t tired, the girl wolfed down the rest of her fish, then prepared her bedroll. After a long day of fishing, she was tired. Besides, she was an obedient child. She knew that if she remained obedient, she too would be strong, as a Cardassian should be.

  As she lay down to sleep, she turned to her parents. “Mother? Father?”

  “Yes?” they said in unison.

  “Some day, I will grow up and join the military and be the finest soldier in the Union and I will find more new worlds that will bring glory to Cardassia!”

  Mother, Father, and Grandfather all laughed. Father said, “Of that, my darling child, I have no doubt at all. But for now, go to sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll go home and tell your grandmother about the first fish you caught.”

  Content with the day’s accomplishments, the girl drifted off to sleep. Her rest was peaceful and undisturbed, because she knew that she slept under the protection of the Cardassian Union…

  Acknowledgments

  The thanks must commence with editor Marco Palmieri, who conceived The Lost Era and has shepherded it into existence. Marco is expert at taking the seed of many of the best stories (“Wouldn’t it be cool if…?”) and nurturing it into the most beautiful flower—or, in this case, a six-rose nosegay. (Hey, c’mon, people say my prose needs to be more florid…) I also must thank Ira Steven Behr and Robert Hewitt Wolfe, who wrote the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode “The Way of the Warrior,” thus providing me with the basis for this novel in a conversation between Bashir and Garak about the eighteen-year Betreka Nebula incident between Cardassia and the Klingons.

  My fellow Lost Era authors, Michael A. Martin, Andy Mangels, Jeff Mariotte, Margaret Wander Bonanno, and especially the ones on either side of me, David R. George III and Ilsa J. Bick, are all deities among scribes. David and Ilsa had several characters and situations in common with me, and both were a joy to work with. Our cooperative efforts have made our stories more coherent and, I hope, more enjoyable for the reader, which is, after all, the primary goal.

  Also of tremendous use were various Star Trek reference tools, particularly The Star Trek Encyclopedia by Michael and Denise Okuda, with Debbie Mirek; Star Trek Chronology also by the Okudas; The Klingon Dictionary by Marc Okrand; and especially Star Charts by Geoffrey Mandel.

  The Lost Era books in general and this book in particular had to weave stories from little dribs and drabs of information that the various TV shows and movies provided at many different stages. In addition to all those onscreen references (far too numerous to list here), I need to acknowledge the contributions of several works of written fiction that provided useful background material for some of the political, social, and physical forces at work in the Federation, the Cardassian Union, the Klingon Empire, and the Romulan Star Empire during this period: the comic book Enter the Wolves written by A.C. Crispin and Howard Weinstein; Peter David’s young adult book Worf’s First Adventure; the Dark Matters trilogy by Christie Golden; the two-part Martok biographical novel The Left Hand of Destiny by J.G. Hertzler and Jeffrey Lang; the Garak biographical novel A Stitch in Time by Andrew J. Robinson; Josepha Sherman and Susan Shwartz’s Vulcan’s Heart; and Lesser Evil by Robert Simpson.

  I make a habit of thanking the actors who play the characters I portray in the text, which is a bit more of a challenge than usual in The Art of the Impossible, since so many of the folks herein are either of my own creation, or never appeared on-screen, or did so but briefly. However, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the contributions in providing voices, faces, and mannerisms of the following: Michael Ansara (Kang), Frank Owen Smith (Curzon Dax), Majel Barrett (Lwaxana Troi), Theodore Bikel (Sergey Rozhenko), Georgia Brown (Helena Rozhenko), Amick Byram (Ian Troi), John Colicos (Kor), Charles Cooper (K’mpec), Paul Dooley (Enabran Tain), Michael Dorn (General Worf), John Fleck (Koval), Danny Goldring (Legate Kell), John Hancock (Vance Haden), Richard Herd (L’Kor), Thelma Lee (Kahlest), Mark Lenard (Sarek), Nichelle Nichols (Uhura), Tricia O’Neil (Rachel Garrett), Christine Rose (Gi’ral), Alan Scarfe (Tokath), Gregory Sierra (Corbin Entek), and Ben Slack (K’Tal).

  I’ve always had a great fondness for the Romantic poets of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, and one of my favorites is William Blake. It is from his America: A Prophecy that I took the titles of this book’s sections.

  The continued support of the online community has been especially heartening, and I must thank all the good folks at the Star Trek Books Bulletin Board at PsiPhi.org, the Trek Literature Board at TrekBBS.com, Simon & Schuster’s discussion board at StarTrekBooks.com, the Star Trek Books and Deep Space Nine Avatar Yahoo! Groups at groups.yahoo.com, and the Federation Library at StarTrek-Now.com.

  The usual gangs of idiots: the Malibu crowd, the Geek Patrol, the Forebearance (in particular GraceAnne Andreassi DeCandido, a.k.a. The Mom), and especially my writers group CITH, who have put up with truckloads of pages dumped on them at once and still managed to go through and make those pages better.

  Last, but never least, heaping dollops of thanks to the love of my life, Terri Osborne, as well as our cats, Mittens and Marcus, all three of whom were always there to provide love, affection, and a desire to be scritched. (Okay, maybe I’m sharing too much here…)

  About the Author

  One of Keith R.A. DeCandido ’s earliest TV memories is being scared to death by the salt vampire from the Star Trek episode “The Man Trap.” He grew up to overcome these childhood nightmares and make several contributions to the world of Star Trek literature, including the novels Diplomatic Implausibility and Demons of Air and Darkness; the two-book series The Brave and the Bold; several short stories; the comic book miniseries Perchance to Dream (collected in the trade paperback Enemy Unseen); and many eBooks in the monthly Star Trek: Starfleet Corps of Engineers series that he codeveloped with John J. Or-dover (some collected in the books Have Tech, Will Travel; Miracle Workers; and Some Assembly Required). Coming soon are the first two books in the Star Trek: I.K.S. Gorkon series, chronicling the adventures of Captain Klag and his intrepid crew of Klingon warriors, the first time Pocket has published an adventure that exclusively highlights Star Trek’s most popular aliens. Keith is the editor of the forthcoming Tales of the Dominion War anthology and is presently working on a two-book series that focuses on Ambassador Worf in the days leading up to Star Trek Nemesis.

  In addition, Keith has written novels, short stories, and non-fiction books in the universes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Farscape, Gene Roddenberry’s Andromeda, Marvel Comics, Xena, and Doctor Who. His first original novel, Dragon Precinct, will be published in 2004, and his original short fiction has appeared in Murder and Magic, Urban Nightmares, and Did You Say Chicks!? The editor of the ground-breaking Imaginings: An Anthology of Long Short Fiction, Keith is also a professional musician and an avid New York Yankees fan. He lives in the Bronx with his girlfriend and the world’s two goofiest cats. Learn way too much about Keith at the easy-to-remember URL of DeCandido.net, join his fan club at KRADfanclub.com, or just send him silly e-mails at keith@decandido.net.

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