STAR TREK: DS9 - Prophecy and Change

by Marco Palmieri, Editor

  Kira snorted despite herself. Damar didn’t move a muscle.

  “So—what d’you need?” Vilar said.

  “What have you got?” Kira answered frankly.

  He fired off a list of equipment he could supply, and she nodded as he spoke. “And people, Nerys,” he concluded. “I can get you in touch with people who want to help ... influential, important. Just let me put out some feelers. Meet here again in two days, yes?”

  “All right.” She took his hand, ignoring the rasp of the strange skin against her own. “You always manage to fix things, Vilar. Thank you,” she said, pressing his hand tight.

  “Pleasure!” He shot a quick look at Damar. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I think.” Then he grinned at Kira, and she could see his old face through the new one. She grinned back. It was good to be with a friend again—no matter what he looked like. “See you soon, Nerys!” He squeezed her hand back, let go, and then went off back the way he had come, with a wave.

  “Take care,” she murmured, watching him disappear into the darkness and waiting for him to be out of earshot. Then she turned to Damar. He was staring down the bridge in the direction in which Vilar had just gone.

  “Perhaps if you’d been a little more obvious about it, he might have realized you didn’t trust him.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “Well, I never would have guessed that!”

  He released his hold on the disrupter. “It seems to me we’re being handed exactly what we need at exactly the moment we need it. I don’t believe in luck like that, Commander. So—no. I don’t trust him.”

  “Well, Damar, I really don’t know that you’re in a position to make judgments like that. You hardly read Revok right, did you?”

  He took a single step toward her. She tensed.

  So this is it. I knew we’d come to blows one day. Perhaps we should just get it over and done with ...

  But he was just standing still and staring at her. “No,” he said simply. “No, I did not.” He looked out across the river again for a moment. “I think we should leave now, Commander.” He did not wait for her answer, and strode off. She followed, but the silence between them was deeper than ever.

  Four

  Damar stalked down the steps, across the cellar, and threw his disruptor onto the table. It landed with a clatter, waking Garak, who was stretched out on one of the beds.

  “Sorry,” Damar muttered. He sat down at the table, folded his arms and frowned. Kira took the seat just to his right. She seemed to be inspecting her phaser with an unusually high degree of interest. He turned his head slightly so that he could not see her, watching instead as Garak pulled himself off the bed and came to sit beside him.

  “So,” Garak said, a little bleary-eyed, looking at each of them in turn. “A productive day?”

  Damar shrugged. Kira didn’t respond either, just kept on making a show of checking the settings on her phaser.

  “Much as it lends itself to thrilling narrative, I’m afraid that in my everyday life I find suspense rather tiresome. Would one of you consider enlightening me as to how the meeting went?”

  Damar raised his eyes upward. Obsidian Order. Fifteen words when one would do. Why not just ask us what happened? With an effort, he put his irritation aside. “I don’t trust him,” he replied, just as Kira said, “It went well.”

  Garak leaned an elbow on the table. “I sense some disagreement amongst us,” he said. “Perhaps some more clarification would help me ... ?”

  “As I said, I don’t trust him—”

  “You weren’t even prepared to trust him—!”

  “I really am beginning to lose my sense of humor about this,” Garak murmured, then raised his voice over theirs. “Commander, Legate—might I remind you of the precariousness of our situation? We are hiding in a cellar, and the hounds are almost at the door. This little feud of yours is getting out of hand. And it’s ...” he frowned, “unprofessional.”

  “ ‘Unprofessional’?” Kira looked over at him, eyes blazing.

  “Who’s the one who got himself shot?”

  “She does have a point there,” Damar said, feeling a smile curl across his lips.

  “Well, at least you’re now agreeing on something.” Garak fell back in his chair. “Will one of you tell me how the meeting went? Damar?”

  Damar shifted forward in his chair. “We got there safely, we got back safely. He’s offered us equipment—”

  “And contacts,” Kira cut in.

  “—and I have some very serious doubts about him.”

  “Which are?” Garak prompted.

  “He’s now Cardassian.”

  Kira threw her phaser on the table. “And this worries you somehow? Isn’t it better than him being Bajoran?”

  Damar turned to her slowly, feeling his hold on his temper begin to slip. “And what do you mean by that?”

  “You know exactly what I mean—”

  “I think that you should just come straight out and say it, Commander—”

  “Well, maybe I just will—”

  “Commander, Legate, will you please control yourselves—!”

  “Shut up, Garak!”

  With a crash, something landed on the table before them, stopping their quarreling dead. It was a large serving pot.

  “Supper,” said Mila.

  Garak composed himself first. “Thank you, Mila,” he said in a low voice. He rubbed his hand across his eyes, and then reached to take the bowl that she was offering him.

  They sat in silence as she served out the tojal stew. Damar took a mouthful, and then swallowed quickly. Mila was quite right—she wasn’t much of a cook. He smothered it in yamok sauce. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kira try a little, sigh, and reach for the water bottle.

  “What do you mean,” Garak said eventually, and quietly, “that he’s now Cardassian?”

  “He’s had some kind of cosmetic or genetic modifications,” Kira explained. “I don’t mind admitting it was a shock to me at first too. But underneath he’s still the same old Vilar.” She smiled a little.

  “I’m assuming,” Garak said, “he got it done when the Dominion took over.”

  “And this is what worries me,” Damar said, leaning forward. “Why did he stay here? Why didn’t he just leave when they arrived? Do they know about him and, if they do, why have they done nothing about him? And why is it he’s appeared just now, just when we need him, and with almost all that we need?”

  Garak looked back at him thoughtfully.

  “He got stuck here!” Kira’s exasperation was clear. “It wasn’t safe for him!”

  Garak waved a hand to quiet her. “Let me think for a moment, Commander ...” he murmured. Mila piled another serving of stew into his bowl and he stirred it absently with his spoon.

  Damar watched him closely. Why, he wondered, am I suddenly so concerned to get Garak’s backing in this? He risked a sideways look at Kira. She was leaning forward, eyes intent on Garak. Looked like she felt the same way. It’s as if we’ve turned him into some kind of referee. And he doesn’t look happy about it.

  “It’s hard to judge ...” Garak said at last, slowly. “I wish I’d met him face to face ... Still, there’s something that’s troubling me ...” He rubbed at his arm. “I think you’ve put your finger on it, Legate,” he said at last, nodding his head and with more conviction in his voice. “Why now? Why all this?”

  “That’s what your father used to say,” Mila agreed. “Beware arms dealers bearing gifts.”

  Garak pursed his lips and tapped a finger on the table. He didn’t, Damar thought, look very happy about that either.

  And then there was another loud crash. Damar swung his head round.

  Kira had slammed her fist down hard on the table before her. Her bowl had gone flying. She was glaring around her.

  “You really do all stick together, don’t you?” She stood up. “This is just a waste of my time!” She turned on her heel and strode toward the stair
s, and up into the house.

  “Well,” said Mila, after a moment, looking down at the table. “I guess I’d better fetch a cloth for that. It’s not going to clean itself, and I don’t think she’ll be doing it.”

  “I wonder,” Garak murmured, watching Mila leave, “whether it might be wiser simply to accept the commander’s judgment in this.”

  “I won’t trust this man just to make her feel better!” Damar jabbed an angry finger toward the stairs.

  Garak scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Damar! I’m not saying we should take him at face value. But Kira has known him for years, after all. Surely that should carry some weight?” Garak sighed deeply. “I should go and speak to her. Make her feel better.” He gave a short laugh and stood up.

  Damar cleared his throat. “Before you go ... I want to thank you, Garak.”

  Garak looked down at him. “Thank me?”

  “For your loyalty.”

  A smile passed across Garak’s face. It was not a pleasant smile. He set one hand upon the table, leaned forward and fixed his eyes on Damar’s. A slow chill crept up Damar’s spine. With all of Garak’s dissembling, it was just too easy to forget that this was a man who had tortured and murdered routinely.

  “Take great care, Legate, not to misunderstand me,” Garak said softly. “My loyalty has always and only ever been to Cardassia, and I have never liked entrusting her to anyone other than myself.” He stood up straight again. “You have a long way to go before you prove yourself worthy of Cardassia in my eyes, Damar.” Then he sighed, and he seemed to fade a little; an older man, injured and rather tired. “A long way to redeem yourself.”

  He continued looking at Damar for just a little longer, leaving Damar feeling that his worth was somehow being measured, and then he turned away and made slowly for the stairs. “You must excuse me, Legate. I have a Bajoran to placate.”

  A long way to redeem yourself ...

  Damar watched him go upstairs, and was left sitting in a cellar with only the specter of a dead girl for company.

  Five

  Kira stood still, arms stretched out before her, clutching the mantelpiece and staring ahead.

  The frame of the mirror was dark, almost black, wood, the carving skillful and ornate. Up close, it was easy to become lost in the detail, and then her eyes adjusted and the pattern resolved itself into the trefoil so beloved, it seemed, of Cardassian artists. Ziyal, she remembered, had painted this symbol over and over again, but in bleached colors, and softening the lines ...

  She looked up, into the glass.

  The last time Kira Nerys had paid a visit to Cardassia Prime, she had looked into a mirror and a Cardassian had stared back. Only the eyes had been familiar in that twisted face, and they had been filled with shock and revulsion. In the days immediately afterwards, when she had been held captive here, the soft words of the Obsidian Order agent assigned to her had almost persuaded her that there was not—and never really had been—a Bajoran face there at all.

  There was one there now, but it was tired and hot, and flushed with anger. Kira closed her eyes, only to see herself besieged again by Garak, Mila, and Damar, staring at her after her outburst. She raised a finger to touch soft skin, smooth forehead, the bridge of her nose, and tried to remember how it felt to be cool. The heat seemed to overwhelm her. And the stink of yamok sauce made her feel sick.

  She heard the door click, and opened her eyes quickly. Someone came in, closing the door again quietly a moment later. A few footsteps as he approached her, then stopped, and waited. She did not speak.

  “This was Tain’s ...” he paused, “library,” he said at last, and then laughed a little. “As if you couldn’t tell from all the books.”

  She had not, in fact, in her rage even noticed the books when she had come in, being too busy kicking the door shut and then striding across the room.

  “First editions of Preloc and Iloja ... Nothing offworld, of course, that would have been unpatriotic. Tain was very proud of his book collection, thought it gave him an air of erudition. I doubt he’d read most of them. Clever, but hardly what one would call a literary man.”

  He took a few more steps toward her and she stiffened instinctively, although she doubted he would be foolish enough to try to touch her.

  “He used to stand there just like you’re doing now, staring into nothing while I talked and he was silent. Eventually I would start to babble. I gather I do that sometimes.” He gave a slight, self-deprecating laugh. “Tain taught me all I know about interrogation,” he concluded genially.

  Kira swung round. A comparison to Enabran Tain was not exactly to be welcomed:

  Garak was standing a few steps away. He had picked up one of the books, a slim pale-blue volume, and was running a finger along the cover.

  What must it have been like, she thought suddenly, to have Tain as a father? And why had this never crossed her mind before?

  It was this place, she thought, looking about her at the somber room, dark browns and yellows, heavy colors, and the press of all the books, signifying no more than their owner’s desire for power, not insight. For a moment it seemed to Kira as if she stood alone at the very heart of Cardassia, and the weight of it threatened to crush her.

  But is that really because I’m a stranger here—or is this how it feels to be Cardassian?

  She shook her head, trying to clear it, and then something else came to mind, the memory of her own father, quiet and undemanding, and whom she had left behind as he lay dying ... And then she recalled what Ziyal had told her about Garak, and how far he had gone to be with Tain at the end. She met his eye, uncertainly.

  “Well,” Garak said smoothly. “At least I’ve gotten you to look at me.”

  The moment of sympathy passed as quickly as it had arisen. He had just been trying to get her to calm down. Manipulating her. Of course.

  Her anger flared up again; she felt her cheeks go red with it. This damn heat ... !

  “How can you bear it?” she said, and although her voice was soft it carried her rage. “How can you stand being near him—after Ziyal?”

  His fingers tightened around the book he held. For a second that stretched on, Ziyal’s ghost loomed large between them.

  Kira could picture her so easily, as if she had seen her only yesterday—laughing as she listened to Garak and Bashir bickering over lunch ... her forehead creasing in concentration as she worked on her newest painting ... the twist of her lips that meant she was not going to change her mind, no matter how good your arguments were ... the curves and angles of her face, at once familiar but alien, and uniquely hers ... In recent months, the fact of Ziyal’s death had deadened to a dull ache, but now Kira felt her grief sharpen into focus again—and then saw it reflected on Garak’s face. Just for a moment, and then it was covered.

  When he spoke, his voice was completely controlled. “Commander, Ziyal was a lovely, generous-spirited girl who for totally inexplicable reasons decided that she was in love with me.” It bore, Kira thought, all the hallmarks of a prepared speech. He cleared his throat and tapped his fingers against the cover of the book. “Life goes on.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you can say? Life goes on? She loved you, Garak, and he killed her!” She pointed her finger angrily in the direction of the cellar. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

  His face remained completely unreadable.

  Is it even possible to get a reaction from you, Garak? Is there anything going on in there at all?

  “This conversation, Commander,” he said eventually, with effort, and she caught the warning in his voice, “is not about me.”

  Kira took a deep breath. The heat seemed to subside a little.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He tilted his head in acknowledgment.

  “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

  He nodded his head in agreement.

  “But you’ve got to start being honest with me—both of you.”

  He looked at her inquir
ingly. “I’m not sure I quite follow you, Commander—”

  “Come off it, Garak! The reason you and Damar don’t trust Vilar has nothing to do with his line of business. It’s because he’s Bajoran.”

  He laughed, once more at his ease. “Now, there you do me an injustice! As if I would be concerned with something so arbitrary! I don’t trust your friend because I don’t trust anyone.”

  “Well, then we’ll leave you aside as a paranoid exception, but it’s certainly true of Damar!”

  Garak frowned. “There might well be something to what you say,” he conceded. “But it cuts both ways,” he added sharply. “He’s lost both wife and child to this rebellion. He killed Rusot to save your life, Commander, and Odo’s. And despite those sacrifices, you still refuse to trust him. And why is that? Because he’s Cardassian.”

  It was no more than the truth.

  “You don’t need to be friends, Kira. You just need not to be enemies.” He sighed. “For a little while, at least.” He gazed down at the book for a moment, and then raised his eyes to look at her directly. “And what I need to know is that you really believe we can trust this man. That you’re not just trying to prove Damar wrong.”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “We can trust him, Garak. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “Staking your life on it is exactly what you are doing. And mine, and Damar’s—and Mila’s.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “Then I’m prepared to take you at your word.” He slipped the book into his pocket. “Will you come back downstairs now? It really isn’t safe for us up here.”

  She pushed her hands through her hair, hesitated.

  “Kira?”

  “All right.”

  She followed him to the door. As they walked down the hallway, she tapped him gently on the arm. He looked down at her hand in complete surprise.

  “If it makes you feel any better, Garak,” she said, “it’s not because you’re Cardassian that I don’t trust you.” She smiled. “It’s because you’re untrustworthy.”