Star Trek: Terok Nor 03: Dawn of the Eagles (38 page)

“Of course I’m aware of it,” he snapped. “Do you think I don’t know what goes on at my own station?”

“You didn’t know the grid was going down,”
Kubus said.

“Is that an admission?” Dukat snarled. “Did
you
know that they were going down, Secretary?”

“Of course not!”
The Bajoran cried.
“Would you truly doubt my loyalty at a time like this? I am perhaps the most hated man in the B’hava’el system right now, Gul! I can’t even leave my quarters—my throat would be slit by some scheming worker the instant I stepped into the corridor!”

“You should have thought to shift the blame to Prylar Bek, Secretary.”

“The Bajorans on the station have their own ideas about my involvement. Many of them are sure that I am entirely to blame. For the death of the kai’s son! Gul, you cannot understand what it means!”

“I am sure it is difficult for you, Secretary, but this isn’t why I have called. I need to know who among the Bajorans still carries influence—who is an easily reachable spokesperson—”

“I am their spokesperson,”
Kubus interrupted, clearly perturbed at the implication that it was otherwise.

“Kubus, this is no time for your posturing! You just said yourself the Bajorans would rather have you murdered than listen to a word you say. I need to know, in your estimation, who I can contact, whose voice might make a difference among the rebels.”

“The Kai, of course,”
Kubus said, still sulking.
“But now that Prylar Bek is…gone…I couldn’t tell you how to reach her.”

“Not a religious leader,” Dukat said. “Someone with political clout, someone—”

“Don’t think for a moment that the kai does not have political clout!”
Kubus said.

“Shall I ask one of the other members of the cabinet?” Dukat asked, with false patience. “Perhaps Kan Nion, or Somah Trac?” The secretary’s dislike of some of his Bajoran colleagues was amusingly pronounced, and Dukat often brought up his political rivals’ names in order to get results from the taciturn Kubus.

“I suppose if you’re looking for a secular voice…there is always Kalem Apren, of the Kendra Valley. Many are still quite loyal to him, or so I’m told. In fact, if you
were
to ask Kan Nion, he would undoubtedly tell you the same thing.”

“Get me in touch with Kalem Apren immediately, then.”

“But, Dukat! I can’t risk going to the surface! I told you, if I so much as—”

“He can’t be reached by comm?”

“I…don’t know.”

“There is no need for you to speak to him yourself,” Dukat said impatiently. “Simply patch him through to me.”

Kubus was still hesitant, and Dukat changed his tone.

“Get me in contact with this man—I don’t care how—and I will see to it that you are relocated to Cardassia Prime, where you will be protected.”

“A Bajoran, on Cardassia Prime? Do you honestly think I would be any safer there than—”

“Yes,” Dukat said. “Think of it, Kubus. You would be a celebrity—an example to the Cardassian people’s cause!” Dukat felt quite pleased with the image as he saw it; for if Kubus was controlled carefully enough, Dukat was sure that he could do much on his homeworld to promote Cardassia’s position here.
Dukat’s
position here.

But there was another reason the idea appealed to him: Kell had never cared for the secretary, and there was a pleasantly perverse symmetry to Kubus’s exile to Prime. After all, Kell had forced Dukat to take in that fallen operative from the Order, who had turned out to be the very man the prefect held responsible for the death of his father, long ago. And while Dukat was powerless to exact revenge, he thought it was only fitting to burden Central Command with the responsibility for protecting a Bajoran national who symbolized the benefits of continuing the annexation.

On the screen, Kubus hesitated.
“Yes,”
he finally said.
“I’ll find a way to contact him.”

Dukat’s door chimed just as he said it, and he absently pressed the panel to admit his visitor. One of the officers from Ops appeared in the door, and Dukat gestured him inside as he ended the call with Kubus.

“More reports of sabotage on the surface, sir. A worker revolt at a mill in Rakantha Province—sixteen Cardassian guards killed. The facility is burning as we speak—”

Dukat let his head sink for a nearly imperceptible beat before snapping to attention again, to redeploy troops to the region—but his forces were simply spread too thin. Should he even bother to contact Central Command about this? Should he wait for the Bajorans to forget about the so-called massacre, for the unrest to die back down to manageable levels? But Dukat did not believe that they would “forget.” For an instant, he was taken back, to the first time he had ever come to Bajor. A Bajoran man from his memory reminded him; permanent grudges, he’d said. They were like Dukat himself, that way. Maybe it was something Dukat had started to forget, in recent years. Maybe he’d forgotten it when he’d ordered the execution of the resistance cell in Kendra, so excited was he at the opportunity to get at the son of the kai…

He stopped to consider the possibility that the execution of that cell could have been as grave an error as he had ever made. It had only fueled the resistance, where Dukat had expected to deter them. It was all he could do now to contain the aftermath. But if it had been a mistake, it did no good to acknowledge it as such. No good except perhaps to learn from it, to use the lesson in a future he hoped he could secure for himself.

Vaughn had been stationed on Starbase 621 for a few months now, analyzing starship movement along the Tzenkethi border, but he had maintained his Cardassian contact sporadically over the past few years. Tonight, the man had contacted him with urgency in his voice, and now Vaughn interrupted him somewhat against his better judgment, to ask him a question that had been plaguing him for a very long time.

“Gul Russol,” he said carefully, hoping against hope that he would not accidentally offend the man. He had upheld the relationship with Russol for over two years, but had never quite been able to figure out his motives. “I don’t understand why you would choose to share this information with me. Why are you—”

“I told you, Commander. I oppose my world’s current government. Besides the never-ending violence, the annexation of Bajor is a symptom of the disease that has infected our entire social consciousness. My world will eventually be forced to withdraw from Bajor, and when it happens, we will experience an economic depression, among other things. Cardassia has become too dependent upon Bajor and worlds like it. We will never pursue research into self-sustaining resources unless we are forced to do so. I believe that our economy will have a better chance to rebound if we withdraw sooner rather than later. Additionally—”

“So, you have no particular sympathy for the Bajoran people?”

“No,”
Russol said flatly.
“The Bajorans are a violent and uncivilized people. I prefer to maintain my distance from them.”

Vaughn suppressed a frown—he’d met few Cardassians who weren’t dramatically xenophobic. It was a wonder this Russol had even deigned to speak to a human. But this admission seemed to at last confirm for Vaughn that the man was genuine in his pleas for help; if he had claimed to empathize with the Bajorans, Vaughn would have had much more difficulty swallowing the man’s story. “I see,” he said. “Go on.”

“The announcements my government plans to make on Bajor are absolutely false,”
Russol told him.
“They are a ruse, meant to distract the Bajorans from survey teams, who are working even as we speak to determine what is left of Bajor’s resources, and how best to efficiently extract them. My government wishes to bleed Bajor dry of all useful elements, and then abruptly leave. This would be devastating to the long-term economic situation of my world—my people are in denial regarding the current state of Bajoran exports.”

“To say nothing of what it will do to Bajor,” Vaughn said glibly.

Russol ignored the comment.
“Once the Bajorans realize they are being lied to—and they will realize it, no matter how shortsighted and foolish they may be—the violence on that world will only increase. But my government will refuse to abandon it, despite how bad it gets. It has become a matter of pride for them. And there will be terrible repercussions for the Union.”

“What exactly is it that you would have the Federation do about it?” Vaughn asked.

The man on the other end of the line was clearly troubled.
“I don’t know the full extent of your…Prime Directive…your rules and charters,”
he admitted.
“But I imagine there are at least two feasible options. The first is for Starfleet to remove the Cardassian presence from Bajor…by force.”
He stopped speaking, looking glum.
“That option could be quick, but it would certainly be bloody. As I see it, however, it could also have much larger consequences. My people are not likely to back down from the insult, and the conflict could easily lead to full-scale war between our two governments.”

Vaughn nodded, understanding Russol’s logic. Nobody wanted more war between the Cardassian Union and the Federation. The border conflicts between those bodies had been brutal, and Vaughn suspected Russol was a veteran of at least a few of the skirmishes. “What is the second option?”

“The second option is for you to…somehow deliver this message to the Bajoran people. Someone in charge, I suppose, though I don’t know much regarding their civilian government…”

“They don’t have much of one,” Vaughn told him. “But I do believe I can reach a few influential Bajorans who might have the means to pass the word around. Exactly what part of this message do you want to be revealed to them?”

“All of it!”
Russol exclaimed.
“Tell them…they must not accept the offer of a new Bajoran government! Their resistance fighters must not turn themselves in! They must…they must continue to fight. They must fight harder than they’ve ever fought, because they actually have a chance of winning this time!”

Vaughn would have been doubtful of this man’s motives if it had not been for the raw sincerity that colored his voice and expression. Russol was torn. He was betraying his own people with what he was trying to do, but he had been pushed over the edge, and he knew of no other way to fight for what he believed in.

Russol spoke again, his voice lower.
“I can see that you are taken aback,”
he said, with a touch of defensiveness.
“I know I am a traitor. But I have come to see that the lives of a few more soldiers are worth the preservation of my world’s integrity. This is the definition of war, and the reason that we fight. Cardassians believe deeply in the struggle for the greater good, Vaughn. I wish for peace in the long run, but…I have come to believe that peace must sometimes be achieved through violence.”

Vaughn was speechless for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. “You say you don’t know much of the Federation’s charter,” he said. “I can tell you right now that there may be problems with what you have just proposed. You will recall that my government has a treaty with yours. I don’t know if I can permissibly deliver this kind of information to your enemies.”

Russol looked crestfallen.
“But…you have confirmation that my people seek to deceive the Bajorans. Is that not just cause for your government to intervene on the Bajorans’ behalf?”

Vaughn sighed. “Perhaps, but it is more likely that we would adhere to your prior option,” he said. “Diplomacy failing, of course.” He didn’t like it, and he could see that Russol didn’t either. Vaughn had reviewed the transcript of Nechayev’s latest conversation with Kalem Apren, and it occurred to him that even the Bajorans might not like it. This was their fight to win, and they would probably resent it if the Federation suddenly swooped in at the eleventh hour. Despite the ramifications, he promised Russol to try his best for the latter option—to give the Bajorans the information they needed to win the fight themselves.

Vaughn wasted no time in contacting Vice-Admiral Nechayev once his conversation with Russol was done, but he was immediately disappointed by Nechayev’s response.
“You cannot act on this information, Commander,”
she informed him.
“The best we can do is to confront the Cardassian leaders and demand that they tell the Bajoran people the truth themselves.”

“They’ll never do it!” Vaughn exclaimed. “They’ll pass the word on to their puppet leaders and claim their innocence by hiding behind a cardboard panel of cowardly Bajorans!”

“Be that as it may—”

Vaughn was beginning to lose his temper. “Vice-Admiral, forty plus years ago, the Federation could do nothing to prevent the Bajoran annexation from happening. Our hands were tied by bureaucracy. Right under our noses, the Cardassians stole an entire world from the Bajorans—and now we have the chance to give it back to them. Let’s not let that red tape tie our hands again! Alynna, you were there! Of all people, you should be most willing to look the other way for the sake of what’s right!”