Dark Territory: Hero of the Federation

[DarKush]

Hi everyone, my computer problems are on the mend. So I've decided to get back into the game. It's been several months since I last posted on the stories I was working on and in the interim I have some new thoughts and ideas about the stories. So I thought it was best to just revise this story, cutting some stuff and adding or changing other things. I'm starting with "Hero of the Federation". I hope this makes for a tighter, better story than the first offering.
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DARK TERRITORY:
HERO OF THE FEDERATION


PROLOGUE

Jalana City Memorial Hospital
Bajor
October 2376

She stood quietly over the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of the patient’s chest. She was heartened that the woman no longer required a ventilator to breathe. Though the medics couldn’t tell her how long it would take for the woman to wake from her coma.

Even now she could see gray hairs growing like vines along the woman’s roots. And it had only been about six months. Shaking her head, she traced a finger down the woman’s dry cheek. The unconscious woman seemed so shrunken, so emptied of life, not the bold personage she had watched and studied for weeks, learning to imitate her perfectly.

The current disguise she wore now even bore a resemblance. Despite the fairer hair, the resemblance was unmistakable. She saw it in the widened eyes of the medical staff, heard it in the whispers of several nurses, “I thought the colonel didn’t have any family.”

The colonel didn’t. The woman shook her head. No, that’s not true, she realized. The woman did have family. Her own father had claimed her, and in a way that made them sisters. Growing up on Cardassia, programmed by the Obsidian Order, she never thought there could ever come a day when she would consider a Bajoran nothing more than a terrorist or slave.

She laughed coldly, “Guess I was wrong,” she remarked, stroking the colonel’s still face again. “I’m sorry Kira.”

The woman’s breath caught as she felt the wind shift as the door opened. Her hand went for the disruptor under her robes. “Why am I not surprised to find you here?” The voice behind her was breezy, conversational. She kept her hand on the grip of her weapon. “You’re so predictable.”

“Is that what you think?”

“You’re here aren’t you?” The man’s voice was smug, insufferable, but she couldn’t deny that he was right, and that annoyed her the most.

“What do you want?”

“It’s time,” he said. The woman’s hand eased off her weapon and she gulped. She glanced down at Colonel Kira Nerys once more, for the last time.

“Okay,” Illiana Ghemor turned around slowly, to gaze into the shining eyes of Elim Garak. “Let’s go.”
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Deep Space Nine
Promenade
October 2376

Dr. Julian Bashir put his arm around Ezri Dax’s shoulders, drawing her closer. The gesture didn’t bring him the warmth he needed, nor made him feel safer. In fact it made him feel the opposite. And he knew he was exposing Ezri to danger as well, showing such affection to her in the open.

Perhaps he was being silly. His relationship with the Trill counselor was no secret, but at the same time, maybe he was tempting fate, holding her so close in public, making her even more of an inviting target to all those that might want to use her to get to him.

But he couldn’t find any logical reason to resist Ezri’s insistence on touring the new shops that proliferated on the station’s main thoroughfare like tribbles. It was a renaissance of sorts for the station, which has undergone some bad months in the wake of Cardassian Premier Natima Lang’s assassination in June.

A dreariness had swept over the station and its denizens, which was not helped by the political tensions the assassination caused on Bajor. Reactionary forces had used the incident to blame the Federation for the tragedy. They had swept into power in last month’s referendum, even replacing First Minister Shakaar.

It was almost like the rebirth of the Promenade, with its cosmopolitan flair was in defiance of the austere, fundamentalist mood sweeping over the planet the station orbited. And the doctor knew how important it was for the station’s Federation citizens and Starfleet officers to be out front and public, sending a signal that the bond between Federation and the Bajorans remained strong. Also, that the Federation still had every intention of one day making Bajor a member.

“Julian, off in outer space again?” Ezri asked as she leaned into his chest and wrapped the hand hanging over her shoulder in hers.

“Excuse me?”

“You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?” The medic looked contrite, but he knew it would do him no good to lie.

“I’m sorry,” he sheepishly admitted.

“You’ve been really quiet lately, introspective,” Ezri probed gently, “Anything you wish to discuss?”

He looked down, giving her an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“I know,” she said, her eyes clouding a bit, “It’s personal.”

“Come on Ezri, don’t be that way,” Bashir said, falling back into a familiar pattern, though the frayed tone of his voice was more put on that usual. He preferred a well trod argument than to tell her what was really on his mind.

Garak had come back and plucked Illiana Ghemor, the woman who had almost killed Kira, from the safe house he had asked the doctor to hide her in. The action meant that the wily Cardassian’s plans to avenge Natima Lang’s murder were in full motion, and he was worried about what the consequences of Garak’s vengeance would be.

And he was feeling regret about what role he might have played in whatever destruction the Cardassian would wreak. But he very well couldn’t tell Ezri any of that. He loved her too much. So it was easier to stone wall and bicker. It was comforting in a way, normal. Something he hadn’t really been since he had agreed to join Section 31 and had the wool ripped from over his eyes about a great many things.

“Listen Julian, I know there have been a lot of changes over the last few months,” Ezri began, thinking as always that she knew what was deviling him. “And I know how frustrated you’ve been at not finding a magic solution to Kira’s ailments, but you’ve done good work, and she is progressing.”

He sighed. Though she thankfully knew nothing about his hidden life, she could read his emotions over Kira and his disappointment with their present situation pretty well. “As long as Kira is in a coma, there hasn’t been much ‘progress’ as far as I’m concerned.”

“You can’t beat yourself up about it,” Ezri chided gently, “These things take time.”

“I guess I should leave it in the hands of the Prophets?” He scoffed.

“Maybe you should,” she said, quite seriously. “They have interacted in the lives of Bajor and Bajorans before,” she pointed out. “And they do seem to have a plan for the planet. Not to mention Ben.”

Ben had ascended to the Celestial Temple nearly a year ago yet his absence remained a gaping void on the station. The fact that Miles, Odo, and now Kira were gone too just didn’t make it feel like home anymore. Not to mention the rapid succession of officers that had come and gone in their wake, it added to Julian’s growing rootlessness.

“What brought on that sigh?” Ezri asked.

“Oh,” he said with a start, not realizing he had vocalized his disappointment. “Just thinking about all of the changes on the station.”

“I know,” the Trill wrinkled her nose as she gazed at the phalanx of Bajoran on the Promenade, giving the thoroughfare a martial air. “There weren’t even this many troops on the station during the Dominion War.”

“Perhaps because they were too busy actually fighting to stand around and intimidate people,” Bashir chimed in. Admiral Covey was still had several months to go before her next assignment but the incoming station commander, a Bajoran general, had already began making her influence felt. The new leaders on Bajor had promised that an incident like Lang’s assassination would never happen again, and it appeared that they had found the right woman for the job.

Bashir scoffed at the idea that General Pire, of all people, would bring a feeling of security to the station, or the planet below, for that matter. She had been a supporter of the Alliance to Restore Global Unity, also known as the Circle. Early in Bashir’s stay at the station, the Circle had seized DS9, in an attempt to force the Federation to vacate the sector.

Amazing how fast things turned in politics, especially when people were scared. At one time the doctor had naively hoped that the end of the conflict with the Dominion would usher in a new age of peace and hope across the quadrant. Instead it had unleashed pent up demons. Everyone seemed to be retreating to their little corners, believing it best to go along.

This isolationist mindset had even infected the Federation, with the surprisingly strong presidential candidacy of the once disgraced Admiral Norah Satie. He shook his head again, worried not just for the fate of Bajor but of the Federation too.

Ezri’s restrained squeal brought him thankfully out of the doldrums. He looked up, blinking several times. “We’re here,” the Trill happily proclaimed.

A large centaur-like alien waved them forward, toward the throng of people already jamming into the store. The Chakuun merchant had the hottest store on the Promenade lately, selling affordable Tholian fabric.

Ezri tugged on his hand. “Are you ready?”

“Not quite,” he answered truthfully, easing his hand out of hers. “How about you brave the crowds, and I’ll just stand out here.”

The counselor looked momentarily disappointed, but her desire to explore the store quickly won out. “All right, but you won’t know what you’re missing.”

Bashir nodded, “Oh I’ve got a good inclination.” They both shared a welcome, and much needed laugh, before she dived into the masses.

The doctor made his way to the nearest railing and contented himself with watching the various denizens milling about. It didn’t take long before he someone brushed against him lightly.

“Garak was on Bajor and you knew about it,” his new Section 31 contact charged. Bashir didn’t even look at the woman as he answered. Any observer could reasonably guess that these two people were just waiting on their significant others who were tearing through the fabrics store.

The new operative had replaced Minister Tenva, the Bajoran that had been swept out of power during the recent elections. The agent was human, a sign that even the clandestine organizations’ reach hadn’t penetrated the new government…yet.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said, with a shrug.

“Just like you don’t know why you went to Rokat, a Cardassian colony last month,” the woman’s voice was peppered with accusation. “Perhaps I should ask young Mr. Sisko.”

Julian tensed, giving the woman the reaction he was expecting. But he couldn’t help it. Jake had followed him to Rokat and gotten entangled in some very dangerous business. Bashir had tried to keep him in the dark about a great deal of it, though Jake had pieced much of it together on his own. Now the section knew that Jake could be a bargaining chip they could use to put Bashir even more under their thumb.

“I’ve already told you,” the doctor added some very honest weariness into his voice, “I was investigating a suspected mysterious outbreak on the colony. Jake was going to write an accompanying piece. It turned out to just be a mild case of dysentery.”

“Of course there were no reported outbreaks of any kind, dysentery otherwise,” the woman pointed out, as Julian knew he would. “But that’s your story and you’re still sticking to it, I suppose.”

“It’s the truth,” Bashir said, amazed at how easily it had become for him to lie. The agent chuckled.

“What is true is that I’m not going to coddle you like Tenva,” she said. “And you will make good on your oath. Its best you realize that trying to subvert us, to do an end run around us is counterproductive. Once you realize that we all want the same thing, things will go much more smoothly between us.”

“So you say,” both the doctor’s voice and expression hardened. He turned to the woman. “But perhaps things would go more ‘smoothly’ if you didn’t threaten my friends.”

The swarthy woman shrugged, “I’m just discussing possibilities is all. Idle chat among colleagues.” Bashir shuddered at the thought.

“The idea that a person, like you, or Sloan, or any of you wear the uniform,” he couldn’t even finish the thought he was so disgusted.

“Add yourself to that list now Doctor,” the woman smiled, her almond-shaped eyes crinkling. “Well, it appears I must be going,” he said, stepping away from the railing. Ezri, with another Starfleet officer in tow, were exiting the store, arm in arm, both with bags brimming with colorful cloth. The counselor had made fast friends with Lt. Commander Diega Cruz, the newest commanding officer of the Defiant. The Section 31 agent held out her arms and folded Cruz into her arms.

“Alisanda,” Diega smiled, “Glad to see you are finally making friends. You stay too cooped up in your office.”

“Well it’s a lot of work, taking over for Admiral Covey,” she replied.

“And we’ll all work to make the transition as smooth as possible Commander Cruz,” Dax promised. “Right Julian?”

“Of course,” he said, burying his distaste as he smiled at the vulpine woman, “We will do all that we can to make Deep Space Nine your most memorable posting.”
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[DarKush]

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Lakarian City
Cardassia Prime
November 2376

The skyline reminded him of a broken smile. A year had passed and still many Cardassian cities remained as flattened as this one. The city seemed dead, except for the bustle around a new construction project in the center of town. It was to be a new building, the first temple erected for worshippers of the Oralian Way in decades.

The appearance of construction crews and the yammer of men returning to work, not to mention the reclamation of a venerable Cardassian religion and all of the suppressed culture that went with it, should’ve heartened Elim Garak, but it left him bitter instead. He stood in the shadow of one of the skeletal buildings, looking at the near celebratory mood suffusing the project. Average citizens and even soldiers had joined the workers, so many taking a hand in restoring a sense of normalcy to a universe gone mad and hungry for Cardassian blood.

The construction vehicles bore the mark of Mintof Urlak’s conglomeration. He knew that Urlak was just doing this to lock up the votes, for an election that was already a foregone conclusion. But Obsidian Order agents left nothing to chance and Urlak had been among the best of that breed.

And now he stood poised to take over Cardassia and return the dictatorship that had just led Garak’s people to near genocide. Of course the desperate and hungry, the hopeless couldn’t see it, but Garak knew first hand of Urlak’s intentions. The man had revealed them just before he killed Natima Lang and framed Garak for the murder.

Garak had given up on any chance of a happy reunion with his people. He had gone from a hero of the Dominion War to public enemy number one in the span of a few months. He knew what he had to do, to save Cardassia from itself, would not be understood by his kind. They would hurl insults at him, they would curse his bloodline, for eternity, but that didn’t matter. Urlak had to be stopped, no matter the cost.

“You really need to stop this skulking around,” Illiana Ghemor said, “Before long even I’m going to think you are a criminal, and I know what actually happened on Deep Space Nine.”

Garak hadn’t heard the woman’s approach and he chided himself for getting lost in reverie. He couldn’t be off his game when he finally went after Urlak. “Illiana, you look different,” he said, remarking on her new disguise.

The woman grimaced, “Even your rapier wit has grown dull,” she said, scratching her face.
“I’ll make certain to polish up,” he said, a glimmer of his former insufferable self reemerging. “Problems with the skin graft?” He asked.

“Yes, it is discomforting,” she admitted. Garak felt a pang of sympathy, and then quickly squashed it. If this woman hadn’t been part of Urlak’s conspiracy, if she hadn’t replaced Kira and compromised DS9’s computer systems, Premier Lang might still be alive.

The very thought of it made Garak want to eliminate the woman right now. But he was never a man who had been moved much by emotion, at least when he made his best decisions. And Illiana served a key part in his plans for revenge. It didn’t hurt that the woman realized now how Urlak had manipulated her and even fancied that she shared a familial bond with Kira.

“To what do I owe this visit?” He asked.

“The news stories aren’t working,” she said, “No one cares about financial shenanigans when they are freezing or starving.” Thus far Ghemor had been key to Garak’s plans to expose the web of shady business dealings Urlak had been involved in over the years, not to mention the obscene amounts of money he was pouring into the election. “Urlak is giving the people tangible things while we are giving them only chimeras.”

“I am building a case and it will take time.”

“The election is this almost upon us,” Ghemor pointed out. “None of these revelations are the bombshell you said you would deliver. Don’t you think now is the time for the November surprise?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Urlak’s election is a foregone conclusion. I want him to win.”

“Pardon me?”

“I want him to feel comfortable, safe, I want him in one place, all the better when I strike,” Garak promised, a maniacal heat warming his cheeks. “These stories are just strands on the web that will trap him when I spring the most devastating charges. He’ll have nowhere to run, his credibility will be shot, and the people will finally know the truth. Even if they hate me for it, they will do the right thing.”

“And what if they don’t,” Ghemor countered, “It’s not like our collective moral compass has been all that right before. First we oppressed our own people, then the Bajorans, and eventually tried to fight a war against the whole quadrant. Maybe you need to be honest and see us for what we are.”

“And what is that?” Garak hissed, ready to flick his wrist and produce the fold-out disruptor connected to it.

“Predators,” she said.

“We are predators,” he admitted, and she gave him a shocked expression. “Are you surprised I felt that way?”

“Yes,” she admitted, “I was starting to wonder if your time in exile had made you idealize our condition.”

“No less than your time spent among the Bajorans,” he riposted. To that, Ghemor could only give a solemn nod.

“We are predators, but we are also something more, something we have forgotten,” he pointed to the temple. “And I will not have Urlak sully the good that is still in us.”

“I will return now,” she said, “I don’t want to raise suspicions.”

“Continue disseminating the information I provide, and trust that it is having the desired effect,” he promised.

“You’ve just got to know what the desire is,” she remarked. He mirthlessly chuckled.

“Correct.”
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Crimson Shadow base
Cardassian Space
November 2376

The slight, wizened man held up the taller skeletal man’s arm up in triumph. “The election is won,” a dispirited Gul Ermst Martell said, smothering his anger. At this time, perhaps more than any other since the war had ended, he needed to think before he acted. Far more than just his life hung in the balance.

“On our backs!” Spat Gul Heftig, her neck plates bunching as she pounded the table with both heavy fists. “That vole Urlak recruited me! How could he do this! I had no intention to take up arms against the occupiers. I had merely joined the Crimson Order to receive my just due for my family, and it was he that flamed on about how the allied powers were exploiting our people and driving us to extinction!”

“It was true,” Gul Gavran replied hotly, “even if Urlak betrayed us, as has Dien just now!” He jabbed a finger at the screen. Martell had muted the sound but all three could see the jubilation among the crowd and they could feel the triumph radiating from Urlak’s pores.

The man was running for the premiership of the Cardassian Second Republic, and he had just scored a major political coup by negotiating a deal with Gul Vaidar Dien, their leader, for the Crimson Shadow to lay down its arms in exchange for amnesty.

Dien had made this decision without consulting them, and they suspected many others. Now they were left with a choice, pick up the remnants of their splintered army or fold. Martell wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Unlike many, his family had not been slaughtered by the Dominion in a spiteful gesture at the close of the war. They lived on a colony world far from the war. He didn’t fight for revenge or to avenge, instead he had taken up arms to secure his family’s future. Martell didn’t believe that a Cardassian government run by outsiders was in the long-term best interest of his family, or his people, and the Crimson Shadow had become the best tool to meld his thoughts and actions.

But perhaps Urlak and Dien had shown him another way. He had thought at first that Urlak’s working within the government was a clever ploy to take over from the inside. He had never scoffed at the old man like some of his brethren, he had never considered him a sellout, but as time drug on, he had become concerned that Urlak had been seduced and corrupted by a system had had pledged to raze to the ground.

The final straw had come when he had openly declared the Shadow outlaws and completely divorced them from the Crimson Order. In fact, he had done away with his veterans group, and merged them into a new political party, the Unity Faction. It was similar to how the True Way had become consumed by the system and ultimately irrelevant, a flapping, useless rightwing appendage to a dying polity.

The betrayal had felt deep, it had been personal, but nothing could’ve prepared Martell for Urlak working with the occupiers to actively hunt down, apprehend, or murder his former comrades. As the campaign heated up, the noose had grown tighter. Dien, feeling the pressure, as the putative leader of the Shadow, had buckled.

Martell pondered if he should do the same, though he knew not to voice such apostasy around true believers like Gavran or Heftig. He knew they would vaporize him on the spot. “We can’t let this stand,” Heftig declared.

“I say we make an example of Dien…and his family,” Gavran darkly suggested. “Blood in, blood out, that’s the only way you enter or leave the Crimson Shadow.”

Martell shook his head, glaring at the fervid Gavran. He had never cared much for the unkempt, undisciplined man. “We will not stain our movement by murdering innocents.”

Gavran laughed, “What do you think we have been doing all this time? We’re terrorists remember?”

“No, we are soldiers, fighting for the freedom of our people. The unfortunates who have died at the hands of my men have been collateral damage, they were never targeted,” Martell paused, putting the full force his judgment on Gavran, “Can the same be said of yours?”

Gavran was unfazed. To prove it, he propped his dusty boots on the table before replying, “It’s war,” he said with a shrug. Martell wanted to throttle the smug man.

Sensing that, Heftig jumped up, “Please let’s remember who the real enemy is. We might have different methods, but the end goal is the same, a Cardassia free of alien influence.” Both men uncomfortably nodded to that.

“So, what do we do now?” Gavran asked. Both Gavran and Heftig turned to Martell. Among the trio, he had pulled off the most successful engagements with their enemies.

“We first have to find out from the other commanders who still wish to continue,” Martell proposed.

“I would also suggest eliminating those who decide to leave the fight,” Gavran suggested. Martell paused, considering the idea.

“Only them, not their families,” he warned. Gavran shrugged again.

“I’ll make sure he retains honor,” Heftig promised. “But we must show that there is price to be paid for surrender.”

“I agree,” Martell said.

“But after that, what should we do?” Gavran asked, the first crack of doubt appearing in his facade of bravado.

Martell paused again, not sure what to say. Outside of the few hardcore partisans, he suspected that a lot of the foot soldiers were tired of fighting, they wanted to go home, and rebuild their shattered families and lives. After all, what had they accomplished thus far?

And others would see the amnesty for what Martell hated to admit it was, a way out, a way forward, a plausible alternative, to endless bloodshed. Perhaps there could be a political solution to removing the occupiers. He knew that change was in the wind with the Federation, that a new president, one far less enchanted with foreign entanglements, was about to assume office. Maybe this president would be amenable to removing Starfleet, but the same could not be said for the Klingons, their most hated foe.

And he would rather have the Federation remain to counterbalance the Klingons and keep the foreheads on a leash. The silence grew heavy, portentous, but Martell was determined to let it play out until an appropriate response emerged. He had always been a patient man.

“Did I catch you all at a bad time?” A voice snaked into his thoughts, startling him. Martell yanked his disruptor out of its holster. Both Heftig and Gavran were already aiming at the door.

Martell blinked in surprise. Before them stood a man more wanted by authorities than any of them. “How did you get in here?” Heftig demanded. The man winked at her before waltzing into the room.

“Are you seriously going to ask me that?” Elim Garak replied.

“What do you want?” Gavran asked, suspiciously. Garak had been blamed, chiefly by Urlak, as the mastermind behind the assassination of Premier Lang at Terok Nor. Since Urlak had made the claim it was in doubt, though it hadn’t stopped the wily Cardassian ex-spy from being hailed as a hero by many of Martell’s men.

“It appears you are experiencing a crisis of confidence,” Garak said, glancing at the ongoing celebration on the vidscreen. “Perhaps I can ameliorate your unease.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Heftig beat Martell to the punch.

Garak grinned, before leaning forward, his eyebrows knitting together. His tone was conspiratorial. “I never thought you’d ask.”
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Deep Space Nine
Strategic Operations Officer’s Office
December 2376

“Alisanda,” Captain Elizabeth Shelby smiled warmly as she swept into the office. “How are you enjoying the new digs?”

“Well I have been here now for several months,” Commander Cruz said, offering a hand. The blonde captain shook it firmly.

“Of course, but not as Starfleet’s liaison with the Bajoran government,” Shelby pointed out.

“A demotion of sorts,” Alisanda pointed out, gesturing for Shelby to have a seat. The captain frowned.

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, the last person in this posting was an admiral, and I’m just a commander.”

“Captain Sisko took over at that rank.”

“Yes, but that was the Captain Sisko,” Alisanda half-joked. “In addition to being the station commander the man was considered a prophet to the Bajorans, which gave him a hell of a lot more authority than I have. I’m third in the chain of command, under the general and Colonel Jatarn.”

Shelby’s frown deepened. “So, what exactly is going on here?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice as if that were necessary. “How are things working out with you and General Pire?”

Cruz shrugged and sat back down. “Well, it’s me welcoming you to the station if that’s an indicator. She wants as little do with Starfleet or the Federation as possible. If it were up to her she would restrict us all to the Defiant on the way to removing us from the station entirely. Listen, I get the need for self-determination and all, but the general is taking it to the extreme.”

Shelby shook her head, “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Hopefully the political squalls on Bajor will calm down shortly and sensible winds will start blowing again.”

“You were always one with the metaphors,” she smiled. “I hated poetry class at the Academy.”

“I don’t recall you hating poetry so much when I read it to you,” Shelby’s grin turned devilish.

“Stop that now, I’m a married woman,” Alisanda laughed.

“Yes, Diega, I’m looking forward to meeting her,” the captain replied. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to attend the wedding.”

The other woman waved away her apology. “Listen, I’m a Starfleet officer just like you. I understand the demands of duty. But I am glad that you are here now. Diega can’t wait to meet you. She’s a fan.”

“Seriously?” Shelby couldn’t believe that. She had picked up detractors like lint over her Starfleet career but few fans.

“Yes, she lost her family during Wolf 359, but she felt your actions helped prevent even greater tragedy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Shelby replied, shuddering at the memories of her encounter with the Borg. Though it had been almost a decade ago, the memories and the occasional nightmares were still fresh.

“Hey, let’s not dwell on the past, okay?” Cruz suggested. Shelby’s smile returned slowly.

“You always were the life of the party back then,” she recalled.

“This from the woman who has the most rocking ship in the Fleet…according to the scuttlebutt,” Alisanda said, prompting a healthy peal of laughter from Shelby.

“I guess we should get down to business before I tear into some of your eggplant adobo,” the captain sighed. “You are making adobo tonight right?” Alisanda nodded.

“You know I wouldn’t deny you your favorite Filipino dish,” she said, “who knows when I will get to see you again.”

“Exactly,” the captain agreed, “And I’m no coming empty handed. I bought some Tenarian Schnapps that should enliven the meal perfectly.”

“Sounds delectable,” Cruz nodded, “So let’s get this mission stuff out of the way.”

“Where are the sages in the Admiralty sending us next?” Shelby asked.

“Cardassian space.”
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[DarKush]

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PART ONE

Tarlak Sector
Cardassia Prime
January 2377

“Thank you for being so gracious,” Trade Provost Mintof Urlak said, holding his arms out at his sides while the tailor fit him for a new suit.

“It is no trouble,” President Norah Satie said. The holopad in the center of Urlak’s office was projecting a life-size image of the newly installed Federation president. “I can certainly attest to how hectic the transition and inauguration of a new administration can be.”

“My apologies for not being able to attend your inaugural,” Urlak offered. “Our campaign had not concluded.”

“I completely understand,” Satie said, “And business will keep me and the Deputy President on Earth. However, I hope that the presence of the Minister of State and Starfleet’s Commander-in-Chief will suffice.”

“It will be more than enough,” Urlak nodded. “I am honored that such high personages will be in attendance.”

“Well, I’ve spoken with President Santiago, and he assured me that you have been a stalwart partner for peace and I hope to build on that relationship. You’re dismantling of the Crimson Shadow terror network was astounding.”

“It wasn’t me,” Urlak said, soberly, “It was the Cardassian people, rising up to reject terror. And as much I appreciate the laurels you have tossed at my feet, there are splinter elements of the Shadow, plus other unreconstructed actors that have yet to turn away from violence.”

“Yes,” Satie shook her head sadly, “I am well aware of that as well, and Admiral Grace will be looking forward to discussing the issue with you in further detail when he arrives.”

“Admiral Grace,” Urlak said, “Truly an inspirational symbol of our new relationship. A former POW, now an advocate for peace between our worlds.”

“It is…inspiring,” Satie agreed. “It is an example of how the fire of peace can melt any hardened heart.”

Urlak nodded somberly. “When shall the Federation contingent arrive?”

“Admiral Grace will be arriving, along with most of the other Federation delegates, within one standard week. The details have not yet been finalized.”

Urlak smiled and nodded, “Very prompt,” he replied.

“Here’s hoping that everything goes off without a hitch,” Satie’s smile was faint but genuine.

“That’s all one can really do,” Urlak agreed. “Besides surrounding yourself with armed guards up to the neck scales.” They shared a laugh before his counterpart flickered away.

“You can stop now,” He brushed the tailor’s hands aside. The woman straightened up, and assumed a most-untailor-like military bearing.

“So the reports are true,” she said, “Admiral Grace must be the new C-in-C for Starfleet.”

Urlak chuckled, so deep that it shook his slight frame, “Whoever would’ve thought my son could rise so high?”

“You did sir,” the woman replied.

“Well yes, I assume so.”
**************************************************************

Palais de la Concorde
Earth

President Norah Satie leaned back in her seat and exhaled. She swiveled around to cock an eyebrow at the gaunt man standing in the corner of the room, out of range of the holographic communicator. “So Sabin, what do you think?”

Sabin Genestra, her chief of staff, nodded almost imperceptibly, “His thoughts are almost as guarded as yours,” the Betazoid replied with a half-smile. Satie chuckled, before Genestra continued, “But I am confident that that was no mere tailor attending him.”

“I sniffed that as well,” Satie said. “He was just being less discreet about having someone reading me. That might not be a bad thing.”

“Oh?”

“Sure,” Satie nodded, warming to the idea. “So far Provost Urlak has been a straight shooter and a solid partner in our campaign to stop the spread of terror in the Second Republic. He’s also shown some diplomatic and political deftness in largely dismantling the Crimson Shadow.”

“But there are reports that he has reconstituted the Obsidian Order,” Genestra said, with a rare note of alarm in his voice. Satie knew that after the Order had been nearly wiped out in a disastrous preemptive strike against the Dominion, the Dominion’s puppet, Gul Dukat, had been all but happy to disband the venerable covert organization and replace it with the Cardassian Intelligence Bureau. The CIB had become a hated remainder of the Dominion occupation since the war’s end.

“If that is what is required to reign in the militants, then I am all for it,” Satie revealed.

Genestra’s raised eyebrow would’ve made a Vulcan proud. “But Madame President…”

“I know, I know, sentient rights and all that,” she waved away the man’s protest. “But the Cardassians are trying to rebuild from a near genocide. They need order, they need structure, and perhaps the Obsidian Order can provide that skeletal framework. I think the root of democracy planted by Natima Lang will not wither anytime soon.”

“It will need constant watering though,” Genestra suggested, “and our continued involvement.”

“There’s the rub,” Satie said, shaking her head wearily, “We’ve got our own problems to deal with and we can’t expend much more for the Cardassians or anyone else.”

“I understand that,” Genestra said.

“But, there’s a ‘but’ coming?” Satie smiled.

“Not only do Federation member worlds need our assistance, a great deal of the rest of the quadrant does as well. This could be a great opportunity, unparalleled, to expand our influence,” Genestra replied.

Satie snorted, “You sound like Santiago and his claque of interventionists.” The Betazoid’s smile receded to his regular dour mien.

“I am loyal Madame President.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Satie said, “And I appreciate that you will keep any of your dissatisfactions between us?”

“Of course,” Genestra quickly replied.

“I enjoy honest debate, and we might disagree, but need I remind you that the polls support my position. Many across the Federation are tired of being the Atlas of the Alpha Quadrant. Their shoulders are tired, their backs are sore. And who is going to relieve them? If not us, who?”

“I would rather it be us that maintain our dominance in this quadrant than ceding the responsibility to the Romulans or the Klingons,” Genestra shook his head in disapproval. “If not them, there’s the Tholians, Breen, even the Alshain.”

“Ah, the Alshain,” Satie said, leaning forward in her chair, “What’s the latest from their civil war?”

“It is quite messy,” the Betazoid replied, “I’m not sure it is exactly a civil war, it’s more a tripartite affair, with factions loyal to the deposed Exarch Jedalla fighting against those in league with Chair T’Riav. And you have both sides fighting against the Son’a.”

“That reminds me, have we heard anything from Mr. Cherenkov lately?” Satie preferred keeping Starfleet out of the loop as much as possible, in order to avoid committing resources, blood and treasure that could be better used elsewhere. Quiet, efficient professionals like Ivan Cherenkov had been of great help to her, and to the Federation, since her inauguration. In fact, Ivan had gotten started early, saving her from an assassination plot.

“Nellen last heard from him a week ago,” Genestra said. “He reported that the Son’a were desperately seeking an alliance to help them survive the Alshain onslaught. If the Alshain weren’t fighting each other, they would’ve slaughtered the Son’a by now.”

Satie shook her head, “Well that’s hope that doesn’t happen anytime soon.” Over the last several months the Son’a situation had drastically deteriorated. Gone was their vaunted, vaingloriously misnamed Imperium. The ragtag survivors now banded together under a Son’a Solidarity. Norah agonized over whether she would commit troops to protecting the Son’a in the event that their extinction was imminent. The scouring exposes of the Santiago’s administration’s dithering over the humanitarian crisis sparked by the Alshains’ pogrom against the Son’a had helped get her elected. She wondered how apoplectic Jake Sisko would be if she did nothing in the face of their genocide.

But she prayed it would not be a decision she would have to make. There were so many other big decisions she was literally drowning in as it were. It almost made her wish that she could attend Urlak’s inauguration. It might take her back to the exhilaration of her own, which was already fading into a distant memory.

“So,” Satie said, with noticeably less enthusiasm as she thought about how the job would only get harder with each passing day, “What else have you got?”
****************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

****************************************************************

Aridus III
Cardassian Second Republic Border


“Feel right at home I bet Lieutenant Triese?” Captain Elizabeth Shelby asked cheerily.

“I do not,” Triese’s cold response was almost welcome in the blazing heat that permeated the environs of the crowded bazaar.

“Captain Shelby didn’t mean that literally,” Lt. Sito Jaxa explained, “The captain only was making a reference to Vulcan being a desert world like Aridus III.” The only indication that the woman came from Vulcan was her gracefully tapered ears, which were attached to a dynamite green body.

“Thank you Jaxa,” Shelby said, smothering a chuckle. The informal mentorship program she had set up to familiarize the new officers to life aboard Sutherland was at least paying off with these two; but not so much with Lavelle and Maldin. She thought it was cute that the Bajoran had taken the new security chief under her wing more than just to familiarize her with Sutherland’s security protocols, though Shelby hadn’t asked her to.
Triese certainly hadn’t, and even now didn’t seem all that sanguine with the prospect of having a buddy aboard the ship. The captain, on the other hand thought it was a win-win, Sito needed all the friends she could get, and Triese needed someone to help show her the ropes.

“My apologies Captain.” Triese replied quickly. The Vulcan-Orion hybrid turned a deeper shade of green.

“I’ll let this one pass,” Shelby remarked, “Let’s chalk it up to nerves.”

“But I am not nervous,” Triese answered soberly. Shelby rolled her eyes.

“Yes, being nervous or anxious would be showing emotion,” the captain replied.

“Correct,” Triese responded.

“Fine, you don’t have to admit it,” Shelby teased. “I’ll be nervous enough for all of us.”

“Captain, do you believe this is a trap?” Lt. Sito asked, her brow crinkling. The tactical officer had argued for the captain to remain aboard the Sutherland and Shelby had repeatedly assured the skeptical Bajoran that the situation wasn’t as dangerous as it appeared. They were meeting an informant with information about the Crimson Shadow, a fractured but still lethal insurgent group making a blood soaked name for itself in the Allied occupation zones. The informant, a member of the Valerian cartel, had supplied information to Starfleet in the past. The Valerians had been one of the major weapons suppliers to Cardassian insurgents.

The long running extremist group the True Way, and splinters from Legate Damar’s Cardassian Liberation Front had initially been the leaders of the violent opposition to the postwar Allied occupation. But the Shadows, spawned from a rightist veterans’ group called the Crimson Order, had forced themselves onto Starfleet’s radar. The Shadows seemed to have a different benefactor than the Valerians and had eschewed their business offers. For the right price, and the appropriate discretion, some cartel members weren’t opposed to selling the Shadows down the river.

Starfleet Intelligence had learned that one of the Shadows, a Gul Gavran, was operating in the Aridus system, using it as a haven to strike at aid convoys heading to Cardassia Prime. According to SI, Gavran had a violent reputation stemming back decades to the Bajoran Occupation. Shelby was anxious to take him down, even if her stomach roiled a bit at the method to bring it about. Junior Lt. Rudd had the bars of latinum slung across his broad chest, bandolier style. Shelby didn’t know if the large man was breathing heavy because of the weight of the bars or from the heat.

“Are you okay Mr. Rudd?” Shelby asked the young Australian.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, straightening. “Just a little hot under the collar as it were.”

“I guess my physical conditioning programs haven’t been strenuous enough?” Lt. Sito asked. Shelby couldn’t tell if the Bajoran was joking or not, and from the stammering reply of the younger Rudd, she was definitely sure that he didn’t think she was.

“You can discuss the revisions aboard the ship,” Shelby replied. She turned to Triese. “Detecting any Valerian life signs yet?”

“No,” Triese said, the tricorder clipped to her belt, beneath her robes. Shelby knew the woman’s keen hearing could detect the beep on a low setting that wouldn’t alert the informant or anyone else. Shelby was certain all the eyes watching them weren’t benign. Though the Shadows or other potential adversaries had yet to make a move.

They rounded a corner and ran into Lavelle’s party, consisting of her First Officer, her Chief Engineer, Lt. Maldin and Glinn Sial Keta. The young Cardassian woman had served as their liaison during their assignment in Cardassian space. Shelby was glad to have her on this mission, it had made working with the locals a lot easier. The captain could also tell that by the occasional ogling from Lt. Commander Tol that the engineer continued to appreciate Keta’s presence aboard the Suthy. Unlike them, Keta didn’t feel a need to disguise her identity, with the planet having a sizable Cardassian population. What she had done though was discard her Cardassian Security Forces uniform. She wore instead a form fitting, sleeveless cat suit, with strategically inserted cuts down the back and across the thighs.

“Anything,” Shelby asked. Lavelle’s eyebrows beetled, giving the captain the answer she knew, but didn’t want to hear.

“Back to square one?” Lavelle asked.

“We’ve already searched every inch of this dump,” Chief Engineer Tol remarked. “There just aren’t any Valerians here.” The Trill didn’t seem too disappointed though, Shelby realized. In addition to Keta, Jadon had probably also encountered some of the native scarf dancers plying their wares throughout the bazaar.

“So, this was a wild goose chase then?” Lavelle replied, clearly not pleased.

“It appears so,” Shelby said, the heat suffusing her skin had nothing to do with the weather. “Someone has been jerking our chain.”

“Not quite,” a voice said from the air, “Though there is something I would like to jerk on you captain.”

Both away teams brandished weapons and looked around them wildly, trying to pinpoint the direction the voice had come from. “How about you show yourself, and maybe we can talk,” Shelby offered.

“Such an assignation might be worth more than the latinum in your possession, if the rumors are true,” the air shimmered before Shelby. A smallish figure, decked in an orange blind suit appeared before them. The mystery person pulled off their helmet, revealing the leering bulbous face of a Ferengi. Rows of earrings dangled from both of his large tattooed ears. “DaiMon Drux at your service.”

“Drux?” Shelby asked, surprised. She remembered the name from several years ago. He had been a big time pirate and smuggler until he had ran afoul of the Klingons and been sentenced to Rura Penthe. Somehow the Ferengi had survived the infamous prison planet and appeared to be trying to rebuild his fortunes.

“So, you know of me? A fan no less?” The leer morphed into a grateful smile.

“Not quite,” Shelby replied, regretting the dimming of the smile’s wattage. “Though I am familiar with some of your exploits.”

“Well, that’s something I suppose.”

“How did you escape Rura Penthe?” The Ferengi perked back up.

“That’s a long story, a thrilling tale than best be told in the private quarters aboard my vessel,” the leer had returned.

“We didn’t detect any Ferengi vessels in orbit,” Lt. Maldin said. The poor Benzite looked like he was about to dry out from the relentless heat.

“I’ve taken great lengths to not draw attention to myself,” Drux patted the bright orange suit. “Why would I park my own vessel in orbit around this dustbowl?”

“Good point,” Maldin replied. Shelby noticed Lavelle smiling at the man’s perturbed expression. The Benzite was book smart, but not too street smart. He had spent a good chunk of the war planetside, using his formidable intellect to help keep the Federation’s war machine from breaking down. The need for experienced officers had compelled him back into service aboard a Starfleet vessel and Shelby had thought he would be a good fit for Sutherland.

Though she thought he was a bit uptight, his intellect and organization skills were top notch. She was sure that someone aboard the Suthy would loosen him up before long. She was pleased that the man had the hide of rhinoceros because Sam had been riding him hard ever since he came aboard.

“Do you have the information we need?” Lavelle asked.

“The latinum?” Drux asked, wiggling his fingers. Shelby gestured to Lt. Rudd. The big man slid the bandolier off his chest and placed it before the Ferengi’s feet. Glancing down at the row of bars the pirate almost danced a jig. He reached down to golden ingots.

“Not so fast,” Shelby said, waving her phaser, “The information first.”

“Oh, that,” Drux smiled. “Here you go,” he unzipped a pocket on the breast of the suit and threw a data rod at Shelby. She snatched it neatly out the air.

She gave it a once over. “This rod is empty.”

“Yeah, I know,” Drux said. The air shimmered all around them and the two away teams found themselves surrounded by armed Ferengi. “The cartel learned about my side business, and being the gracious gents that they are, they decided not to kill me. They used their information on me to secure deals with the Shadows. And the down payment on my life is securing you. The Shadows want you.”

“No,” Lt. Sito shook her head. “I won’t be a prisoner again.”

“Cool it Jax,” Lavelle muttered.

“It’s okay Jaxa,” Shelby said. “I’m sure we can come to some type of arrangement, offer the good DaiMon a counter proposal.”

“I wish that were true,” Drux said. “But I have no wish to cross the Valerians again, in addition to the Shadows. I just wish that you had accepted my original offer captain. At least your last few hours of freedom could’ve been more…pleasurable.”

“And yours could’ve been less painful,” Shelby said. The Ferengi guffawed.

“Perhaps I can make a side deal for you,” Drux said, “After they are finished interrogating you.”

“Not gonna happen,” Lavelle replied, through gritted teeth.

“You’re right about that,” Tol quipped.

“We’re not going to go quietly,” Shelby said. “And you can’t subdue us all.”

“We have the advantage. We have you surrounded. It would be nonsense to resist us.”

“Oh yeah, like being prisoners to a bunch of anti-Federation terrorists sounds better than instant death,” Tol replied snappily.

“All right,” Drux sighed. “Stun them.”

“No,” Sito snarled. She threw her weapon at the Ferengi nearest her. The phaser cracked against the man’s nose. He stumbled back. By then the Bajoran had pulled a serrated knife from the folds of her robes. She sprang at the Ferengi, the blade slicing the man’s neck. A geyser of blood spurted from the wound.

“Go,” Shelby commanded, jolting everyone out of the shock of Sito’s horrific attack. Lavelle and Tol charged their gunmen, the skittish Ferengi hesitating long enough to receive a tackle from Sam and a roundhouse kick from Jadon. Triese felled a Ferengi with a neck pinch, and Keta’s furious scowl made one Ferengi toss their weapon and run off towards the dunes. Rudd and Maldin weren’t having as much good luck. Rudd’s Ferengi had pulled an electric whip and had lashed it around the man. The smell of cooking flesh and the man’s screams were short lived. Sito took her knife and threw it into the attacking Ferengi’s skull.

Maldin rolled on the ground with the Ferengi, the alien biting into the meat of the Benzite’s shoulder. The man screamed, and the Ferengi bit deeper, blood seeping onto the ground.

“I got this,” Lavelle replied. The first officer moved quickly and low, hitting the Ferengi hunched over Maldin with full force. The Ferengi crashed into the ground. Sam pounded the man’s bulbous skull until he stopped moving.

Shelby had watched it all, the emitter cone of her phaser pressed into the flesh of Drux’s neck. “You guys forgot the stun setting on your weapons,” she asked with a smile. The away team stood up, some shakily, with Rudd leaning on Lavelle. They gazed in amazement at the carnage they had wrought. The only one that didn’t seem to be fazed was Sito.

The young woman had been through a lot, had suffered tortures and violations that Shelby couldn’t even fathom, and had endured them. But she had been changed, and the things they all had to do in the war hadn’t allowed her to properly heal. It had perhaps made her problems worse. In fact, the captain pondered if the wars against the Klingons and Dominion had made worsened them all. At least she could take some small joy from what came next, “DaiMon Drux, you’re arrest.”
***********************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

**********************************************************

Lakarian City
Cardassia Prime

“Jake!” Lt. Ezri Dax screamed as she rushed him. She locked him in a bear hug, squeezing with enough force it cut off Jake’s oxygen. The young man reluctantly pulled himself out of the Trill’s death grip.

“Ezri,” he grinned, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Jake, it seems like you grow another foot each time I see you,” the petite brunette said, appraisingly. “The next time I see you I might need a step ladder.”

“Well, hopefully it won’t be that long until we see Jake again.” Dr. Bashir had been standing beside the counselor when she made her dash for Jake. Now he was standing in front of the man. He stuck out his hand and Jake grabbed it firmly.

“Dr. Bashir,” he said.

“Julian, you know I’ve told you about that,” the medic chided gently.

“I know, I know,” Jake said, shrugging sheepishly, “But old habits die hard.”

“Don’t I know,” Bashir chuckled.

“Please allow me to…” Jake turned around, but Ezri had already slid by him.

“You must be Kall Yano,” the Trill remarked, embracing the other woman, and Jake was grateful that it looked less forceful. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good I hope,” the Vulcan-Bajoran hybrid smiled nervously, her eyes alight with questions. Jake winced. He hadn’t told them, but he suspected that Nog did. The Ferengi was a good friend, but not one that could keep too many secrets it appeared.

“I would think so,” Julian remarked, nudging Jake’s arm. “You two are quite the duo.”

“I wouldn’t say it like that,” Jake began, trying not to stammer. He could feel Kall’s eyes on him.

“Really?” Ezri asked. “Don’t be modest. You two have single handedly saved countless lives. If it wasn’t for your expose of Alshain war atrocities, the Federation wouldn’t have acted.”

“Oh, that,” Jake said, relieved.

“Yes that,” Julian replied. “Sometimes it pays to be modest. This is not one of those times,” he clapped Jake on the back. “Your father would be proud.”

“I know,” Jake nodded solemnly.

“So, you’re here for the inauguration too?” Ezri asked, though Jake knew she was aware of that already. She must have sensed his awkwardness and wanted to segue to more comfortable ground.

“Yes, can you believe it?” Kall was excited. “For FNS to entrust coverage of the inauguration of Premier-elect Urlak to us is a great honor.”

“Well, we aren’t the sole FNS reporters,” Jake corrected. “We’re really playing backup for Elena Gilmore. Just doing man on the street segments and the like.”

“Have you met Gilmore yet?” Ezri said, her eyes sparkling with interest. The story of the human reporter who had recently been released from the Crimson Shadow, after nearly a year in captivity, had deservedly gotten a lot of coverage in the Federation. The woman had become a legend, and it was even more exemplary that instead of returning to the Federation she insisted on remaining on Cardassia to cover the inauguration.

“No, we haven’t,” Kall didn’t attempt to hide her disappointment. “She’s a bit reclusive.”

“Can you blame her?” Jake asked, in a well worn tone that suggested that they had had this discussion more than once. “She’s been through a lot.”

“I still think it would be great if she could just spare a nanosecond of time,” the hybrid countered. “She has insights into the Cardassian mind that few of us probably ever will. It would be great just to listen to her talk about it.”

“On that we agree,” Jake nodded, before sighing, “Maybe we can finagle a few seconds during the post-inaugural dinner,” he offered, and Kall brightened at the prospect.

“That was already my plan,” she admitted, eliciting laughter from the others.

“So, Jake and Kall, I take it that you are here to observe the construction of the Oralian Temple?” Bashir asked. This story had also been making news and both he and Ezri had been anxious to see it, but even more so, to imbibe the spirit of renewal the news reports had suggested was occurring in Lakarian City.

“Absolutely,” Kall gushed, “Look at it; it’s going to be beautiful.” So far the three jevonite spires rose to the sky, as if daring to touch the stars or the divine presence that created them.

“Crews have been working day and night on the project,” Jake replied. “We’ve talked to several workers. I think it’s important that our citizens see the grit and tenacity of the Cardassians, as well as their spirituality. Too often, we’ve just seen one side of their culture, admittedly largely because of their actions.”

They all paused to take in the construction. The incoming Premier was promising to revitalize the whole of the planet and thus far he had gotten off to a good start with Lakarian City. It almost made some of the less savory stories Jake had been hearing and reading about the man palatable. He was a tycoon and now a politician after all, so Jake couldn’t expect much, but still he was wondering what other worms were crawling under the rock that had just started to be lifted.

He was intending to find out. Jake hadn’t wanted to be reassigned from Alshain space, but the heat his articles about the atrocities there had forced the news service to send him elsewhere.

It hadn’t set well with him, but he planned on making the most of the new assignment, and his interest had peaked once Garak had supplied him anonymous reports about Urlak’s corrupt business practices. Reports that were largely ignored by the Cardassian mainstream press, which was no surprise since Urlak owned a good deal of press outlets. The Federation, still awash in its own post-war problems as well as the presidential election was uninterested in the reports as well.

But Jake knew the reports were on to something and that Urlak might not be the solid peace partner his supporters were claiming he was.

“Lost in thought Jake?” Ezri asked, her eye brows bunching together. She playfully elbowed Dr. Bashir. “That’s a common affliction these days.” The medic nervously grinned.
“I’m sorry,” Jake admitted, “but I was.” He shifted gears, not wishing to reveal the depth of his concerns about Premier Urlak just yet. He would talk about that with the doctor alone. “How is Colonel Kira by the way? It’s been too long since I’ve been to Bajor. I barely keep up with Kasidy, and the last time we talked, I didn’t get a chance to ask about the colonel.”

He knew that the Bajoran government had transferred Kira to a hospital on Bajor, over Bashir’s objections. They felt she could receive better long term care planetside, plus they wanted to free up bed space for the station’s residents.

From what Jake had heard over the last several months, the Bajoran government had been asserting itself on the station like never before. The Starfleet presence had dwindled considerably in the wake of Lang’s assassination, which had strained relations between Starfleet and the Bajoran government.

With DS9 being weaponized by sabotage, the Bajoran government had pushed for greater oversight, to prevent the station from ever being turned on them.

“She’s still in a coma,” Bashir remarked, his sadness deepening, “but she is stable. Her vitals were strong. I checked on her this morning, matter-of-fact.” He brightened. “The colonel’s a fighter. She’ll pull through.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Jake replied.

“If will excuse us ladies, I need to talk to Jake about a personal matter,” the doctor said, and Jake did his best to appear nonchalant.

“Of course,” Ezri was oblivious; Kall not so, much, but she allowed the Trill to hook arms with her and drag her toward the temple. Kall looked back at him once, a silent question on her face. Jake nodded, but he knew he had no intentions of answering that question.

The two men walked in the opposite direction, in silence for a moment. Julian finally spoke up, “Have you heard from our mutual friend lately?”

Jake nodded affirmatively. “He knew about my reassignment, he told me that I shouldn’t fight it. I believe he intends to expose Urlak for the quadrant to see and he wants me to be there to record it all, in living color.”

“I don’t think you should get more entangled in this,” Bashir warned. Jake knew the man still regretted his involvement in this, but the medic had little control over Jake’s actions. He had confirmed his suspicions that Garak was still alive after he had followed the doctor to Rokat Colony.

Instead of denying it, Bashir had reluctantly brought them into their circle, though Jake suspected that the doctor hadn’t told him everything. And Jake had learned from experience that Garak words could rarely be accepted at face value and often contained double meanings, which prompted him to seek the truth on his own.

“I understand your concerns, but he needs me here,” Jake said. Bashir’s eyes narrowed.

“What is he planning exactly?”

“I’m not sure,” Jake replied. “But he’s going to need someone impartial there, to report his side.”

“I see,” Bashir remarked, “and there’s no way I can dissuade you?”

“Doctor-I mean Julian, you know me better than that,” Jake smiled easily at him.

“Yeah, well I suppose I do,” Julian rubbed his chin.
****************************************************************

Dulcett Family Compound
Morfan Province
Cardassia Prime


“I still can’t believe I’ve told you this,” Ghirta Dulcett’s scaly gray skin prevented her embarrassment from being evident on her face, but her voice was loaded with it. “But I needed to talk to someone. I-I don’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t worry,” Lt. Ezri Dax said softly, giving the Cardassian woman’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “This is a strictly confidential conversation, okay?” The Trill put on her best reassuring smile.

Dulcett looked at the woman, eventually matching her smile. “I trust you, I suppose. Things are just so different on Prime, even now. Knowledge such as this could always be used as a weapon.”

“I don’t see how,” Dax replied, quizzically. Dulcett pursed her lips, sympathetic, and a bit envious of the woman’s naiveté.

“You don’t see how my relationship with the new Bajoran Kai could create a political firestorm on both our worlds?”

“No,” Dax shook her head, “I understand that. I just don’t comprehend how I, or the Federation could use this information as a weapon. New strains in relations between Bajor and the Cardassian Republic aren’t in anyone’s interests, except Cardassian insurgents.”

“Or the reactionaries on Bajor,” Dulcett quickly added. The woman had noticed a deliberate chill, even more than usual, on the station and definitely on planetside whenever she visited Bajor over the last several months. The reverberations of Lang’s assassination and other galactic events, had helped to stir a deep unease among the Bajorans.

And unfortunately, but not surprisingly, some Bajorans had struck out against offworlders, the vandalism even tainting the station. It had become prevalent enough that even Kai Sarkin recently spoke out against it, but Ghirta thought his words had done nothing to dispel the dark mood gripping his planet. It slightly reminded her of the dark, chaotic times after the fall of the Detepa Council, right before her people made their devil’s bargain with the Dominion. Of course the Bajorans had not become that desperate…yet, but Dulcett knew social dissolution when she saw it, it had marred a good deal of her adulthood thus far.

Once the news came out that Sarkin Noma was the father of her child, that the head of the Bajoran faith had sired a half-Cardassian child, Ghirta didn’t know what the reaction would be, but she was certain it would not be pleasant. She touched her stomach, already fearful for the child growing within.

“Have you told the Kai?” Dax asked, bringing Dulcett out of her reverie. The Cardassian woman shook her head.

“No, how could I?”

“You can’t hold this off, he needs to know,” Ezri remarked.

“And he will…but not now, he has so much work to do on Bajor, I don’t want to be a distraction.”

“I doubt that is how he sees you, and really shouldn’t that be his decision to make?” The Trill asked, and Dulcett couldn’t deny her wisdom, but fear clutched onto her.

“I’m not ready,” she shook her head. “I-I’m just not sure…”

“There are…other options,” Ezri proposed, with a pinched, distasteful expression on her face.

It took Dulcett only a second to catch on. “Never,” she said vehemently. “Family is the cornerstone of Cardassian society. I could never terminate a pregnancy.”

“Okay,” the counselor was more than willing to back away from the suggestion. “But I had to put other options out there. There’s also adoption.”

“And what would I do in the gestation period until I have birth? Leave my post as the relief coordinator for Cardassia?”

“It is an option, if you want to keep the pregnancy hidden,” Dax said, obviously not liking that choice either.

“Yes,” Ghirta conceded, “but I love my job, I love building bridges between the Bajorans and my people. And I…I love Noma,” she admitted, her voice cracking.

Dax gave her a moment. “Perhaps your child could also be part of building bridges, of realizing common ground,” she offered.

“I-I guess,” Dulcett said, never considering the possibility before.

“If a Bajoran and Cardassian can find love, the very head of the Bajoran church in fact, that’s a powerful symbol that both species can overcome their blood soaked pasts,” the counselor declared.

“You speak with a wisdom beyond your years,” Dulcett remarked. Something flashed in the other woman’s brown eyes, but she merely smirked.

“Yeah, I get that a lot sometimes,” her face took on a more serious mien. “After spending time on DS9, I’ve come to believe that rarely do things happen without cause, that at times there are greater hands at work.”

“Yes,” Dulcett nodded. “Noma often expresses similar observations. I have never been a religious person, but my time with him has kindled an interest in the Oralian Way, the old Hebitian faith. I have a better appreciation for the concept of fate now, of the impersonal forces behind our actions, guiding our hands. I’m not saying I believe any of it, though I understand Noma better.”

“He has also taken to studying the Way and will be conducting tours of Hebitian ruins after the inauguration, he has asked me to accompany him, but I don’t know if I should go. There are already rumors about his frequent visits to the station, and once I begin to show….”

“So,” Dax said, with a shrug. “You are two consenting adults. Love is a rare, blessed gift in this universe, and don’t let anyone take it from you,” she said, and Ghirta felt a deep sadness pour from her gaze. “Because when it’s gone, it’s gone…”

“You lost someone…special,” Dulcett understood.

“Several someones,” she muttered, “But most recently, he…uh…lost me….”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s complicated,” the Trill patted her hand. “I take it you don’t much about Trill physiology?”

“No,” Ghirta shook her head in confusion. “I do not.”

“I’ll have to send you some data on it, it should provide some illumination,” Ezri said, “Even though I’m still grappling with the unique genetic heritage of my people still.”

“We all do,” Dulcett reached out, now comforting Ezri. “This talk has been most…refreshing. I feel…well, I’m not sure how, but at least it wasn’t as lost as before.”

“That’s something at least,” Dax replied. “And I will always be here if you need to talk.”

“Thank you so much Ezri,” Dulcett smiled. “I think you’re first in line to be godmother.” The Trill chuckled.

“I would be honored,” she said. Both women turned at the light rapping against the wall.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, opening the door and stepping out onto the veranda. “This is truly a marvelous home you have her Ghirta.”

She smiled, “Thank you Julian. Morfan is the planet’s preferred vacation spot, however few can actually afford to live here. My grandmother made it a point to establish our family lodging here just for that reason,” her smile became wry.

“I might not agree with her classicism, but her taste in locations was wonderful. This is the only surviving rainforest on Prime, and I used to wile away hours exploring all the exotic flora and fauna beyond the compound’s walls. I long for those days again.”

“I think we all miss our youths,” Ezri replied.

“Parts of it, in any event,” Julian chimed in.

“Did you need something Doctor?” Dulcett asked.

“Ah yes,” he snapped his fingers. “Jake and Yano have finalized the dinner plans. They have found a Venturi restaurant in the Paldar sector.”

“Have you heard of it?” Dax asked the Cardassian woman.

“No,” she said, “It must be new.”

“Well, you must come try it with us,” Ezri asked, looking to Julian. He nodded strongly in agreement.

“Oh no, I don’t want to impose,” Ghirta replied.

“You’re not,” Ezri insisted, “believe me.”

“The more the merrier,” Julian added.

“Well, I…” Dulcett struggled for an excuse.

“Then it’s settled,” the spritely Trill beamed. “Despite how humongous this compound is, it doesn’t make sense to lock yourself away inside it.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ghirta admitted.

“Of course I am,” Dax tagged her temple, “I’ve got nine lifetimes stored in this noggin, got to know something right?”

“I don’t follow,” Dulcett replied. Ezri waved away the woman’s confusion.

“I’ve got to get you those Trill history data crystals,” Dax laughed, “If nothing else it should provide for some interesting bedtime reading.”
*************************************************************

 

[CeJay]

First, welcome back. I've been suffering from DT withdrawal symptoms for way too long so it's good to see you writing and posting again.

You do realize of course that this must be your 3rd or 4th attempt at this story. You've been away so long, I ain't gonna complain. Besides I enjoyed the changes you've made here and some scenes I think are brand new.

Any chance we'll get to see more Blooded as well?

 

[DarKush]

^
Hey CeJay,

Great to see your comments again. Yeah, this is another attempt at this story. I didn't feel like just picking up where I left off since it has been a long time between entries. I'm going to keep working at this one until I get it right or close to it because it is the way I want to usher in 2377 for Dark Territory and follow up the DS9/Cardassian storyline that had played a big part in my second written (not chronological) DT story, "Under the Shadows of Swords".

With "Hero" I have added some new scenes, new characters, and changed some scenes around. I realized I hadn't laid the groundwork well enough in my previous version. However there is a lot of that which I intend to keep, and/or tweak just a little bit.

I do plan to revise "Blooded" as well. But after I do "Hero".

 

[DarKush]

*****************************************************************

Legate’s Peak
Paldar Sector

Vaidar Dien wrinkled his nose. Pinute Tarkon, former legate and now soon to be presider over the Republic Diet, chuckled as he held the squirming rodent above his mouth. The tiny gray creature twisted madly, sensing its coming demise. But there was no escape from the man’s thick fingers. He dropped the doomed animal into his gaping mouth and swallowed the thing whole, in Venturi fashion.

The silvered ex-legate then took a swig of aged kanar before wiping his mouth with an embroidered napkin. “Really Gul Dien, you should enjoy life a little. This is certainly better than the sparse existence you have been living for the last couple years,” the man gestured around him, the sweep of his arm taking in the gaiety of the splendidly dressed patrons. The restaurant was filled with the din of good times, the civil servants and diplomats filling the halls, seemed to be completely oblivious to the shattered city beyond the shifting windows. The restaurant’s new Venturi owners had installed holoscreens over the glass, and they projected constantly changing scenes from the Venturi homeworld.

Though Dien hated their cuisine, his heart pinched at the images of the lost world. A century ago, their star Alpha Venturi Major began to cool, beginning the slow death of their world. The Venturi had been Federation members at the time, but even the Federation’s vaunted science was inadequate to the task of saving the Venturi homeworld, causing an exodus that had scattered the species across the galaxy. Dien had heard that some even wound up in the Nyberrite Alliance while there were rumors that others made it even to the Delta Quadrant or the Andromeda galaxy.

Many that remained in the Alpha Quadrant had turned to piracy and other criminal acts to survive, gaining a fearsome reputation. But a small Venturi community had sought refuge in Cardassian territory. The Venturi was even more reptilian in physiology than the Cardassians and thus preferred the many desert plants and hotter climes of Cardassian planets.

More Venturi had begun to show up after the war, as merchants, laborers, and pirates. They were one and the same to Dien, more parasites to feed off of his people’s suffering. But most of his people, including the good legate, were too blind to see it.

Tarkon fancied himself a patriot, a nationalist, yet was too happy to accept any non-Federation or Klingon hand offering assistance, but to Dien they were all exploiters. Only Cardassians could save Cardassia and Urlak was the best man to make sure that came about. But until that did, he had to play the role the incoming premier had assigned him.

“Are you not enjoying the live groot sir?” The three-fingered, pink scaled waiter asked, slight disappointment adding new wrinkles to his leathery face.

Dien grimaced slightly, “I am certain that they are quite delectable,” he said, turning to Tarkon, “My dining companion certainly enjoys them.” To that Tarkon nodded before sucking in the wiggling pink tail of the last one. “But I prefer my meals cooked.”

“I see,” the waiter said, pulling out a padd. He tapped it and a holographic menu appeared in front of Dien. “Here are our cooked selections.”

At a lost, Dien asked, “What do you recommend?” The waiter warmed to the question and listed several options. Dien picked the fourth, in an attempt to appear like he had actually been listening. His ruse had satisfied the waiter who bounced away to put in the order.

Dien raked over the burgeoning crowd again, his eyes narrowing as he took in, better yet, smelled all of the humans and other aliens. He longed for the old days of the Central Command, when Cardassia was a much more orderly society, as well as more pure in other ways.

“I see that glint in your eye, I understand your trepidation,” Tarkon said with seeming empathy. It disgusted Dien further.

“Really?” He couldn’t help himself. This wasn’t what Urlak wanted of him, but now that he had Tarkon in his sights he couldn’t help himself. “Is that way you gave up on the True Way, surrendering them to the occupiers?”

Dien’s nostrils flared in frustration when the older man merely smiled at him. “That is what many are saying you just did.”

“No, it was different.”

“How so?” Tarkon asked, and Dien stifled a scream. Just like that Tarkon had turned the tables on him and had him on the hot seat. Dien now understood how this man maintained a legate position for years.

“Because Premier-elect Urlak is a patriot,” Dien found himself stammering and cursing himself for it. “He-he fought against the colonizers.”

“Yes, before cutting a deal with them and doing the same thing I did,” Tarkon huffed, rankled at the thought. “Yet some in the media still hound me for selling out but praise him for being sagacious or pragmatic. I guess that’s the way the taspar egg rolls when you own the press.”

“I think you are being hyperbolic,” Dien replied.

“Perhaps so,” Tarkon chuckled, “He only owns ninety percent of the press. But once the Federation leaves, he’ll take the rest.”

“And that concerns you?” Dien found himself back in the more comfortable role of inquisitor.

“It should concern us all,” Tarkon shook his head. “Yes, he granted you amnesty, but that was for the cameras, to get the Federation to see him as a peace seeking democrat. He is nothing of the sort.”

“What is he then?”

“He is a hard liner,” Tarkon declared with absolute certainty. “If he is allowed to govern unchecked he will restore the Union and all of its terror appendages.”

“I thought you were in favor of reunion?”

“I am, so long as I am one of the decision makers,” Tarkon said with honesty. “If I am on the outside, I am vulnerable.”

“But you are the incoming leader of the congress,” Dien protested.

“Of a rival right wing party that is losing membership to Urlak’s coalition every day, as well as favor in the rightist press,” the man shook his head sadly. “In addition to being a turncoat, they are now calling me an obstructionist and an extremist! Me, an extremist?” He laughed harshly before gulped down the remainder of his kanar. “It took everything I had to lay down arms, to join Premier Lang’s government, but I knew that continual civil war served no purpose but to winnow our numbers further allowing the allied powers greater control over our dwindling population. The well being of our people has always been foremost in my mind,” he declared, pounding the table for emphasis.

“Is that so?” Dien smiled at the man’s flash of anger. Finally he had struck a nerve.

“Fighting a guerilla war against the allied powers was a losing proposition,” he said, “as you surely came to understand yourself. It would only make Starfleet dig in its heels, make them feel they couldn’t leave out of a sense of honor, of duty to their fallen once blood had been shed. It took me a moment to grasp that if you wanted to have the Federation leave, fighting them wasn’t the way to go. In fact not fighting them was the best option.”

“How so?” Dien leaned forward, now genuinely interested in hearing what Tarkon was going to say. The old gettle had moved beyond trying to merely justify his actions. He was now going to give Dien a view of how his mind worked, and that would be the deciding factor for whether Tarkon could be of any use to Urlak’s plans.

“The real objective was not Starfleet, but the Federation citizenry. You learned as well as I did from the academy that one must know one’s enemy better than one’s self. And understanding the mood of the public was important. I took note of the war weariness gripping the Federation. There was also a wave of isolationism sweeping the Federation, pushing the candidacy of Norah Satie. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that if we stopped the bloodshed the Federation public would put pressure on their leaders to withdraw Starfleet forces. In their minds the occupation would, or could be construed to be, a vast waste of resources better spent rebuilding Federation worlds.”

Dien scratched his hairless chin, “Satie did in fact make just such an argument.”

“And it was a winning argument,” Tarkon nodded, “One President Santiago could never find an answer for.”

“So once the Federation leaves?”

“That’s when the real war begins?” Vaidar asked, impressed with the man’s ability to take the long view.

“Ah, you young people are such firebrands,” Tarkon gently chided him. “No, I didn’t plan to restart hostilities. A civil war would just bring Starfleet back or even worse, leave our outer worlds ripe for Klingon, Romulan, or Alshain designs.”

“The Alshain have been our allies, at least since the Klingon Cold War,” Dien was surprised that Tarkon would throw the lupines into the mix of their enemies.

“That is until they joined the Federation Alliance,” Tarkon pointed out, “against us.”

“Could that not have stemmed from their fear of the Dominion?”

“Perhaps so,” the older man conceded, “but things have changed considerably on Alshain Proper.”

“Yes,” Dien now had to concede. The Exarchate had experienced a coup and was now grappling with its own civil war. “So, if you didn’t plan to resume the war. Then what?”

“The occupiers supplied us with all of the tools we needed to insure victory,” Tarkon grinned, “and that’s the beauty of it. That’s why I suspect that Premier Urlak eventually followed my path. Once he realized that he would win through popular mandate without resorting to force, he would then have the democratic cover to bolster and mask whatever totalitarian plans he has.”

“And it would be hard for the Federation leaders to rouse their people to make war against a ‘democratic’ country,” Dien caught on.

“Exactly,” the legate remarked. “Brilliant actually. Our cause has the numbers on its side. The people need to be made whole again and they can’t do that by following behind the alien trend of the moment.”

“Very astute observations,” Dien admitted.

“So how did my interview go?” Tarkon asked. “I want in.”

“That is not for me to decide,” Dien said.

“I know why you were sent here,” Tarkon remarked, “I know your master sent you to infiltrate the True Way political wing, but the sight of me, of this traitor, boiled your blood and you revealed your true distaste for me. But now, after our conversation, do you understand that I am not the sentimental accommodationist fool the media makes me out to be?”

“I do,” Dien admitted again, “But as for Urlak, that is another matter.”
***************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

****************************************************************

Legate’s Peak

“Come on Alisanda, stop messing with your dress, you look fine,” Diega Cruz said, squeezing her wife’s hand as she led them off of the lift. Alisanda couldn’t help herself. The dress felt like it was coming down and the last thing she or the Federation needed was another incident, even one as relatively minor as a wardrobe malfunction.

She was so used to wearing her uniform that civilian clothes didn’t feel right anymore. Diega didn’t have that problem. She looked stunning in a form fitting Aaamazzarite gold dress. Diega had chosen a stately, less revealing, imperial purple for her. Alisanda had to admit that her spouse did have a wonderful eye.

“There they are,” Diega said excitedly as she spotted their colleagues. Alisanda stopped playing with her dress and took on an imperious bearing. Tonight she wanted to make Dr. Bashir feel uncomfortable and it wouldn’t do for the medic to see her undone by fabric.

She wanted to keep the man aware that she had her eyes on both him and Jake. The Section 31 agent took note of how warmly Jake greeted the couple and how restrained Bashir was. So the doctor had not informed Jake of her true allegiance, or maybe the younger Sisko was the greatest actor since Anton Karidian. Somehow Alisanda doubted that; the young man wrote with such honesty, such passion, that she didn’t believe him capable of holding back any of his emotions, especially if he knew Alisanda for the threat that she was.

Other station mates, Ezri Dax, Aide Coordinator Ghirta Dulcett, Lt. Nog, Science Officer Okala Lahn, and several Defiant officers were sharing the large circular table. All were decked in civilian garb. Many already had their beverages.

“Sorry we’re late,” Diega smiled, “But this one,” she chucked a thumb at Alisanda, “She takes forever to get ready.” This prompted a round of laughter. Even Bashir was able to get out a few forced chuckles. Alisanda didn’t have to pretend much to make her smile sheepish. Sometimes she wished that she could leave everything behind and run away with Diega. She truly loved the woman, even if the section had first wanted her to seduce Diega for information on Starfleet anti-Borg measures.

“We’ll I have a lot to compete against,” she tried her hand at a joke. It didn’t produce much hearty laughter. Pivoting, she gazed at the people she didn’t know. A comely young dark skinned Bajoran, with tapered Vulcanoid ears.

“Commander Cruz, this is reporter Kall Yano,” Ezri spoke up.

“Ah yes, Mr. Sisko’s partner,” she said, freighting that last word. The younger woman blushed, smiling nervously before lowering her eyes.

“Please Commander, call me Jake,” the young man stepped in. Alisanda dipped her head.

“Of course, but only if you call me Alisanda,” she smiled warmly.

“I think I can arrange that,” he returned her smile.

“And this is Diplomat Deroon Klenn,” Ezri anticipated Alisanda’s question. She dipped her head in the direction of the graying Klaestron, “Deroon was an old friend of Curzon Dax, one of the previous symbiont hosts.” The man regarded her with a small smile, a knowing gleam in his eye. Am I the only one here who isn’t what they seem? It forced Alisanda to wonder.

She knew she would have to keep an eye on the Klaestron in addition to Bashir and Jake.

****************************************************************

 

[Gibraltar]

DarKush, as you know, I've often been mystified by the frequent re-writes of some of your stories.

That said, I have to admit that this tale is sharper, crisper, and flows more easily in its latest iteration. The characters really 'pop' here, and the gravitas of the situation is conveyed in all it's murky shades of Cardassian gray.

With Urlak, Satie, Garak, and the deep undercover Admiral Grace involved, this reads like a John le Carre novel, layers within layers, and intertwining plots and machinations.

Fantastic stuff, and if I hadn't mentioned it earlier, I'm immensely gratified to see you posting your outstanding work again after your involuntary hiatus.

 

[DarKush]

***************************************************************

Legate’s Peak

Though the night had gone pretty easy, Bashir knew he couldn’t relax until he had parted company with Commander Cruz, and really not even then. He was on Cardassia after all. He stilled a desire to pull Ezri closer to him. He didn’t want to embarrass her or give away how worried he was about her and all of his friends. As he glanced around the table, filled with half-eaten meals, half-finished drinks, and lots of smiling and laughing or the equivalent of, he could truly say that ignorance is bliss.

“It is a shame that General Pire or Colonel Jatarn could attend,” Doctor Leel said, “Or Constable Rath.” Julian noticed the mood chill noticeably at the mention of the Bajorans now running the station. They had largely shuttled the Starfleet crew to the Defiant and the infirmary, but Bashir wouldn’t be surprised if they Pire hadn’t assigned Leel to be his assistant to eventually replace him.

Leel, a very nonpolitical sort, seemed oblivious to all of that. “Well I am certain they had a lot of work to do on the station,” Ezri offered.

“Plus, Bajora One was already packed enough,” Nog tried to make a joke. He quickly went back to picking at his plate of grubs. Surprisingly the new First Minister had asked the Deep Space Nine crew to accompany her on the Bajoran flagship to Cardassia. Julian would’ve preferred the Defiant, but Starfleet Command had acceded to Urlak’s request that Federation starships be placed out of orbit until his inauguration was complete.

“I guess it would be too much to hope that the First Minister could dine with us,” Alisanda said, her tone good-natured. Julian was immediately concerned. “But perhaps not Kai Sarkin,” she added, “He seems to get along quite famously with Coordinator Dulcett, doesn’t he?”

Bashir was perplexed by the question but he could tell by the shifting of Dulcett’s neck plates that the question was far from innocent. To his surprise he saw Ezri fighting against a blush.

“And why should that be anything out of the ordinary?” Diplomat Klenn asked, “The Bajoran church is one of the chief conduits of aid for Cardassia. It makes perfect sense for the two to work together.”

Dulcett nodded, the tension easing from her face and neck. She nodded in the Klaestron’s direction. “The diplomat is correct, and quite knowledgeable.”

His smile was gracious. He turned to Alisanda, the smile still on his face, but a hardness to his gaze, “Now, the real question is how these two love avians find one another? Who wants to hear about politics when you we can talk about love? The galaxy definitely needs more of that.” His sentiments were met with hearty laughter and upraised glasses.

As Diega gushed about her first meeting with Alisanda on Utopia Planitia, Bashir noticed that her counterpart had become even quieter than usual. Her almond eyes had narrowed, her gaze so intense it could melt uridium alloy. She was eyeing the diplomat and every few minutes Klenn would meet her gaze, winking even once. Bashir was thrown by that. Did they know each other? Was Klenn also a member of Section 31? Or did he belong to another outfit?

This sojourn had just become even more complex, he miserably realized. Diega was almost finished when everyone was drawn to a tumult in the far left corner of the room.

“I asked for Altairian water, not Ulirian!” It was a young Cardassian woman, elegantly dressed, but her face was contorted in rage. A muscular, middle-aged man, with brown scaled skin, tried to place his hand on the woman’s shoulder, but she pulled roughly away from him. She jabbed her finger into the chest of the startled water, causing the man to drop his tray, the smashing of glass echoing across the now silent room. “Do you think I drink swill like this?”

The man shook his head, a look of mortal terror on his face. “I-I am sorry.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she roared, poking him again. “Do you?”

“Of-of course not miss,” he said, still backing up. She stalked after him.

“That’s lady to you, pink scale!” She snapped, “Lady Melken Urlak!”

“Yes, of course, Lady,” he tried to bow his head, but was met with a fierce slap to his cheek. The man jumped back, holding his check. He hissed, and Bashir’s eyes widened as the man’s nails retracted. From what little Julian knew of Venturi physiology, the put upon young man was entering a fight or flight state, and Venturi were not known for fleeing. This didn’t frighten the furious Cardassian woman in the slightest.

“You hiss at me? You?” She balled up her fists. “I’ll teach you proper respect!” She started to charge him, until her middle-aged companion grabbed her, wrapping her up in a bear hug and pulling her off her feet. She kicked his legs with the back of her feet and tried to head butt him as she thrashed about, but he had an iron grip. “Let me go Jevek!” She screeched, “This instant! Now! I command you!”

“No,” He said calmly before walking toward the exit, still holding the thrashing woman. He stopped only to apologize to the still hissing waiter.

“My grandfather will hear of this!” She threatened.

“Then you should be more worried than me,” The man called Jevek replied. The rest of the conversation became unintelligible shouting as he escorted the woman from the restaurant.

“Ah, yes,” Klenn smiled, “I guess none of you are familiar with Melken Urlak?” He glanced around the table. An embarrassed Doctor Leel slowly raised a hand.

“Well, entertainment news is a vice,” she admitted.

“But one that can be invaluable in the diplomatic game,” Klenn replied, “One can learn a lot about a people’s culture from what they consider news and entertainment.”

“So, what does the entertainment news have to say about Melken?” Ezri asked.

“In the capital city they call her The Whirlwind,” he intimated, “and after tonight’s fiasco, I see that sobriquet extending throughout all of the Second Republic,” he remarked.

“Give me the insurgents any day,” Nog muttered, the comment ostensibly only meant for Jake, but in the still quiet hall it carried. And this time Nog’s wryness drew laughter was much more genuine and very much needed.
********************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

DarKush, as you know, I've often been mystified by the frequent re-writes of some of your stories.

That said, I have to admit that this tale is sharper, crisper, and flows more easily in its latest iteration. The characters really 'pop' here, and the gravitas of the situation is conveyed in all it's murky shades of Cardassian gray.

With Urlak, Satie, Garak, and the deep undercover Admiral Grace involved, this reads like a John le Carre novel, layers within layers, and intertwining plots and machinations.

Fantastic stuff, and if I hadn't mentioned it earlier, I'm immensely gratified to see you posting your outstanding work again after your involuntary hiatus.

Thanks for commenting. I'm often mystified myself Gibraltar, but I guess I have a perfectionistic streak.

I am glad you are liking the rewrite thus far. Since I had been forced to be out the game for a minute it gave me a chance to reevalute what I had posted before. I saw some holes, one with Gul Dien and another with Melken Urlak. I had been doing more telling than showing with both of them and I wanted them to get some scenes. I wanted to show at least a little how much of a wildcat Melken could be. Another thing I hadn't done so well was better integrate the DS9 crew into the story so I decided to get them off the ship. The Sutherland needed to be the primary Federation/Starfleet ship anyway in this story.

Now that I'm looking at this as part of a trilogy (Valley of Peace and Under the Shadows of Swords being the first two parts; perhaps your Embers of the Fire being thrown in there as well to make it a four part story), the story started coming together a little better for me. And I needed to give the story and the characters, especially the Cardassian ones, a bit more weight than I had the last go round.

 

[DarKush]

***************************************************************

USS Sutherland
Private Quarters

Lt. Peter Rudd grinned as he raked in another mountain of chips. “You guys are making it too easy.” He chuckled at the collective groaning around the table. “Especially you Commander Lavelle.”

“Excuse me?” Commander Sam Lavelle asked, his mind elsewhere. He shook his head and pushed his chips forward, adding them to the pile. “Sorry.”

“Everything all right Commander?” Glinn Sial Keta asked, as she picked back up the cards she had just tossed on the table. She shook her head again, as if in disbelief that the security guard had had the better hand.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” Sam said, stretching. He stifled a yawn, “It’s getting late. I better go.”

“Seriously sir?” Rudd asked, checking his chrono. “From the stories I’ve heard about the legendary poker games on the Sutherland, you would just be getting started. And you don’t want to attempt to win your money back? You sure you’re all right sir?”

“I’m fine,” Lavelle said curtly before standing up. “Please carry on without me.”

“Yes sir,” Rudd said a bit too jauntily. However, Lavelle seemed oblivious to the man’s tone.

“Perhaps I should retire as well,” Keta said.

“I’ll escort you out,” Sam said with a kind smile. They exited the room quickly.

“What’s his deal?” Lt. Jamie Leighton asked. Rudd scowled at the attractive strawberry blonde. It had taken him a while to drag the woman away from her exobiology station and he didn’t want the mood spoiled by even the hint of insubordination.

“The commander was tired, long and short of it,” Rudd said.

“Well, from the stories I heard about Sutherland, both the senior officers went harder than the junior officers or civilians. I mean, Suthy isn’t called the party ship for no reason.”

“This ship’s reputation, deserved or not, didn’t seem to be the reason you wanted to serve aboard it,” Rudd said, decided to turn the tables on his potential paramour. “I nearly had to pull rank to get you to attend our card game.”

“I outrank you, remember?” Leighton remarked, undercutting her comments with a smile. Rudd’s cheeks reddened. “Besides, I’ve been trying to learn the lay of the land since arriving aboard. I didn’t have time to muck around as it were.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit fishy,” Rupiah asked, flashing a toothy, leering grin. The Ferengi waiter said, “I think it’s a bit telling that Glinn Keta also felt a need to leave the card game at the same time as the commander.”

Rudd rolled his eyes, “That’s crossing the line Rupiah,” he warned the woman. The Ferengi merely sniffed.

“Besides I’ve heard that the commander is totally involved with Lt. Django,” Leighton countered.

“Lt. Django who isn’t here, Lt. Django that just took an extended leave…for unknown reasons,” Rupiah said conspiratorially.

“Get off it Rupi,” Rudd groused. “How about we get back to the game?”

“That’s fine,” the waiter said. “I have to reclaim the earnings you stole from me.”

“I don’t steal,” the security guard laughed. “It’s all skill.”

“We’ll see about that hew-mon,” Rupiah flashed a feral smile.

“Game on,” Rudd matched her smile with a challenging grin of his own.
******************************************************************
USS Sutherland
Deck Five

Commander Sam Lavelle heard the soft footfalls behind him. He turned slowly, “Don’t tell me you’re lost Glinn Keta?”

“Sial, please,” she said, rushing up to him, “And now, I’m not lost,” she smiled. Sam couldn’t help but notice how even more attractive the woman was when she smiled. Her skin was gray, but not pallid, nor as pebbled as some Cardassians. Her broad nostrils and full lips made her look less reptilian, as did her large, round dark eyes.

Lavelle grinned in spite of himself. “I would hope not. You’ve been a member of our crew for a good month now.”

“Yeah,” she said, frowning slightly, “And my tour of duty is coming to an end. I’ll be reassigned after the inauguration.”

“Sad to hear that,” Sam said, and he meant it. He was a bit surprised by his feeling of disappointment. His opinions of the Cardassians had hardened over the years, over what they had done to Jaxa and then the war with the Dominion. However, it went against his core to blame all for the actions of some, and even if he had been so biased, the horror visited upon the Cardassian people at the close of the war, would’ve melted away that prejudice.

“Really?” Sial brightened. “Well, I was thinking of actually leaving the Security Forces. I think Cardassia is getting back to firm footing, with a free, and stable election. I don’t agree with a lot of Premier-elect Urlak’s stances, but the people chose him.”

Sam merely nodded. Truth be told, he hadn’t kept up with the minutiae of Cardassian politics, lately he had been far too busy keeping Sutherland on steady footing, along with missing Django…but he didn’t want to dwell on Maria.

“I’ve missed the Federation,” Sial intimated, “I would like to return.” She looked down, as if embarrassed by the admission. Unbidden Sam touched her chin gently and lifted her head back up. “I feel so bad for admitting it, but I miss Vulcan. I hated the Federation at first, when my parents were forced from Cardassia, but over the years I grew fond of it. And now, it is Cardassia that I feel…dislocated from.”

“I see,” Lavelle remarked. “I’ll talk to the captain about it.”

“Thank you,” Keta remarked, hugging him. Her touch was electric. She held on to him a bit too long, and to his discredit he allowed her to. Coming to his senses, Lavelle pulled away from the woman.

“I’ll do it as soon I get a chance,” he promised. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Actually Commander…Sam…I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind having a…nightcap?”

Sam blanched. He held up both hands as he backed away from her. “I’m sorry Sial…but-but I can’t.”

The woman was stricken. She backed away as well. “Did I say or do something to offend you?”

“No, no, of course not,” he said, planting his feet. “It’s just…”

“You’re involved?”

“Yeah,” Lavelle said.

“Yeah doesn’t sound so rock solid to me,” Keta remarked.

“It’s complicated,” Sam admitted, “But it’s something I want to stick with.”

“I can respect that,” Keta said, “I am certain your significant other is very lucky.”

“I wish she thought that,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said quickly.

“Well I hope I haven’t made a complete idiot of myself tonight,” the Cardassian woman replied.

“No,” Sam shook his head, “It just goes to show that you’ve got good taste is all.”

“Ha,” Keta remarked. “Don’t get too full of yourself.”

“Can’t help it,” Lavelle rolled his eyes, “It comes with the territory.”
***************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

****************************************************************

USS Sutherland
Holodeck

“Maldin, duck!” Lt. Sito Jaxa barked. The startled Benzite tucked his head down, and Sito’s mace swung over it, slamming into the midsection of the creature that had just emerged from the jungle. The reptoid hissed as it fell back. Sito ripped the spiked weapon out of the downed monster with a wet smack.

Jaxa clamped on Maldin’s shoulder and pulled him up roughly. “You need to pay better attention.”

“I’m sorry,” Maldin said, attempting to wipe mud and grime off his knees.

“This isn’t a game, the safeties are off,” she snapped. “You could get seriously injured in here or worse.”

“I am aware of that,” Maldin replied, a bit miffed. “It was my request after all.”

“You came to me because you wanted to be a more capable warrior,” Sito said. “This calisthenics program is a good first step, but it won’t do you any good if one of these holograms takes your head off.”

“I get it,” he groused. “Can we continue?”

“After you,” she gestured toward the thick foliage. “And keep your wits about you.” After admonishing the skittish Benzite, Jaxa had a hard time staying in the moment. Her thoughts drifted back to Aridus III. She heard the rough cut of her knife into the soft flesh of the hapless Ferengi, and the laughter of the Huntress. She recalled the hot splash of the alien’s blood across her skin, and the memory stoked deeper, despicable fires in her. His face morphed into the leering mug of Gul Rejak, the jailer and torturer who still haunted her dreams and fueled her rage.

Rage that it became harder for her to control at times, forcing her to cloister herself away from her crewmates. The holodeck had become a welcome refuge for her to expend her wrath when it built up too much. She needed this session more than Maldin.

The Benzite was a natural, though he didn’t realize it. Jaxa could tell Maldin was lithe and quick, but he didn’t have the confidence, or the killer instinct. Jax had too much of that instinct.

The ever present ghosts of her past weren’t the only things unsettling her. Jaxa had been trying very hard to accept Captain Shelby’s decision to bring in Petty Officer Triese to head the security division. Before, Sito had been in charge of the security division while also serving as tactical officer on the bridge. Though Elizabeth said the move would be more efficient, allowing Jaxa to focus more on her bridge duties, Jaxa couldn’t help but feel it was a comment on her performance. Or either a subtle expression of Shelby’s feelings on Jaxa’s mental stability; maybe both.

She had done her best to give Shelby the benefit of the doubt, and to bring Triese up to speed. Sito even found herself liking the Vulcan-Orion. Triese didn’t pry or constantly ask her how she was feeling. All she cared about was the job, and it made interacting with the woman crisp, professional, and within acceptable boundaries.

The Bajoran barely heard the rustling of the leaves before the alien crashed through. He was a bruiser, large, muscled, with a skull face and a chipped ax. Sito moved forward, but then stopped.

She looked into the hologram’s bottomless black eyes before saying, “Maldin, he’s all yours.”
****************************************************************

USS Sutherland
Detention Center

“I thought I would find you in here.” Lt. Triese glanced up from the standing console facing the detention cells at the sound of the voice. She squelched a sigh at the smiling visage of Ensign Alvin Grace. At least he was persistent, she realized, as she stood at attention.

“As you were,” the junior officer joked. The smile evaporated quickly when the Vulcan hybrid pinned him with a stern stare. “Sorry sir,” he said, now standing at rigid attention.

She let him twist for a few nanoseconds, “As you were,” she remarked before resuming her duties.

“What is the purpose of your visit Mr. Grace?” She asked, pausing before she tilted her head to the side. “And why are you dressed like that?” Her nostrils filled with the man’s scent, his human musk made more pungent by the sweat drying across his brow, and assuredly across his body.

“Oh, this?” He tapped his chest. The brown skinned man was dressed in a skintight one piece sky blue outfit. His muscled physique, Triese had to admit to herself, was acceptable. “I just got through playing Parrises Squares with the captain and some others. She’s quite good at it.”

“I see,” Triese said, returning to gazing at her screen.

“You’ve never played Parrises Squares before?”

“I never saw the need to,” the Vulcan-Orion said, not looking up. “Vulcan and Starfleet exercise regimens have been sufficient enough.”

“Okay, but what about to have fun?”

The woman stifled a sigh, but she couldn’t melt her frosty glare. “Vulcans do not have fun.”

“Really?” The ensign said, disbelieving. “Because I’ve seen Vulcans engage in all types of games at the Academy, even baseball. Besides you’re half Orion too.”

Triese’s stare grew arctic, and Grace tugged at his collar. “Sorry,” he offered. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You did not,” Triese said, knowing it was a lie. A not very Vulcan thing to do, she chided herself.

“Well, what about Vulcan games, like kal-toh?” Grace was indefatigable.

“Kal-toh is a game of strategy, as is baseball,” Triese surmised. “Both are logical endeavors.”

“So is Parrises Squares,” Grace countered. “The next time we have a game I would like you to attend.”

“Are you giving me an order Ensign?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“I have no interest in attending…or participating.”

“Not even to learn how the game tests logic and strategy?”

“I said I have no interest.”

“In the game…or in me?”

“Both.”

“I see,” Grace said, his tone now hot. “I won’t waste your time then.” Before Triese could reply, he pivoted quickly on his heel and left the room.

“If I may offer some romantic advice,” DaiMon Drux said through his cage. Triese allowed just an ounce of perturbation in her voice in her reply.

“You may not.”
**************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

**************************************************************

USS Sutherland
Sickbay

Captain Shelby gingerly rolled her shoulder. “That better Captain?” The Kressari nurse asked. Shelby winced, but nodded anyway.

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “I’m just not as durable as I used to be, I suppose.”

“What possessed you to play a full Squares match so soon after getting in that scrape on Aridus III?” Dr. Denise Murakawa, dressed in powder blue scrubs, chided her. The slender woman was draped over an empty biobed, adjusting its sensor cluster.

“The tussle on Aridus only left me sore,” Shelby said.

“And now you’ve got some nice bruises to add to it,” the medic replied, still not letting her off the hook.

“That’s why I’m so glad to have you aboard Denise,” Shelby smiled, “My own personal Dr. Feelgood to take the pain away.”

“Ha,” Murakawa replied before she inspected the affected area on Shelby’s back. The captain tried to crane her head around but she could only see just the top of the purpled area. “You should be fine. The pain should go away completely in a few hours as should your skin discoloration. Of course if you wanted me to administer a stronger remedy?”

“No, no,” Shelby said. “I’ll admit it was probably foolish for me to get a game in before we reached Starbase 375, but I just didn’t want to sit in my room or one the bridge. I’m a bit too keyed up for that. However, I definitely don’t want to greet the fleet admiral under the influence of any controlled substance, legal or not. Could you imagine the gossip hounds if that got out?”

“Well, it is your discomfort,” the doctor replied, with mild disapproval.

“Yes it is,” Shelby replied.

“Captain Shelby,” a clipped, British voice came through the medical bay’s bulkhead intercom.

“Yes,” the captain turned her attention away from Denise.

“Fleet Admiral Grace has requested to be beamed aboard immediately,” replied Lt. Harrison, the beta shift watch officer.

“Naomi, are we even within transporter range yet of the station?” Shelby was a little confused by this request, not to mention put upon. She had assumed she would have sufficient time to put the finishing touches on preparing the ship to receive the commander-in-chief appropriately, but now that hope seemed dashed.

“Yes, we entered the perimeter of transporter range less than a minute ago,” the officer replied.

“Is the admiral aware that we also have prisoners to transport?”

“Umm…yes,” Naomi paused, “but he insisted that we transport them over after he is aboard.”

“I see,” Shelby replied, glancing at the doctor who looked similarly perplexed. “Do as the man says.”

“Aye sir,” Harrison briskly responded.

“Shelby out,” the captain remarked. Turning her full attention back to Denise, she added, “I don’t think the pain in my shoulder is going to be the pain I have to worry about.”
*****************************************************************

 

[Dnoth]

I'm late to this (as usual ), but it's great to see you writing again.

I won't lie, I'm a DS9 junkie. It's great to read about them. I can't wait to see what Garak has planned.

And who doesn't enjoy the Suthy crew?

Add to that a political thriller plot.

Needless to say, I look forward to more.

 

[CeJay]

I'm less of a fan of seeing canon characters in fan fiction but I appreciate the additional depth you are giving this story even if no Dark Territory tale could ever be accused of insufficient depth.

The political intrigue here is enough to fill one novel alone. Throwing Sutherland into the mix makes for one seriously compelling story.

 

[DarKush]

Dnoth,

It's great to hear from you. I'm glad you've liked what I've done thus far and I too am looking forward to seeing what Garak has cooked up. I also enjoy the Sutherland crew and want to thank DavidFalkayn for allowing me to use them. It's a little different writing someone else's characters but I hope I do them justice. At least Suthy fans can rest assured that I won't kill them. Maybe...

CeJay,

I actually share some of your concerns about the use of canon characters. If I could do it all over again I probably wouldn't have tied my characters so closely to DS9, but I did, and some major stuff happened in the first two stories I wrote (not the first two stories chronologically, let me add), and it wouldn't make much sense to me or any one who liked those stories and would like to see a continuation of those storylines/plots if I just dropped them and moved on.

Both you and Dnoth are right that this is shaping up to be a political story. I hope it goes as well as my other two major Cardassian-centric stories did.

 

[DarKush]

Author's Note: As I was thinking more about this story I couldn't get my head around all the previous Crimson Shadow characters so I decided to rewrite the introductory scene for them with some new and old characters. The old scene didn't fit where I wanted to take the story now and I wanted to make sure readers knew what was happening when new characters popped up and older characters weren't mentioned again, or their roles changed.

The character of Gul Panar first appeared at the Second Battle of Chin'toka in my story "Maelstrom". I decided to include her in this story because my intention had been to create a strong Cardassian antagonist for Shelby and the heroes to face, yet I doubt she will go that way now. At least for this story.

Hopefully this won't be too confusing. This scene will be inserted in the prologue in the completed version of the story.

One more thing...thanks to CeJay for the creation of the Lekuta System from his story "The Times They Are A'Changin'".

**************************************************************

Imperial Klingon Warship guhPoQ
Lekuta System
November 2376

On the ocular shaped viewscreen the slight, wizened man held up the arm of the taller, skeletal man in a gesture of combined triumph. “The election is won,” the hologram of the financier Vorurth said, her bitterness carrying across subspace. Gul Gavran turned around in his seat to regard her with a baleful eye.

The holoprojectors installed in the makeshift stateroom was one of the few alterations, along with the Cardassian-style viewer, the gul would allow to his prize of war. Several ghostly figures formed a semicircle around Gavran’s desk, with the viewer on the wall behind him. “Gul Dien’s defection will propel Urlak into the premiership,” the financier added.

“If the fate of the election is sealed, it was on our backs!” Spat Gul Panar, her neck plates bunching as she pounded the desk she sat behind, likely in her own warship. With the turn of recent events, most of the Crimson Shadow leaders didn’t stay in one location for too long.

Anger welled inside Gul Gavran as he found himself nodding along with Panar. Though the woman had aged considerably in the short time he knew her, her passion for the cause burned brightly, giving a youthful glow to her that he knew wasn’t merely holographic effect. Before he could give support to the raging woman, the more cautious Dal Jathad spoke up.

“How could Provost Urlak do this to us?” The hefty man asked, “He was the person who recruited me into the Crimson Order to start with, to receive just due for my family.”

“But you found your way to the Shadow,” Gavran interjected, unable to stay silent any longer, “That vole Urlak never liked the Shadow. He never liked the idea of beings actually fighting for their freedom. He always preferred to work behind the scenes, reaping the rewards of others’ hard labor, just like the rest of those damnable Obsidian Order shtels,” he paused in his fulminations, turning in the direction of a curiously silent figure. “No offense meant.”

Leaning closer to his projector, Elim Garak’s smile was as ghostly as his appearance. “No offense taken.” Then he took a step back, preferring to be on the sidelines. Listening and reading people as always. Gavran was surprised that Garak had even responded to his request for a meeting.

In the past he had been extremely furtive. Perhaps his coming into the light was just a sign of how dire Urlak’s nearing installation as premier was to all of their plans. Then again, his sudden change of behavior might be another strand of the web he claimed he was weaving around Urlak. The gul had never been much for patience or arachnids for that matter.

Gavran unleashed into the discussion again. “Urlak was jealous of Gul En’Roel, he knew that Javin held the hearts of the true patriots and I bet on my life that he conspired to eliminate him!”

“Like he did with Premier Lang,” Garak said almost so quietly that Gavran barely heard him. In any event he didn’t respond because he had cheered that traitor’s murder. If Garak hadn’t proven so useful, he would’ve likely received the same treatment from the Shadow.

“If he couldn’t control every aspect of our insurrection then he decided to destroy it!” Panar was on fire as well.

“And he has largely succeeded,” Vorurth replied, “Dien’s defection has led to a mass exodus of fighters from the Shadow. They have given up their disruptors for the amnesty and jobs Urlak had promised.”

“Lies!” Gavran stabbed his finger at the woman’s simulacrum, wishing she was actually there to pierce her heart with the polished d’k tahg blade he had ripped from the hands of this vessel’s former master. “If he doesn’t have them all imprisoned and executed, he’ll slowly kill grind them into automatons, as lifeless as the Borg!”

“Gavran speaks truth,” Panar nodded with certainty.

“The tide has turned,” Vorurth said, with just as much assuredness, “I attend this meeting out of courtesy, from one patriot to others, but I must inform you that we can no longer provide the Shadow financial support.”

“What?” Gavran gasped, shocked. The steel-haired Vorurth had always been in their corner.

“Shtel!” Panar cursed.

“What are you saying?” Jathad asked, trepidation more evident than shock or outrage on his face. Garak’s countenance was impassive, as usual.

“Mintof Urlak will become premier of the Second Republic,” Vorurth was matter-of-fact, “and my associates and I believe it is time to do business with him. Personally I recommend that you do the same. Take the amnesty.”

“Never,” Panar shook her head.

“Cardassia needs all of us working together now,” Vorurth said, “You know that Urlak shares no true love for the Federation.”

“You are correct about that,” Gavran shot back, “He only is concerned about himself, his own power! He’ll be another Dukat!” The epithet stung the financier into momentary silence.

After a few moments, she replied, “Not if we can steer him in the direction that we wish him to go.”

“You are being naïve, my dear Vorurth,” Garak replied, shaking his head sadly. “Urlak is a rabid gettle that cannot be tamed. You do so at your own risk, at your own exposure.”

“I’ve done that far too much, for too long,” she said, her voice turning cold, “Supporting this insurrection long past its expiration date. Urlak’s ascension will speed up the end of the occupation and isn’t that what we were fighting for to begin with?”

“You corporate types,” Gavran threw up his hands, “You’re no better than the Obsidian Order!”

“You throw a little money at us and you think that is the same as putting your lives on the line. A reputation can be rebuilt, but if a person loses their lives, there’s no escape clause from that,” Panar added.

“It was more than a little,” the financier retorted, “without us you’re ships would be adrift and you would be starving.”

“I think you all are being too hard on Madame Vorurth,” Jathad weighed in before Panar could snap back. “She and our other benefactors have taken great personal risk to support us this long.”

“So what are you saying Dal Jathad?” Panar asked, mentioning his lower rank. The man was not perturbed by the dig.

“This is exactly what Urlak wants us to do,” Gavran forced himself not to shout. “He wants us to splinter.”

“He’s succeeded in that,” Garak conceded.

“Many have taken the amnesty,” Vorurth added, “and you know that many more will.”

“I think one of the cowards is among us,” Panar said, sniffing in Jathad’s direction.

“I remain loyal to Cardassia,” Jathad puffed his barrel chest out.

“What does that mean exactly?” Panar had him in her sights and wasn’t willing to let him go. Gavran understood her need to draw blood. But Jathad didn’t take the bait, perhaps wisely. Panar was a war hero and Jathad was relatively new to command. It was doubtless that some of his soldiers would follow Panar’s orders over his own and one could never be certain who was talking to whom aboard the ships or other areas that the Shadow congregated.

“It doesn’t matter what he means!” Gavran declared, “Because Jathad will not be joining that spigot opened by Dien. Urlak will be disgraced and out of power before he is inaugurated.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Vorurth looked pointedly in Garak’s direction, “that the charges of corruption would make him leery of pursuing office, that the mere threat of his unsavory business dealings would force him into an early retirement. None of those things came to pass.”

“Those things were merely a prelude,” Garak’s mysterious smile returned.

“I don’t know what is whirling around in your head Garak and quite frankly I don’t care,” Gavran said, “I have an idea in mind that will rock Urlak to his foundation and show all of Cardassia how weak he truly is.”

“And do tell what this plan is?” Garak asked for the group. But Gavran knew better.

“You will see, the whole quadrant soon will,” he promised.
*************************************************************

 

[CeJay]

I'm just going to have to call you the Quentin Tarentino of Trek fan-fiction.

Your unorthodox chronology notwithstanding, this is a great new intro that perfectly foreshadows the events to come as well as establishes the major players and their motivations.