Changes, A Deep Space Nine story by Sue Castle. Rated PG-13, no infringement intended. Refers
to events in Flashback.
Hatred ran deep and strong as the rivers had once flowed across parched
and broken land. Bajor had been a beautiful place, before three generations of
brutal Cardassian occupation had stripped it of its wealth, its resources. Now
the Bajora, as deeply wounded in spirit as their ruined land, struggled to heal
amidst the wreckage their tormentors had left behind. But the hatred remained.
Buried in some souls, ingrained by pain and loss and terror, it festered.
Most of the deeply religious men and women struggled with their
nightmares, tried to rebuild their lives, worked to build a future for children
who would grow up free. But for some the hatred was too great, and it wouldn't
be buried for long. They looked for vengeance, not to the future, for their
paghs were bound to the pain of the past. Their need and their hate decreed
that someone be punished, that they could not rest until all vestiges of
Cardassia were wiped from the surface of their planet, as if by scrubbing Bajor
clean they could remove the stains on their own souls.
Doctor Julian Bashir, chief medical officer of the joint
Bajoran-Federation outpost station Deep Space Nine, was normally a cheerful
man. He was usually so cheerful, in fact, that many of his crewmates considered
him a pest. Unless they were injured or ill, of course. Besides being a pest,
he was also an incredibly talented doctor. He usually bounced with the
barely-restrained energy of a puppy, and his high spirits could irritate his
fellow officers. But today was not a normal day, and his mood was uncommonly
grim.
"Children. They're only children."
The Bajoran nurse working alongside him nodded silently, then handed him
the smallest laserscalpel in the emergency medkit. They continued to work
swiftly, the silence broken only by Bashir's terse commands and the whimpering
of the wounded. The orphanage had been the latest target in yet another
skirmish between battling factions trying to gain power in the still unsettled
Provisional Government. The Council of Vedeks was decrying the most recent
round of violence, and Kai Winn herself had appealed for peace and calm, so the
heads of the factions could meet. But the fighting was widespread, and here in
the countryside, far from the peacekeeping forces of the cities, the innocents
were once again suffering.
Only two of the staff of eight had come to the orphanage after the
missiles had hit. The others were either at home with their families or
unaccounted for in the general confusion after the attack. The village had
taken some moderate damage but the center of the attack had been on the humble
orphanage, and the sixty or so displaced Cardassian children who lived there.
Of that number, fully half had been killed in the initial attack. Bashir had
been at a nearby village, enjoying a rare break from his station duties and
taking his nurse up on her longstanding invitation to meet her family. Shika
Mer was a good friend to the young doctor, and she and her husband included him
in their extended family. Mer had a feeling that Julian's reputation as a
playboy in training would be completely shot if Major Kira or Chief O'Brien
ever saw him romping on the floor with her toddlers.
His love for children was one of his better kept secrets, but when word
had reached her village about the carnage at the orphanage, she knew how deeply
affected he had been. They hadn't wasted any time with explanations, just
snatched up their medkits and ran for the flitter. Within ten minutes they were
at the scene, and they waded into hell and got to work. They hadn't stopped for
a breath. Bashir had contacted the station to update Commander Sisko on the
situation and he'd promised to send a runabout down with more medical supplies
and personnel to assist the village.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, she heard the whining pitch of a
transporter beam. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief before turning
back to her work. Looking down at the small body lying so still under the
doctor's skilled hands, she couldn't help but wonder if the killing would ever
stop. The young Cardassians didn't trigger any emotion except pity. They were
no more to blame for the atrocities of the occupation than her children were to
blame for the madness of near-civil war among the adult Bajora.
Julian took a deep breath and stilled his hands. He'd done all he could
for this little boy. Now his fate was in the hands of a power greater than
Julian's skill. Looking up as the first of the medical team came through the
remains of the door, he snapped out a series of orders, directing a trauma team
to the emergency triage unit he had set up in what used to be the main hall of
the orphanage. He sent another team into the village central square to aid the
injured villagers. Moving to the next wounded child, a girl of perhaps six or
seven years, he began working to stop her bleeding and treat her internal
injuries. Within moments of their arrival his teams, Bajoran and Federation working
together, were set up and operating smoothly.
Major Kira Nerys stood by the doorway, surveying the scene with surface
calm. She'd spent most of her life as a freedom fighter for her home world, but
she'd never gotten used the sight of a bomb blast. Especially when the dead and
wounded were children. Looking at the small still bodies, she didn't see
Cardassians. Just dead kids. Fury grew at the wasted lives, all the
destruction, and her gaze was drawn to Bashir working steadily in the midst of
the carnage. His uniform was bloody and he looked tired and somewhat shell
shocked, but his hands never stopped moving over the young girl in front of
him. His professionalism always startled her a little. She thought of him as so
young, cocky, overenthusiastic -- but his skill as a surgeon continued to amaze
her.
"Ma'am?"
Kira swung around at the soft question. One of the young Humans assigned
to the rescue team was looking at her, waiting for further instructions.
Shaking her head a little to clear it of old memories, she concentrated on the
task at hand.
"Take the antigrav jacks over to the east end, check for survivors,
assist the med teams in setting up triage and be careful of any unexploded
ordinance."
He snapped to and returned to his small group. Soon the sounds of the
rescue teams shifting debris almost overpowered the moans of pain from the
wounded and dying. Almost.
Julian felt like he'd walked into a nightmare that was never going to
end. The losses to the orphanage had been horrible, with forty eight of the
sixty three children dead. Another six were critically injured and had been
transferred to the infirmary on Deep Space Nine for further treatment.
None of the doctors in the nearby Bajoran hospitals had any experience
with Cardassian physiology -- or so they claimed. He was beginning to wonder.
Damage to the village had been moderate, and the rest of the orphans had been
fostered out to families in the surrounding area who had volunteered to take
them in. He forced himself to think of these compassionate people whenever he
needed to be reminded that not all Bajorans considered Cardassians to be
carrion.
Like now, for instance. He and Major Kira had been
"negotiating" with the village elders for almost two hours about
burial for the children killed in the attack. This was the third time in two
days they had had to petition the council of elders. What was the matter with
these people? The children were Cardassian, yes, but for Gods' sake, now they
were corpses! Why wouldn't the Elders cease their endless bickering and approve
of a burial site? The prevailing attitude seemed to be "not in my
backyard, they're unclean." He was getting damned sick of it, and he was
very impressed with Kira's patience as she rephrased the question. For the
fifth time.
"It is a health consideration, sir. Perhaps the land to the north of
the orphanage site would be appropriate? There is a small cemetery already
established on the grounds."
"It won't hold them all, Major," Julian reminded her.
"There is only room for about twenty, and we have more than twice that to
bury." He didn't bother to hide the edge to his voice, and Kira looked a
warning at him. He promptly ignored it and concentrated on the head Councilman.
He'd had quite enough stalling from them and now he hammered the point home.
"I realize you don't wish to bury Cardassians in your sanctified ground,
and we're not demanding you do so. But those *children* have been dead for two
days now. Unless you prefer to deal with the aftereffects of rotting corpses
and their attendant diseases, I would *suggest* you make a decision regarding
their *disposal*. Now!"
His harsh words fell into a small pool of silence and for a moment he
nearly backed down under the weight of their combined glares. Kira closed her
eyes briefly and sighed. But he stiffened his spine and continued to hold the
leader's stare. It was time for the squabblers to get a glimpse of reality.
The head councilman finally straightened from his seat and, ignoring the
infuriated doctor, addressed Kira. "Major, we shall have a site set aside
by the end of today's session. In the spirit of mercy as the Prophets teach us,
they will be given proper sacrament. The burial will be
"Doctor Bashir," his words were soft but firm, as if his
conscience demanded they be spoken but his spirit feared eavesdroppers.
"Thank you for all of your help, and for the villagers you saved after
this unfortunate tragedy. We ... do appreciate it." Giving a tiny
bird-like nod, he gently patted Julian's arm and hurried to catch up with the
others. The doctor watched him go, reluctant to face Kira and the inevitable explosion.
He didn't have a long wait.
"What the hell was *that* little stunt all about? Don't you have a
diplomat somewhere in your family tree? Did he get all the tactful genes and
you got the tongue that was loose at both ends and disconnected from the brain?"
He risked a glance at her and wished he hadn't. Her face was almost as
red as her hair. Her eyes were glittering, her fists were planted on her hips
and her feet were spread wide, like a fighter getting ready to attack. He
sighed.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"What did? Offending the Head Councilman and sending the rest of the
elders off in a snit?"
"It resolved the problem, didn't it?" He hated sounding so
defensive.
She snorted. "That's one way of looking at it, I suppose."
He turned to her and shrugged his shoulders, loosening muscles that were
tensed from too much stress and not enough rest. "Well, they will have a
site chosen by tonight, and those children will finally be buried. That *is* a
resolution as far as I can see."
Kira began to answer him hotly, and saw him brace himself unconsciously
to meet her temper. Narrowing her eyes, she thought for a moment before
answering him. A myriad of conflicting memories fought for her attention, and
she wondered how to explain the unexplainable. Especially to one who was in
many ways still an innocent.
"Don't blame them for feeling the way they do, Bashir." Her
mild tone reassured him, and he relaxed enough to listen to her words.
"They've seen a lot of death, most of them, and it was because of the
Cardassians that they had to live through it. They've seen children die before,
many have lost children themselves, killed by the Cardassians. These kids,
well, they're reminders of things these people would like to forget, to put
behind them." She leaned toward him, almost as if her intensity could make
him understand the horrors the Bajora had survived. "It *is* a tragedy
that those children died, but these elders have other pressing concerns, like
trying to keep their village in one piece when they're right in the middle of
an undeclared civil war. And, while you may not agree with their views,
Cardassians, even children, are not high on the priority list when there's an
emergency."
His face hardened at her final words, and she sighed impatiently.
"After all, they're only Cardassians, right?"
"If that's the way you want to see it, then, yes!" she snapped
back at him. "You're the one who wants everybody to face reality, Doctor. That
*is* the reality here, whether you're ready to accept it or not." Shaking
her head at his truculent expression, she turned and headed for the door.
"I'll be in the runabout."
"Kira?"
She turned back at his questioning tone. He'd sounded odd, as if he was
having trouble getting her name out. She looked at him quizzically when he
didn't continue. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"Over the past two years I've been visiting the orphanages
periodically. Routine exams, basic care, physicals, that sort of thing. Would
you ... that is, I'll be attending the service tomorrow. Would you accompany
me?"
She held his pleading gaze for a long moment, then nodded silently and
left the room.
Dela Cahr was a bitter man. He had lost his wife and child to a Cardassian
forced labor camp, had seen his brothers murdered for their part in the fight
for Bajor's freedom, had lived with emptiness filled only by the prod of his
hatred for so long that he knew no other existence. As a guerilla with the Kohn
Ma, he had found a purpose for what was left of his life. But now, there were
no more Cardassians to kill.
For a short time after the pullout, he had been involved in the war
crimes trials of the sympathizers left behind by their Cardie masters. But the
proceedings had tasted like ashes in his mouth. So many of the guilty went
unpunished. The "evidence" wasn't strong enough, the council trial
was too weak or squabbled too much to seek true justice, or the guilty had
enough money to buy their freedom from the dock. They didn't all escape,
though. He had his own means of ensuring that justice was served, whenever he
felt convinced that his information was solid. He trusted his instincts. And no
one ever suspected that many who had escaped the courts had not gotten very
far. Their deaths were all reported as accidents.
While he hadn't been involved in the attacks on the Cardie whelps he
wasn't the least bit sorry that it had happened. Whelps grew up, and became
soldiers, and they were all better dead. He wasn't surprised that the
Federation doctor had worked so hard on the brats instead of concentrating on
the Bajora who had been hurt. After all, hadn't it been those from the station
who had fired on their own people? People fighting for their homes against the
damned Cardassians, just like the Bajora had? Funny, how they'd fight to
protect the Cardies, but not lift a finger to help their own kind, the Maquis.
He cheered the Maquis on, himself -- reminded him of his own fight.
But then, he guessed they'd had to do it, if they were going to protect
their Prophets-damned treaty with the bastards. Major Kira had surprised him,
however. Nerys had been in one of his sister cells, fighting alongside his own
soldiers in the swamps, during the Occupation. She'd been tough, principled,
driven, if not quite as driven as he was. He didn't want to believe that she'd
changed so much that she was pleading the case for a bunch of Cardie carrion.
No, it had to be the Human.
Noticing the Elders returning to the chamber, he straightened from the
back wall and gave closer attention to the meeting. They were arguing over
where to dump the corpses again, and he started to relax. Until they got to the
details.
"...at
Ceremony? What ceremony? Were they actually going to sanctify the burial
of a load of Cardassian waste? He didn't want to believe what he was hearing.
But the Council was agreeing. Feeling a familiar burning deep in his gut, he
pushed away from the wall and swiftly left the building. He had a funeral to
attend.
Morning haze had burned off in the sunshine, and the light threw the
cracked brown land into harsh relief, unrelenting lines of drought and neglect.
It was a dead place, with no grass to soften the angles of the landscape, no
flowers to brighten the eyes' view, no breeze to disturb the baking summer
heat. Fitting, Garak mused, that the young Cardassians' final resting place
should be as inhospitable as all the other supposed havens in their short
lives.
Old, not very well buried resentment thrummed just under the surface of
his skin, but he forced it down. As an adult male Cardassian on the surface of
Bajor after the Empire had withdrawn, he had to keep a sharp eye on his
surroundings and could not afford to be distracted. He probably shouldn't have
come today. When Doctor Bashir had contacted him the previous night he had
already known of the attack. His sources hadn't withered completely away. He
had been forewarned, knew that the devastated orphanage was one to which he had
accompanied the young doctor several times on his mercy missions. But he had
not known the full extent of the losses. When Julian told him, he had felt
something within him become still and quiet.
Not for the first time since his Human friend had removed his Wire, he
briefly wished that he could turn off his emotions. Escape from them. No one on
DS Nine knew his true history, although Julian knew more than he perhaps
realized, but Garak had closer ties to those orphans than any of the Federation
people would understand. How could they understand? They were not Cardassian.
He tried not to think of his children, taken from him in his disgrace, as much
to protect them as to heighten his punishment. As if exile from Cardassian
space were not punishment enough.
As much as he tried to ignore it, there was a link between himself and
the small still bodies lying so patiently under the hot sun for burial.
Something of himself had died here on Bajor as well. He'd found himself on the
0500 shuttle to Bajor, trying to ignore the way the other passengers whispered
behind him and avoided his presence as if he were diseased. His thoughts chased
themselves in a fruitless attempt to justify his need to see these children
laid to rest, and he knew it was tied up with his guilt over the fate of his
own children and the pain in Julian's eyes when he'd told him about the
funeral.
Seeing Major Kira standing uncomfortable and silent several feet from the
long furrow in the ground that would serve as a mass grave for the victims, his
eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. He and the major had had several
confrontations aboard the station and this was not the time for another.
Deliberately treading heavily on the crusty ground, he saw her swing toward
him. He continued on his way to Bashir's side without acknowledging her.
Kira made an abortive move toward them, then stopped. She stared hard at
him for a moment, then her gaze shifted to the bodies, then the grave. She
settled back into her original stance, giving the vague impression that she
would really rather have been anywhere else. Garak left her to her discomfort
and looked up to meet Julian's sad eyes. The young Human looked exhausted, with
deep shadows of fatigue under his eyes and a fine white line of tension
defining his tightly compressed lips. Strain showed in his stiffly erect
stance, but his uniform was spotless and he was freshly shaved.
Garak knew how hard Bashir had fought for the dignity of a proper burial
for the Cardassian orphans. His mind flashed back to a worried, determined
Julian spending hours by his side as he went through the horrors of withdrawal.
Afterward, when the confusion and rage had cleared, he had been impressed by
Julian's dedication, and his friendship. Sometimes he wished that he could
somehow make amends for the verbal abuse he had subjected the doctor to -- not
to mention physically attacking him. Bashir had never mentioned it, and he had
the feeling it was because the Human understood more than Garak would have
expected from one so young. So Bashir's determination to do the best he could
for the orphans didn't surprise Garak. It was completely in character.
"Glad you could make it." The subdued voice matched his tired
face.
"Thank you for informing me."
"I knew you'd be interested in the children-" for a moment,
Julian's voice faltered, then he picked up the thread of the conversation
again. "It seemed ... that you would wish to be present."
Garak nodded but said nothing. A Bajoran monk, barely into his twenties,
had stepped up to a small alter that had been hastily erected by the side of
the grave. Two older Bajoran men stood impatiently next to the trestle tables
holding the bodies, waiting for the consecration to be over so that they could
complete the distasteful task of burying the Cardassians.
The monk laid several long strands of knotted ribbons on the altar and
raised his hands for silence. An unnecessary gesture, since the handful of
people at the grave side were already still, awaiting his words. But it seemed
to help him gather his thoughts, and as he lowered his hands he began to speak.
"In the absence of family to oversee this consecration, I, Cherol,
do so in sorrow for the ending of life, in so many, so young."
Gently, he lifted the cords and began to place them at precise intervals
on the cloth covering the bodies. The knots met and crossed, forming an
intricate web that shimmered in the light, catching the small forms up in a
rainbow embrace. As he worked, his soft words carried over the still air to the
silent watchers.
"The Prophets teach us that each life has a meaning, a purpose, a time.
There is a reason for each life, a plan laid and followed. For every pain
suffered a lesson is learned; for every joy felt a reward is earned. Each soul
fulfills its destiny, as the Prophets will. Every life has a meaning, as the
Prophets will. Every soul will find a place of rest, and return to fulfill the
plan, as the Prophets will. May these young souls find their place of rest, and
their fulfillment, in the Hands of the Prophets."
As he finished the sacrament, he completed the web. Raising his arms in
the traditional posture, he meditated for a long moment. Instinctively, Kira
did the same. Julian lowered his eyes for a brief prayer. Garak, after a
moment's hesitation, lifted his hand to his forehead ridge in a final gesture
of respect for the children.
The monk lowered his arms, and the brief service was concluded. Stepping
away from the grave, without a word to his audience, he headed back to the
village. Bashir looked askance at Kira.
"It was his duty." She was watching the cemetery workers lower
the trestles into the furrow.
"He volunteered." Bashir was too spent to even be angry at the
monk's snub.
"He has other people to attend to, doctor." Turning to face
him, still ignoring Garak, she changed the subject. "If you'd like to meet
me at the runabout, I have some business to finish up with the Elders."
Bashir nodded and Kira strode away. He sighed and turned to Garak.
"I need to make a follow-up on the other injured children, make sure
their healing well, check their conditions. I don't know what's going to happen
to them. They've lost everything."
"May I accompany you?" Garak returned softly. "I can at
least provide them with some new clothing."
Julian smiled and reached out to pat the shorter man's shoulder, then the
two friends turned and walked toward the village, leaving the gravefillers to
their work. Unnoticed, sharp eyes followed their progress. They noted the
warmth between the Human and the Cardassian, a Cardassian they had seen before.
One of those with no "evidence," but one he'd seen a few times in the
past. During the occupation. In the shadows. There had been rumors, but no
proof that this Cardassian was any better or worse than any other -- except
that there had been whispers about the Enforcers, the Obsidians. The Butchers. This
would require some planning and preparation. It was time for another ...
unfortunate accident.
Jadzia Dax ached for the young man sitting across the small table from
her. Dax had seen a lot of death in nearly three hundred years, had lost hosts,
lovers, children. The symbiont applied its accumulated wisdom to helping Jadzia
find the words to comfort the saddened doctor. But she had never been a healer,
didn't know the special pain felt by those trained to save lives when they
failed. Especially when the victims were children.
"I know it's a platitude, Julian, but that doesn't make it any less
true. You did everything you could." Her voice was gentle.
"Not enough." He concentrated on the tumbler of cool amber
liquid sparkling between his restless fingers.
"If you hadn't been there, none of them would have survived."
She reached across the table to insistently tug one of his hands from its death
grip on the glass. Sliding her palm over his, she intertwined their fingers.
His grip tightened momentarily, a small squeeze of appreciation for the comfort
she was offering, then his fingers relaxed to lie loosely in her grasp.
Wordlessly she shared his sense of loss. She knew he had been making mercy runs
to the orphanages for almost two years now, and that many of the youngsters
killed in the attack had been those Julian had been seeing on a regular basis.
Any time innocent bystanders were killed in someone else's war, it was a
tragedy. When they were so young, and they were patients, the tragedy took on a
personality, had faces. It hurt on a more personal level. Her fingers tightened
on his again, a little friendship hug, and he smiled fleetingly at her.
"Thank you, Jadzia."
Quark made a stop at the table but a quick head shake from Dax sent him
on his way with a shrug. Julian didn't notice. They sat for a long time in
silence, each immersed in their own private thoughts.
Kira was not having a good night. The carnage at the village, the
emotions evoked by the simple funeral, even Bashir's justifiable anger, struck
too many painful chords in her memory. Too often she had been on the receiving
end of the devastation. She had seen too many children buried.
Biting off a muffled curse, she finally gave up the attempt to sleep. For
the hundredth time, perhaps the thousandth, she wished Bareil was beside her.
Wished she could lean across the narrow bed and burrow into his warm strength.
She was strong, but sometimes in the middle of the night she felt like a child
again. Lost. Alone. Staring into the faint light washing over her small
personal altar, she decided to clear her schedule, take a few days off, center
her pagh. Spend some time with her favorite Vedek. Bashir was going down in a
couple weeks to check up on the other kids wounded in the attack. Perhaps she'd
ride down with him on the runabout, then take the shuttle up a couple days
later. The plan gave her mind something to concentrate on other than her
nightmares, and she finally settled down to get some sleep.
Chief Miles O'Brien surveyed the packed runabout with no little
satisfaction. While he had no love for the Cardies, he was a father himself.
He'd been appalled at the damage reports from the rescue crews sent down to the
wreckage of the village. He'd also been keeping a bit of an eye on young Bashir.
Major Kira had told him about the number of deaths, and how hard Bashir had
worked over the survivors. He'd noticed the younger man had been subdued, his
normal high energy directed toward determination to make sure the rest of the
orphans suffered no further deprivation. Medical supplies, basic medicines,
blankets, food, some toys for the youngest victims.
Garak had been working overtime, and was stowing sturdy new clothes
onboard with the other supplies. Miles still didn't trust the little
"tailor" -- truthfully, he never would trust a Cardassian, and he
knew it. Not after what he'd seen, what they'd done to him. But that wasn't the
kids' fault. He'd learned that when he and his wife had cared for a young
Cardassian boy caught between his adoptive Bajoran family and his birth father
from Cardassia. He had learned a lot from that experience, and it made him even
more sympathetic to the orphans' plight. But Garak? He thought not.
Julian brought the last of the toys and books he'd scavenged into the cargo
hold. He noticed the careful distance and utter silence maintained between
O'Brien and Garak and wisely made no comment. He cast a swift smile at the
tailor, then addressed Miles.
"Thank you for all the work, Chief. You've really pulled it all
together."
"Glad to help, sir." Miles kept his eyes on his datapadd,
checking off the last of the containers. With a satisfied sigh, he held the
padd out to Bashir. "If you'll just sign this off, she'll be ready to
fly."
Julian signed briskly and smiled at Miles. "Well, I know this was a
lot of work. The children will certainly appreciate it, and so do I."
O'Brien returned the smile. "Hope they get some good use out of it,
sir. If you don't need me here any longer, I've some work to get back to on the
Promenade-"
"Never ends, does it?" Julian interjected sympathetically.
"Never will." Giving the doctor a friendly nod and studiously
ignoring Garak, Miles ducked out of the runabout and disappeared through the
airlock. After a moment, Julian broke the silence.
"I'm sorry, Garak."
"Whatever for, doctor?" The Cardassian finished fastening
restraining straps around the last of the clothing containers and straightened
to face his friend. "I would never hold you responsible for the actions of
others, or their attitudes and opinions."
Julian opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a word
another figure stepped into the small cabin. Kira at least acknowledged Garak's
presence with a curt nod before turning to the doctor.
"I'll be riding down with you, Bashir." "Um." He
blinked, redirected his thoughts, and began again. "Pilot?"
Her look clearly said "of course," then she began the preflight
checklist. Bashir exchanged a helpless look with Garak, then they both
acquiesced and settled in for the ride.
The late afternoon sunlight painted shimmering highlights on the petals
of the velvety purple flowers, and a slight breeze brought the scent of green
growing things to tickle Kira's nose. She could identify any number of swamp
and mountain plants as edible or poisonous, by sight, touch or smell. She
didn't know what the little sparkling flowers were called.
The blank spot in her floral lore sent a tingle of dissatisfaction
seeping through her. There were too many utterly harmless, normal, everyday
things she just hadn't had time to learn, too preoccupied with daily survival
in a world gone mad. The morning had been a typical confusing mixture of
relaxation and arousal, an odd state she found herself in whenever she spent
any time with Bareil. He had been very attentive the past two days, but on this
third afternoon his duties had called him away, leaving her to amuse herself
for a few hours. Thinking about the night to come, and the fourth and final day
of leave she had managed to secure before she had to return to the stresses of
daily life on DS Nine, she burrowed deeper into the leafy alcove behind the
main gardens of the monastery and slipped into a light meditative trance.
At first the low humming of voices from behind the alcove was a minor
irritant. Determinedly, she ignored the intrusion of the monks' voices and
tried to concentrate on her center, her pagh. Then a name, and the worried tone
in which it was invoked, brought her completely to attention. The monks were
hidden behind a thick wall of shrubbery, but their conversation came through
clearly enough. Or perhaps, given the content, it should have been called a
confession.
"Dela Cahr is a powerful man in the district." The voice was
younger than she'd thought at first, and vaguely familiar. It was also
trembling with nerves. "He has many sympathizers and more influence than I
do, by far. I felt ... threatened."
Cahr? Threatening a monk?! Things had certainly changed since they had
fought together in the swamps.
"What did your penitent tell you, Cherol? Why did you feel
threatened?"
"He said that he knew that Dela had brought a criminal to justice.
He'd done some work on an electrical board for him, but he would not say
exactly what he had done. When I pressed him for the reason behind his feelings
of guilt, he said that an innocent would die with the guilty, and that it was
troubling him." The shakiness in the monk's voice increased as he
continued. "Dela entered the chamber then, and my penitent stopped
speaking. Dela then told him that no friend of a Cardassian could ever be
considered an innocent, even a healer. Then Dela looked at me and asked - no,
told me that penitence in confidence was private. I agreed of course, because
that is true, but also because ... his words, his stance. He frightened
me." After a short pause to collect his composure, the monk continued. His
voice was stronger now that he had finished the difficult part of his
narrative. "I seek guidance, Vedek. Dela and his ... supporters ... it is
my belief that they have arranged accidents before."
"Do you wish to request reassignment?"
As the two men discussed the young monk's future, they began to move
toward the outbuildings and their voices faded in the distance. Kira was
grappling with the mental image of her old comrade as a renegade vigilante,
going around arranging "accidents" for Cardassians and strongarming
monks. Although, she considered dispassionately, Dela'd probably be good at it.
He'd been an excellent swamp soldier, very thorough, always making sure there
were no survivors after their attacks on the Cardie outposts. No surviving
soldiers meant no one to shoot you in the back as you were leaving, no one to
report your whereabouts to the larger units and endanger the Resistance squads.
Though he'd have a hard time now finding Cardies to hunt ... something
clicked into place in her memory, and she knew where she'd heard that monk
before. Cherol had given the Blessing at the village where Bashir was dropping
off the supplies for the orph... oh, Prophets protect me, Kira thought, her
eyes growing wide.
She extricated herself from the alcove with no wasted motion and hurried
to the main building, ignoring the startled looks her headlong rush drew from
the groundskeepers she passed. Heading for Bareil's quarters, her mind worked
feverishly, putting together what she remembered of Dela Cahr's methods, paths
to the village, surrounding topography, who could be trusted to help Bashir if
Cahr's men got to them first. Underlying her furious thoughts was a litany of
worry. Healer. Innocent. Healer.
She had to get to Bashir before Dela Cahr did.
For such a productive trip, it certainly wasn't ending well. The
innocuous thought floated through Julian's mind as he fought with the
recalcitrant controls of the runabout. Peripherally he noted Garak's hands
moving over the navigational and emergency systems controls, showing a
surprising and completely ineffective mastery of Federation equipment. With a
sinking feeling, Bashir noted the dead instrument panel, indicating universal electronic
failure. Mixed with his mounting terror was unexpected chagrin. He'd never
heard of anyone killing the entire electronic array of a runabout; it would
have to happen when he was piloting it. Miles would have a fit. Fatalistically
he held onto the protective webbing locking him in place, closed his eyes, and
waited for impact.
Light hurt.
Garak had never realized this particular bit of wisdom, and he considered
himself something of an expert on the subject of pain. Forcing his eyes to open
once more, he was relieved to find himself relatively unhurt. He lifted an
unsteady hand to his temple and felt a thin trickle of blood dripping from a
shallow furrow wrapping around his head, beginning just over his eyeridge and
ending in a knot in the thick hair at the base of his skull.
The dizziness began to abate, and he carefully lifted himself from the
floor of the runabout. The webbing had either torn or been cut by flying metal
in the tumbling crash, and he had been tossed toward the aft cargo hatch. Now
the runabout was canted at a thirty degree angle, with her rear buried in muck
and her nose smashed from her wild end-over-end roll. Garak was bruised and
sore, but his dense skeletal mass had saved him from more severe injury. A soft
moan brought his head up, searching for the source.
Moving carefully through the debris toward the cockpit, he saw a limp
hand draped over the armrest of the pilot's seat. Alien crimson blood traced a
slow trail across the back to drip off the farthest knuckle. The hand wasn't
moving. Garak swallowed painfully and pulled himself forward to assess the
situation.
A side strut had been ripped from the instrument panel, pinning Julian to
his seat. There was a long bruise beginning to darken across his left eye,
spreading diagonally from his temple to the opposite cheek, and his nose was
bleeding slightly. Shattered glass sparkled in his hair and over his chest, but
none of the pieces were large enough to be harmful. His left leg was lightly
pinned by the same destroyed section of the control panel that was cutting into
his chest.
The Cardassian put his fingertips to Julian's throat, hoping that Human
physiology was comparable to Bajoran. He was surprised at the depth of his
relief when he felt the thready pulse under his hand. Humans were so fragile.
Julian's eyes suddenly opened, and Garak instinctively responded to the blank
terror he saw there by cupping Julian's jaw with his hand. The terror faded,
and Garak selfconsciously withdrew his hand to grip Julian's shoulder.
"I'm ... trapped." With comprehension came pain. Garak gave him
what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
"Not for long, I assure you. It's only the one beam, and I think I
can handle that." Suiting action to words, he carefully positioned his
hands near the center of the strut and pulled.
Julian gasped and gritted his teeth, making no other sound. Garak applied
as much force as he could and the strut slowly shifted until it was a handspan
away from Julian's body. The release of pressure from the chest wound caused
the blood to flow freely and Julian lifted a weak hand to staunch it. Shaking
from shock and blood loss, he wasn't able to apply sufficient pressure, and he
cursed in small breathless spurts. Garak smiled involuntarily; at least his
young friend had some spirit left, even if it looked like he would soon have no
blood. Bunching the torn material of Julian's uniform shirt together, he held
the makeshift bandage against the wound and pulled Julian from the wreckage.
Settling him on the soft ground some distance from the crash site, Garak
set about making Julian more comfortable, and rebandaging the chest wound. As
he pulled the tattered remnants of Julian's shirt from his back in order to
clean the wound, Julian made an abortive attempt to stop him. Garak soothed his
hands away, and gently pushed him forward to tie the ends of the bandage around
his torso. Seeing Julian's back in the waning sunlight, Garak abruptly stopped.
The scars were very old, most of them poorly healed, and laid in a definite
pattern of interlacing strokes. Julian was very still under his hands, and
Garak finished tying off the bandage without a word.
Easing his friend down into a prone position, Garak tucked an emergency
blanket around him to ward off the chill. Giving in to impulse, he pushed the
sweat-soaked dark curls off Julian's forehead. Intent, pain-lanced dark eyes
peered at him for a long moment before the battered Human gave an involuntary
moan and lapsed back into unconsciousness. Garak sat for a little while, close
to his side, thinking of stories, and lies, and all the little things friends
never told friends. All the dirty little secrets that left their marks on the
inside. And sometimes on the outside as well. Finally, he gave Julian's prone
form one more reassuring pat and returned to the runabout to salvage what
supplies he could.
Swirling pinpoints of light exploded behind Julian's eyelids. He'd never
quite believed the old saying about seeing stars, but he was willing to amend
his beliefs when the situation warranted. His head hurt as if someone had hit
him with a mallet, and he was dizzy, weak, and vaguely nauseated. His training
came to the fore and he ran an internal inventory, assessing the damage.
Someone had done rudimentary first aid, cleaning the scrapes and cuts, putting
a pressure bandage on his chest ... Garak. Julian remembered the tense few
moments before he passed out, and winced at the memory. Then he stilled
abruptly, as the pain in his face reminded him that he'd gone headfirst into a
control panel.
"Oh, excellent. You're awake." Garak's voice was cheerful,
giving no indication that anything at all was amiss. Bashir was relieved. He
wasn't really up to handling this right at the moment anyway. He tried to
locate the voice in the inky blackness surrounding him, but could only make out
Garak's silhouette, backlit by moonlight, on the ground in front of them. He
was sitting behind him, supporting Julian's weight against his side, keeping
him from moving and disturbing his bandages.
"Um hm."
"How do you feel? Or is that the wrong question to be asking?"
"Like I've been in a runabout smashup." Garak's dry chuckle
didn't quite mask his concern. Forcing himself to ignore the pain, Julian asked
about the state of the runabout. His companion hesitated for a moment before
replying.
"Communications are out, and your commbadge was crushed by the beam
that hit your chest. But the emergency beacon was activated. Rescue shouldn't
be long in coming."
"Did you ... find the medkit .. in-"
"In pieces. I thought the Federation prided itself on the quality of
their workmanship. Certainly to hear Mr. O'Brien one would think that there was
no contest, that Federation technology was in all ways superior to Cardassian.
Frankly I'm disappointed. That webbing-" Garak's voice flowed over Bashir,
slurred by the increasing demands of his injuries, and he found himself
drifting out of consciousness again.
The Cardassian continued his soothing prattle until he felt Julian relax
into sleep. Bringing the blanket up closer around his patient's shoulders, he
huddled against him for warmth. The swamps were cold at night, but he didn't
dare light a fire. Whoever had so inventively sabotaged the runabout was
probably looking to finish the job, and Garak was too old a hand at being in
enemy territory to light a beacon for them. He was just glad Bashir was too
exhausted to notice, and question, their singularly dark and chilly camp.
Julian moaned softly in his sleep, and Garak shushed him gently. Shifting
on the hard ground, he put his arm around the doctor and moved him into a more
comfortable position, with his head resting on Garak's chest and his long body
curled protectively around his wounded ribs. Garak cradled him in his arms, and
secure in the knowledge that Julian wouldn't hear a word he said, finally told
him the truth about his exile to Deep Space Nine.
"What's the problem, Commander? I thought those scanners were fixed!
After that last mess with Doctor Bashir and the refugee camps, now you're
telling me we can't find him again?" Worry made Kira's voice sharper than
she'd intended. Convincing Bareil of the imminent danger to Bashir, not to
mention Garak, and questioning Cherol had eaten up most of the rest of the
afternoon. All of her instincts were screaming at her to hurry. When she had
contacted Sisko on a secure line from the monastery, he'd told her that the
runabout carrying Bashir and Garak had crashed in the swamp outside Dela Cahr's
village.
"We have dispatched a rescue crew, but there's a lot of interference
from the surface."
"What kind of interference? ... sir?"
"EM, overlapping radiowaves, signals across frequencies,
intermittent signals from other old beacons... you name it."
"Cardie junk, left to rot in the swamps after they pulled out."
Kira was disgusted. "How about his commbadge? Or the emergency beacon on
the runabout?"
Sisko's look told her plainly that he didn't appreciate being treated
like an idiot. "The commbadge seems to have stopped transmitting."
She nodded, abashed at his patience but still too worried to regret her lack of
tact. His voice softened slightly, as if to reassure her. "We're trying,
major. We've dispatched the
Kira nodded her understanding of the situation. Sisko had to keep this
quiet; he didn't dare call in local assistance to locate his missing people,
because he didn't know whom he could trust. By sharing their knowledge of the
runabout's difficulties, and by helping pinpoint it's location, he could be
signing Bashir's death warrant.
"I'll keep you updated if there are ... any further developments,
Commander. Kira out." As she closed the commlink, Kira was convinced that
Sisko also didn't fully appreciate the immediacy of Dela's threat. He hadn't
dealt with fanatics enough to realize just how dangerous they could be. Or how
thorough. "Let us handle it," Sisko had demanded. And he was probably
right. But Kira had a nasty feeling that he wouldn't be able to "handle
it" before Bashir and Garak ran out of time.
Making her decision, Kira snapped her heavy jacket on, grabbed her knife
and survival belt, and headed for the door. She hesitated briefly as she
crossed the threshold into Bareil's office, then came across the floor to stand
at his desk. He rose to meet her, and she reached up to hold him for a moment.
He froze when his arm brushed against her phaser.
"I've got to make sure they're all right."
He nodded and hugged her tightly. Pulling back, still holding her loosely
in the circle of his arms, he gazed thoughtfully into her worried eyes.
"Dela Cahr was a comrade. What will you do if there is a
confrontation?"
She held his look for a long time before dropping her eyes. "I don't
... want to make any mistakes ... or wrong choices." Her voice fell,
almost as if she was talking to herself instead of the Vedek. "But I can't
allow him to hurt innocent people. My friend." She lifted her eyes back to
his and answered as honestly as she could. "I don't know. Trust my
instincts, I guess."
Bareil smiled and dropped his arms, stepping back to give her room to
leave. "You will do what is right, Nerys. I trust those instincts of
yours."
She smiled and hurried from the room. Unvoiced, her final response to his
comment teased at her mind. *But do I trust them?*
For the first time in nearly four years, Garak felt completely relaxed.
Cleansed, somehow, by the simple act of finally explaining the truth behind that
whole mess with the questioning of those Bajoran children and its disastrous
aftermath. He savored the silence after he had finished, letting his words seep
silently into the damp cold air of the Bajoran swamp. Julian's voice shocked
him into immobility.
"Thank you."
"It was just a story," Garak instinctively replied. He
scrambled to find a better line, a more convincing way to cover his previous
words, but he was unprepared and off guard. Before he could pull together a
more complete story, Julian's soft voice continued.
"Aren't they all? One hears ... so many stories. Truth can be what
you make of it, and history can be ... so fluid. My own, for instance."
"Does this have something to do with the scars on your back?"
Garak was happy to divert attention from his own story, at least until he could
find a way to convince Julian it had been another lie, and change the subject.
"They appeared to be in a sort of, I don't know quite how to put it, a
pattern of some kind?"
"Mm hm." The sound was noncommittal, but didn't quite manage to
eradicate the traces of old pain, as if from a long buried but still awful
memory.
"If I may ask, why didn't you have them removed?"
"Too old, too many -- too long untreated. Too deep to successfully
remove or cover." Julian was silent for the space of heartbeat, then drew
a ragged breath, choking a little when he jarred his chest wound. "I
suppose one ... story ... deserves another." After another little pause,
he sighed and began to tell Garak about another place. A desert hell, another
life, called Ishmir.
Dela Cahr crept noiselessly through the thick vines around the crash
site. Dawn was beginning to chase away the shadows of the previous night, and
he had ascertained that there had been survivors. But not for long. Following
the trail of burnt and broken trees deep into the swamp he had felt his heart
begin to pound. This was the most satisfying part of the chase, when justice
was meted out, when Cardassians and their sympathizers paid for their crimes.
He cautiously approached the remains of the runabout, keeping the bulky
shape between himself and the clearing beyond. He stopped and listened hard,
concentrating on identifying the location of his enemy before he attacked. With
all the instincts of thirty years of guerilla warfare on alert, he tracked his
quarry, waiting for his best shot.
He could hear labored breathing. Peering around a jutting corner, he made
out the restless form of the Starfleet doctor wrapped in a blanket and nestled
in a bed of vines. He appeared to be semiconscious, pale and exhausted. Bloody
bandages tossed beside his rough pallet gave mute testimony to the severity of
his injuries. Dismissing him as a possible threat, Dela was searching for the
Cardassian when a rustle in the branches across the clearing from the doctor
stopped him. Blending back into the shadows, he waited and watched.
Kira stepped carefully from the tangle of vegetation and crossed the
small clearing toward Bashir. Garak was nowhere in sight, and she knelt beside
the Human to assess his condition. She found nothing reassuring. His normally
warm caramel skin was clammy, with a faint sheen of sweat from a rising fever.
She laid a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat and he whimpered softly in
pain, trying to draw away from her touch. Kira pulled the edge of the blanket
back to see a widening spot of bright crimson in the middle of a fresh pressure
bandage. She winced at the sight of the wound, as well as the bruised and
swollen face of the young doctor. At least Garak had treated his injuries - but
where the hell was he now? Kira replaced the blanket, pulling it tightly around
his shoulders, and lifted her hand to her commbadge. Before her fingers could
touch the metal, a voice froze her in midmotion.
"Touch it and I'll kill you." It was Dela, and yet it wasn't.
There was a fine edge of madness in his tone that hadn't been there when she'd
known him last. Or perhaps she hadn't recognized it five years ago, because
they were all a little mad in the middle of a war.
"Cahr?" Slowly, keeping her hands in plain sight and away from
her body, she pivoted to face her old comrade. "Dela Cahr? Don't you know
me? It's Kira Nerys."
"I used to know you." His hand never wavered, the phaser
pointed directly at her chest. "But not anymore."
"Why not?" Her mind raced furiously. She had no chance to draw
her weapon, holstered when she had knelt beside Bashir. Dela was too far away
for her to hope to disarm him. He'd have her shot before she could even make a
move.
"The Kira Nerys I knew was a patriot. Wouldn't sell out to the
Cardassians. Or the Federation." He gestured angrily at Bashir with his
free hand. "Didn't help sympathizers."
"He's not a sympathizer, he's the station doctor." She tried to
remain calm so he wouldn't get even jumpier. If there was only some way to make
him understand... "We have to work together with the Federation if we're
ever going to make Bajor strong again."
Dela's eyes glittered dangerously. "Trading one overlord for
another? I don't think so." He trained his weapon on Kira with
determination. "I'm sorry, Nerys, but justice must be done."
"Justice?" she began to argue, when the whine of phaser fire
split the air. Dela screamed and scrambled for the underbrush clutching his
forearm to his side. As he disappeared, Kira clawed her phaser from its holster
and whirled on this new threat. Garak emerged from a clump of trees near the
runabout, holding his hands high, a Federation phaser clutched in one fist.
"Now, Major, I couldn't just let him shoot you both, now could I?
But I do have to do something about my aim." His slightly ingratiating
voice grated on her nerves. Growling an incomprehensible reply, she turned back
to where Dela had disappeared.
"Did you see where he went?" she demanded.
"No. I must admit I was more concerned with the possibility that you
might accidentally shoot me than with the whereabouts of your erstwhile
companion." Garak leaned down and lightly touched Julian's shoulder. The
doctor's eyes opened at the contact, but they were wide and unfocused, unaware
of his surroundings. "We must get our young friend here to an infirmary
very soon, major."
"I have a flitter just down the stream, less than a klick from here.
We can-" seeing a movement in the trees to their right, Kira instinctively
reacted to the blur of motion by pushing Garak out of the way.
Phaser fire cut past her face, so close she could almost taste air
burning, too fast for any other reaction. There was only time for a fleeting
thought, By the Prophets, why didn't I keep my phaser up? before a solid weight
hit her and drove her into the ground beside Julian. Garak returned Dela's
fire, and Dela crumpled, dead before he hit the ground. Kira looked up to see
the pale ridges of a Cardassian face, peering intently and with some concern
into her own, his heavy body protectively flat against her own slighter figure.
Garak looked down at the shocked Bajoran beneath him, and couldn't quite
contain a smile. He'd knocked the breath out of her when he'd slammed her out
of the way of the terrorist's shot, and it looked like he'd scrambled her wits
as well. Levering himself off of her, he moved over to check on Julian.
Kira slowly pulled herself off the ground. After giving Garak a long,
considering look, she turned and walked over to Dela's body. Her eyes narrowed
against a sudden rush of tears as she considered her fallen comrade. For he was
still her comrade. It was just that he hadn't known when the war had changed,
when the battlefields had shifted. Too many deaths had hardened his hatred
until he could no longer see past the surface, to the individual behind the
skin. Too much hatred, too much vengeance. Too much loss. She shook her head.
His justice was not hers, but it would take her a long time to accept the fact
that a Cardassian had saved her from being killed by a comrade.
In silence, she returned to Garak and helped him gather up Julian.
Together, they carried him to the waiting flitter, and back to the hospital
ward at the monastery. Kira's mind was filled with the image of Cahr, left
behind for the swamp to claim, and how she could try to protect his reputation
as much as possible in the official explanation of all of this. She and Garak
didn't say a word to one another all of the way out of the swamps, after she
had forced out one small phrase.
"Thank you."
Shika Mer shooed her children out of the recovery room, promising her
husband that she'd be home soon. He smiled back at her and gathered up their
offspring, bundling them out the door. Once Doctor Bashir was feeling well
enough for visitors, they had insisted on making sure "Joolyan" was
really all right. Some of the command staff had been a bit shocked by his small
visitors, but Julian had been very happy to see them.
"Just what I needed to lift my spirits, Mer. Your children are a
delight." His sparkling eyes left no doubt of his sincerity. She smiled
back, relieved to see him on the mend. It had been a close call when they
brought him back from Bajor.
"Well, next time when we visit my family, I hope it will be a little
less stressful. And if you want to see the swamps" she shuddered slightly,
"hire a guide."
He laughed back at her, then stopped abruptly. She followed his gaze to
where Kira was nodding carefully to Garak in the doorway of the infirmary.
Garak gave a little bow, and the Major dipped her head in return before leaving
the room. Garak watched her depart before continuing into the recovery room.
Mer wondered if she'd ever hear the whole story, and decided she probably
wouldn't.
Garak entered the room and smiled a greeting at Nurse Shika Mer. She
smiled back at him hesitantly, then addressed the tailor.
"Remember, don't tire him out. He's still in recovery."
"Oh, I won't overexert the good doctor, madam."
Julian smiled at her and nodded his agreement. His expression was
slightly wistful. "It's all right, Mer. We're only going to sit quietly
for a while. And ... tell stories."
THE END