“I’m not sure,” Taran’atar said.
“Have a seat, then, while you think about it. And let me order you something. Quark says you’ve got a soft spot for root beer floats.”
Taran’atar favored Vic with an earnest nod. “He is correct.” And talkative.
Returning the nod, Vic approached one of the cocktail waitresses, then paused to speak over his shoulder to Taran’atar. “Oh, by the way—sorry I accused you of being about to trash my lounge the way Worf did.”
“Perhaps,” Taran’atar said, “you should place more faith in people.”
12
Gul Macet had piloted the shuttle from the Tragerhimself, aided by Norit, his most trusted young officer. Macet wasn’t sure why he felt the need to flex his piloting muscles. Was it a desire to keep them sharp, or to show off a bit for Vedek Yevir’s benefit? He suspected it was a bit of both.
He landed the shuttle in an open area amid the ruins of Lakarian City, near the coast of Cardassia Prime’s largest continent, South Forbella. Dusk was approaching, and the descending sun cast long shadows across a horizon-to-horizon expanse of dusty wreckage. The city had once been numbered among the planet’s most treasured leisure spots, boasting everything from fanciful entertainments for children to pleasures of a decidedly more adult nature. Their landing zone lay in the ruins of a wide section of what had once been Krendalee, a large amusement park, before it—and most of Lakarian City—had been razed during the waning hours of the Dominion War. Because of the resource allocation decisions of Cardassia’s provisional leadership, reconstruction of the city had not yet begun. Macet felt that this was a grave mistake. Cardassia’s demoralized billions had become accustomed to living well prior to the coming of the Dominion; now more than ever, they needed the fantastical escape that Lakarian City represented.
Macet stepped out of the shuttle, followed by Norit, Yevir, and a pair of armed guards. The two protectors spread out, weapons drawn as they scouted the immediate area. Scans taken from orbit had shown seven Cardassian life signs in the area—which added up to two more than Cleric Ekosha had said would be in her party. Macet had his own suspicions regarding the identity of one of the surplus individuals, though the other remained a mystery.
Yevir wrinkled his nose further, his ridges collapsing in on themselves like a fan. “The air here is…acrid,” he said.
“It’s the smell of trandaghin the morning,” Macet said, inhaling deeply. “Mixed, I suspect, with fallout composed mainly of pulverized buildingstone.” They walked in silence through the rubble field for several moments before Macet continued. “I expect, Vedek Yevir, that many of your people would regard this tableau as a fitting recompense for the Occupation. After the Dominion War, it seems that we have been reduced to a far more abject level than even occupied Bajor experienced.”
“You are certainly entitled to that opinion, Gul Macet,” Yevir replied, his tone sharp enough to tell Macet that he had struck a sore spot.
“Please forgive me,” Macet said quietly. “I didn’t mean to trivialize the suffering we visited upon your people.”
Yevir studied him for a moment, then nodded his acceptance of Macet’s apology.
“Sir, six life signs approaching,” Norit said, her portable scanner in her hand. She pointed toward a building—a theater of some kind—whose façade was scorched and crumbled. From the shadows to its side, a group of Cardassians approached them, led by a tall woman. She was regal, dressed in brocaded robes, her hair pulled back behind her head and then braided to cascade down her shoulders. Behind her were several men and women, each of them dressed in more utilitarian garb. Macet guessed that their pockets contained a multitude of small weapons, mostly of the edged, non-energy variety. One of the women was shorter and older than the rest; next to her was a fresh-faced lad who was still in his teens.
“Welcome to Lakarian City. Or what’s left of it,” the lead woman said sardonically. “You are Gul Macet.”
Macet nodded his head slightly, then gestured toward the Bajoran beside him. “This is Vedek Yevir Linjarin.” Pointing to his assistant, he introduced her as well. He waved his hand toward the rubble. “My other two men are scouting for any potentially threatening interlopers. You said there would be five in your party, and yet there are six?”
“My apologies, Macet,” the woman said. She pointed to the boy, who Macet saw was gaping at him, his mouth forming a perfect O of incredulity. “When the young man heard that youwere coming, he insisted on coming with us. He also said he’d always wanted to see Krendalee. Unfortunately, his father never managed to find the time to bring him here.”
Something about the boy struck Macet as familiar. Something about the eyes, the forehead ridges. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Well, it’s not much to look at now, is it?” he said to the lad.
The boy spat at him, the expectoration landing in the dust at Macet’s feet. Then he turned and ran, heading toward a nearby copse of dead, shattered trees.
Macet smirked, then addressed the stout older woman who had been standing with the boy. “Well, that’s a reaction I’ve gotten used to from Bajorans, but I rarely receive it from my own countrymen. Do you care to explain, Cleric Ekosha?”
The older woman looked surprised, and the taller woman began to speak, but she hadn’t uttered more than a few syllables before the matron silenced her with a swift hand signal.
“How did you recognize me? We’ve never met.”
“Years of military duty,” Macet said. “And with all the clandestine skullduggery that’s gone on during the last two wars…Let’s just say I know a decoy when I see one, Ekosha.” He nodded toward Yevir. “Now that we’re all here, and have gotten the introductions out of the way, shall we get on with our business? Time is short. If we hope to bring our plan to fruition, we will have to move quickly.”
The old woman nodded, and her decoy stepped back into the pack. “When you first contacted me, Macet, I was suspicious. The Oralian Way has been underground for so very long. Years of religious persecution against those who revere Oralius, and the First Hebitian Civilization of Cardassia, have made us all quite wary about whom we will agree to speak with candidly.”
“My understanding is that the Oralian Way was legitimized recently,” Yevir said.
A rueful smile spread across Ekosha’s lined face.“There is a huge difference between legitimizing a religion and accepting it. Yes, it is no longer against Cardassian law to be an Oralian, but that does not mean that we are welcomed, or even tolerated. Even as our society rebuilds itself, the old-guard Cardassians—career politicians and military authorities, mainly—still take it upon themselves to try to keep us fearful and fragmented. Many of our churches have been mysteriously burned, and several of our more outspoken leaders have been beaten or have even disappeared in the dead of night. We decided to go underground again. Before we run out of martyrs to canonize.”
“I assure you that our intentions here are far nobler than that, Cleric,” Macet said, hoping she would believe him. If not, this entire venture would prove a colossal waste of time and effort.
“If I didn’t already believe that on some level, Macet, I never would have agreed to meet with you,” Ekosha said.
“Macet arranged this meeting at my request,” Yevir said, stepping forward. “I am deeply troubled by the diplomatic impasse that now exists between Bajor and Cardassia. For both our planets to heal themselves, we need to let the oldest wounds heal first.”
“I suspect those wounds will leave some rather livid scars,” Ekosha said with a tiny sardonic smile.