TEN YEARS AGO
2318 (Terran Calendar)
1
He made his way along the gridded walkway across the central span of the mess hall, throwing curt juts of the chin to the other junior officers who saw him pass. Glinn Matrik gestured toward an empty chair at his table, but Skrain Dukat ignored him and passed on by, stepping down into the sunken level of the dining area, to a bench with only one occupant, the surface of the table a controlled mess of padds.
Kotan Pa’Dar glanced up from the bowl of teflabroth before him, and his eyes widened in mild surprise. The scientist toyed briefly with the spoon in his hand as Dukat sat down opposite him with his tray of edibles. Pa’Dar aimed his utensil at the other man’s bowl. “The broth’s quite horrible,” he began. “I think the dried rokatmight have been a better choice.”
In spite of himself, the dalin’s youthful face soured. “There’s a saying in the Central Command,” Dukat noted. “The Union Fleet runs on three things. Determination. Obedience. And salted dry rokatfillets. Serve a term or two aboard a starship, Kotan, and you’ll come to hate that fish as much as any of us do.”
Pa’Dar smiled slightly. “I’ve never really eaten it that much, I must say.”
“It’s a staple on every fleet ship and installation from here to the Spinward Edge.” Dukat sipped the broth; and it was horrible. “I imagine rokatdoesn’t appear on the plates of families from Culat that often. Perhaps you’re used to the finer things in life.”
The scientist’s face darkened around his jaw ridges. “It isn’t that.”
“Oh?” Dukat broke off a piece of black bread and soaked it in his soup. “It’s always been my understanding that your family is one of…shall we say, one of those better equipped to deal with the hardships of life?” He snorted. “When I was a boy in Lakat, there were times when a meal of overcured rokatwould have seemed like a feast. For many, that still holds true today, perhaps even more so.” For an instant, Dukat felt the ghost of an empty stomach, the memory of tightness in his gut from malnutrition. Even now, with two full meals a day at his command as a serving Union officer, the echo of the hungry child he had been still shadowed him there at the edges of his thoughts. He shook the moment away.
“You’re teasing me, Skrain,” said Pa’Dar. “I can’t help where I was born any more than you can.”
He nodded after a moment. “Yes, I am teasing you. It’s because you’re such an easy target.” He grinned, showing white teeth, and sucked at the bread, savoring the simplicity of it.
Pa’Dar relaxed a little. The stocky young civilian had a bright mind, but he was sometimes so very naïve for a Cardassian. In truth, Dukat felt a little sorry for him. A life growing up in a relatively wealthy councillor clan from a university city, and then nothing but service to the Ministry of Science…Kotan Pa’Dar was a sheltered fellow, and the dalin felt obliged to repay him for his diverting—if sometimes rather bland—company by opening his eyes.
“Is that why you’re eating with me?” Pa’Dar shot a look over at Matrik and the other glinns two tables away, making rough sport of some off-color joke. “Before I came aboard this ship, my experience of dealing with military officers was usually one of clipped orders and dour disdain. At the best, scornful looks and faint distrust.”
Dukat gestured languidly. “That’s the soldierly mind-set for you, my friend. We’re trained to regard you civilians as a regrettable impediment to our endeavors.”
Pa’Dar glanced at him, and Dukat could see once again that Pa’Dar wasn’t really certain if his friend was being honest or mocking. “So, then. Why are you joining me here, instead of making fun of me at a distance?”
“Don’t you like my company?” Dukat replied. “As dalin, I ama ranking junior officer aboard the Kornaire.”He spread his hands to take in the room, the starship. “I know this is hardly the gul’s private dining chambers, but still…”
“I’m just trying to understand you a little better, Dukat. I’m a scientist, that’s what I do. I see phenomena, I seek answers.”
“Phenomena.” Dukat repeated the word, amused by it.
“I’ve never thought of myself in that fashion.”
“Your behavior is rather atypical for a Union officer.”
Dukat stroked his chin. “Quite correct. I am atypical, very much so.” He leaned closer. “There’s too much rigidity in our people, Kotan. Compartmentalization and stratification. It breeds stagnation. Why shouldn’t a scientist and a soldier share a meal and speak plainly to one another? Narrow-mindedness won’t serve Cardassia in the long term, and I aim to serve Cardassia for a very long term indeed.”
The doors slid open to allow the priests to enter the dining chamber, and they swept in, in a rustle of azure and cream-colored robes, long lines of square metallic beads trailing away along the lengths of their arms and the layered wrappings across their torsos. The larger of the two scowled through the thick luster of his beard and aimed a narrow-eyed glare at Kell; the gul sat indolently at the end of his table, pouring himself a generous glass of rokassajuice.
In return Kell saluted with the jug and gestured to the room’s other occupant, an austere female in the duty fatigues of the science ministry. “Forgive me, Hadlo, but Professor Ico and I were quite hungry and we started without you.” He smiled, a smug expression with no real humor in it. “There’s still a serving for you and your, uh, associate.” Kell nodded to the younger of the priests, who hovered nervously at the older man’s shoulder.
Hadlo took his seat at the gul’s table and gestured for his aide to join him. “We were detained by matters of the Way,” he explained. “The day-meal must be marked by a brief thanksgiving to Oralius. I have explained this to you before, Gul Kell.”
Kell nodded. “Ah yes, of course. But the Central Command’s military regulations are quite strict on the scheduling of refreshment periods during shipboard operations. I’m sorry, but I cannot delay a meal in order to accommodate your…unique requirements.” He sniffed. “Perhaps you could arrange to have your ritual earlier?”
“Oralius does not follow a mortal clock,” said the younger priest. “Her Way has remained unchanged for millennia.”
“Bennek,” said Hadlo, with a warning in his tone. He helped himself to a healthy serving of broth. “Perhaps, Gul, you might consider attending usat some point during our journey to Bajor. The space you graciously provided my group in the Kornaire’s cargo hold has proven most adequate to our needs. I would enjoy having you visit to hear a recitation.”
Ico took a purse-lipped sip of the rokassaand watched the interaction, faintly amused. She’d seen the same thing play out a dozen times over the course of the journey from Cardassia Prime, and the woman found herself wishing she had kept track of the barbs that lanced back and forth between the two men. It would be interesting to tally a final score between priest and soldier by the time they arrived at Bajor.
Kell’s face was a barely concealed sneer. “As diverting as your readings might be, I’m afraid the very real and pressing matters of commanding this starship occupy every moment of my time. I have no opportunity, or indeed motivation, to sit and listen to your scriptures.” He grunted. “Central Command would prefer me to attend to issues of certainty, not ephemera.”