Try telling Monor that,Ekron thought with a sigh. At least he wasn’t calling the Klingons “Foreheads” on public broadcasts. That would stir things up even more. And he had finally—after five years of steadfast refusal—given Ekron permission to investigate the possibility of transplanting hevritto this world. It might not be enough to save the species, but Ekron felt it was his duty to try. The hevritwere as much a part of Cardassia Prime as Cardassians themselves were. If the people of the home planet deserved to have their lot in life improved by colonization, so too did its animal life.
“We will determine who is responsible for this heinous act against our people, and the responsible parties will be brought to justice. I give you my personal assurance as prefect of Raknal V that all of those responsible will be punished.”
I wish he’d let me read his speeches before he gives them,Ekron thought, not for the first time. Too much repetition makes him look like an idiot.Monor could not afford to look like an idiot in public, especially now.
“We’ll find out what happened, and you can be assured that appropriate action will be taken. This planet will be ours, of that you can allbe assured. No one will take away from Cardassia what rightfully belongs to Cardassia, least of all a bunch of upstart aliens who think they can scare us off with cowardly sabotage. They have endeavored to elude blame for many of the so-called ‘accidents’ that have befallen loyal Cardassians in the past, all the while refusing any attempt to cooperate on endeavors that would save lives on both sides. They have continually refused to coordinate their orbital control center with ours, resulting in several near collisions in space. It is only a matter of time before a tragedy even more tragic than the tragedy that befell the aircar victims today happens again.”
Ekron tried not to gag at the tortured syntax.
The prefect leaned forward in his chair. “Be strong, my fellow Cardassians, and be vigilant. We will overcome these tragedies and emerge a stronger people for it!”
With that, he leaned back. Ekron deactivated the live feed, and the monitors all across the northern continent went back to the prerecorded bulletins and messages.
Knowing full well that the protest would fall on deaf ears, Ekron nonetheless felt compelled to say, “Sir, there’s no evidence that the Klingons had anything to do with it.”
“One of those damned Foreheads was seen near the site.”
Ekron closed his eyes and counted to five. “Sir, that was a merchant named Kall—he’s well known in that sector. He’s a private citizen. We’ve checked him thoroughly, as has the Order.”
Monor made a snorting noise as he got up from his desk. “As if you can trust anything from those imbeciles. I want that ‘merchant’ arrested and interrogated.”
“Sir, Governor Qaolin will object if you do.”
“Let him.”
It took all of Ekron’s willpower not to say, That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one who has to listen to the objection.Monor always made Ekron take any communiqués from the Klingons, refusing to speak to the “Foreheads.”
Instead, he said, “What if they go to the Federation?”
“Then they’ll be exposed as the cowards I’ve always said they are. Let them fight their own damn battles. Besides, they haven’t freed Parrik yet, have they?”
“No.” Parrik was a Cardassian accused of sabotaging a Klingon mine and had been imprisoned for six months, interrogated who knew how many times, with no sign of a trial, nor any proof of his involvement in the landslide that—like this aircar collision—was probably a simple accident. But Monor wants some of his own back, and I suspect this is how he’ll get it.
“Schedule another broadcast for sunset,” Monor said. “By then, we’d better damn well have more information, and I’ll be ready to announce another curfew.”
Ekron winced, but did not argue. “Curfew, sir?” he prompted by way of determining the nature of this latest futile gesture.
“Yes. Allnon-Cardassians must be indoors before sunset.”
Once, Ekron would have pointed out that such an action would only serve to antagonize the citizenry, make everyone nervous, create more tension in a situation already laden with it, and, worst of all, stall trade and the economic outlook of the colony. This time of year on this continent, night accounted for seventy percent of a planetary rotation, so much of the business that was conducted on Raknal was done after dark. And a great deal of it involved aliens, particularly Yridian merchants, not to mention the occasional Ferengi.
However, raising such objections only got Ekron yelled at and, after all these years, Ekron had had enough of Monor’s rants. He used to consider them part of his job. Of course, he also used to consider a planetside assignment to be a hardship, something to be experienced briefly before retreating back to the constructed environs of a space vessel. After five years on Raknal V, however, he couldn’t imagine serving for any length of time in the regulated atmosphere of a ship—nor had he any desire to listen to Monor’s rants more than absolutely necessary.
So he simply said, “Very well, sir.”
“Damn right it’s very well. We’re not going to let those Foreheads stop us, or let them take what’s ours from us. It’s our planet, dammit, wefound it. Why, in the old days, we wouldn’t have put up with all this competition nonsense. We’ve become soft, Ekron, that’s the real problem.”
“Yes, sir. If you’ll exc—”
But Monor was determined to rant. “I swear to you, I don’t know what’s happening to us. I hear that some resistance movement has started on Bajor. Can you believe that? Damn fools in Central Command have let the Bajorans’ spirituality lull them into a false sense of security. Now they’re facing guerrilla attacks. Mark my words, nothing good will come of that. We can’t afford to let anything like that happen here.”
Ekron refrained from pointing out how impossible that was. “Yes, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I have t—”
“And what’s more, you just knowthat Qaolin’s going to try to find some way to make us look bad here. He’ll go screaming at Dax, telling him that this is proof that we can’t handle the planet. And that damned Trill will listen to every word he says. You know those Foreheads call him ‘the Great Curzon,’ like he’s a damned circus performer or something. It’s enough to make you weep, it really is.” The prefect stared at Ekron. “What are you still doing here, Ekron, don’t you have work to do?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Relieved, Ekron beat a hasty retreat.
“Be strong, my fellow Cardassians, and be vigilant. We will overcome these tragedies and emerge a stronger people for it!”
Governor Qaolin switched off the recording of Prefect Monor’s tiresome speech. “This,” he said to the other occupant of his office, “is what I have had to put up with for five years, General.”
General Worf nodded. His hair had gone completely white since the last time Qaolin had seen him, which was shortly after the colony on the southern continent was established half a decade ago. He seemed more tired, too—though Qaolin supposed he could have just been superimposing his own fatigue on the general. The governor had not expected to find himself stuck on this rock for a seeming eternity. All the stories he’d heard about sailing on the Barge of the Dead through Gre’thorweren’t anywhere near as awful as what he endured daily administrating the Klingon colony on Raknal V.