Second self, p.10
Second Self, page 10
One arched eyebrow lifted. “That would certainly have a significant impact on the course of the war,” Avarak said. “Will this affect our mission in any way?”
“Well, I hope the Cardassians are starting to grasp that siding with the Dominion to wage war on the entire Alpha Quadrant hasn’t exactly endeared them to the rest of us,” said Raffi. “But I doubt that switching sides this late is going to win them friends among the Romulans.”
Avarak, who was nodding, plainly needed no explanation, Raffi was pleased to see. The Romulan-Cardassian front had been brutal, pitiless. This was one of the reasons they were being sent out to Ordeve. As the Romulans took control of the planet, their Starfleet colleagues on the ground were becoming increasingly concerned about what this might mean for the Cardassian civilians there. Raffi was being sent to talk the Romulans down—or indicate that Starfleet was keeping a close watch on the proceedings. They sat for a while discussing their mission. Raffi began to talk about how she thought the war was going to end, but Avarak clearly did not see the purpose of such speculation. At last, they got their summons. The U.S.S. Gráinne was ready for them to board.
Raffi watched the endgame of the Dominion War on the Gráinne, en route to Ordeve, sitting in the mess with a dozen or so of the crew. She saw the speech that Damar gave, telling the people of Cardassia to resist, and was surprised to find a tear come to her eye. Dammit, he sounded like Spartacus. Seemed to go the same way too, too quickly—the next news was that the Dominion had wiped out all his ships, and Damar had been killed. But then there were sightings of him—all around Prime, all around the Union. And then—could you believe this? The Cardassian people started to rise up. Who had predicted that? No one at Romulan Affairs, although her friends back there were reporting that their colleagues at the Cardassian desk were looking very smug these days. Perhaps Starfleet had a hand in getting the rebellion going, but no one was talking.
What happened next nobody predicted, although perhaps, in retrospect and knowing their enemy, they should have. The Dominion, responding to the attacks on their bases, destroyed a major Cardassian city. Bombed it from the air. Two million people, gone in a matter of seconds. The Cardassian people kept on fighting, and the Dominion responded, in force. Raffi, sitting in the mess of the Gráinne, watched the reports coming through. She would remember for the rest of her life the moment when one of the lieutenants said, “What are the Dominion trying to do?” Avarak offered, “The logical deduction is that they have decided to exterminate the Cardassian people.”
Her blood ran cold. He was right, wasn’t he? The Jem’Hadar, stationed in every single part of the Union, had decided that the Cardassians were now surplus to their requirements.
“Jeez,” she breathed. “This is appalling…”
“Or karma,” said one of the lieutenants. “Payback for the Occupation.”
That, Raffi was glad to see, earned significant pushback. The lieutenant kept his opinions to himself after that. But they all stayed glued to the Federation News Service and watched the catastrophe unfold. After a couple of hours, it became clear that the scale of the devastation was almost too much to comprehend. Whole cities were being turned to dust. Millions upon millions dying. Most of those present gave up. Some went on duty. Some went to bed. But a few dedicated, hardcore news junkies remained sitting in the mess, watching as the fire raged through the Cardassian Union. None of them had ever seen anything like this and hoped they never would again. It was some years before the Romulan star went supernova.
Occasionally someone spoke. “This is from Cardassia IV.” Or, “Look, the university in Culat is on fire.” Or, “How is anyone going to survive this?” Or, “Does anyone want some more coffee?”
Raffi accepted the offer of coffee but otherwise remained quiet, watching the Dominion War end. Watching the real-time collapse of the once-great Cardassian empire. Many of her friends from the Academy had been serving on the front lines for the last year or so. Sometimes they sent her messages telling her that she was well out of it. Raffi knew that she should not wish herself into combat, but a small part of her felt that she had been cheated of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to prove herself.
“Holy shit,” said a young ensign to her left as a huge and elegant building exploded on the screen in front of them. “Do you know what that place is?”
“No,” muttered a couple of people.
“That’s the Detapa Council building!”
There was a silence, during which it became abundantly clear that not everyone understood the significance of this.
“The equivalent,” explained Avarak, “would be the destruction of the Federation Council tower.”
There was another short pause, and then: “Holy shit…” someone agreed, in something close to appropriate awe.
Raffi rubbed her eyes. There were studies that proved that watching continuous footage of unfolding news was bad for you. Those constant endorphin hits and then the immediate crash, and the hunger for the next hit. Wasn’t healthy, sitting here watching this apocalypse when there was nothing she could do, but, like the rest of them, she couldn’t tear herself away. More coffee came. More news came. More and more Cardassians died. Raffi watched on, like an addict chasing the next fix. But she was asleep when the war ended, slumped in her chair, waking only because the young ensign was shaking her.
“Hey, wake up. They’ve surrendered.”
“What?”
“The Dominion. They’ve surrendered. The war’s over.”
Raffi sat up straight and stared at the screen. Everyone still in the mess looked at one another, uncertain as to what this meant or whether a celebration was appropriate, given the smoking ruins and the soaring death rate. Somebody gave a nervous cough.
“Hurray, I guess,” said the young ensign. A shipwide message came through from the captain, announcing the news, and instructing the senior staff to the observation lounge.
“On to the next war,” said the ensign. She stood and stretched. Her joints cracked, and she went on her way out of the mess. Altogether, Raffi thought, it was something of an anticlimax. Nothing had changed, and nothing ever could or would. But as she went to wash her face and make herself presentable for the meeting, she made herself a promise: no Cardassian still left alive on Ordeve was going to die on her watch. It was no small undertaking; if she had known a little more about the situation on the ground, Raffi might have hesitated in making such a promise. Perhaps, if she had, at this point in her life, known more about the Qowat Milat, she might have held back. Promises are prisons, after all, and the breaking of a promise can poison. She would often think about this, later in life, when she was forced out of Starfleet, with very few friends who would accept her call. She would often wonder where and when and how everything started to go wrong.
* * *
Nineteen hours later, the Gráinne arrived at Ordeve. Raffi had gotten some sleep, and, with Avarak at her side taking careful notes, spoken at length with her colleagues back at Starfleet Intelligence. Their chief topic was the ongoing state of the delicate Romulan-Federation alliance, whether it would survive the war, and how to avoid giving the Romulans excuses to escalate hostilities and end the alliance. Ordeve—which seemed very remote and unimportant—could provide exactly the kind of flashpoint that would give the Romulans that excuse. And the political status of the planet was confused. The Romulans had more or less taken Ordeve in the last few weeks, but the Cardassians had switched sides and joined the battle against the Dominion, which meant they had a continuing claim. But were there any Cardassians, either on Ordeve or Prime, to take charge? Was there a government right now on Cardassia Prime? Damar had died in the final battle to get through to the Founder’s bunker. Was there anyone left alive from his rebellion to take up the mantle of leadership?
As a result of all this confusion, transporting down to Ordeve took longer than anticipated. The Romulans, for whatever reason, decided to change their minds about their previous agreement to let further Starfleet observers visit the surface. Several hours of fraught negotiations followed. Pleas were made. Threats were issued. Concessions were offered.
“Might as well chuck dice,” said Raffi. “The problem is that this mostly has nothing to do with us. There’ll be a minor official somewhere—probably not even on Ordeve—trying to get some advantage or save face, and we’re the hill they’ve chosen to die on. Something will shift. Or it won’t. In which case we can all go home.”
Her prediction proved true, as suddenly the ban on their going down was lifted, and Raffi and Avarak found themselves scrambling to the Gráinne’s transporter to head to the surface while they had the okay.
Raffi’s first impression of Ordeve was of summer heat and the faint smell of rotting, overlaid with the sharp tang of skimmers overhead and the odor of alien bodies. The spaceport, which stood close to the capital, Merna, was Cardassian built: that odd combination of graceful architectural curves and steely functionality. However, there were no Cardassians to be seen, only armed Romulans, checking every ship coming in and out. Raffi, looking around for Starfleet uniforms, finally saw a grubby-looking lieutenant commander hurrying toward them. She was Lafleur, an engineering officer who was part of the small Starfleet team here.
“Welcome to Ordeve,” said Lafleur. “We’re very glad to have you here.” She looked them over. “Just the two of you?”
“Were you expecting more?” said Raffi. “We’re only here to observe.”
“Huh,” said Lafleur, leading them away. “How long is the Gráinne hanging around?”
The Gráinne was due to leave orbit the next morning. “What’s been happening?” Raffi asked quietly.
Lafleur briefed her quickly, and without affect. “It’s been brutal. The people here in the capital were holed up in the spaceport when the Cardassians switched sides. There was…” She sucked in a deep breath. “As far as we can make out, there was a massacre. Jem’Hadar killing Cardassian troops. Our orders were not to intervene. And the Romulans certainly weren’t going to help. Left them to finish off each other. After a while, everything went quiet. Then we got the news that the Dominion had surrendered. About an hour after that, the Vorta came out, with the remaining Jem’Hadar.” Lafleur shook her head. “That Vorta is lucky not to have been killed on the spot. Smirking at the Tal Shiar.”
Yeah, thought Raffi; lucky to be alive. “Where’s the Vorta now?”
Lafleur pointed toward the far side of the port. “She and the Jem’Hadar are under lock and key in one of the hangars over there. I’ll be honest—if the Gráinne doesn’t take them, I’m not sure they’ll survive this.”
“It’s one of the terms of the surrender,” said Raffi. “What about the Cardassians?”
“What about them?” said Lafleur.
“Are there any left?”
Lafleur sighed. “A few. The ones here at the spaceport are currently under Starfleet protection and awaiting evacuation. I don’t know where they’re planning to go…”
“Prime’s certainly not fit to receive them,” said Raffi. “But perhaps they’d rather be home.” Or what was left of it. “Tell me more about where we’re heading. Ghenic, right?”
“A former Cardassian base. Upcountry. The Jem’Hadar haven’t been out there, and it’s remained under direct Cardassian control. The Romulans were closing in when the Cardassians switched sides, and when the surrender came, they stopped their advance. We’ve got a handful of our people out there, but it’s only a matter of time before the Romulans move in. If there was a significant Starfleet presence, we might be able to stop them. We asked for backup.” She eyed Raffi and Avarak. “I’m guessing you’re it.”
Raffi gave a wry smile. “Afraid so. What you see is what you get.” She nodded toward Avarak. “He’s great, mind you. Are we heading out to Ghenic now?”
“Yes,” said Lafleur. “By flyer. The transporters have been fritzing. Better not risk it.”
“Indeed,” said Avarak.
“Everything’s been fritzing,” said Lafleur as they headed toward the flyer. “Transporter, long-range comms, replicators. Whatever the Romulans are doing, it’s working too well.”
They had just reached their flyer when Raffi saw him: a familiar Romulan face in the crush.
“Sokara?”
The Romulan turned. Raffi saw the surprise on his face, quickly masked by a wry smile. He collected himself and walked over to her.
“Lieutenant Musiker,” he said. “I didn’t know this was where you were being sent.”
“Same back atcha,” said Raffi.
They stood for a moment, each conscious of the rapidly altering situation. Allies only a few days ago, holding each other in professional respect. Now, neither was quite sure what they should be to each other, how exactly they should act toward each other.
Sokara made the first move. “I’d offer to buy you that drink,” he said. “But I’ve an onward journey.”
“Me too,” said Raffi.
“I’d imagine so,” said Sokara. His upper lip curled into a half smile. They were surely heading in the same direction—out to Ghenic, where the action was. Her suspicions were more or less confirmed when he said, “Perhaps I’ll get the chance to make good on my promise sooner than we might think.”
“I hope so,” said Raffi, and watched him go. He’d been an honest broker throughout the war. She hated that she might have to start thinking of him as her enemy.
“Who was that?” said Lafleur.
“Tal Shiar,” said Raffi.
Lafleur gave her a narrow look. “Brotherhood of spooks, eh?”
“Something like that,” said Raffi, and got into the seat next to Lafleur. Avarak sat in the back. The flyer lifted, and, for a moment, Raffi was able to see the whole spaceport from above; the blackened ground, the people scurrying around like insects, the scars and the damage from years of struggle. Then they were on their way, out into green and open countryside, leaving the machinery of war behind them, the whole business like a dream from which they were awakening—or perhaps a mass delusion.
* * *
Ghenic was a four-hour flight from the spaceport. It stood near the confluence of two rivers: one that cut a broad swath back down to the coast, and the other that started in the mountains beyond Ghenic and ran through a deep-cut and mist-shrouded valley before meeting the bigger river. They made their descent through the mist of an early summer morning. Raffi looked out to see hazy mountains; along the riverbank, heaps of big stones looked as if they had been thrown down from the mountains by giants.
“Is that the old Bajoran town?” she said.
“Yes,” said Lafleur. “The Cardassians built their base a couple of kilometers away and the place fell into disrepair. Standard operating procedure for the Cardassians in many places. Move in, starve the nearby settlements of resources. Eventually the local Bajoran population would be forced to move away. The Cardassians would claim that the Bajorans had left by choice, that they were moving into land that was no longer wanted.”
“I thought the Occupation was more brutal than that,” said Raffi.
“Yes,” agreed Lafleur. “It was.” She glanced down at the old stones below. “That town was called Akantha. There was a Bajoran settlement there for hundreds of years. All gone, by the time the Occupation ended.”
“So Ordeve became Cardassian by default,” said Avarak. “And now the Romulans are claiming it by right of conquest.”
“I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on the extraplanetary claims,” said Lafleur. “All I can say is that there are almost a hundred terrified Cardassians currently living at Ghenic, a company of Romulans stationed four kilometers away, and a handful of Starfleet officers are all that stands between them.”
“I’m amazed we’re being allowed to fly into Ghenic,” said Raffi.
“So am I,” said Lafleur. “For the moment, our Romulan allies are still allowing Starfleet traffic in and out of the area, but we’re not sure how long that will last.”
Great, thought Raffi. We’re arriving just in time for a siege. She looked upriver. “What’s on the other riverbank?”
“Don’t know,” said Lafleur. “Never been that way.”
* * *
Raffi got a good look at the compound from the air. A handful of Cardassian military block buildings, and a single Federation-style building, hastily replicated and thrown up. There were two long blocks that Lafleur said had been given over to the civilians from the engineering project when they arrived at Ghenic.
“But there’s not enough room,” she said. “A hundred civilians, in a space that should house forty at the most. At least it’s summer. Half of them have been sleeping outside. We’ve been replicating tents for them.”
The flyer landed in the main square of the compound. Raffi—stepping out—got her first glimpse of a sight that would become all too familiar later in her career. The misery and hopelessness of a refugee camp. The arrival of their flyer did little to stir the torpor of the adults sitting there, although a few of the children came running forward. Avarak dug into his pockets and began, gravely, handing out small gifts. Vulcan sweets.
“Kids…” muttered Raffi. “Damn. I wasn’t expecting kids…”
“The Cardassian commander here, Gul Assott, brought everyone over from the engineering project six weeks ago,” Lafleur said. “These people had been there awhile. Brought their families with them. They’ve survived the Jem’Hadar, but…”
Imagine surviving the past few years, even making it through the Jem’Hadar massacre, only for the Tal Shiar to gun you down. “This is a hot mess, isn’t it?”
“It’s a nightmare,” said Lafleur. “Look, let me take you to meet Commander Byrne. She’s the ranking Starfleet officer here. She’ll fill you in on the details.”
The three of them walked through the compound, the children chasing after them, until it became clear that Avarak’s pockets were now empty.
“Good thinking,” said Raffi quietly, filing that one away. She would use that tactic again and again, years from now, with Romulan kids, and think of Avarak every time. JL would remark on it, one time, saying that he was impressed.
“Well, I hope the Cardassians are starting to grasp that siding with the Dominion to wage war on the entire Alpha Quadrant hasn’t exactly endeared them to the rest of us,” said Raffi. “But I doubt that switching sides this late is going to win them friends among the Romulans.”
Avarak, who was nodding, plainly needed no explanation, Raffi was pleased to see. The Romulan-Cardassian front had been brutal, pitiless. This was one of the reasons they were being sent out to Ordeve. As the Romulans took control of the planet, their Starfleet colleagues on the ground were becoming increasingly concerned about what this might mean for the Cardassian civilians there. Raffi was being sent to talk the Romulans down—or indicate that Starfleet was keeping a close watch on the proceedings. They sat for a while discussing their mission. Raffi began to talk about how she thought the war was going to end, but Avarak clearly did not see the purpose of such speculation. At last, they got their summons. The U.S.S. Gráinne was ready for them to board.
Raffi watched the endgame of the Dominion War on the Gráinne, en route to Ordeve, sitting in the mess with a dozen or so of the crew. She saw the speech that Damar gave, telling the people of Cardassia to resist, and was surprised to find a tear come to her eye. Dammit, he sounded like Spartacus. Seemed to go the same way too, too quickly—the next news was that the Dominion had wiped out all his ships, and Damar had been killed. But then there were sightings of him—all around Prime, all around the Union. And then—could you believe this? The Cardassian people started to rise up. Who had predicted that? No one at Romulan Affairs, although her friends back there were reporting that their colleagues at the Cardassian desk were looking very smug these days. Perhaps Starfleet had a hand in getting the rebellion going, but no one was talking.
What happened next nobody predicted, although perhaps, in retrospect and knowing their enemy, they should have. The Dominion, responding to the attacks on their bases, destroyed a major Cardassian city. Bombed it from the air. Two million people, gone in a matter of seconds. The Cardassian people kept on fighting, and the Dominion responded, in force. Raffi, sitting in the mess of the Gráinne, watched the reports coming through. She would remember for the rest of her life the moment when one of the lieutenants said, “What are the Dominion trying to do?” Avarak offered, “The logical deduction is that they have decided to exterminate the Cardassian people.”
Her blood ran cold. He was right, wasn’t he? The Jem’Hadar, stationed in every single part of the Union, had decided that the Cardassians were now surplus to their requirements.
“Jeez,” she breathed. “This is appalling…”
“Or karma,” said one of the lieutenants. “Payback for the Occupation.”
That, Raffi was glad to see, earned significant pushback. The lieutenant kept his opinions to himself after that. But they all stayed glued to the Federation News Service and watched the catastrophe unfold. After a couple of hours, it became clear that the scale of the devastation was almost too much to comprehend. Whole cities were being turned to dust. Millions upon millions dying. Most of those present gave up. Some went on duty. Some went to bed. But a few dedicated, hardcore news junkies remained sitting in the mess, watching as the fire raged through the Cardassian Union. None of them had ever seen anything like this and hoped they never would again. It was some years before the Romulan star went supernova.
Occasionally someone spoke. “This is from Cardassia IV.” Or, “Look, the university in Culat is on fire.” Or, “How is anyone going to survive this?” Or, “Does anyone want some more coffee?”
Raffi accepted the offer of coffee but otherwise remained quiet, watching the Dominion War end. Watching the real-time collapse of the once-great Cardassian empire. Many of her friends from the Academy had been serving on the front lines for the last year or so. Sometimes they sent her messages telling her that she was well out of it. Raffi knew that she should not wish herself into combat, but a small part of her felt that she had been cheated of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to prove herself.
“Holy shit,” said a young ensign to her left as a huge and elegant building exploded on the screen in front of them. “Do you know what that place is?”
“No,” muttered a couple of people.
“That’s the Detapa Council building!”
There was a silence, during which it became abundantly clear that not everyone understood the significance of this.
“The equivalent,” explained Avarak, “would be the destruction of the Federation Council tower.”
There was another short pause, and then: “Holy shit…” someone agreed, in something close to appropriate awe.
Raffi rubbed her eyes. There were studies that proved that watching continuous footage of unfolding news was bad for you. Those constant endorphin hits and then the immediate crash, and the hunger for the next hit. Wasn’t healthy, sitting here watching this apocalypse when there was nothing she could do, but, like the rest of them, she couldn’t tear herself away. More coffee came. More news came. More and more Cardassians died. Raffi watched on, like an addict chasing the next fix. But she was asleep when the war ended, slumped in her chair, waking only because the young ensign was shaking her.
“Hey, wake up. They’ve surrendered.”
“What?”
“The Dominion. They’ve surrendered. The war’s over.”
Raffi sat up straight and stared at the screen. Everyone still in the mess looked at one another, uncertain as to what this meant or whether a celebration was appropriate, given the smoking ruins and the soaring death rate. Somebody gave a nervous cough.
“Hurray, I guess,” said the young ensign. A shipwide message came through from the captain, announcing the news, and instructing the senior staff to the observation lounge.
“On to the next war,” said the ensign. She stood and stretched. Her joints cracked, and she went on her way out of the mess. Altogether, Raffi thought, it was something of an anticlimax. Nothing had changed, and nothing ever could or would. But as she went to wash her face and make herself presentable for the meeting, she made herself a promise: no Cardassian still left alive on Ordeve was going to die on her watch. It was no small undertaking; if she had known a little more about the situation on the ground, Raffi might have hesitated in making such a promise. Perhaps, if she had, at this point in her life, known more about the Qowat Milat, she might have held back. Promises are prisons, after all, and the breaking of a promise can poison. She would often think about this, later in life, when she was forced out of Starfleet, with very few friends who would accept her call. She would often wonder where and when and how everything started to go wrong.
* * *
Nineteen hours later, the Gráinne arrived at Ordeve. Raffi had gotten some sleep, and, with Avarak at her side taking careful notes, spoken at length with her colleagues back at Starfleet Intelligence. Their chief topic was the ongoing state of the delicate Romulan-Federation alliance, whether it would survive the war, and how to avoid giving the Romulans excuses to escalate hostilities and end the alliance. Ordeve—which seemed very remote and unimportant—could provide exactly the kind of flashpoint that would give the Romulans that excuse. And the political status of the planet was confused. The Romulans had more or less taken Ordeve in the last few weeks, but the Cardassians had switched sides and joined the battle against the Dominion, which meant they had a continuing claim. But were there any Cardassians, either on Ordeve or Prime, to take charge? Was there a government right now on Cardassia Prime? Damar had died in the final battle to get through to the Founder’s bunker. Was there anyone left alive from his rebellion to take up the mantle of leadership?
As a result of all this confusion, transporting down to Ordeve took longer than anticipated. The Romulans, for whatever reason, decided to change their minds about their previous agreement to let further Starfleet observers visit the surface. Several hours of fraught negotiations followed. Pleas were made. Threats were issued. Concessions were offered.
“Might as well chuck dice,” said Raffi. “The problem is that this mostly has nothing to do with us. There’ll be a minor official somewhere—probably not even on Ordeve—trying to get some advantage or save face, and we’re the hill they’ve chosen to die on. Something will shift. Or it won’t. In which case we can all go home.”
Her prediction proved true, as suddenly the ban on their going down was lifted, and Raffi and Avarak found themselves scrambling to the Gráinne’s transporter to head to the surface while they had the okay.
Raffi’s first impression of Ordeve was of summer heat and the faint smell of rotting, overlaid with the sharp tang of skimmers overhead and the odor of alien bodies. The spaceport, which stood close to the capital, Merna, was Cardassian built: that odd combination of graceful architectural curves and steely functionality. However, there were no Cardassians to be seen, only armed Romulans, checking every ship coming in and out. Raffi, looking around for Starfleet uniforms, finally saw a grubby-looking lieutenant commander hurrying toward them. She was Lafleur, an engineering officer who was part of the small Starfleet team here.
“Welcome to Ordeve,” said Lafleur. “We’re very glad to have you here.” She looked them over. “Just the two of you?”
“Were you expecting more?” said Raffi. “We’re only here to observe.”
“Huh,” said Lafleur, leading them away. “How long is the Gráinne hanging around?”
The Gráinne was due to leave orbit the next morning. “What’s been happening?” Raffi asked quietly.
Lafleur briefed her quickly, and without affect. “It’s been brutal. The people here in the capital were holed up in the spaceport when the Cardassians switched sides. There was…” She sucked in a deep breath. “As far as we can make out, there was a massacre. Jem’Hadar killing Cardassian troops. Our orders were not to intervene. And the Romulans certainly weren’t going to help. Left them to finish off each other. After a while, everything went quiet. Then we got the news that the Dominion had surrendered. About an hour after that, the Vorta came out, with the remaining Jem’Hadar.” Lafleur shook her head. “That Vorta is lucky not to have been killed on the spot. Smirking at the Tal Shiar.”
Yeah, thought Raffi; lucky to be alive. “Where’s the Vorta now?”
Lafleur pointed toward the far side of the port. “She and the Jem’Hadar are under lock and key in one of the hangars over there. I’ll be honest—if the Gráinne doesn’t take them, I’m not sure they’ll survive this.”
“It’s one of the terms of the surrender,” said Raffi. “What about the Cardassians?”
“What about them?” said Lafleur.
“Are there any left?”
Lafleur sighed. “A few. The ones here at the spaceport are currently under Starfleet protection and awaiting evacuation. I don’t know where they’re planning to go…”
“Prime’s certainly not fit to receive them,” said Raffi. “But perhaps they’d rather be home.” Or what was left of it. “Tell me more about where we’re heading. Ghenic, right?”
“A former Cardassian base. Upcountry. The Jem’Hadar haven’t been out there, and it’s remained under direct Cardassian control. The Romulans were closing in when the Cardassians switched sides, and when the surrender came, they stopped their advance. We’ve got a handful of our people out there, but it’s only a matter of time before the Romulans move in. If there was a significant Starfleet presence, we might be able to stop them. We asked for backup.” She eyed Raffi and Avarak. “I’m guessing you’re it.”
Raffi gave a wry smile. “Afraid so. What you see is what you get.” She nodded toward Avarak. “He’s great, mind you. Are we heading out to Ghenic now?”
“Yes,” said Lafleur. “By flyer. The transporters have been fritzing. Better not risk it.”
“Indeed,” said Avarak.
“Everything’s been fritzing,” said Lafleur as they headed toward the flyer. “Transporter, long-range comms, replicators. Whatever the Romulans are doing, it’s working too well.”
They had just reached their flyer when Raffi saw him: a familiar Romulan face in the crush.
“Sokara?”
The Romulan turned. Raffi saw the surprise on his face, quickly masked by a wry smile. He collected himself and walked over to her.
“Lieutenant Musiker,” he said. “I didn’t know this was where you were being sent.”
“Same back atcha,” said Raffi.
They stood for a moment, each conscious of the rapidly altering situation. Allies only a few days ago, holding each other in professional respect. Now, neither was quite sure what they should be to each other, how exactly they should act toward each other.
Sokara made the first move. “I’d offer to buy you that drink,” he said. “But I’ve an onward journey.”
“Me too,” said Raffi.
“I’d imagine so,” said Sokara. His upper lip curled into a half smile. They were surely heading in the same direction—out to Ghenic, where the action was. Her suspicions were more or less confirmed when he said, “Perhaps I’ll get the chance to make good on my promise sooner than we might think.”
“I hope so,” said Raffi, and watched him go. He’d been an honest broker throughout the war. She hated that she might have to start thinking of him as her enemy.
“Who was that?” said Lafleur.
“Tal Shiar,” said Raffi.
Lafleur gave her a narrow look. “Brotherhood of spooks, eh?”
“Something like that,” said Raffi, and got into the seat next to Lafleur. Avarak sat in the back. The flyer lifted, and, for a moment, Raffi was able to see the whole spaceport from above; the blackened ground, the people scurrying around like insects, the scars and the damage from years of struggle. Then they were on their way, out into green and open countryside, leaving the machinery of war behind them, the whole business like a dream from which they were awakening—or perhaps a mass delusion.
* * *
Ghenic was a four-hour flight from the spaceport. It stood near the confluence of two rivers: one that cut a broad swath back down to the coast, and the other that started in the mountains beyond Ghenic and ran through a deep-cut and mist-shrouded valley before meeting the bigger river. They made their descent through the mist of an early summer morning. Raffi looked out to see hazy mountains; along the riverbank, heaps of big stones looked as if they had been thrown down from the mountains by giants.
“Is that the old Bajoran town?” she said.
“Yes,” said Lafleur. “The Cardassians built their base a couple of kilometers away and the place fell into disrepair. Standard operating procedure for the Cardassians in many places. Move in, starve the nearby settlements of resources. Eventually the local Bajoran population would be forced to move away. The Cardassians would claim that the Bajorans had left by choice, that they were moving into land that was no longer wanted.”
“I thought the Occupation was more brutal than that,” said Raffi.
“Yes,” agreed Lafleur. “It was.” She glanced down at the old stones below. “That town was called Akantha. There was a Bajoran settlement there for hundreds of years. All gone, by the time the Occupation ended.”
“So Ordeve became Cardassian by default,” said Avarak. “And now the Romulans are claiming it by right of conquest.”
“I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on the extraplanetary claims,” said Lafleur. “All I can say is that there are almost a hundred terrified Cardassians currently living at Ghenic, a company of Romulans stationed four kilometers away, and a handful of Starfleet officers are all that stands between them.”
“I’m amazed we’re being allowed to fly into Ghenic,” said Raffi.
“So am I,” said Lafleur. “For the moment, our Romulan allies are still allowing Starfleet traffic in and out of the area, but we’re not sure how long that will last.”
Great, thought Raffi. We’re arriving just in time for a siege. She looked upriver. “What’s on the other riverbank?”
“Don’t know,” said Lafleur. “Never been that way.”
* * *
Raffi got a good look at the compound from the air. A handful of Cardassian military block buildings, and a single Federation-style building, hastily replicated and thrown up. There were two long blocks that Lafleur said had been given over to the civilians from the engineering project when they arrived at Ghenic.
“But there’s not enough room,” she said. “A hundred civilians, in a space that should house forty at the most. At least it’s summer. Half of them have been sleeping outside. We’ve been replicating tents for them.”
The flyer landed in the main square of the compound. Raffi—stepping out—got her first glimpse of a sight that would become all too familiar later in her career. The misery and hopelessness of a refugee camp. The arrival of their flyer did little to stir the torpor of the adults sitting there, although a few of the children came running forward. Avarak dug into his pockets and began, gravely, handing out small gifts. Vulcan sweets.
“Kids…” muttered Raffi. “Damn. I wasn’t expecting kids…”
“The Cardassian commander here, Gul Assott, brought everyone over from the engineering project six weeks ago,” Lafleur said. “These people had been there awhile. Brought their families with them. They’ve survived the Jem’Hadar, but…”
Imagine surviving the past few years, even making it through the Jem’Hadar massacre, only for the Tal Shiar to gun you down. “This is a hot mess, isn’t it?”
“It’s a nightmare,” said Lafleur. “Look, let me take you to meet Commander Byrne. She’s the ranking Starfleet officer here. She’ll fill you in on the details.”
The three of them walked through the compound, the children chasing after them, until it became clear that Avarak’s pockets were now empty.
“Good thinking,” said Raffi quietly, filing that one away. She would use that tactic again and again, years from now, with Romulan kids, and think of Avarak every time. JL would remark on it, one time, saying that he was impressed.
