Second self, p.12
Second Self, page 12
“Not yet,” said Raffi. “There’ll be a string of cancellations and postponements first.”
Twice, she and Byrne were in flight when Iloba’s office contacted them to say that the commander was no longer able to speak to them that morning.
“Told you,” Raffi said, on the second occasion, turning the flyer back toward Ghenic, monitoring the Romulan flyers that tracked them all the way to the edge of what remained, nominally, Cardassian territory.
“I didn’t disagree,” said Byrne. “But I’m wondering how long you’re holding out hope that this meeting will ever happen.”
“It will,” said Raffi. “They’re just trying to make us jumpy.”
“They’re succeeding,” said Byrne.
“First rule of dealing with Romulans,” said Raffi. “Don’t let them mess with your mind.”
“That ship,” said Byrne with a sigh, “has long since sailed.”
On the third attempt, they were able to land at the Romulan base. Perhaps it was a coincidence, Raffi thought, that they were arriving on the very same day and at the very same time that ground cannon were being unloaded. She was surprised by the lack of nuance in the display. Romulans were usually more subtle. Or maybe the show of brute force was intended as an insult: This is how we rate your intelligence, Starfleet. We assume you would miss anything less obvious. The problem with dealing with Romulans, Raffi thought, as she had so often thought during her short career, was that their paranoia was infectious. You began to second-guess everything in front of you.
There was nothing subtle about the half-hour wait to see Iloba.
“My time is less valuable, I suppose,” said Byrne, pacing the small room to which they had been ushered.
“That’s what he’d like you to think,” said Raffi, relaxed in her chair, legs out and crossed at the ankles, working through number puzzles on her padd. “My suggestion? Sit down and try your best to look laid back.”
Byrne snorted, but she took her seat and, eventually, brought out her own padd. Soon her face took on a less worried expression. Perhaps she did number puzzles too, thought Raffi. Perhaps she was working through Vulcan verb conjugations. Whatever did the trick. Raffi tried not to judge people by the medicine they took.
Eventually, a young officer arrived to take them to Iloba, leading them through a series of corridors by a route that—predictably—frequently backtracked upon itself. Raffi was sure that they came down one corridor in both directions twice. She wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that Iloba’s office was directly adjacent to their waiting room, and possibly accessible by means of a hidden door. She wouldn’t have been surprised to be led back to the room where they’d started to find that it had been redressed in the interim, but, on this occasion, they were brought somewhere else. A small room made smaller by a folding screen, and seemingly without natural light. They took their seats, and their guide left them, the door closing with an audible clunk, like an old-time prison cell.
“Fuck’s sake,” muttered Raffi. “Where’s the oubliette?”
The folding screen retracted slightly. A tall uniformed Romulan wearing a commander’s insignia came out. Iloba, presumably, although he did not condescend to introduce himself. Sokara, as expected, was behind him. Raffi felt a brief upsurge of optimism, which she swiftly tempered. During his time on Earth, Sokara’s purposes had been best served by assisting Raffi. She had no reason to believe that such was the case on Ordeve—quite the contrary, in fact—and no reason to assume that he had ever felt any kind of personal loyalty or affection toward her. To think that way would be to make a big mistake. But perhaps something could be salvaged from this mess. The commander took the remaining seat. Sokara remained standing, by the folding screen. His eyes flicked up, briefly.
“Hi,” Raffi said, with a small wave. “Good to see you.”
Sokara tilted his head, almost imperceptibly, but made no other movement.
“You know our liaison officer?” said Iloba.
“You know I do,” said Raffi.
Iloba smiled, and then turned to address Byrne. “Allow me to be direct.”
“Oh, this should be good,” murmured Raffi.
“As pleasant as it must be for our liaison officers to renew their acquaintanceship,” said Iloba, “I find it disappointing to see so many new Starfleet people in the area.”
“And I’m overwhelmed by the sheer number of reinforcements sent to me,” said Byrne, refusing the trap Iloba had set to be led into specifying how many. Raffi approved.
“One would hope not,” said Iloba. “But we have been very clear that we are expecting a peaceful transition of the Ghenic base to our control within the week. Why are there any new Starfleet personnel here at all?”
“Perhaps they wanted a change of scenery,” said Byrne. “New faces.”
“This is a very serious situation, Commander,” said Iloba. “I wonder if such flippancy is appropriate.”
“I’m completely sure that it’s not,” said Byrne. “Which is why you may be sure that I, too, am very serious. There are over a hundred Cardassians still at Ghenic. The majority are civilians. We’re concerned about them.”
“Concerned?”
There was no simple way, Raffi thought, whether obliquely or not, to accuse one’s allies of intending a massacre.
“Yes,” said Byrne calmly. “Concerned.”
“I understand,” said Iloba, “that the base has room for fifty civilians at most.”
“You’re well informed,” said Byrne.
“I am,” said Iloba. “Conditions must be getting uncomfortable there, in this heat. Even for Cardassians. Do you require our assistance?”
“Only to allow us to take these people to Merna, and then, if necessary, offworld,” said Byrne.
Iloba shifted in his seat. “The postwar agreement between our governments puts this world under Romulan jurisdiction. We have no need for you to carry out such an evacuation.”
“I guess we could tie up teams of diplomats with the right expertise for years,” said Byrne. “But we don’t have years, do we?”
“If you and your officers are not happy here,” said Iloba, “you’re free to leave.”
“Agreed. If I can take the Cardassians with me.”
Iloba smiled. “This world, and its inhabitants, fall under Romulan jurisdiction.”
Raffi thought, He’s looking forward to next week. He’s looking forward to getting stuck in… Well, he could get fucked. Raffi was not leaving this place. She would do whatever it took. She glanced at Sokara, who was looking at his commanding officer’s back.
“I think,” said Iloba, “that our next step should be to agree to a timetable for the removal of however many Starfleet personnel remain at Ghenic from the area. We can most certainly ensure safe passage back to Merna. Perhaps the Gráinne can return to collect you. You should probably take advantage of that offer, Commander,” he added. “Ranking officers have not had much luck in this area in recent weeks.”
And there was the threat, laid out plain. If Starfleet officers remained at Ghenic, Iloba would consider them fair game.
“I’m curious,” said Raffi. “Are your superiors prepared to risk the peace for the sake of a hundred Cardassians?”
Iloba laughed. “The question, Lieutenant Musiker, is surely—do you think your superiors are willing to risk the alliance for the sake of a hundred Cardassians? I’m sure of my orders. Are you so sure of yours?”
They left shortly afterward. Raffi had not been able to catch Sokara’s eye again. He had appeared entirely impassive throughout—textbook Tal Shiar—but was it her imagination that he wasn’t happy? Still, she couldn’t risk making her decisions based on suppositions.
“I hope that was worth it for me to be so comprehensively insulted,” said Byrne, on the way back to Ghenic.
Raffi didn’t answer.
“Tell me about the Tal Shiar agent,” said Byrne.
“His name is Nuvu Sokara,” said Raffi. “He was my opposite number at Federation Affairs throughout the last six months of the war. By the end, we were dealing with each other almost daily.”
“Huh,” said Byrne.
“What?”
“Strange to think of them having ‘Federation Affairs,’ isn’t it? But it makes sense when you say it. You two got on?”
“He played fair. Not usual in a Tal Shiar agent. We were both agreed that the war needed to be won as quickly as possible.”
“You think he’ll help?”
“I am under no such illusions,” said Raffi.
They flew on, through hostile territory, the river Parset running swiftly beneath them. As they drew nearer to Ghenic, Raffi looked north and east, and saw the high mountains of the Caanta valley rising in the distance, red flowers in bloom across them.
“And are you happy now?” said Byrne.
“Happy?” said Raffi. “Of course not. But I’m absolutely clear what we need to do.”
“Plan B?” said Byrne.
“Plan B,” agreed Raffi. “And a very good plan B. Or there won’t be a Cardassian alive in Ghenic by the end of next week.”
* * *
“I told you there was no point,” said Zhol later, when Raffi and Byrne went to brief the Cardassians about the meeting. He was pacing up and down Tradall’s little office, his hand not far from the disruptor at his side. “They’re murderers, every single last one of them. It’s a whole fucking society of psychopaths. I hope they all burn.” He turned to Tradall, who was sitting hunched in the commanding officer’s seat, face hidden behind one hand. “I’m going out again tonight with three of the men. We’ll pick off as many as we can—”
“You can’t kill them all that way,” said Raffi. “There are too many of them.”
“What else do you suggest, Lieutenant? They’re not going anywhere.”
“I’ve no problem with you and your officers playing cat and mouse with the Romulans,” said Raffi. “Do whatever the hell you want on that score. But it’s not a viable plan for helping the civilians, and you might want to consider whether it’s likely to lead to reprisals.”
“The civilians know their duty,” said Zhol. “They’re true Cardassians. They know that victory for Cardassia requires sacrifice.”
“Current estimates put the number of Cardassian dead at eight hundred million,” said Raffi. “Do you seriously want to add to that tally?”
She heard Tradall give a soft gasp. He’s weeping… Zhol muttered something under his breath that plainly wasn’t complimentary.
“Tradall,” said Raffi. “I want to go and look at the old Bajoran town. There might be something there—hidden rooms, cellars, anything—that we can use to hide people. Some of the children at least.”
“For what purpose?” said Zhol.
“To buy us some time,” said Byrne.
“Why? Is Starfleet coming?” Zhol gave a bitter laugh. “Of course they’re not. So it’s a waste of time.” He leaned on the desk, looming over Tradall. “I’m going out again. You stay—you’d be no use anyway. Just remember—Starfleet aren’t coming to help us. It’s down to us to kill whoever we can.”
Tradall moved his hand. Yes, he had been crying. “You mean save whoever you can, don’t you?”
Zhol snorted and left the room. Tradall looked at Raffi and Byrne. “Why aren’t your people coming? You had a ship here at Ordeve. You took the damn Vorta!”
“We’re here,” said Raffi firmly.
“All six of you,” said Tradall.
“It’s a start,” said Raffi. “Do I have your permission to visit the ruins?”
Tradall, reaching to open a drawer, took out a hypo. “Do whatever you want.”
Outside his office, Raffi said to Byrne, “You heard what he just said, didn’t you?”
“ ‘Do whatever you want,’ ” said Byrne.
“Yeah,” said Raffi. “How widely do you think we should interpret that? Because, you know what? I’ve found it’s often better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
A small smile ghosted across Byrne’s face. That, thought Raffi, is a start.
“I’ve found,” said Byrne, “that deniability can come in handy. So have a pleasant afternoon, Lieutenant. Whatever you happen to end up doing.”
* * *
Raffi left a message for Avarak, telling him where she was going. She requisitioned a small Starfleet skimmer, hoping that this would safeguard her. She followed the course of the Parset down through empty and untended fields where the skeletons of old structures—barns, perhaps—were crumbling into the grass. She brought the skimmer down near the point where the two rivers met, and walked along the riverbank, searching the broken building stones for something that might help. The town was long gone, only the vaguest sense of the streets and houses that had once been here. All that was left were the tumbledown and weathered stones, weeds and long grasses, and the occasional clump of blood poppy. The river ran past, becoming swift and powerful where the Parset and the Caanta met. There was no bridge. She stood on the bank and looked over to the mountains, high and red, before continuing her search of the ruined town.
After an hour or two, Raffi came to a halt amid a pile of rubble that had clearly been a building of some prominence. She sat down on a big stone, about the size of a home replicator, and covered in faint markings. It looked like it had been painted, once upon a time. There was nowhere to hide here, she thought. The town was flattened, as if by a cataclysmic event. Dead end.
Raffi reached down and plucked one of the poppies. She wondered how Jae’s show was going. Something from a different world, a different time. She began to pick off petals, one by one. He loves me; he loves me not. He loves me; he loves me not…
Someone behind her spoke her name. “Raffi.”
She turned and saw Sokara. “Damn,” she said. “Hello.”
“I thought I might find you here,” he said. He walked over and sat down on the stone next to her. She plucked off the last petal and threw the pod into the long grass. He loves me not.
“Should I ask how you got your flyer past our security?” she said.
“You can ask,” he said with a smile.
“I’ll work it out later,” she said.
“I would not use those scrambling codes again.”
They sat together for a while in silence—almost peaceably, Raffi thought—watching the river run past. “I still owe you a drink,” said Sokara.
“The mess at Ghenic has kanar,” said Raffi. “But I don’t like kanar.”
“Nor do I,” he said.
“I’m not sure even the Cardassians do,” she said. “Why don’t we see where we stand in a few weeks’ time? All debts might be voided by then.”
“Or further increased?”
Raffi turned to look at him. “I sincerely hope not.”
Sokara sighed and looked around the ruins. “What have these old stones told you?”
“That this has not been a happy world for many years.”
“No,” he agreed. “But the war is over now, at least. Perhaps better times are coming for worlds like this.”
Quietly, she said, “These people here—the Cardassians, I mean—some of them are kids. So much has happened to them already. The war’s over, and yet those kids are still waking up in fear for their lives. If you could see them—”
“What do you think that we are going to do to these children?”
“Sokara,” she said, “you tell me.”
“This world is under Romulan jurisdiction,” he replied. “The treaty between our governments makes it very clear that there should be no intervention by Starfleet personnel—”
“And that,” said Raffi, “that, there, is my chief difficulty. You—even you—fall back on these platitudes! You stop talking to me like a person and you start sounding like a rulebook, and the only reason that people start talking like rulebooks is that they’re trying to protect their goddamn asses!”
“I see,” he said. “Do you want to know what my chief difficulty is in this situation?”
“Go on,” she said.
“Our base assumption—when dealing with Starfleet, or with the Federation—is that at some point, they will act in contradiction to their stated principles.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Are you calling me a hypocrite?”
“Quite the contrary,” he said. “This is what I mean by my difficulty. If anyone else were here, I could work on the assumption that Starfleet would withdraw before the end of the week. Oh, there would be much hand-wringing, and many sternly worded communiques, but they’d be gone.” He rubbed his tired eyes. “My difficulty, Lieutenant, is that I don’t see you doing that.”
“I’m trying to tell whether that is a compliment or complaint,” said Raffi.
“Take it whichever way you prefer,” he replied. “Either way, it means that you’re unpredictable. I don’t know what you’re going to do next.”
“Good,” she said. No need for him to know that she also didn’t have a clue.
He pondered the stones. “Do you know what happened here?”
“The Bajorans had a town here, didn’t they?”
“There was a temple,” said Sokara. “I understand it was quite a revered place.”
“I didn’t know you were interested in Bajoran history.”
“I’m interested in all kinds of things. For example—I’m extremely interested to know what the Cardassians told you about what happened at Akantha.”
“They haven’t told me anything.”
“No? Nothing secondhand? Not even the story about the Bajorans drifting away when the Cardassians settled? About them not wanting to live side by side, but leaving to take their chance elsewhere?”
Raffi looked around. “It’s as likely a story as anything else.”
“Really, Lieutenant?” The scorn in his voice was palpable. “This is what we mean about Starfleet, about your ability not to see what is plain to everyone else. You can sit here, looking directly at these stones, and pretend not to understand exactly what happened—”
