Second self, p.13
Second Self, page 13
“I’m not pretending anything—!”
“And I had you marked down as one of the few honest Starfleet officers—”
“All right,” she said impatiently. “You’ve made your point! I’m a damn hypocrite like the rest of Starfleet. What did happen?”
Sokara opened his hands and gestured around. “You can see. If you look closely enough. If you open your eyes.”
Raffi looked around. Perhaps the sunlight shifted. Or perhaps it was simply that, at his instigation, she was seeing properly at last. She saw the stones as if for the first time. Saw how black so many of them were.
“There was a fire…”
“They burned this place down,” said Sokara. “Your Cardassian friends. They marched in, and arrested everyone, and they burned the town and the temple to the ground. Some of the adults survived. But there’s a question mark over the children. Two dozen of them disappeared. Nobody knows what happened to them.” He pushed the toe of his boot into the ground, dislodging some earth and a few poppies. “And nobody’s come digging. Yet.”
“How do you know this?”
“The Bajorans have excellent documentation. The handful that survived reached refugee camps and were interviewed there. Their accounts are accessible to anyone that bothers to look.” He looked around. “I took the time to find out everything I could about Ordeve before I came here. The Bajorans shared the information quite willingly.”
Raffi hadn’t even thought to ask. She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth. “The people here. The Cardassians, I mean. They weren’t involved—”
“Are you sure? And if not—how do you know they haven’t done similar, or worse? Those Cardassian soldiers you’re standing beside—do you think some of them were on Bajor during the Occupation?”
Raffi thought, suddenly, of Zhol. He was old enough. Tradall most likely not, but Zhol, certainly. What about the other? What about Gul Assott, so beloved and mourned? What had he been ordered to do during the Occupation?
Sokara was looking at the hills in the distance. “I bet that I could open the files of half a dozen of the officers at Ghenic and find lists of supposed atrocities about which the Bajorans would like to question them,” said Sokara. “And not just on Bajor. Against Romulans, in this war. Against Starfleet, during the wars you fought against them. We don’t have to go back far. What have they done in recent months—”
“All right, I get it. And perhaps you’re right—”
“You know I’m right. So, the question I would ask you, Lieutenant, is—are you really willing to die for these people?”
“Nobody,” said Raffi firmly, “has to die.”
“Everybody has to die.”
“Not like this.” She gestured around. “Not again.”
He brushed his hands against his uniform. “Are you sure?”
“I’m going to make damn sure.”
“Thank you,” he said, and stood up. “All I wanted to learn today was your intentions.” He sighed. “I knew them already.”
And then he was gone, walking back down the hill, leaving Raffi with the distinct impression that she had given away considerably more than she even knew. She thought, I could send a message back to Ghenic and tell them to watch out for a cloaked Romulan flyer, heading back from here to their base. They could bring him down, and this would all become so much less complicated.
But she couldn’t do that. Hell, they were supposed to be allies, weren’t they? Instead, she stood, looking steadfastly down at the ground so that she did not have to see the evidence around her, walked to her flyer, and went back.
* * *
Back at Ghenic, Raffi strode into Tradall’s office. He was alone—Zhol out taking pointless potshots at Romulans, presumably. He jumped when she entered (Dammit, had he been sleeping with his head on the desk?) and sat up straight.
“I’ve had an interesting day,” she said.
“Yes?” asked Tradall. “Are your superiors sending support? Or do you mean there’s more bad news?”
“I went down to the old town.”
Tradall looked at her uncomprehendingly.
“The ruins,” she said. Did he even remember their conversation? “The Bajoran ruins. To see if there was anything to help us—”
“The Bajorans left Ordeve years ago—”
“So I was led to believe,” she replied. “But not without some encouragement.”
Tradall propped his head up in his hands. “Do you want me to apologize personally for the Occupation, Lieutenant? I wasn’t there, but I will apologize, if it will get us some help to get out of here.”
“It’s not me that’s owed the apology, is it?” said Raffi bitterly. “But I’d like some honesty, if that’s possible. Before I put myself in the firing line.” She considered that. “Further into the firing line.”
“I’ll tell you whatever I know,” Tradall said. “But I don’t know much.”
“Yes,” she said. “There’s been a lot of willful ignorance around here, hasn’t there? A lot of letting things pass, letting things slide. My understanding was that the Bajorans packed up and left. Once the Cardassians arrived, the people living here just left. That alone constitutes a crime against a sentient people, but it’s not the whole story, is it?”
“Lieutenant, it was a long time ago.”
“Living memory for some. The Bajorans didn’t just leave, did they?”
She saw him try to decide what he could safely say; what might incriminate him should anyone be listening. That must have been trained into him when he was young. He was going to have to give up on that, she thought, if there was any chance that Cardassia was going to survive and rebuild. “I don’t know much,” he said, at last.
“Oh, come on!” Raffi said. “I was there an hour ago! The place was burned down!”
“All right! I’ll take your word for it! I’ve never been to look!”
“No, who would want to come face-to-face with history like that?”
“I wasn’t even born!” he said. “It was ages ago! Decades!”
“Uh-huh? Carry on.”
“I think there was a temple here,” he said. “That weird religion they have—”
“They worship the Prophets,” said Raffi. “An alien species that has intervened on behalf of the Bajoran people on numerous occasions across their history. So. A temple?”
“A temple, a shrine, I don’t know what they call these places. Yes, I think it was burned down—”
“Really nice use of the passive there,” said Raffi. “These things don’t burn themselves down, you know.”
“Maybe it was the candles,” he said.
“Oh, please!” she snapped back.
“All right!” He put his hand to his head. “Yes, I think that whoever was stationed here at the time ordered the place burned down. I don’t know why. Maybe there was Resistance activity in the area. The locals were sent to resettlement camps, I think.”
“And the children?”
Tradall blinked at her. “What children?”
“There were two dozen children here. They were unaccounted for.”
“Who have you been talking to?” said Tradall, suspicion entering his voice.
“I’m with Starfleet Intelligence, sonny,” said Raffi. “You know what an intelligence agency does? Like the Obsidian Order, right?”
He shuddered. Even years after its demise, the Order still cast a long shadow. “I don’t know anything about any children,” he said, putting his hands up, like a shield.
“All right,” said Raffi. “I believe you. Next question. Is there anybody stationed here now, or living here now, that might be implicated in what happened back then?”
“I don’t know that either,” he said.
“You haven’t asked a lot of questions about this place, have you?” she said.
He gave her a withering look. Of course not. Why would he? Why would he potentially incriminate himself in that way? “Can I ask you a question, Lieutenant?”
“Shoot,” she said dryly.
“If there was someone here who was involved, would that be sufficient reason for the rest of us to be murdered by the Romulans?”
“Federation law doesn’t work like that,” she said.
“No?”
“No.”
“Do you know what Starfleet’s reputation is,” said Tradall, “among the Cardassian military?”
“No,” Raffi replied.
“We think you’re all hypocrites.”
It was the second time in one day that Raffi had heard that said. Truly this mission was turning out to be full of revelations. “Maybe,” she said. “But at least Earth isn’t on fire.”
He was already reaching for his hypo. She strode out of the office block into the night. Outside, a sweet scent pervaded the air, compounding the sense of claustrophobia. The sense that there was no escape.
We have to get these people away. But where? How?
Where could they go to? The base here would soon be under attack; the ruins of the old town offered nothing in the way of cover. Their defense lay in the hands of a bitter old soldier fighting past wars, a broken young man who could barely sit up straight, and six Starfleet officers in varying states of despair.
Do we leave? Do we try to get news out about what’s happening here?
Who would come? A war had just ended—a great and terrible war that had brought an empire to its knees. Thousands and thousands must still be dying in the aftermath: lack of food, the threat of disease, a million small grudges being settled. People were trying to help, but they were exhausted, stretched thin, close to reaching their limit. A treacherous thought came to mind:
Is this the hill I want to die on?
The night was still and hot. From the civilian area, Raffi heard a child wailing. In the distance—well beyond the compound—she heard the faint crackle of what she thought might be disruptor fire. Zhol was on the hunt. There was a light on in the Starfleet building, and she went to look.
Lafleur was there, with the two other Starfleet personnel, two ensigns: Kovar from New Berlin, and Turan from Kashgar. There were two Cardassian gils there as well, both young men (all the women seemed to be over on the civilian side). The five of them were sitting around a table playing cards.
“Blind Moon’s Draw,” said Lafleur. “Do you know it?”
“No,” said Raffi, taking a seat. Both the gils looked pleased at that news.
“You’ll work it out,” said Turan.
“Before I’m bankrupted, or after?” asked Raffi.
“I’ve always found,” said Kovar, “that the more I lose, the quicker I learn the rules.”
One of the Cardassians dealt. Three cards to each of them. Raffi looked down at what she’d gotten. She didn’t even know the suits. She didn’t even know if a Cardassian deck of cards had suits. One of the cards had a stylized figure that from the insignia might be a legate. Another card showed four red trefoils; another showed three black discs. “How much of this is skill, exactly?” asked Raffi. “And how much is chance?”
Lafleur pulled out a hypo. “Ain’t that the billion-latinum question.” She offered the hypo to Raffi. “Take the edge off?”
And Raffi thought, Why the hell not?
7
That night, Raffi dreamed vividly. In her dream, she was walking through the ruins of Akantha. It was night, and winter. The air was bitter cold.
Why am I here?
She reached the riverbank and stood watching the water swirl past, as the two rivers joined and rushed on toward the coast. On the other side of the bank, the Caanta valley was completely dark, but, as Raffi watched, she thought she saw a pale white light, from deep within the trees, getting brighter. Suddenly, there was a flash—and the other side of the river was illuminated: the tall and ancient trees, the red flowers, and three dark figures standing there. She felt certain—that way that you do feel certain, in dreams—that she knew these people, but she could not bring their names to mind. They were beckoning to her.
Come! Come!
“Where?” said Raffi. “Where do you want me to come?”
Here! Here!
“I can’t,” she said. “There’s no way over. I can’t fly—they’ll detect us. And there’s no bridge…”
Come! Come quickly! Come soon!
The light went out. Raffi woke in her own bed, still dressed in her uniform, and not entirely sure how she’d gotten there. In her hand was a hypo. Her mouth was dry, and she had a low throbbing pain at the base of her skull. She rolled out of bed, ignored the mirror, and drank a liter of water. The cards had not smiled on her, she thought, although she recalled a general air of goodwill between Starfleet and Cardassian officers that might, under other circumstances, have been heartening. After that, a blur, although some vague memory of her dream was coming back, the river rushing past, some figures in the distance. She tried to push the dream aside. She didn’t want to dream of Akantha. Whatever had happened there, she didn’t want those horrors in her head.
She sat on her bunk, fresh glass of water in hand, fingers pressed against her temple, looking down at the hypo. A mistake, one she wouldn’t make again. This kind of stuff—it always clouded your thinking, in the end. Like right now, there was something she was trying to remember, something she’d noticed, and she couldn’t bring it back to mind.
The door chimed.
“Damn,” Raffi muttered. She shoved the hypo under her pillow, and said, “Come in!”
Avarak entered, looking fresh and youthful. Was it possible to hate someone so intrinsically decent? “Am I disturbing you, Lieutenant?”
“No, no. Something you need?”
“I was hoping to hear about your impressions of the ruined town,” he said, taking a seat. “Did you find anything of interest?”
Raffi shook her head carefully. “Nuh-uh. There’s nowhere to hide. The Cardassians leveled the whole place, years ago. Not that it’s done them any good in the long run.”
Avarak folded his hands in front of him. “That is most disappointing. I confess I am struggling to find a way through our dilemma.”
“You and me both, kid,” murmured Raffi. Fragments of the dream were still pushing through. The river. The figures. Come… Come… Easy to say that. Less easy to do.
“Perhaps,” said Avarak, “you might describe what you saw?”
“Big stones. Rubble. Quite a big river. Another smaller one. Also—Sokara.”
“Sokara?” Avarak’s eyebrows shot up. “That is not entirely good news for our air security.”
“He wanted to talk. I got the impression he was trying to get us to leave…”
“We are not leaving, are we, Lieutenant?”
“No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”
“I am relieved to hear you say that,” he said. “Since I would, in all conscience, have to remain.”
“You’re a good officer, Avarak.”
“I try to act according to logic,” he replied. “There is no logic to murder.”
“No,” she said, and sighed. “You know, the town was heartbreaking. Must have been a decent-sized place, once. The temple looks like it was pretty substantial. And for some reason the Cardassians decided it had to go.”
He was nodding. “I have visited ruins on Vulcan,” he said. “And while it is not logical, one cannot help but try to imagine what the lives of the inhabitants must have been like. Farmers, I imagine.”
“I guess.”
“Making their living from the river traffic. One often sees towns like this, stretched across rivers.”
“Huh,” said Raffi. She was thinking of the figures in her dream, beckoning her across. How do we get there? There is no bridge. “There’s no bridge,” she said.
“No?”
“No. So how did people get across the river?”
“Do you believe this is significant, Lieutenant? Or, at least, relevant to our immediate problem?”
“I mean, you could build a ferry, couldn’t you? But I didn’t see any structures like that… I know that the Bajorans were technologically advanced—of course they were, to get here in the first place—but there’s not always a flyer to hand. So how did they get across the river?”
“A bridge would be unlikely to survive the Cardassian destruction of the town, not least because it would block any escape route. We can easily determine whether or not there are ruins by a simple geophysical analysis—”
“What’s that?” said Raffi.
“A survey of subsurface features that can, for example, reveal traces of structures that no longer exist. An old archaeologist’s method.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ll be sure to mention it, next time I meet an old archaeologist.” She stood up and drained the last of the water in her glass. “Get Lafleur. We’re going back. I want to take a closer look at the riverbank. Carry out this analysis.”
Come, said the figures in her dream. Come…
“Lieutenant, we do not have a great deal of time—”
“I know. So we’d better hurry up.”
He went to fetch Lafleur. Raffi showered—very quickly—and joined them outside.
Lafleur looked sleepy. “What’s this about a bridge?” she said.
“There isn’t one,” said Raffi. “There should be one.”
“Um, Raffi.” Lafleur glanced over at Avarak, and lowered her voice. “I know last night was the first time you tried that stuff. It can be a bit weird? Give you strange dreams?”
“This isn’t to do with dreams. Are you coming?”
Lafleur, shaking her head, nevertheless got into the skimmer, and soon they were over the old town. “Look down,” she said. “No bridge. I don’t see any sign of landing sites, either. For ferries—”
“Those structures may have been wooden,” said Avarak. His tricorder was out, and the survey was underway. “And long gone. But I detect no traces.”
“They were building in stone,” said Raffi. “Are you getting anything, Avarak? Anything to suggest there was a river crossing?”
“No,” he replied. “It is most odd. There are some anomalous readings north of the temple.”
