Second self, p.17
Second Self, page 17
“Don’t,” he said. “We’re not thugs.”
“All right,” said Gherrod. He put the stone in his pocket. “Don’t care either way.”
“I thought you’d be more interested,” said Khenet. “You seemed to be interested in… Well, art, and architecture, and history.”
“I guess. Bit cold, that’s all.” And the hit was wearing off and he didn’t have more with him and he was nowhere near Entrek’s office.
“Shall we go inside, then?”
“Okay.”
Inside, the temple was warm and dimly lit. Gherrod’s eyes began to sting. Looking ahead, across a big low room, he saw rows and rows of lit candles. A few wooden chairs were set out in front of these, in lines.
“Look,” said Khenet, walking forward. “Look at those paintings!”
There were figures painted on the walls, but they were so faded and stylized that Gherrod could not really decipher them. What was interesting him more was that the building gave the impression of being much smaller inside than suggested by its exterior. On each of the side walls, there were three doors, painted red again and peeling, the planks of wood plain underneath. There must be small rooms lining the interior walls of the temple. Curious, he went over to one of the doors. He tried the handle, but it was locked.
“How do you like our temple?”
Gherrod swung around. An elderly Bajoran man, white haired, in robes, wearing an earring and holding a candle, was walking toward them. Khenet favored him with a smile. “I think it’s charming!”
“Thank you,” said the vedek. “You’re interested in the paintings?”
“Yes, they’re splendid. Very nicely done for rustic art.”
“They’re about seven hundred years old,” said the vedek, which gave Gherrod a moment’s pause. It was not quite a hundred and fifty years since Cardassia achieved spaceflight, and the Bajorans settled other worlds half a millennium before that. But what had they done in this time? Nothing. Brought their backward superstitions to the stars. Stagnated. Cardassia was in the ascendance now. The Bajorans didn’t know how lucky they were.
“Remarkable!” said Khenet, in that bright tone of voice, like he was talking to a child.
“What are these doors for?” said Gherrod.
The vedek turned to look at him. His eyes were weary but penetrating and, for one scary moment, Gherrod thought that he had seen through the mask. Then the vedek tapped the palm of his hand with the candle. “Prayer cells,” he said. “The monks at Akantha were celebrated for their piety and attracted a wealthy clientele that was willing to pay for private audiences with such holy men.” His mouth twitched. “I shouldn’t think the monks let their devoutness obscure their business acumen.”
Khenet gave a knowing laugh. For some reason, Gherrod liked him less here. “At heart,” Khenet said, “religion is the source of great corruption.”
“Do you think so?” said the vedek, tilting his head. Gherrod whistled under his breath. If this had been one of the other officers—Antek, say—this old man would now be nursing a broken nose for such impudence. But Khenet was better than the rest—or fancied himself that way, at any rate.
“Do you not?” said Khenet.
“On its own, belief causes little in the way of harm,” said the vedek. “Context is everything.” He walked over to the nearest row of candles. Gherrod followed slowly. “Power is the chief source of corruption,” said the vedek. “Power, and the desire for control.” He turned to Gherrod. “What do you think?”
Gherrod shrugged. “Don’t ask me,” he said. “I wash pots for a living.”
“Somebody always does,” said the vedek. He offered Gherrod the candle. “Light it,” he instructed.
“I don’t think that would be right. I don’t believe—”
“No,” said the vedek. “Light it anyway.”
Well, why not? Wouldn’t cost him anything. Gherrod put the wick to the nearest flame, and, when the candle was lit, set it in place.
“There,” said the vedek. “I’ll keep you in my thoughts.”
“Just don’t say a prayer for me,” said Gherrod.
Once again, the vedek gave him that penetrating look. “No, I won’t do that.”
Behind them, Khenet was getting restless. “Come on, Mas,” he said. “It’s time we got back to the base.”
“Yeah,” said Gherrod. “I mean, yes, sir.”
Outside, Khenet said, “You were a hit.”
“Huh.” Gherrod shook his head. He felt oddly unsettled by the whole experience. “Stupid place,” he said. “Stupid superstitions.” He took the stone out of his pocket and, this time, threw it before Khenet could stop him. It knocked over one of the little green trees. Perfect aim. “Stupid,” he said, again.
They didn’t talk much on the walk home. Back at the compound, Khenet said, “Well, see you, Mas,” and walked off. Something had gone wrong. What had gone wrong? Gherrod swallowed. He still had to get inside Entrek’s office and he didn’t want to have to resort to burglarizing the place. Too many risks involved, and Mas Gherrod was in enough trouble already without that on his record. Khenet was still his best way in. So he swallowed his pride and chased after him.
“Sir,” he said.
“What is it?” said Khenet.
“I’m sorry it seemed I didn’t like the temple.” Humble yourself before your superiors, Mas thought. That usually worked. “It was good. I learned a lot. Thanks, sir.”
Khenet looked at him thoughtfully, and then gave a rueful smile. He patted him on the shoulder, like you might pet a favorite riding-pup. “Oh, forget about it, Mas,” he said. “Let’s have a drink later, hey? But do leave that awful stuff behind, yes?”
“Yeah,” said Gherrod. “All right.”
* * *
They went back to their evening meetings, but they weren’t the same. The differences between them that they had been ignoring for the sake of comradeship—Khenet’s higher status, conferred by birth and position; Gherrod’s manifestly sharper intelligence—had been shown for what they were, and they couldn’t go back. Khenet talked over him, didn’t make eye contact so much, and there were no further invitations to join him in his office. And this was becoming a serious concern: the surveillance devices that Gherrod had so far managed to plant were a washout. Entrek seemed to do nothing in his office but play card games. Not even good ones. He liked the one where you laid out the cards facedown in a circle and had to find all of one suit. Kids’ stuff. What Gherrod needed were visuals—and he wasn’t going to get them without placing something inside the room. The days were ticking past, and they would be asking questions back on Prime.
The idea had been to get as close to this young man as possible—turn him in some way. Get him using crimson shadow, maybe—seduce him, if necessary—then turn the tables. Exert pressure. Twist Khenet to his purposes. Find something by which he could control him. Then the information would flow, straight from Entrek’s desk to Gherrod and from Gherrod back to his superior, whose all-seeing eye had fallen on Gul Entrek, and who suspected him of crimes to which Gherrod was not privy. Gherrod did not need to know. He only needed to obey. But something had gone wrong. Khenet was pulling back. Ever since they went down to that wretched temple. Bajorans. They were always a problem. Someone ought to deal with that.
One night, Gherrod hung around the mess, waiting for Khenet to appear. He did, at last, and, when he saw Gherrod, he nodded but made to move past him.
“Hey,” said Gherrod. “I mean, good evening, sir.”
“Hello, Mas. How are you?”
“I’m okay. I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
Gherrod found himself in the unusual position of being stuck for words. There wasn’t, really, a way for someone like him to say to an officer, Do you want to spend some time together?
“Er… Nothing, really. Saw you coming and thought I’d tell you how good the coat is. Lifesaver.” He gave a nervous laugh. Hopeless. This was turning into a disaster.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Mas. Look, I’m supposed to be meeting some of the other officers tonight and I’m quite late. Was that everything?”
“Oh,” said Mas. “Yeah. I guess so…”
“Then I’ll get on,” said Khenet with a brisk nod. He was about to walk past, when Gherrod, rather desperately, put his hand on Khenet’s arm, and said, “Sir!”
They looked at each other, lonely young man to lonely young man. Gherrod could have sworn that Khenet was starting to soften. But then the door to the mess opened. Bright lights and noise and the sweet scent poured out, and so did Gul Antek. He took one look at the scene in front of him, walked across, pulled Gherrod away from Khenet, and punched him hard in the stomach. “Take your filthy fucking hands off him, you skrit!”
Gherrod plummeted to the ground. Dimly, he heard Khenet say, “Antek, what in the name of Tret Akleen do you think you’re—”
But Antek was already putting the boot in. “I’ve been watching you,” he said to Gherrod. “With your mouth and your cards and your cheap shadow. Sidling up to officers. You little bastard—”
Gherrod hated being called that. Really hated it. Between gasps he spat out, “Fuck you!”
“You piece of shit,” said Antek, and bent down to pick him up so he could carry on punching him. Khenet, meanwhile, was trying to pull him back.
“Stop it,” he said. “Leave him alone!”
“He needs to learn,” said Antek. “Learn who he is in the order of things—”
“I’m warning you, Antek,” said Khenet. “Don’t touch him again.”
“I’ll do what I like,” said Antek. Punched him back down to the ground.
Gherrod, who had his hands up now to cover his head, didn’t see what happened next. But he heard it. A disruptor being drawn, a shot being fired and then Antek was shouting in pain. What a time to play the hero. Gherrod kept his arms wrapped around himself, and the next thing he knew, he was being dragged away. Not long after that he was lying on the floor of one of the compound’s tiny pens, curled over on himself, his ribs aching, longing for a hit, scared almost out of his wits at how this situation had spiraled out of control. His mind was racing, but always circled back to the same terrifying thought. That some children were born to be tools, not treasures, and that useless tools were cast away like trash.
Tain is going to kill me.
* * *
Gherrod spent three nights and two days in that little room, wondering what was happening, trying to work out what had gone so badly wrong and what could be salvaged. Not much, he feared, and even more he was afraid of what the outcome of this was going to be. How had he been so stupid as to put his hand on Khenet’s arm? You didn’t do that as a civilian, and certainly not one this far down the ladder. Not to a superior, and certainly not to an officer. Obstructing a military man was assault, and in some circumstances might even be classed as sedition. Officers were an instrument of the state. People of consequence had been ruined for less.
In the dead hours, he tormented himself with what was coming: the appearance in front of the local archon; the reading of the verdict (unlawful handling of a military officer); the consideration of his record; the careful assessment and gradation of his guilt; the sentence. Two years at a labor camp? Three? Would Tain come to help? He doubted it. He’d been given his chance to make something of himself and he’d messed it up. All that was left was poverty and crime, bad jobs and prison sentences. Wasn’t that always the way, though, with people like him? You gave them a chance, but there was something wrong with them. Would Mila come? Would Tain allow that?
On the morning of the third day, the door opened, and Mas was bundled out and brought before Gul Entrek. He stood, eyes down, head hanging like a kicked hound. He had wanted to get into the commander’s office, he thought, but not this way.
“Well,” said Entrek with a weary sigh. “What a mess. What a stinking mess.”
Gherrod risked a quick look at his target. First time he’d gotten this close, and he shouldn’t waste the opportunity. He should always do his chores. Entrek was in his middle years, in decent shape, but had a tired air about him. Defeated. His desk, now he was able to take a look at it, was a mess. What could Tain possibly want with a man like this? Was he really some kind of threat? Gherrod reined that treacherous thought back immediately. Not his business. His business was to monitor this man as closely as possible and report back on what he observed. Nothing more; nothing less. The Order knew its own mind. He was merely the instrument in its hand—and that was enough. More than enough. That knowledge would sustain him for a large part of his life, even during the leanest years. These, right now, were not—incredibly—the leanest years.
“If I had my way, you’d be heading to a labor camp right now,” said Entrek. “But Glinn Khenet pleaded for you. Said this wasn’t your fault and a misunderstanding all around. And the good news for you, Gherrod, is that I like Khenet. He’s a fine young man and an excellent officer. Cardassia is not served by losing men like him. If I prosecute you, Khenet’s name will be dragged through the dirt. Questions, as to why he shot a fellow officer, on behalf of you. You, of all people. For pity’s sake!” Entrek shook his head. “That will do him no good. So, here’s what will happen. You will go back to work today, half pay, and you will work harder than you have ever worked, and you will do that for the next four months, and then you will leave here and get back to whatever passes for the pathetic life that you were leading before you ever darkened my door, and after that I will never hear from you again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“Well… yes, sir.”
Entrek sighed. “What is it?”
“What about Glinn Khenet, sir? What’s going to happen to him?”
There was a pause. “I’m glad you asked. Khenet is being transferred to Ashalla. Gul Feris wants him on his staff.”
“Thank you, sir.” No point asking about Antek. He’d probably gotten a pay raise.
Entrek sat back in his chair. Gherrod risked another quick look. Entrek, catching his eye, said softly, “I know your kind, Gherrod. Clever, but undisciplined. Think you’re better than you are. Never accept responsibility. Never knuckle down to work and duty. You’re trash, you know, and you always will be. And I don’t care whether or not you spend your life going from pen to pen, from gutter to gutter, filling your veins with some junk or other, but this time you nearly took a good young man down with you.”
And the simple fact was that some young men were worth saving on their own account, and others weren’t.
“Yes, sir,” said Gherrod.
“Get out of here. Tell Prill he’s to come and see me. I want him on your case. And one last thing, Gherrod—”
Gherrod, who had by now shuffled over to the door, stopped and looked back.
“I’d watch out for the other junior officers if I were you,” said Entrek. “Don’t let them find you in a quiet corner one night. They liked Khenet. They don’t like you.”
And Entrek wasn’t going to stand in their way. Gherrod muttered another “thank you, sir” and slunk off. On the step outside the officers’ block, he ran into the garresh who had driven him over to this benighted place. The older man looked at him with something close to pity. “Sort yourself out, son,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”
Gherrod mumbled his thanks—but inside he was burning. These people. These mediocrities. What did they know about him, really? The path he was on had been chosen for him by powers far greater than any gruff but kindly garresh, any gentle and cultured glinn, any weary, beaten-down gul. They served Cardassia, but he served Cardassia too, and the work he did—the work he might yet do—would outclass them all. Besides, he’d gotten that surveillance device into Entrek’s room at last. So that was a start. The start of something new, something better. Had to be.
Two days later, sitting outside in the cold, taking his break, he heard footsteps and looked up to see Khenet. He stood up. You stood up when an officer was around.
“Hello, Mas.”
“Hello. Sir.”
“I’m leaving today. I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.”
“Oh,” said Gherrod. “Right.”
“I’m sorry for everything that happened.”
“Not your fault, sir.”
“I feel like it was—”
“It wasn’t,” said Gherrod, in a rare moment of complete honesty. “I should… I should give you back your coat.”
Khenet smiled. A generous smile. Kind. He was a good man, really. Didn’t know much about how things were, but good as he could be in a world like this.
“That was a gift, Mas,” Khenet said. “What does Preloc say about gifts? “ ‘Your birth is your family’s gift. Your schooling your teacher’s gift. Your duty is Cardassia’s gift. Your spouse is life’s gift. Your children are the future’s gift.’ ”
Preloc’s Summer by the Lake. Khenet, he saw, was waiting for the last line. He owed him that. “ ‘And the gifts of friendship enrich us all.’ ”
“That’s right,” said Khenet. “A gift of friendship. Good luck, Mas,” he said, and went on his way. Gherrod never saw him again. He looked him up, years later, when he was sitting in splendid isolation on a cold, bright space station, with nothing to do, and wondering where the lives he had touched over the years had led. Only ten years’ service, in the end. Not enough to get the travel permits he’d longed for. Went back to Kelvas V and entered the family business. Joined with a local woman and had seven children. That was before the Fire, of course. He didn’t check afterward. There was nobody left, afterward, and there was already too much guilt to bear.
* * *
After Khenet’s departure, Gherrod did what Entrek said and kept his head down. Slunk between the kitchen and the dormitory. Work and sleep. Tried not to be alone. Not that it would make any difference. Everyone knew what had happened, right down to the other civilians in his dormitory, who were keeping their distance. He hadn’t made friends there, other than to sell a little shadow. He’d expended his energies on cultivating Khenet. That had been a mistake. He wouldn’t make that mistake again, if he got another chance. What did Preloc say, in The Dark Fields of Home?
