Pliable Truths, page 8
Panat shifted his body, trying to find a more comfortable position on the floor. “So we’re saying there’s a separate group of Cardassians? Engineers, scientists, soldiers, and whoever else they need. People we’ve never seen, and not connected to the camp in any way?”
“Probably,” replied Yectu, gesturing to indicate the group. “As for the rest of us, we’re just laborers, right? Mining uridium for transport somewhere else. Anybody watching us would see the same mind-numbing routine. That’s our life, day after day. Nothing out of the ordinary, especially for the Cardassians. We make a perfect cover for some kind of clandestine activity they don’t want anyone to know about.”
“And it’s not as though it’d be hard for them to be here without our knowing,” said Panat. “Nearly the entire planet beyond the camp perimeter, the mine, and even the quarry is a potential hiding spot, if you think about it.”
Yectu held up a hand. “But we have heard there are areas all over the planet where large concentrations of mineral deposits interfere with sensors.”
Nodding, Panat said, “Has that ever been confirmed? After all, it’s not as though any of us have access to sensor equipment.”
It was Meeju who answered, “I’ve never heard anything specific, but Trina and some of the others have occasionally complained about how sensors don’t always work in the mining tunnels and shafts. Usually, they’re in the midst of investigating possible new veins and deposits, and they end up having to send a team into the new areas to survey things firsthand.”
“There are no transporters,” said Panat. “At least, none I’ve ever seen. It always made sense they wouldn’t have them, or at least easy access to them, or shuttles, in the event of a prison uprising. We still outnumber them.” Havrel and his troops worrying about a possible rebellion among the inmate population was a valid concern, but to Panat it sounded worse in theory than actual application. The Cardassians held all the weapons. Even if any prisoners managed to get their hands on any small arms, they would be grossly outgunned by the guards.
Yectu replied, “But if there is something else going on here that rises to the level of employing Cradis protocols—something the Cardassians want hidden at all costs—it’d be another reason to keep the planet isolated.”
“If they’re going to this much trouble, it must be pretty terrible,” said Drizu, who like Panat returned to camp after long days spent in the mines to devote many of his evenings to monitoring the Cardassians and scheming ways to undermine them. “Some kind of illegal weapons technology, or something else to inflict on people like us. If they’ve been given orders to move it off this planet, they’re not going to leave us alive. Even with the declaration from the Detapa Council ordering the release of all Bajorans, they’re not going to let us return to Bajor and risk any of us saying anything, whether it’s to our own government or Starfleet or whoever we could once we got back.”
Panat wondered how long it might take someone to arrive at the same conclusion. “You’re right. The best we can hope for is they take us with them to wherever they establish a new location for their project, but if I were placing bets?” He paused, eyeing each of his companions for a moment. “We’re already dead. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Why not just kill us now and get it over with?” asked Meeju.
Yectu replied, “We’re still pulling uridium from the mines, so I guess there’s that, but there really is another thing to consider. The Cardassians have benefitted from our labor for decades. They’re not going to be happy about giving that up, and we’ve all heard stories of Bajorans—men, women, even children—who’ve gone missing after some Cardassian takes an interest in them. Do we really think there won’t be those who opt to skirt the order about returning us to Bajor?” She shook her head. “Mark my words. People will disappear during this. Maybe they’ll be declared dead, if any sort of information is provided at all. Meanwhile, they’ll be taken back to Cardassia Prime or some other planet deep in their territory and forced to live out their lives in servitude. By the time anyone figures out there are Bajorans unaccounted for, it’ll be too late.”
“Not me,” said Meeju, her voice hardening. “I’ll die first.”
Panat understood and sympathized with her declaration. He knew she, like Ijok and a few other Bajoran women, was assigned to housekeeping duties for the Cardassian detachment’s officers’ quarters. That their job also meant seeing to other needs of those officers, Panat tried not to think about. Instead, he focused on how Ijok, Meeju, and others exploited their masters’ appetites against them at every opportunity. As distasteful as it might be, it served the Resistance. His first impulse was to exploit that weakness one last time.
“Or,” he said, “we kill them first.” That earned him a dozen faces staring at him with varying expressions of disbelief. His friends even spent a moment exchanging glances with each other before returning their attention to him.
“You can’t be serious,” said Drizu, the first to break the silence.
Panat nodded. “I am serious. If they’re going to kill us, then we have nothing to lose by trying to take out some of them before they get us. That said, it doesn’t have to be like that. At least, not yet. Even if we can’t save ourselves, maybe we can do some good before our time’s up.”
Yectu, now starting to smile, said, “You mean sabotage?”
“Whatever they’ve got here,” replied Panat, “I’m guessing it’d make a lot of people upset if it was exposed or compromised in any way. Maybe destroying it earns the Cardassians some well-earned scrutiny from the Federation, or whoever forced them to pull back from Bajor.” His initial instinct was to avoid doing anything that might be construed as helping the Federation. Considering everything they—representing hundreds of worlds supposedly committed to the ideals of peaceful coexistence and mutual cooperation—had failed to do while the Cardassians plundered Bajor and its people, the idea they might be an ally never seemed possible.
He knew of one person who had somehow found a way to see past their hatred of the Federation. How long had it been since his first meeting with Ro Laren, who like him had endured life in various refugee camps in the Valo system? Cruelty had already visited her when they crossed paths at a camp on Valo II. As a child, she had lost her father to brutal interrogation and torture at the hands of the Cardassians. After doing what was necessary to survive, Ro had escaped the camps and done the unthinkable: joined Starfleet. Was she still wearing their uniform?
“If we can hurt them here,” said Yectu, “there’s no way to know what benefit it might have. There’s a chance no one will ever know we were here or did anything.”
Panat said, “We’ll know.”
“For as long as we live, that is,” added Drizu. His cynical attempt at humor was enough to elicit small laughs from the rest of the group. “Okay, then,” he said after a moment. “What do we do?”
“We need more information,” said Panat. It was with great reluctance that he turned his gaze to Meeju. “By whatever means necessary.”
Nodding, the younger woman replied, “I understand.”
“You won’t be alone,” said Drizu. “Kijam is also detailed to the officers’ quarters. He can work with you, figure out a strategy.”
“I’ve done it before,” said Meeju, her voice firm. Looking to Panat and Yectu, she asked, “What do you need?”
Panat said, “Whatever you can learn about what they’re hiding, and where.”
“I’ll make contact with Ijok through the network,” added Yectu. “I think with a bit of work and luck, I can get deeper into Havrel’s data files. With time, I may even be able to worm my way into the camp computer system’s main memory banks.”
“Be careful with that,” said Meeju. “If they’ve activated an Obsidian Order protocol, that likely extends to the computer system as well. They may be monitoring for signs of intrusion. If they find out we’re sneaking around in there—”
“They’ll likely kill us all.” Panat released a deep sigh. “So I’d appreciate us doing our best to avoid that.”
Murmurs of agreement filtered back to him before he ended the meeting. Panat gave the signal that their larger circle of protectors could begin the process of modulating their conversations and other raucous behavior should any guards be listening.
The more he considered their situation, the more Panat convinced himself the likelihood of any Bajoran leaving this planet was negligible at best. As he saw it, this understanding left him and his companions with two options. They could wait to die, or they could do something that allowed them to face death on their own terms.
Panat hated waiting.
10
Terok Nor was beautiful in its own way, Riker decided.
From the moment he passed through the umbilical passageway linking the Enterprise to the station, he found himself taken by the facility’s architecture and design. There was an emphasis on utility and efficiency, such as in those areas devoted to cargo handling, ore processing, and the comings and goings of vessels. It was not until moving away from those sections that a visitor began to see the obvious care and even artistry that went into creating the spaces where the station’s inhabitants spent a significant portion of their time. Nowhere was this more evident than the Promenade, the hive of activity that was Terok Nor’s central core.
“Wow,” said La Forge as he and Riker along with Doctor Crusher surveyed their surroundings. “This is like something you’d see in a market square somewhere.”
High curving walls rose two stories from the Promenade’s main level forming the dome Riker knew served as the space-side hull of the station’s outer ring. A second level was stacked above, linked to the outer walls by several connected walkways leading to shops as well as oversized viewing ports set into the bulkheads. From where they stood, Riker could see storefronts and other spaces to his left and right, lining the main walkway that curved away from him in both directions. To his left, he saw sections of a metal fence being dismantled, affording access to space he assumed was meant only for merchants or offices.
“That section once was for Bajorans,” said Crusher. “According to the briefing, this part of the station was cordoned off, and they were forbidden to enter this area.”
Riker asked, “Who ran these shops?”
“The Bajorans had their own in the cordoned area,” replied Crusher. “Over there, it was either Cardassians or whoever was willing to pay for space.” She indicated to their right, which to Riker seemed to take up a far greater parcel of space than surrounding establishments. “Ferengi, for example.”
“That’s Quark’s Bar.”
Riker turned toward the new voice coming from behind them to see a humanoid representing a race he had never before encountered. Tall and lean of build, the new arrival appeared to be male, but Riker was forced to admit he was going just by the voice he had heard. He was dressed in a brown-and-tan uniform that looked similar to but not exactly like those of the Bajoran Militia. His dirty blond hair was slicked back away from his face, which was so smooth Riker at first wondered if it might be a mask.
“Commander Riker, I’m Odo, chief of station security. Major Heslo apologizes for being detained in the operations center, as he’s finalizing preparations for the arrival of the conference delegates. He asked me to greet you in his place.” His arms behind his back, he made no effort to extend a hand in greeting. “He also asked me to assist with showing your people where they’ll be working while they’re here, at least at the beginning.” While Odo did not come off as rude, there was no warmth to his greeting, and Riker sensed the security chief would rather be anywhere than here.
Opting to keep things professional as well as amiable, Riker introduced La Forge and Crusher before replying, “It’s good to meet you, Mister Odo. Thanks for meeting us.”
Turning his attention to La Forge, Odo said, “You’ll probably want to see Ops before you get started in the engineering spaces, Commander. I can take you there once we finish down here.”
The chief engineer nodded. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
Unable to resist, Riker said, “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t recognize your species.”
“That’s all right. I don’t recognize my species either.”
Without elaboration, Odo indicated for them to follow him as he began walking down the Promenade in the direction of the bar, which Riker could see had to be the center of activity in this part of the station. He guessed its array of tables, bar space, and gaming areas allowed for at least a hundred patrons, and he spotted spiral staircases leading to areas on the second level that allowed for more. As they passed the establishment, Riker noted that the majority of tables and bar stools were unoccupied. A broad-shouldered Lurian, his narrow, oversized bald head poking out from the dark jumpsuit he wore, sat alone on a stool near the entrance, while a pair of Ferengi worked behind the bar.
“Pretty quiet around here,” said Riker.
Odo replied, “It’s early. A number of the merchants gave notice they were closing their shops. They figure with the Cardassians leaving there wasn’t much point to staying.”
“Really?” asked Crusher. “I would’ve thought their leaving might attract renewed interest or attention.”
“There is some of that,” replied the security chief. “Some Bajorans are applying for space. There are also a number of quarters on board that were already unoccupied or else abandoned by the Cardassians. Major Heslo’s staff is working on a plan to make those living areas available to those who wish to work or live on the station.”
Crusher said, “From the reports I’ve read, homelessness is rampant on Bajor.”
“Some of that is being alleviated by the Cardassian withdrawal.” Odo punctuated his reply with a grunt of obvious irritation. “Of course, they couldn’t just leave without causing more trouble on their way out. Many of the outposts and other facilities that once housed Cardassian troops have been ransacked or destroyed. They didn’t do any further damage to Bajoran cities and settlements, but that still leaves thousands of people without homes.”
“Starfleet is already moving to address that,” said Crusher. “The Oceanside’s primary role will be taking point on the relocation efforts. Temporary housing to begin with, followed by repairs and expansion efforts to existing communities and infrastructure. It’ll take time, but the Federation is committed to providing as much aid as possible for as long as it takes.”
La Forge added, “Other ships with additional supplies are also heading to Bajor.”
“There are many Bajorans who don’t want you here,” replied Odo. “In their eyes, living under Starfleet rule doesn’t sound better than under the Cardassians.”
“Understandable,” said Riker. “All we can do is demonstrate our intentions through action and hope for the best.”
Again, Odo offered a low grunt, which the first officer already equated with a cynicism that might very well be the security chief’s default. “Asking for hope from a people who’ve had it quashed for over four decades might be a wasted endeavor, Commander. First Minster Kalem seems optimistic, and it’s fair to say he’s not alone.”
“You’re advising us to manage our expectations,” said Crusher.
Odo nodded. “Always a sound strategy.”
Ready to get past pleasantries—real or otherwise—Riker looked around the Promenade. “We know there are still Cardassians aboard the station. Where are they?”
Odo said, “Billeted in quarters on the habitat ring. After the initial problems some of them caused, I thought it best to keep them segregated as we began receiving Bajoran refugees from the surface. We’ll try to keep them out of trouble until transports arrive to take them back to Cardassian space.”
Satisfied the security chief had things under control, Riker said, “We should continue the tour. If the Bajorans see us working instead of just standing around, that might help our case.”
“I thought standing around and talking was standard Starfleet procedure,” replied Odo, but when he did so he smiled in a way that Riker took to mean the humanoid was giving him grief.
“Not until you make admiral,” said Riker, offering his own smile. “Until then, they actually expect us to work for a living.” When Odo grunted this time, it was with obvious humor, and his smile widened.
Riker and his colleagues let the mysterious humanoid take the lead as they began a tour of the Promenade. As they walked, he took note of several Bajorans wearing militia uniforms, and posted in pairs at various points along the curving thoroughfare.
“Your security people?” he asked as he moved to walk alongside their guide.
Odo nodded. “Yes. All of them are essentially new recruits, former members of the Resistance who accepted offers to join the militia. All of them are too young to have known a time before the Occupation, and for many the Resistance was the only form of stability or even family they’ve ever known. Now that the Cardassians are leaving, they’re finding themselves without a cause.”
“There seems to be a lot of them here,” said Crusher. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“With the conference taking place on the station, I thought it prudent to increase the number of officers patrolling the common areas.” Odo gestured to a pair of Bajorans they passed. “There’s still friction between the Bajorans and those Cardassians still here and on Bajor. Even with what are supposed to be strict orders to abide by the terms of withdrawal, not every Cardassian is going quietly. I expect there to be a few incidents before they’re all gone. Until that happens, a palpable security presence will help.”
Riker could not fault the security chief’s logic. He was about to say so when he saw Odo’s expression sour as something caught his attention a second before a question echoed across the Promenade.
“Constable Odo, you’re not scaring off our new guests, are you?”
Riker turned at the sound of the high-pitched voice to see a Ferengi making his way in rapid fashion from the large bar toward them. His bold, multicolored jacket was at odds with the station’s drab motif. Riker noted that he was not sporting a headpiece to cover the back of his oversized, hairless skull, as was usually worn by the Ferengi. His large ears, pronounced brow, and jagged teeth did not make him appear menacing but instead a dealer or salesman of questionable character, and therefore consistent with every other Ferengi the first officer had ever encountered.
