Star Trek: Brinkmanship (8 page)

“Now hold on,” said Dax. “The Venetans didn’t turn away. The whole process got delayed by . . . oh,
minor
issues like Borg invasions and a war or two. But they
were
going to join the Federation.”

“But they didn’t.”

“Not because we turned them down, or they turned us down—”

“That doesn’t matter. They didn’t join, and that’s
all that counts.” His eyes shadowed. “I have to wonder how long the Tzenkethi have been working within the Venette Convention. Working on the Venetans. Reminding them why they shouldn’t trust us, whispering about how dangerous we are, seeding doubt upon doubt . . .” He gave a slight laugh. “That’s what I would have done in their place. That’s what I
know
they’ve been doing. I know what they’re like.”

Dax realized she had been listening as if mesmerized. He was so persuasive, always had been. “Peter, you can’t talk this way. You can’t
think
this way! So much suspicion. We’ve got to . . .” She opened her palms. “We’ve got to keep on hoping that we can build trust. Otherwise . . . well, I don’t want to think where it might take us. But we’ve got to go to Outpost V-4 with an open mind. No, I know what you’re going to say,” she said when he frowned. “I’m not saying that we blind ourselves to the possibility that something might be happening there, something that we don’t want. I’m not so naïve! But even while we’re watching our backs, we’ve got to hope that we’ll be surprised—and in the best way possible. We’ve got to
hope,
Peter.”

He smiled at her. There was only the faintest sign of the confident young man that he had been. This was someone weary of the world, someone crushed by the weight of experience, whose early bloom had been crowded out by weeds. The thought of that—the sight of that—saddened her.

“Hope, Ezri?” he said. “You’ll have to take care of that, I think. All I can do is keep watch.”

They smiled at each other. “In fact, mister,” she said, “there’s one other thing you can do.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Go to sleep. We’ve got hours yet.”

“Sleep.” He stretched in his chair and stood up. “Yes, I think I remember that . . .”

“Then reacquaint yourself with it. That’s an order. Good night, Peter,” she said as he headed for the door. “Sleep well. Don’t dream of Tzenkethi under the bed.”

He laughed and left.

Dax sat for a while staring at the star chart that was still displayed. Counselor. She hadn’t thought of herself that way in a long time. Ezri Tigan had barely started on that role when Dax had come into her life, turned her upside down, and left her standing on her head. Now she was Ezri Dax, and Ezri Dax was a captain: a captain who had been a counselor who had eight lifetimes of experience to draw on. She was surely qualified to know when she should be worried about someone under her command.

Quickly, Dax stood up. She went back to the head of the table and put through a private communication to the ship’s senior counselor. “Susan, meet me in my ready room. I want to talk to you about a friend.”

•   •   •

If Dygan had been troubled by Detrek’s flash of temper at the start of negotiations, it was nothing compared to his mounting alarm as the morning progressed. Negotiator Detrek seemed not to be in the mood for negotiation. Every word spoken by Rusht
earned a sneer from Detrek; every suggestion by Rusht that the Venetans had the right to lease their bases to whomever they chose brought from Detrek blunt warnings that such choices came with consequences. The other members of the negotiating teams were too well trained to show their anxiety, but Dygan could see it: in the nervous twitch of Jeyn’s left hand, in Ilka’s twisting of the long chain of one earring, in Captain Picard’s increasing reliance upon formality and politeness.

And then there was the evident displeasure of all the other Venetans in the room. They’d taken a dislike to Negotiator Detrek, no doubt about it, and they weren’t afraid to make their opinion known. In the main they let Rusht do their speaking for them, as she’d been tasked to do, but there were many whispered conversations among them and sore looks directed at Detrek, not to mention the occasional catcall when she spoke.

The only person in the room who seemed unaffected by what was happening was the Tzenkethi observer, curled at the far end of the table, within her bright impenetrable glow, silently watching everything that was happening. And what was happening was that Negotiator Detrek was throwing the whole mission from the Khitomer Accords into disarray, leaving her allies badly flustered and the Venetans infuriated.

“However often I repeat myself,” said Rusht, late in that long morning, “you seem unable to understand that these bases will be used for supply and refitting purposes only. We have invited you to send observers,
who are already en route. The
Starship Aventine,
carrying Commander Peter Alden from Starfleet Intelligence, is now merely eight hours from Outpost V-4. Ferengi observers will be docking at Outpost V-27 within the hour. And your own ship, Detrek, the
Legate Damar,
with people from your own intelligence bureau, is only two hours from Outpost V-15. If we had something to hide, do you really think that we would invite you to come and see what operations are being established by the Tzenkethi on our bases?”

There was a ripple of approval from around the room.

“Why,” Rusht concluded, “would we engage in such a pointless charade?”

“Because you’ll have had plenty of time to clean up before any of our observers arrive,” Detrek shot back. The disapproval from all around got louder as she continued. “What do you take us for, Rusht? You . . . and your new friends”—she gestured angrily toward Alizome—“must think we’re fools. But we are
not
fools!”

A deep, communal growl rose up. Detrek, clearly rattled, nevertheless continued in a louder tone, “Cardassians recognize threats when we see them, and I am here to tell you that we will
not
accept this!”

She slammed her hand down upon the table. The room fell suddenly silent. Every Venetan present seemed to stare at Detrek with scorn at such a childish outburst from an adult. Dygan closed his eyes. This was a nightmare, the kind of bombast and posturing
he would have expected from the guls when Central Command ran Cardassia. Weren’t those days meant to be over now? Weren’t they all meant to be striving to create a new Cardassia?

Picard eventually broke the silence. “I believe,” he said, “that we are unlikely to progress much farther at this point. We should take a short break.”

Rusht exchanged a few quiet words with her companion, Vitig, and then nodded. “We agree that would be for the best.” She rose from her chair. “Perhaps when we reconvene,” she said, looking steadily at Detrek, “more constructive conversation will be permitted to occur.”

Rusht and Vitig departed, with their Tzenkethi adviser in their wake. The Venetans in the room immediately broke into lively debate. Dygan watched as Ilka raised her hand to her brow, and Picard and Jeyn leaned together for a few private, rapid exchanges. He saw Crusher, sitting behind the captain, thoughtfully study Detrek, and her calm, intelligent gaze fell on him. Dygan dropped his head. He felt ashamed to be Cardassian.

Captain Picard came across to speak to Detrek. Dygan busied himself with his notes and tried not to listen, but it soon became difficult, as Detrek’s voice rose again.

“No, Captain,” she said. “I am
not
unjust. I am
angry.
This is provocation on the part of the Autarch, nothing more. If he wants to send his trading ships through Venetan space, he can choose routes that keep
him far away from Cardassian borders.” She gathered up her padds. “What you and our friends from Ferenginar decide to do about the bases on your borders is up to you. But this point is nonnegotiable as far as the Cardassian Union is concerned. A strong Tzenkethi presence so close to our borders is
not
acceptable.”

Her voice carried. There were a few more catcalls from around the room, and Detrek, gathering her dignity and her padds, strode out. Picard went over to where Crusher was sitting, and from the way they glanced over at him, Dygan realized that they must be talking about him. Again, he looked away, too embarrassed to meet the captain’s eye. After a few minutes, Crusher came over and sat next to him.

“Hey, Ravel,” she said. “How’s
your
morning been?”

Dygan couldn’t help but smile. His shoulders relaxed. He was about to open up to the doctor, tell her about his concerns, when he realized that the Ferengi diplomat, Madame Ilka, was hovering at Crusher’s shoulder.

Crusher might be friendly, but Ilka was an unknown quantity, and he had to remember that he was here as a member of the Cardassian deputation and not as part of the crew of the
Enterprise.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, jumping to his feet and hurrying away. He heard Crusher sigh, but she greeted Ilka affably. Dygan didn’t wait to listen to what they had to say to each other. He ducked out of the convening room and ran down the corridor to the private office assigned to Detrek.

He tapped on the door. She called out to him to enter, and he slipped inside.

“Dygan,” she said, a small smile twisting her lips. “Here to give me a message from Picard, by any chance?”

“No, ma’am. I’m here of my own accord.”

She gestured to a chair, and he sat down. She seemed gentler, sadder, very unlike the person she had been at the negotiating table. He placed his hands on his knees and took a deep breath. “May I speak freely?”

“Of course you may.” Her eye ridges twitched up. “Don’t you know that we live in a democracy now? Speak freely. But”—she lifted a warning finger—“I’m going to ask you not to question me. Not yet.”

Dygan pondered that for a moment. “Not question you?” he said. “That’s not something you should ask me, ma’am. To ask for my obedience, without any explanation as to why?” He shook his head. “No, that’s not right. You shouldn’t ask me to do that.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, “not your obedience, Dygan. Your
trust.
Is that unreasonable of me to ask of you?”

“Ma’am, we have hardly met—”

“You trust Picard, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Why? Why do you trust him?”

Dygan thought about that. There were many reasons. Picard was wise, and just, and experienced, and he looked for peaceful solutions. He would not push his Federation into war for the sake of patriotism or pride . . .

The companel on Detrek’s desk chimed. She looked down and frowned.

“I’m sorry, Glinn Dygan, I have to take this in private. I know you’re worried,” she said, as he stood up, “and I do understand the reasons why. But you
can
trust me. And for exactly the same reasons that you trust Jean-Luc Picard.”

Dygan left her office and went in search of a quiet corner, where he sat for a while and thought.
Trust her? Why should he trust her?
Not so long ago, Cardassia had almost been destroyed by the blind faith its people had put in their superiors. Where had that trust brought them? It had brought the Jem’Hadar down on them; it had led them to the Great Burning. His duty to Cardassia was
always
to question and to keep questioning until the answers he received were satisfactory. That was another reason why he trusted Picard—because the captain was always prepared to explain. And when there was no time for explanations, Dygan would still readily do what Picard ordered, because eventually the explanation would be forthcoming, and he knew it would be good. That was what Dygan wanted from Detrek. But he was disappointed. To ask him to trust her blindly? A Cardassian should know better these days than to ask.

A bell chimed. The meeting was about to resume. Dygan hurried back to the meeting room and took his seat. The room seemed even fuller now, and the doors had been left open. People were crowding outside in the corridors, trying to get a glimpse of what was going
on inside. Clearly word of the extraordinary alien and her anger had got around.

Detrek, entering last, smiled as she passed Dygan. “Trust me, Glinn Dygan,” she whispered as she sat down.

But then he watched her put aside the face of the wise elder that she had presented to him in private and become the rigid combatant she’d been since arriving on Venette. He watched the Venetans’ contempt toward the representative of his people, and the silent scrutiny of the Tzenkethi Alizome. He watched Ilka fret, and Jeyn twitch, and Picard struggle to keep everyone calm. And as the afternoon went steadily downhill, Dygan felt afraid, terribly afraid, to see matters slipping beyond even Picard’s control, sure that when they did, something bad, something irrevocable, was going to happen—like the fire that had once taken Cardassia.

5

FROM:
Civilian Freighter
Inzitran,
flagship, Merchant Fleet 9

TO:
Ementar Vik Tov-A, senior designated speaker, Active Affairs, Department of the Outside

STATUS:
Estimated time to border: 29 skyturns
Estimated time to destination: 34 skyturns

No message.

T
o anyone serving on the
Aventine,
the composition of the away team to Outpost V-4 must have looked distinctly odd. Leaving Sam Bowers in command, Ezri Dax took, along with Peter Alden, her chief of security, Lonnoc Kedair, and the ship’s counselor, Susan Hyatt. Dax could only hope that her intention in including Hyatt was not too obvious. While she, Alden, and Kedair were observing the Venetans and
the Tzenkethi, Dax wanted someone on the spot to observe Alden.

The Venetans operating the base had chosen from among their number someone named Heldon to speak on their behalf. Heldon, small as a Ferengi, rounded, and with lustrous silver fur, received the away team with exactly the coolness that Dax (up-to-date on Picard’s reports from Venette) had been expecting. She made it abundantly clear that the presence of these Federation visitors might be tolerated but was hardly welcome.

“I suggest we begin with the docking circles,” she said with a sigh, waving to them to follow her. Alden, walking beside Dax, gave her a look:
What else did we expect?