Star Trek: Terok Nor 02: Night of the Wolves (46 page)

She took one last look at the copse of pathetic little trees, thought that she would miss the majestic forests of Jo’kala, and then she squeezed the comm device that was still in her pocket, the device she’d neglected to give back to Bis. She felt a strange whirring deep in the very essense of her body’s composition as she was transported into the pilot seat of the shuttle, one of the last warp vessels on Valo II. It was a shame that she had to take it from them, but she could think of no other way. The defeat she saw on her world, the petty squabbles and the justification of such heinous acts in the name of liberation—maybe now she could go to a place where she could really make a difference. Maybe now she could find out who she really was, and what she really wanted.

“How can this be?” Kalisi Reyar was shouting, and Mora could hear every word as he poked his head out of his laboratory.

“It’s a very good question,” Yopal answered her. “I don’t understand how you could let a thing like this happen, Doctor Reyar.”

“It was a security measure!” Reyar answered, her voice high and angry. “I assumed the system here was safe! Why would I risk copying my research, leaving it where anyone could get hold of it, could steal it from me—”

“Protecting your work from terrorists should have taken precedence over your concerns regarding provenance for your achievements.” Yopal’s voice had gone cold.

“How was I to know that a terrorist was working right alongside us?”

Mora turned to Odo’s tank, where the shape-shifter was apparently regenerating. “Odo,” he said, keeping his voice authoritative, though the conversation down the hall had him very frightened.

After a moment, the shape-shifter writhed and twisted into partially humanoid form, his features glassy and liquid. “What is it, Doctor Mora?”

“Odo, did you…happen to…notice anything unusual happening in the laboratory last night?” His voice had dropped, the worry showing through.

Odo’s features solidified. His eyes were devoid of expression, but his hesitation suggested he was afraid to answer.

“Never mind,” Mora told him. “Odo, if you saw anything, you must not repeat it to anyone, do you understand? If anyone asks, you didn’t see anything happen here last night.”

“I…saw nothing,” Odo said, and Mora didn’t know if he was telling the truth, or only following Mora’s instructions. Either way, it would have to do. Mora left Odo in his tank and headed for where Yopal and Reyar were still arguing.

“Good morning, Doctors,” Mora said with convincing neutrality.

“Doctor Mora!” Yopal exclaimed when she saw him. “A terrible thing has happened! Doctor Reyar’s research has been stolen!”

Mora took a step back. “You don’t say!”

“It was your friend Daul!” Reyar shouted. “I suppose you heard what he did—he sabotaged the work camp he’d been assigned to! And then he stole my research!”

“You don’t say,” Mora said again, his voice growing faint now. “I…I hadn’t heard.” Daul? So he was behind this?

“It’s all over the comnet, Mora!”

“I…don’t have access to the Cardassian comnet,” Mora said. His personal laboratory computer was programmed to block him from the Cardassian channel.

“Yes,” Yopal sighed. “Unfortunately, it does seem that our Doctor Daul is responsible for wreaking quite a bit of havoc. Last night, the main computer server at Gallitep was sabotaged—destroyed. Nearly all the Bajoran prisoners escaped, several guards were killed in the accident—and Doctor Daul was killed, as well.”

Mora heard himself gasp, and then quickly shut his mouth. “How…terrible,” he said.

“On top of all of that unpleasantness, Doctor Reyar’s research has been destroyed, the permanent files on her computer corrupted,” Yopal went on. “Apparently, Daul was working in conjunction with a group of terrorists. Our transporter was accessed last night, and Daul’s passcode was the last one used. The security cams have all been wiped, as have all the last transporter coordinates. Only Daul could have orchestrated something like this. I knew it was foolish to allow him to use the transporters.”

“What did you know of this?” Reyar asked Mora accusingly. “What did Daul say to you?”

“Nothing!” Mora insisted, feeling like a terrible coward. He couldn’t believe Daul had the wherewithal—the courage—to pull off a thing so spectacularly dangerous. “I…haven’t spoken to Daul in almost a week. I assure you, if he’d said anything regarding sabotage—or theft—I would have reported him!”

Yopal turned to Reyar. “I’m sure our Doctor Mora knew absolutely nothing of this.”

Mora did his best to conceal a sigh of relief.

Reyar went on. “I’ll have to start practically from the beginning!” she complained.

“That’s enough, Doctor Reyar. We should think of the forty-seven brave Cardassians who lost their lives trying to protect Gallitep.”

Reyar was undaunted. “It was my life’s work, and now it’s all gone!”

“Well, at any rate, you’ll be able to recall most of it, of course,” Yopal said calmly.

Mora distinctly read uncertainty in Reyar’s eyes before she answered. “Yes, of course.”

Yopal went on. “You’ll just need someone to act as a scribe. And Doctor Mora is going to help you do that.”

Mora thought about what Reyar had been working on—the anti-aircraft device, something to shoot down terrorist raiders. He felt oddly triumphant on Daul’s behalf, through his fear and guilt—and it quickly occurred to him that maybe he could do something as well—nothing so grand, but something nonetheless.

So,
he thought,
I’m going to be helping Doctor Reyar salvage her research, am I?
Well, he intended to make it very difficult for her; he decided it right then and there.

“Meanwhile, Mora, there is something else I’d like to discuss with you,” Yopal said, and her artificial smile looked more forced than ever. “I’ve decided that it might be more…comfortable for you if I make a little…place for you to stay, here at the institute. That way, you won’t have to be bothered with traveling such a long distance back to the village. You see, we Cardassians all live at the nearby settlement, but you’ve got such a lengthy commute from the village…”

“I’m to live here?” Mora said, surprised. It immediately dawned on him what was happening—he was no longer permitted to leave.

“Yes, I think that would be best, don’t you?”

Mora nodded, for there was nothing else left to do. He supposed he should be grateful, after what had happened with Daul, that they weren’t simply sending him straight to a work camp. He was the last Bajoran here, and he’d better not forget it. The Cardassians obviously weren’t going to.

“Gul Dukat, I have something to show you!” Basso burst into the conference room with the isolinear recording in hand, and the prefect looked up from the long table where he was seated with his visitors, a damage assessment team from sciences.

“Basso! I believe I’ve asked you numerous times not to—”

“It’s about Gallitep, sir.”

Dukat immediately stopped what he was doing and excused himself from his visitors. The sabotage of the camp took precedence over all else; Dukat was eager to amplify the blame laid on Darhe’el for the disaster, no small task. Gul Darhe’el had been away from Gallitep when the mass escape and near total destruction of the camp had taken place; at worst, he was guilty of poor timing, although he
had
specifically asked for that Bajoran scientist, the one who’d acted on behalf of the terrorists. Dukat had gone out of his way to say as much in every report heading back to Cardassia Prime. If there was anything Basso could tell him that might be useful in his quest to see Darhe’el disgraced, Dukat was eager to hear it.

Leaving the conference room, he walked briskly back to his office, the Bajoran at his heels. When the door had closed behind them, he nodded for Basso to continue.

The Bajoran was breathless—from excitement or exertion, Dukat didn’t know. “I reviewed all the security rods from the day of the disaster, as you asked me, and I found one that has something you need to see.”

“Very good,” Dukat said, and sat down at his office desk.

Basso quickly plugged the recording into a nearby monitor and found the sequence he was looking for. Dukat squinted to view the footage. “Enhance,” Basso told the computer, and the focus pulled in on a group of people edging along one of the narrow roads that lined the open-pit mine.

“There,” Basso told him, pointing to the screen. “That’s Shakaar Edon, the leader of a cell just out of Dahkur.”

Dukat nodded. “So, we know who is responsible for Gallitep. But this doesn’t get us any closer to—”

“No, no, sir, there’s more.” Basso progressed the recording a few steps further, to show another crowd shot on a road further below the first point. “Enhance,” he said again, and pointed to the slender red-haired figure that appeared onscreen. He didn’t need to say more.

“Nerys,” Dukat breathed.

Kira mostly felt triumphant, for she’d just taken part in one of the biggest missions in the history of the Shakaar cell. She’d personally had a hand in liberating the worst camp on all of Bajor. She felt dizzied from all the praise that was being heaped on her, from not only Lupaza, but Dakhana, Mobara—even Shakaar himself had commended her courage and clear thinking.

The Shakaar cell had taken proper time and measure to grieve as well as celebrate, for two members of the group had not made it back. Mobara had been unable to get a lock on two of the communicators, and made the assumption that they had been destroyed. Ornak later confirmed that Matram Tryst had blown himself up, taking at least twenty Cardassian guards with him—along with Par Lusa. Par had been only eighteen years old, and Matram not much older than that. But they’d known the risks…just as Kira did.

She couldn’t stop thinking about one small thing, certainly small against the overwhelming sense of victory that had accompanied the sight of all those Bajorans suddenly appearing in the forest of Dahkur, many of them so near to death that Kira knew they would not have made it for one more day inside that camp. They could go home now, and those who were sick could at least live out their last moments in freedom, hopefully with their families or loved ones. But there was one Bajoran who wouldn’t ever see his loved ones again—the scientist who had made it all possible. And that small thing kept at her, throughout the celebration, throughout the glowing aftermath of Gallitep’s liberation.

She had gone to sit outside the cave, watching Bajor’s moons as they very slowly crept from behind the mountains in the west, one after the other. The closest moon was a deep orange, tinted by the haze in the atmosphere. She wondered what it had looked like in the days before the Cardassians’ various mining and manufacturing interests had tainted the air with billowing clouds of pollution. People said the moons were once the color of fusionstone, nearly white sometimes on summer nights. Kira absently drew circles in the dust with a stick, briefly calling to mind thoughts of her mother, the artist, and wondering why she’d never had any talent of her own.

“Nerys,” called a gentle voice—Lupaza, of course, emerging from the cave.

“I’m here,” Kira answered her, setting down the stick.

“What are you thinking about?”

Kira shrugged. “Nothing,” she said unconvincingly.

Lupaza pursed her lips. “You’re not still thinking about that scientist, are you?”

“No,” Kira said. “Yes. A little bit.”

Lupaza squatted on her heels. “Nerys,” she said. “You need to understand something right now. That man—he was a collaborator. It’s true that in the end, he did what he could to compensate for the evil he’d been responsible for, but…it’s only right that he ultimately gave his life for the struggle. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Kira said listlessly, picking up the stick again.

“Nerys,” Lupaza said, her voice not quite so gentle now. “If you want to fight in the resistance—if you really want to be in this cell, or any cell—you’d better get used to the idea that Bajorans have to die sometimes. Not just the people in your cell, which is bad enough, but sometimes…Bajorans have to die, and we have to kill them. It doesn’t matter how brave you are, how strong—if you can’t come to terms with killing collaborators, then you’d better go home to your father right now.”

Lupaza stood up, and made to go back into the cave. “Really, it’s a good thing that scientist was killed. Because if I were him, I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself, after seeing what those people in that camp looked like.”

“You’re right,” Kira said quickly, before Lupaza could go inside. “I know you’re right.” She managed a weak smile at Lupaza, genuinely feeling a little better. Lupaza smiled back, and held her hand out to pull Kira to her feet.

Lupaza went on. “It’s difficult to understand, maybe, but this war we’re fighting…it’s not just a matter of Bajorans versus Cardassians. This is a fight between what’s right, and what’s evil. And the face of evil sometimes looks unsettlingly like your own. It could be someone that you know. It could be a member of your own family. It could be the boy that…the boy you were supposed to marry, the boy you thought was the love of your life. But it’s still evil, nonetheless.”

Kira nodded, remembering what Lupaza had mentioned of her
ih’tanu.