Chapter 6

The following day, in Cardassia City and the refugee clusters around it, rumors flew faster than tzellegan raptors. Checking on Ocela and her surviving family, Aya discovered the story had reached them as well. After first confirming that the children were nearly back to perfect health, and then treating the elderly mother-in-law’s cough with a quick hypospray of antibiotics, Aya stayed to talk to the Cardassian woman for a few minutes, standing at the entrance to their shelter.

Looking around suspiciously, Ocela leaned close and asked, “Has Professor Lang been accused of killing that old man?”

Aya wasn’t sure she should be discussing it, but she replied, “No one’s been accused yet, but she’s still in custody.”

“You should release her,” the woman said positively, looking relieved. “She didn’t do it.”

The lieutenant leaned a little closer herself. “How do you know?”

Ocela looked around again; Aya followed her gaze toward the spot where she herself had encountered the Cardassian soldiers, at the beginning of the riot. The scowling, stiff-backed soldiers were gone now. Their shelters had never been re-erected after the storm.

“She could not have done it,” the Cardassian affirmed again. “She had no reason to, and she cares too much about rebuilding our world to have killed an old man for no reason.”

“Who do you think killed him?” Aya probed.

This time the older woman spoke in a whisper. “I think it was Mondrig. I have heard he helped the Ferengi who were stealing our children, and he sabotaged the emitters that would have saved us from the storm, and he started the riot afterward.” She nodded. “He could do it, if he thought he would benefit from it. Maybe he even thought he could blame you and your people for this, too!” She took Aya’s slender, gold-skinned hand in her own thick, gray fingers, warning urgently, “I believe there is nothing he wouldn’t do if he thought it would harm you!”

“Where are they?” the nurse asked in stoic resignation.

Lausten pulled off his shirt and leaned back on the table, grinning a little as he deliberately flexed his chest and shoulder muscles.

Eske sighed. “I might have known....”

“Hey, the sandticks are real!” he protested, pointing at his torso. “You think I’d make ‘em up? Or let those creepy things crawl on me on purpose?”

Her glance was skeptical as she reached for the microlaser to incinerate the parasites that were the bane of those members of the Federation relief teams who had to travel outside the cities. “If you’d been careful, they would never have gotten on you!”

As she began searing off the sandticks, the engineer asked, “I heard there was a murder near here last night.”

The blonde nurse perked up a little, nodding. She sounded intrigued as she said, “An older man, lived alone in the city, near the university. He was garrotted, cut halfway through his neck!”

“Halfway through a Cardie neck? Damn, that took some doing! Do they know who did it?”

She shrugged a negative as she focused on another of the vermin. “They have a woman in custody, but some people think she was set up by the Directorate.”

Lausten grunted. “Wouldn’t put it past ‘em.”

“There, that’s the last one I can detect. Anything else, Lieutenant?” Eske shifted back into professional mode.

Lausten’s eyes twinkled a little. “Actually, I think I felt another one....”

“Where?” Her eyes ran over his chest, searching impersonally.

He reached for his belt and began to turn over. “You’re not lookin’ in the right spot....”

Lieutenant Storie stood beside Commander Blake, her arms crossed over her chest as they studied the avenue that passed before the clinic. “What do you think really happened?” she asked her superior curiously.

Blake shrugged a little. “Doesn’t matter what I think,” he replied sourly.

“C’mon, Commander, you must have an opinion — everybody else in the city does!” she declared, her ponytail bobbing as she uncrossed her arms and gestured. She’d spent the morning in the streets, looking for information, and had heard more quietly-shared theories than she could count, generally couched in language beginning with, “I heard someone say....”

He thought for a moment, his mouth twitching in annoyance. “Considering the mysterious disappearing witness, I’m betting that this professor didn’t do it, somebody set her up. But as to who did, I really don’t care much, beyond finding ‘em. Eh,” he waved off the question. “Probably turn out to be some looter or housebreaker, just looking for something they could sell, not expecting to find anybody in the building. Might even be our supposed witness,” he finished with a growl.

“I’ve heard some speculation about that. Most people seem to think the old man was too careful to have had a run-in with a simple street looter.”

“Even careful people make mistakes.”

“How about that Directorate guy, the legate who keeps showing up?”

“The one who keeps getting people out of here, claiming they’re simple citizens in the wrong place at the wrong time?” He thought for a second. “No motive, as far as I can tell, for what that’s worth. Why would he want to do in the old guy? Now, if this Lang were the dead one....”

The lieutenant snorted. “You’re certainly taking this lightly!”

“I never take murder lightly. But these Cardies, who can really understand ‘em? Anyway,” Blake shrugged, “we probably won’t even be here anymore when the whole mess goes to trial, and won’t ever know who winds up suffering for it.”

“True. Cardassian justice runs a little differently than ours,” she observed.

“Cardassian justice is an oxymoron,” he spat absently, focusing his attention back on the street.

The doctor stifled a yawn over his late lunch tray.

“You look tired, Julian,” young Sisko noted.

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night — as you may recall, having been there yourself,” Bashir reproved. “How come you’re not yawning?”

“I don’t need a lot of sleep.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need an orderly in the middle of a night shift. As I recall, you’re pretty good at the job.”

The younger man laughed and leaned on his elbows. “You know Natima didn’t do it, don’t you?”

“Natima? You’re on a first-name basis now?”

Jake shrugged, grinning a little sheepishly. “I talked my way around a cute security ensign and got an interview with her. She spent a lot of years with the Cardassian Information Bureau. I even got a few tips from her!”

“One journalist to another, eh, Jake? Well, don’t let a shared profession interfere with your objectivity.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Jake assured him. “But I know you, Julian — you don’t think she did it either. So tell me, what’s your theory? I saw you talking to Garak afterward last night, so I know you’ve got one, and you probably know more than Blake does.”

“How do you know we weren’t talking about the weather?”

Jake chuckled again and shook his head. “Sorry, Julian, not fobbing me off with that! I remember my dad talking about Garak over the years, and the way he dragged you into some pretty serious situations, and always knew more than he told anybody, except maybe you. I bet he had some insightful comments.”

“All right, I’ll tell you.” Bashir steepled his fingers at his chin. “I don’t think she did it, either. But I don’t know who did. And if Garak knows, he’s not telling me.”

“But who do you suspect? Is it a conspiracy? Who do you think is involved?”

“Are you asking as a curious friend or as a journalist looking for a scoop?”

“Julian!”

“Jake!”

After a momentary trade of stares, Bashir relented a little.

“Jake, this is a touchy situation, and I have to ask you to respect that, and to treat everything I say now with utmost confidentiality. The dead man is apparently a respected member of a local ... spiritual group. And you know Professor Lang’s position with the Reunion Project. The political ramifications of Limorin’s murder and the accusations against Lang could destroy everything we’re trying to rebuild here. I suppose that gives me an incentive to believe Lang’s innocent,” he noted thoughtfully. “But there are rumors of everything from the highest members of the Directorate down to a common looter. At this point, I honestly don’t have a theory, because I don’t have enough information. Although I’ll admit I find the disappearing witness to be very convenient, if this is all a set-up.”

“It’s a set-up,” Jake said with conviction, “and Blake’ll prove it.”

“Blake?” Bashir stared. “I didn’t get the feeling he would really care if the Cardassians all killed each other off!”

“That’s where you’re misreading him,” Jake insisted. “He doesn’t like Cardassians — and he hates you and me — but I think if it comes down to justice and saving an innocent person’s life, he’ll do whatever he has to, to get to the truth.”

“I hope you’re right, Jake. I hope you’re right.”

The air in Parn’s office was still thick with anger. Parn and Madred had argued for over an hour before the legate flexed his rank and overruled the gul, effectively ending the conversation.

Rekel waited quietly after a grim Madred stalked out. The argument had revealed cracks in the solid front the Directorate projected to the civilian populace. Despite the supposed equality among the leaders of the group, Parn still dominated; while his authority wouldn’t even have been questioned, under the previous de facto military control, he still had the personal dominance to enforce his view over that of his fellows. She filed away the details of the argument for possible future use.

Now, as always, the legate used silence and apparent disregard to throw others off and unsettle them, ignoring her as she continued to stand to the side. She knew the man’s tactics well, and waited for the inevitable moment when he would state his purpose and intentions in calling her there.

His piercing gaze abruptly rested on her. “What do the people think happened?” he barked, obviously returning to the earlier subject of Kassel Limorin’s murder.

Rekel was silent for a second, her lips slightly twisted. Throughout their entire argument, neither Parn nor Madred had asked her what the civilian population believed, or how the tale had spread so quickly. “There are already as many rumors as there are people living in the city.”

“What is the story most believe?”

She continued to meet his hypnotic stare. “Thus far, the majority seem divided between believing that Mondrig committed the crime out of rage or personal vendetta, or that the Directorate is responsible, for political reasons.”

“They blame us?” his voice rose as though in disbelief, though he had to have heard the briskly swirling rumors as quickly as she had.

“Some do.”

“Why?” he probed. “For what reason would we order the death of a discredited old historian?” He seemed more curious than defensive.

“There is a whispered story that the Directorate wants Professor Lang discredited, and that Limorin’s death, supposedly at her hand, would divide the Reunion Project and the enthusiasts of the Oralian Way.”

“Hmm.” The legate considered for a second before continuing. “No one believes he was killed by a looter or in some random act of violence?”

“Not really,” she replied. “He was reputed to be too cautious to have fallen victim to something so mundane.”

“Nor the Federation?”

She shook her head. “They are dismissed out of hand.”

“I don’t suppose anyone believes it was Garak.”

She blinked once, her natural caution ratcheting up several degrees. “I’ve not heard any suggestion that it was him.”

“Hmm.” His unusually dark eyes focused on the closed door for a moment. She knew a thousand thoughts and plans could have crossed his mind in that time. “I don’t suppose it could be made to appear so.”

It was a rhetorical question; Rekel knew better than to answer.

“It would seem that Mondrig still has a useful purpose for us,” he mused. Then his gaze sharpened on her. “Since it appears we cannot lay responsibility for this on Lang or her people, it would be better that the people believe Mondrig did this, rather than us. And quickly.”

She nodded once.

“You’re the Director of Communications here. See to it that we are unstained by this. Dismissed.”

No reply was necessary. Still, she nodded again before about-facing and heading for the door. The meeting was over.

Blake assessed the man sitting before him in the security office. He was a middle-aged Cardassian male, a touch of gray in his dark hair, dressed in civilian clothing. What made him different from other supposed “civilians” that Blake had seen was the posture and way his slate-gray eyes kept dropping to the floor. He believed this man really was part of Cardassia’s civil servant caste.

“You say you saw the dead man yesterday evening, before he was killed?” The commander leaned forward, keeping his features cold and forbidding. This supposed witness wasn’t going to pull a fast one on security like the man the night before.

The Cardassian nodded, a little nervously, Blake thought.

“Where?” he asked.

“We were in line at the replicator station by the university. He was a few people behind me. I wasn’t paying much attention, until I heard a man calling out to a professor. I glanced around, and I saw the old man, the dead man, the one whose image has been on the monitors all day.”

“And?” Blake rubbed his chin with his thumb.

“He was being approached by the man I heard calling. I recognized the man — I’ve heard him speak before, at some of the political rallies.”

“What was his name?”

“Mondrig.”

Blake sat up slowly. “Mondrig...? What happened then? What did they say to each other?”

The Cardassian shook his head. “They didn’t say much there, but the man — Mondrig — grabbed the old man’s arm tightly and led him off toward the alley, scowling.”

“Did the dead man go willingly?”

The man thought for a moment, then shook his head. “He looked like he had no choice, and that if he tried to object, Mondrig would drag him away even if he were unconscious.”

“And then what?”

“That is all I saw. The old man did not come back to the line, and I did not see Mondrig again either.”

“You’re absolutely positive about the identities of the two men? One was Limorin, one was Mondrig?” Blake snapped.

“Yes.”

“Storie, did you get that?”

“Affirmative,” the lieutenant replied efficiently.

“Good, good....” He focused on the witness again. “Lieutenant Storie will take a full statement from you, on the record, and have you identify images of both men. Answer all her questions thoroughly, and if you think of any more details, be sure to contact us. And...,” he almost bit his tongue. “Thank you.”

The day might not be so bad after all.

Another night fell over Cardassia City. The two men met at the ordained time, and headed out across the city. Garak insisted they stay in the shadows as much as possible, and cross open areas in a low, quick dash, then pausing to listen intently and study the terrain around them before moving on. The streets were thick with shadows; at last the cleaning crews were starting to make an impact, and they weren’t stumbling over debris every few seconds. The cool late night air bit even into Bashir’s face, and he shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets; he could only assume his friend, with his Cardassian blood, was feeling the chill even more. All was silent; at this time of day, not even birds or insects flew, and the small forms of wildlife that lived in the city were retired to their dens and lairs.

The former tailor led him in a circuitous route that took them through the heart of the Coranum sector of the city, then off to the north, toward the Paldar sector. They made their away past several foot patrols, avoiding contact with anyone.

“You think we’re being followed?” he finally whispered, the fifth time Garak led him into an alley and waited there for several minutes, peering behind them, before making their way out the other end.

“I’m certain of it.”

Bashir scanned the street, his fingers reflexively resting on the phaser in his pocket. Even his enhanced senses couldn’t detect anyone. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Garak admitted.

“Then how do you know—“

“Experience, my dear doctor. If I were following me, at a time like this, I’d be certain not to be seen either.” The Cardassian shifted. “This may not have been the best night to begin our search, after all.”

“You certainly made it sound urgent.” Bashir couldn’t help grumbling.

“As I recall, you agreed with my reasoning.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Instead he asked, “I brought a tricorder — couldn’t we just—“

“Not while we’re above ground. Someone might pick up the signal and follow us.”

After a few more minutes, they moved on again.

It was over an hour later that they reached Garak’s destination, an old area in the Paldar Sector that had long ago been set aside, not used for habitation or business.

“It’s the festival park,” the doctor realized.

“Yes. This way.”

Bashir followed Garak along a hedge that he presumed bordered something or was a boundary between this knoll and something else. They stayed on the grass, which muffled their footsteps; the thick shrubbery hid their shadows. After catching his jacket on a few thorns, Bashir learned not to crowd the hedge too closely.

“Is this our destination, or just another way to throw off anyone who might be following us?” he asked.

Garak caught his arm. “Wait!” he hissed.

“What?” Bashir whispered back, instantly freezing at the warning in his friend’s tone.

He watched as the Cardassian scanned the hill above them, finally focusing on a small pavilion, the gray stone gleaming softly in the clear cool night.

Bashir listened and stared intently, and finally detected someone crouched beside the small structure.

“To the left of the pavilion,” he murmured.

“Yes. A woman.” Garak’s voice was even lower. “Start moving as though we haven’t spotted her, but keep looking around as if searching for someone.”

“You don’t want her to know we’ve seen her?”

“If there’s anyone else, I don’t want them to know we’ve spotted her. Stay in the shadow of the hedge.” As though he hadn’t heard his own caution, Garak stepped into the open for just a moment, glancing around, before drawing back again — but Bashir’s sharp eyes spotted the Cardassian’s quick gesture, which could only have been seen by someone standing beside the pavilion.

By the time they reached the edge of the row of the thorny plants, the woman had somehow crossed from the pavilion to the hedge, undetected by the doctor. He nearly bumped into them when his friend stopped abruptly.

“Rekel,” Garak breathed.

“I am not alone,” she breathed back. “Two others. Tomorrow?”

“Yes. For tonight, convince them that they still follow us. Back into Coranum.”

A beat. Then: “Yes.”

“This way, doctor....”

“Where are we going now?” Bashir couldn’t help asking as Garak led the way.

Garak’s smile was gleefully malicious. “Now that we know who and how many are behind us, we are going to let them go on a — what is the human term? Ah, yes — a wild goose chase. Rekel will make sure they follow shadows for what remains of the night. And we will continue our search.”

“He’s not in the underground system. At least, not anywhere we could find him,” Storie reported, unable to hide her yawn. “We found what looks like his hiding place — bed, table, some personal effects — but he wasn’t there. Are we sure our informant knew what she was talking about?”

Blake growled a little. “She sounded pretty sure. Keep a guard on the place, in case he comes back.”

“We’ve got Federation and Cardassian security watching tonight,” she replied efficiently. “If he comes back there, we’ll have him. But we don’t have the manpower to stake out the place for long — we’ll need our people back at their usual posts tomorrow.”

He nodded a little sourly. “Yeah. Then we’ll see if the Cardassians can catch their own. Thanks for the report. Dismissed.”

Alone again, Blake scowled in concentration. How convenient, how suspicious. All the questions they had for him, about the murder, about the earlier sabotage, about the riot. They finally had a lead on his location — and Mondrig had disappeared.

Who the hell was warning the Cardie?

Chapter Seven