Chapter 7

They had been underground for over an hour. The doctor had been keeping mental notes of their passage, but knew that an ordinary human would have been lost a long time ago in this maze that underlay the Cardassian City. He wondered if that had been Garak’s intent, or a ploy to confuse anyone who might have tracked them into these tunnels and conduits, or if the Cardassian really was having to blunder his way through to whatever destination he had in mind.

“You’re sure you know where we’re going?” he finally asked aloud.

“Yes. Here.” Garak’s voice was hushed, almost reverent. No echo came back from the long tunnel, dark except for the small pool of light from their hand torch.

Bashir followed as the Cardassian shouldered his way into the crevice that, based on his own estimate of directions and tricorder readings, led under the podium or altar stone on the hill.

The broad-shouldered Cardassian had to turn sideways several times as the walls seemed to close in; he had to scrunch down and duck his head in spots. It was easier for the more slightly-built human to make his way, but Bashir hoped the passage wouldn’t close in too much, forcing them to turn back. Garak was flashing their hand torch in front of him; all Bashir could see were small flashes and halos of light around the other man, as he tried not to fall on the uneven, angled floor. The walls were equally uneven — sometimes rough, sometimes smooth as though they’d pulled away in sheets. Every now and then, the bag he carried would catch on stone, and he’d have to pause to work it free. He wasn’t sure how Garak was managing not to snag on the walls. The air was dry, but there was a sweet, musty smell to it; the doctor surreptitiously checked his tricorder — nothing detrimental showed in the atmospheric scan.

“We’re almost there, doctor,” Garak announced.

“I’ll have to believe you,” he muttered back, “since I can’t see around you.”

“Just another moment—“

A few seconds later, Garak stopped without notice.

“What is it?”

“I believe we have reached our destination.” The Cardassian’s voice carried tones the human never recalled hearing before. Then they turned more business-like as he continued, “Just one moment, doctor, I must enlarge the opening. Could you step back a bit?”

Unable to actually turn around, Bashir groped his way backward a few yards, around a jagged line of stone that formed an angle in the passage. “Is this far enough?”

“Yes.” The other man sounded distracted; the doctor decided the best course was to ask no questions and let him focus on whatever he was doing.

After a long moment, there was a soft foomf and an acrid smell spread through the passage.

“You can come in now, doctor,” Garak’s calm voice floated back, now echoing strangely.

Carefully maneuvering around the projecting stone, Bashir saw a soft glowing opening, just large enough to accommodate an adult humanoid, if he moved carefully. The doctor ducked and stepped through it sideways.

His jaw dropped. He’d walked into a treasure vault or a museum — or a combination of both.

They’d entered the chamber along what appeared to be a shelf, that extended as far as he could see in the steady pool of light from Garak’s hand torch. At his feet, to either side, were statues, exquisite three-dimensional images of Cardassian men and women, animals, birds, and indeterminate shapes, some taller than his knee, in a range of colors and differing materials — stone, fine wood, ceramics, artificial substances, even solid gems. Their detail took his breath away. Among the taller sculptures were what seemed an infinite number of small ones, even more intricate, probably even more valuable. He carefully shifted his stance to make sure he didn’t accidentally step on any of them.

In front of him, on the floor below him, there were heaps of objects piled about, apparently ordinary items of even daily use — furniture, kitchen and eating utensils, what were either cloth draped items or piles of rich fabric. At the edge of their light, he could catch glittering flashes that suggested pillars along the center of the room.

The air was dry, thick with more of the same dusty tang as the passage. Caution nudged him; Bashir checked his tricorder again — still nothing dangerous or unexpected.

The Cardassian had already stepped off the shelf and was standing on the lower level, pulling a stronger lantern out of his bag and setting it beside the small hand torch. “Be careful of the wall,” he said. “The murals appear to be delicate.”

In a moment, the lantern flooded the chamber with light, and after a second’s blindness, Bashir could see what he meant. Finally looking at the walls around him, for a second he felt surrounded and in the middle of a celebration. The wall was covered with lifelike images of Cardassians in completely unfamiliar garb and hairstyles. They all seemed absorbed in what they were doing, oblivious to him as they talked with each other, played with their children or pets, ate or went about other everyday activities. The wall paintings extended in both directions, past the pillars that lined the hall and into the distant darkness at each end.

“My god,” he breathed.

“More likely ours,” Garak replied conversationally, pointing out a long mural that could only depict a religious ceremony of some sort, from the poses and expressions of the various participants.

Watching his feet to make sure he didn’t knock over or crush anything, Bashir stepped to the floor.

“Is this what you expected to find?” he asked, unable to raise his voice above an awed whisper.

“I’m not sure that I expected to find so many artifacts,” Garak admitted, then added cryptically, “but it is not entirely what I expected to find.”

“Really?”

“Come, my dear doctor, let’s prepare a record of what we see here this night, to preserve what we have found. In case it should not be this way when we return.” The Cardassian pulled out a tricorder and turned his back on the human, walking slowly along the wall, capturing the images on the vibrant murals there.

“All right....” Bashir began recording. He moved slowly down the other side of the hall, scanning images of everything on the ledge and at his feet, occasionally gently moving something aside to get a better scan of what lay beneath.

For several minutes, they worked in silence.

“How old do you think this is?” the doctor finally asked, looking up at the ceiling. Like the walls, the barrel arch was covered with paintings. He knew they’d have to preserve images of the ceiling, along with the columns that ran along the center of the room.

Garak didn’t answer at first. Then he said, “I have reason to believe this vault was sealed approximately six hundred fifty years ago.”

“So these artifacts are over six hundred years old?”

“I believe many are a good deal older,” Garak replied.

“How do you know?”

“Oh, really, doctor, I don’t know. But let’s leave the estimates of age and value to the experts, shall we? And content ourselves with having found that which we sought, in spite of the best efforts of some who might have hindered us.”

Bashir shook his head. It sounded like there would be no easy answers tonight.

Garak had passed several of the central pillars, and reached the edge of their light. “I’ll set up another lantern here, so we can see the rest of this hall—“ Lantern in hand, he stopped, studying whatever lay behind the pillar, the light illuminating the entire far hall.

Bashir also circled the central pillar that shadowed the chamber behind it — then froze in shock.

There on the floor, neatly laid out and stretching along the hall, were desiccated bodies. Twenty-three, he noted automatically.

He looked up at Garak, standing at the heads of the line, as he stood at their feet.

“I must confess,” the Cardassian said quietly, “I did not expect to find these.”

Bashir knelt beside the first corpse, medical reflexes taking over. It appeared to be a Cardassian male, his skin gray and taut over his skull and hands, the face sunk in, the neck ligaments shrunken and hard, dead for centuries. In the prime of life, if the thick dark hair that still capped the skull was any evidence.

The other bodies were in the same condition, male and female, of varying ages from youth to elder.

“All adults, or almost adults. No children. They all look well-dressed — this fabric is very finely woven, apparently hand-embroidered, and I think those are genuine gemstones,” he observed. “The pillows under their heads are just as finely done. Was this some ... ritual burial chamber of some wealthy family or caste?”

“I ... am not sure,” Garak replied. “While it is not uncommon for Cardassian families to bury their dead in one mausoleum, they are kept in separate repositories for the desiccation process, then sealed in their individual vaults. I am not aware of any custom such as this.” He gestured along the line of corpses. Setting the lantern along the ledge, he continued into the next room.

“They’re all holding something. What is it?” Bashir gingerly touched the object held by the first man, long-dead hands tightly folded over it. “It looks like a book of some kind — real books, and very old.”

“One would expect anything in here to be old, doctor,” the Cardassian reminded him a little indulgently. “I would be careful not to—“ He halted as abruptly as when he’d first seen the bodies.

“What is it, Garak?”

“It appears there were children among the dead.”

The next chamber of what appeared to be a mausoleum contained nine smaller corpses, those of children, ranging from infancy to perhaps ten years old.

The two men stood silently for several moments. Twenty-three adults and near-adults in one room, nine children in another.

“Garak—“

“I think we must leave an interpretation of this place to those who are better qualified to evaluate it. Come, doctor, let us see how far these vaults extend, then finish our recording and return to our people before the night is completely gone.”

The Cardassian moved purposefully on, and refused to answer any more questions.

They learned the room with the children was the end of the underground vault. The young ones were surrounded by toys and furnishings, piled high, as the adults in the other room had been surrounded by the utensils of daily life, along with luxuries and treasures beyond compare.

Returning through the long, columned hall of the adult corpses, they found a short, bisecting corridor that connected two more rooms, piled as high with artifacts as the others. There were no corpses in either of them.

Following the remaining hall, they reached a wall.

Bashir checked his tricorder. “A sort of brick,” he reported. “There’s an air pocket on the other side, then a layer of metal, and uneven stone beyond that. Perhaps filling in a pit. Beyond that, in all directions, is the usual dirt and stone of Cardassian soil.”

“Sealed up, and the pit filled in,” Garak mused. “Yes, that would fit. But I know, now, how it can be reached from above.”

“You do?”

“Yes, doctor. But come, we have seen and done enough for tonight.”

Bashir followed him back to the long main hall, on the way to the crevice they had used to reach it.

“A moment here, doctor. I will take these writings — if anyone gets to this place today, we will still have these.” Garak began collecting the books held so closely in thin, almost skeletal arms, carefully packing them in the bag he carried.

“Treasure hunters don’t usually bother with writings,” the human observed. “They’re all too often ignored and even destroyed in the search for artifacts that can be sold to collectors who value age, beauty, or rarity over the historical contribution a thing can offer.”

“I would risk them being ignored,” the Cardassian acknowledged. “But we cannot risk them being destroyed.” He continued gathering the old, brittle writings.

“We could have security here within the hour — nothing will be destroyed.”

“I know you mean that, doctor, but I’ll feel better knowing these writings are secure.”

“All right....” Bashir picked up one of the books, gently tugging it free of the boney fingers wrapped around it. He studied the writing on it for a second. “I wish I could read old Cardassian,” he commented. “But it looks like there’s more than one type of writing here—“

Garak snatched it out of the doctor’s hands; startled, he blinked at the Cardassian.

“I‘m sorry, doctor, but I’m afraid I feel just a bit ... possessive of my people’s ancient writings, and of our people’s bodies. It is our way. I hope you understand.” He settled the last book in the bag, and sealed it, avoiding the human’s gaze, then stood up. “Shall we go?”

Bashir watched Garak’s expression closely as he cradled the large bag close to his side. There was a certain hunger there. If he didn’t know the Cardassian better, he might have thought it was greed for the incalculable wealth around them. As it was, he knew it was for what these treasures represented — Cardassian history, and the shadow of glory.

Cardassia City was in turmoil, excited and shocked. By dawn, the rumor was already afoot. A Hebitian site had been discovered, in the old Paldar Sector of the city itself, under a park long held sacred by the members of the once-secretive Oralian Way.

By midmorning, it had been confirmed, and citizens were gathering at the site. Security, both Federation and Cardassian, kept them back, but couldn’t make the population leave.

Jake kept his camera globes focused on the action — this was news; this was exciting; this was a story that was not just important, but could make a journalist’s name. Blake scowled at him at first, but ultimately let him stay within the security cordon, almost among the crew opening the site. He kept recording each moment from multiple perspectives; ultimately, using that information, the Federation News Bureau could prepare a complete holo-recreation of the event for its viewers.

The crowd watched as the uneven paving stones along the outside edge of the old gazebo were pulled away by a work team from the university, and then a thin layer of fill underneath, finally revealing a tunnel leading down. The team lowered personnel down by rope and harness — they didn’t want to risk transporting, for fear of their coordinates being off by even centimeters, and damaging artifacts.

Garak was the first to go down, at his own insistence, as the one who’d made the discovery. He was also the first to return to the surface, as the collection of university historians and archaeologists took their turns entering the long-concealed tomb to begin their work.

Jake made his way through the crowd, hoping to get a few words with Garak.

When he returned to the surface after leading the expedition into the vault, Garak knew there would be questions from every sector. He was therefore not surprised to spot over nearly a dozen people bearing down on him, unchallenged by security, including Legate Parn and one of his guls, Professor Lang and Dr. Parmak, and Beremi, with one of her usual acolytes. He waited, not addressing any of them, as a direct greeting to any would suggest partisanship to each of the others. He also suspected that observing who spoke first would be a barometer of the day’s political situation.

He was not disappointed. Several of them spoke at once.

“Garak, what did you—“ Parn, arrogant as ever.

“Garak, this is incred—“ Lang, eager and focused.

“Garak, how did you find—“ Beremi, ecstatic as if caught up in a vision.

The voices stopped as the group stared at each other, none quite willing to give pride of place to any of the others, but not ready to risk being shouted down for speaking out of turn either. After a moment, they started again.

“It’s Hebitian, isn’t it—“ Beremi, reverent.

“This should have been cleared—“ Parn, edged with anger.

“The University could have—“ Lang, perhaps frustrated.

Silence again, and glares now turning hostile.

After a moment, Garak spoke. “I am willing to answer any questions you might have. I have no doubt this discovery could be highly significant for our people, and I am sure you each would like more details.”

A member of one of the minor political parties spoke up. “Is it true that you discovered evidence of—“

“This discussion should be held under more ... appropriate circumstances,” Parn overrode ruthlessly. “I offer my office—“

“To ensure you control what’s said and who hears it?” Lang shot. “This isn’t the same Cardassia it was a year ago, legate! You don’t get to—”

Beremi spoke more softly, but her words carried as much of an edge. “It is the same Cardassia, struggling to find its way. But what has been found, may help us create something different.”

“I am still a legate, I still have authority and responsibility—“

“Ah, Jake Sisko!” Garak suddenly interjected, cutting them all off. “I am sure he will be interested in the reactions of all our leaders to this magnificent discovery, and will ensure that news of it is carried to the farthest reaches of the Federation.”

The group subsided into surly grumbles as the human reporter joined them eagerly, his triple camera balls following as docilely as always, along with two Federation security officers.

“Jake Sisko is a Federation news journalist, as I am sure some of you know,” Garak announced, introducing the young human to the Cardassians. “As such, and as someone with no personal interest in the Cardassian political situation at this moment, you are perhaps the best qualified to release this information to the Cardassian public, and to the galaxy at large.”

“Release what information?”

Garak almost ostentatiously handed over a data rod to the human. “The images from last night, from the first entry into the tomb.”

Jake took it eagerly, his eyes lighting up. “So you confirm you were the one who discovered the site?”

“Indeed I was. But view the information on that rod, and you’ll see the entire story. I hope you’ll make it available to all Cardassia.”

“Of course. But how did you find it?” the reporter persisted. “How did you know where to look? How did you reach the vault, since it was just opened this morning?”

Those had been his own people’s questions as well; Garak found all their eyes focused on him, some intensely curious, others more suspicious.

“I followed an underground tunnel, and became somewhat disoriented while examining it,” the Cardassian said genially. “Fortunately, I was able to find my way out again, and to calculate where I had been.” He gestured at the others, all focused almost sullenly on the young human. “But I’m sure you want to speak to those who can explain the true significance of this find, and what it will mean to Cardassia.”

After two nights of even less sleep than usual, it was hard to stay awake and concentrate that morning, even for him. Bashir headed for another raktajino.

“Julian! Have you seen?” It was Dr. Ptacek, hurrying toward him, obviously excited.

“Seen what?” he asked, sipping.

“They found a vault of old Cardassian relics,” the Andorian responded. “It’s all over the local monitors, they’re opening it right now!”

“Really?” Somehow, he hadn’t expected Garak to reveal the treasure so quickly. He’d been sure, for some reason, that the Cardassian would have a day or two of holding the secret to himself, of considering its impact on the current upheaval, and simply enjoying that he knew something the rest of the population didn’t. “I suppose I’d better see....”

Vid screens were already broadcasting images of the contents of the vault. Watching from the clinic, in a room that had once served as a formal audience chamber for selected citizens to observe guilty criminals being escorted to their executions, Bashir was a little surprised that the artifacts were being so quickly displayed to the population — but then, from what Garak had said, what wasn’t immediately revealed might wind up permanently concealed.

And then he heard Jake’s voice coming from the screen, announcing that the images were those taken the night before, by the man who’d first entered the vault.

Bashir stared at the images on the vid — Garak, the treasure underfoot, along the walls, on the ceiling. Startled, he continued to watch, for a second not believing his eyes.

They were the images he and Garak had made the night before — almost. It was the series of interconnected rooms, thickly stacked with items and the walls covered with murals. There were a handful of very brief glimpses of the corpses from the burial chamber, as they’d found them — but not quite. The books were missing. Each of the bodies in the vid had their hands crossed before their chests, as he and Garak had discovered them — but those hands were empty. And ... Garak was alone. He, Bashir, didn’t appear in any of the images.

Confusion turned to anger, and then betrayal. Garah had been so concerned about protecting those books, securing them where they couldn’t be damaged or lost. And yet, they must have been edited out of the images on the data rods — why? Why conceal their existence this way? And where were they? And why didn’t he appear in any of the images? What kind of game or secret was this?

He looked around sharply. Everybody else was focused on the screen, excited or awed, although he heard numerous comments about the possible significance and value of the find.

Scowling, he also knew that he and his plain and simple Cardassian friend were going to have a serious conversation before the day was over — and he was going to get answers.

Chapter Eight