Cracking Cardassian is a Star Trek (DS9) novel currently in progress. I post draft chapters here as I write them. The strategy is to gather followers and positive comments, so that when I submit it for publication with Star Trek's licensed book publisher, I can prove that it comes with its own fan base.

Click the links to the right to read, and please feel free to comment. Both positive and negative comments are helpful: the negative ones will help improve the final version of the book. Thank you in advance for your help, either way.


Sunday, February 17, 2019

Ch. 7: The Bajor

I was stepping into the hallway when I heard Caybin’s voice over the com. “G’lek to Zorak.” The door closed, and I heard nothing more.

But when I got back to my room, there was Caybin sitting at my little table, along with Dr. Drem and two extra chairs. I was beginning to see that privacy just didn’t seem to be something Cardassians respected much, and I wasn’t going to get anywhere by objecting to the intrusion. I took a deep breath and said, “Keeba avzyne,” applying something I had learned from my journal.

“Keeba avzyne,” Caybin replied, rising for a second to bow.

Drem dispensed with the formalities. “Zorak is on his way,” he informed me. “This is a working lunch.”

I shrugged and walked to the replicator. “Well, what do you want to eat?”

“It’s customary to wait to order the food until all the guests have arrived,” Caybin said.

I turned to sit at the table but stopped when the door chime sounded. “Come in.”

Zorak bowed as he entered. I nodded to where the others sat, but he joined me at the replicator, and the others stood and did the same. We stood in line and ordered our meals in turn, then took our seats. The little table was nearly useless, and I thought it looked silly surrounded by three big men.

I was the last to sit. “So, what’s on your minds?” I asked.

“We need a report on the journal from the buoy,” Caybin replied.

“So far I’ve found nothing important,” I said. “I landed on Terok Nor; I came to the Mekar. I was very confused by the time jump and didn’t understand where I was or when it was.”

After that the three of them asked me a lot of questions, and I did my best to answer. But I don’t think I was able to tell them anything useful.

“How about the material your office is looking at, glin?” I asked. “Have you come up with anything that might be a clue?”

He shook his head. “Nothing looks promising yet.”

When we had all eaten and the men had finally run out of questions for me, they recycled their dishes and headed for the door together. I walked them out, recycled my own dishes, sat back down and picked up my journal.
I was lying on the bed pretending to be sleepy when Dolim Shal came back and announced that Gul G’lek wanted to see me.

I had expected his office to look a lot like Gul Dukat's, but beyond the fact that it was decorated with the same acute-angles motif that seemed to permeate everything Cardassian, it wasn't very similar at all. This office was smaller and gave me the impression it had been designed more for efficiency than for intimidating visitors.

"Have a seat." He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Are you satisfied with your quarters?" He handed me a light-brown liquid in a glass cup with a metal holder. The cup was shaped like an ice cream cone, so the holder was necessary if you wanted to put it down without dumping out the contents.

I told him my room was fine and resisted the temptation to complain about having been locked inside it. I sipped the liquid and wasn't sure I liked it. I supposed it was a kind of tea.

He nodded over the coffee in his own cone-shaped cup and said, "I watched the recording of your interrogation."

I nearly dropped my tea. This G’lek fellow was moody enough already, and there was no way watching that interrogation could have a positive effect on his treatment of me.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked. His face was still a polite mask.

‘The question,’ I thought, ‘is whether you know where you are.’ I nodded and said aloud, "Your ship."

"And where is my ship?"

"I have no idea."

"What is today's date?"

"September twenty-first, I'm pretty sure." I hadn't seen a clock or a calendar since Chicago. I hadn't even seen the sky since Chicago.

"How do you explain the fact that I look very different from you?" he continued. He must have seen me flinch, because he added, "You may answer honestly. You will not be punished for your answer."

I shook my head. "I really haven't figured that out yet."

"It's spring in North America right now," he said, "twenty-three sixty-two."

Spring: an uprising or a time of great change. All I had to do was look at his scaly face to know that. But why?

"Terok Nor security discovered evidence of a temporal anomaly where you were found," he continued.

I almost asked him for permission to write to my kids but decided my chances would be slightly better if I left that task in Dolim Shal's hands. That way, if Dolim came back with a no, I would still have the option of appealing to the gul. The most important thing right now was to find a way to learn where I was.

"Faine," Gul G’lek said gently, but he said it like 'Vaine.'

The room came back into focus and I realized I'd been staring at the large oval decoration behind his head. I snapped my eyes back to his face. "Sorry."

"Did you hear what I said?"

"North American spring," I replied.

"It's a lot to absorb at once." He contemplated his coffee for a moment, then said, "Glin Tahmid asked you a question about calendars. Do you remember that?"

"He asked me which calendar we use."

"You use the Gregorian calendar, not the Julian."

I nodded. In itself it was only a mildly interesting piece of trivia, but the Cardassians seemed to think it was important, so maybe I should, too.

He shrugged. "I didn't know it, either."

"So," I ventured, "is it important?"

"Is the name of the calendar important?"


"Not that I know of. But this may be important: you were unconscious for a long time."

"How long?"

"Look at me, Faine." Again, the 'F' came out as a 'V.'

I had been looking at him. I put my cup in its holder by feel and focused on his eyes.

"Are you ready?" he asked.


"According to the Gregorian calendar, the current year is twenty-three sixty-two."

"So that's . . ." It was simple math, but my brain just wouldn't do it.

"Three hundred forty-two years," he said.

I had the sensation that my thoughts were racing, but for once I wasn't actually thinking anything at all.

"Are you ready for the next blow?" he asked after a while.

"Yes, go ahead." I wasn't ready, but I didn't want to be rude.

He finished his coffee and put the cup in its holder. "I am not human."

In spite of myself, I felt a thrill. "Cardassians . . . are not human?" I asked.

"That's correct."

"And Bajorans?"

"They're not human, either. Bajorans are the native people of the planet Bajor, and my people are from a planet called Cardassia Prime."

"And you mentioned a Cardassian Union, too?"

"In some ways it's similar to the Federation." He paused. "But you don't know what the Federation is, either, do you?"

I shook my head.

"While you were unconscious, an alliance was formed between Earth and several other planets to form the United Federation of Planets. And whether you like it or not, that's your government now."

At that moment I decided that to preserve my sanity, I'd stop worrying about reality for the time being. I'd just go along with the story like I would if I were watching it at a movie theater. I'd ask appropriate questions now and worry later about what was true and what wasn't. I'd probably learn more that way, anyway, and get out of here sooner. "What is it like?" I asked. "Is it a good government to be under?"

"Oh, there are many strong opinions on that topic," he sneered.

"One thing I've been wondering," I said, "just where exactly are we and how did I get here?"

He sighed. "I'll try to answer both those questions as well as I can, but it may be hard for you to understand some of the answers."

I didn't like his arrogance, and I certainly didn't appreciate being patronized, but I knew one thing for sure: whoever this guy was, he was convinced that he was a military commander and I was a nobody. So for now at least, I'd need to humor him.

"I've requested an investigation into 'how you got here,'" he said, the last four words coming out in a mocking tone, or at least a condescending one. "But we're a long way from Chicago, and since you were not conscious during transport and we have no other witnesses, we may not have that answer any time soon."

"We're a long way from Chicago," I repeated. "So, you know Chicago, then?"

"No", he replied, "I'd never heard of Chicago until I watched your interrogation."

I concentrated on suppressing the shiver that was building up in my spine.

"As to where you are," he asked, "what do you reckon?"

"New Mexico?"

"Try another."

"Guam?" I don't know what made me say that; it just came out.

He shook his head. "When you were taken from Chicago," he said, "you were taken off the planet. We are not on Earth."

I raised my eyebrows in what I thought was a suitably surprised expression and was thankful I didn't burst out laughing before I could stop myself. "This must be a space station, then," I replied.

"Excuse me," he said, rising. "Terok Nor is a space station, and currently we're on a ship. But the ship is still docked at Terok Nor, so in a manner of speaking, you are correct: this is a space station." He turned to a nearby replicator and ordered, "Hasperat for two," and when the items had swirled into being, he put them on the desk and sat down again. "It's a Bajoran dish," he said. "I thought perhaps you would like to try it."

"Thanks." I picked up one of the pieces. It was an ordinary wrap sandwich with lettuce in it, among other things. "So you're telling me this is a spaceship, then?"

"A ship that travels in space, yes—an interstellar ship, or a starship."

I took a bite from the wrap, and it was all I could do to keep my lips closed and force it down. My whole mouth burned, and by the time the last of it was searing its way to my stomach, my face was wet with tears.

The gul put his own wrap down and handed me a tissue. "It's a very popular dish among Bajorans," he said. "Could I interest you in something milder?"

"Yes, please," I answered through the tissue. "Just a plain piece of bread would be great."

He got up and turned to the replicator, and I took the opportunity to quietly blow my nose.

He finished his wrap in silence while I ate the bread, then said, "I'm afraid I have some bad news, Vaine."

"Alright," I said, doing my best to look stalwart. In reality, I was starting to feel sorry for him, leading a grand army of mostly imaginary space soldiers in the noble defense of a nonexistent planet. "Go ahead," I said. "I'm ready."

"You will remain here for the foreseeable future."

"The thing is, though, gul," I replied, "I really do need to get home to my kids."

"I can see that your people haven't changed much in the last three hundred years," he observed. He leaned toward me in an aggressive move that made me feel as though I were being pinned to the chair, although he didn’t touch me. His jaw set and his eyes on fire, he said barely above a whisper, "My orders are to be obeyed, not debated."

I blinked, and in spite of myself it took me a second to find my voice. "I apologize, gul. It won't happen again."

"Good." He sat back again. "I'm afraid you've been dumped into the middle of a very delicate situation."

I was surprised. Did he know what was going on, then? Did he, for some reason, need to keep up the pretense? "I see," I replied.

"My colleague Gul Dukat," he continued, "occupies a place of exceptional influence. To offend him would quite simply be political suicide. He'd likely arrange for me to be reduced in rank, if not lose my commission entirely. There would be no one to exert a moderating influence on his . . . excesses, and I would no longer be in a position to try to bring about an end to the war."

There was that war again. "Who are you at war with?" I asked.

His scaly eyebrows went up. "You."

"You're at war with me?"

"Not you only. We're at war with the Federation."

"Oh," I said, "that's convenient. So you have to put up with Gul Dukat in order to try to end the war?"

"You heard correctly."

"Is that related to the fact that I can't go home to my kids?" I asked.

"Yes. If I could secretly return you to your own place and time, I would. Unfortunately, I cannot do that without being detected, and causing an unauthorized temporal anomaly is against our laws. Rape is against our laws as well, but those laws are often not enforced when the victim is not Cardassian, especially if the victim is a member of an enemy race and the perpetrator is a gul. But the law banning unauthorized temporal anomalies is enforced, I'm afraid, even against guls, and even for correcting existing anomalies."

"So, you could return me if you wanted to, but you'd have to get permission?"

He shook his head. "Theoretically, that's correct, but I cannot make the request without embarrassing Dukat."

"How would that embarrass Dukat?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

"How would that embarrass Gul Dukat?" he corrected.

"Gul Dukat," I repeated. "How would it embarrass Gul Dukat?"

"Dukat has a reputation—as do some others in powerful positions, myself included—for having a strong sexual appetite and a taste for Bajoran women. In this case of course, you're not Bajoran, but physically there's very little difference. It's a reputation, and he's proud of it, but it's never spoken of in public or in official communications. And to make matters worse, you're not even Bajoran. Dukat should have reported your presence immediately. He should never have touched you, and when his investigators concluded you were not a spy, he should have made arrangements at that time to turn you over to the Federation. Three days' delay combined with your injuries would raise obvious questions that would be very embarrassing to Dukat."

"But I'm fine now," I said. "My injuries are healed."

"They are healed, yes, but not erased. A medical exam would reveal them."

"So that's why you said you couldn't report me to the State Department, I guess."

The gul paused a moment, and I thought I heard him sigh. "Let's take a walk," he said, rising. "I'll show you some of the ship."

"Welcome to the cruiser Mekar," said G’lek when we'd gone out into the drab, cramped and clangy hallway. The way he waved his hand, you'd think he was a prince welcoming me to his palace. Once more I felt sorry for him: he'd probably never be able to appreciate the irony.

He turned left and started walking, and I followed.

"It was named for a place on my planet that I know well," he said.

I wondered if his memories were of a real place, or if the people running this experiment had found a way to somehow brainwash him, to give him false memories of a place that didn't even exist. I decided to see if I could find out. "Is it very beautiful?" I asked.

"At times it's beautiful," he answered. "But beauty is not a consideration in the naming of Cardassian warships. This vessel takes its name from the Mekar wilderness. The Mekar is a challenge to those who have the strength and cunning to survive, a crucible that tempers Cardassians . . . and kills Terrans."

I shivered in spite of the heat. It was suddenly obvious why the Cardassians kept calling me Teryn. It wasn't Teryn, it was Terran, a person from Terra, the Latin name for Earth.

"Big ship," I remarked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"I didn't hear you."

"I said it's a big ship," I repeated.

"How did your people measure ships?" he asked. "What unit of measurement did you use?"


He stopped walking, turned, bent down and squinted at my face. "Did you say 'feet?'"

"Not the body part," I explained. "It's just a measurement."

His face relaxed and he continued walking. "I'm not familiar with feet," he said.

"How about meters?" I asked.

"Yes. In fact, your modern Federation uses meters. According to Starfleet records, the length of this vessel is four hundred eighty-one meters."

"That's almost half a kilometer!"

" . . . or three hundred seventy-two meters."

"Why two different measurements?"

He shrugged. "There are three different measurements, in fact. In another place their records show the length to be five hundred meters. But as to why, it's doubtful whether even anyone in Starfleet knows that."

"What is Starfleet?" I asked.

"It's your people's military. The Federation dislike the term 'military,’ as they believe it frames them as an aggressor. So they named their military Starfleet and style their soldiers explorers."

He showed me the cafeteria again, only he called it the replimat, and he showed me the gym, which he called the fitness room.

A few minutes after we left the fitness room, he stopped and turned to me. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" I replied. I didn't see anything but grey-brown bulkheads and narrow pocket doors.

He opened one of the doors and gave me the gesture again. It was a smallish room, not quite as big as his office, with a huge picture in an oval frame on the far wall. "It's beautiful," I said. It was a futuristic space scene: a man-made structure, complete with tiny windows, floated in front of a breathtaking field of stars in some artist's dream of eternal night. In the background, the Earth was at dusk or dawn, half light and half dark.

And then something moved. It was just lights at first, and the lights gradually grew bigger until I could see the craft that bore them: brownish, boxy and apparently windowless. It passed close enough that I could see it did have windows, but very few and so tiny that the craft itself must have been immense. Then it disappeared behind the structure.

"Do you still believe you're on Earth and I'm a genetically altered Human?" the gul asked gently from close behind me.

"No, how—how did you know?" I stammered. "I never told you that." But I couldn't take my eyes off the scene outside the window.

"You'd be surprised what your people tell us."

At this point I was almost ready to believe anything, or nothing. "Are you telepathic?" I asked.

"No," he answered.

"So that's Terok Nor, then, that station?" I asked.

"That's correct."

"Look at the Earth," I said, "It's so beautiful from space."

"Not the Earth," he replied in the same quiet voice.

I was about to point out to him the curve of Africa's west coast when I realized he was right. These continents were the wrong shape and in the wrong places. What I had mistaken for the Sahara was a mass of clouds. "Oh," I stammered, "it's . . ."

He finished my sentence. " . . . the Bajor."

I don't know how long I stood staring out the window, watching the sunlight recede on the planet and lights go on and off on Terok Nor. Eventually I looked up and found the gul busy with a tablet. "I'm sorry, gul" I said, "I've kept you waiting."

"You have no need to apologize," he answered. "Very few people will ever have the opportunity to witness what I just witnessed."

No comments:

Post a Comment