Author's Note: So, I wrote this quite some time ago. It's the first chapter to a much longer story, but I think it stands just as well on its own. One day, when I've finished with Supernatural, I may get around to uploading the rest of the story. For now, I hope you enjoy this one-shot.
Hero
The air on Cardassia Prime was silent and still. To Telor Rokann, it seemed as if there should have been great thunder-clouds filling the sky; it was that sort of evening. Heavy. Close. The pressure was palpable. But the sky was clear, tinged blood-red by the setting sun. Looking out from his bedroom, he could see the red sunlight glinting off the tops of the surrounding buildings of the capital city, Lakat. Normally he found the sight beautiful, but today it unsettled him, though he did not know why. All he knew was that for some days, the Jem'Hadar and Breen soldiers passing him in the streets had looked at him a little longer and harder than usual, as if searching his entire body for something with their eyes. Presuming, of course, that the Breen had eyes. Who knew what was going on under those helmets of theirs?
A sound behind him caught his attention, and he turned his head, glimpsed his father limping into the room, his right leg—injured long ago during a battle on Bajor—dragging behind him.
"You should not be at the window," his father said, his voice weary. The past few days had taken their toll on him.
Telor gestured around at the bedroom. "The lights are off. Nobody will see me."
"Jem'Hadar eyesight is sharp, son."
"I thought the Jem'Hadar were our allies?"
His father said nothing, merely gave a grunt of dismissal, so Telor decided to resume the conversation that had ended with him being sent to his room two hours earlier.
"I don't see why I can't go."
"You can't go because you're thirteen years old. And you are my son."
"But Kaskar is going..!"
"Kaskar is fifteen. And he is not my son."
Telor's heart sank, and he turned fully to face his father. "But Legate Damar will be there, father!"
"Bah! Legate Damar! Three years ago he was nobody! An unremarkable soldier; you would have passed him in the street and not looked twice at him."
"Kaskar says he's a hero." Telor knew that he sounded childish, petulant, but he couldn't help it. His father was completely unwilling to listen to reason. An outspoken opponent of the military, he had been dead against Cardassia's compact with the Dominion from the very beginning, and he didn't hesitate to bring that fact up in every argument. This time proved no different.
"Where was your hero two years ago? Serving the Dominion loyally. Sending our people to their deaths for his masters. If he had stood up two years ago and said 'no,' perhaps others would have followed, and we wouldn't be in the mess we are now."
Telor felt his hands clench into fists, and fought to relax them. For the past three months, there had been only one topic on the lips of the Cardassians in the streets and the shops; Legate Damar's resistance. He was spoken of in reverential whispers, never when there were Dominion soldiers around, but always with a note of respect in the voices that gave words to the legend. Telor had never seen Legate Damar, but he knew what the man looked like. Over the past year he had seen the public broadcasts given by Damar, reminding the Cardassian people of their rightful place in the Dominion, as rulers of the Alpha Quadrant. Mostly Telor had ignored those messages; they were delivered often in a monotone, as if the words were being recited by rote, with no feeling. The man who gave the messages had been pale, his eyes dull and empty.
All of that had changed three months ago, with the new message. The message spoken by a man no longer defeated, a man no longer crushed by the weight of the Dominion, but a man free from oppression, a man whose spirit could not be caged. Rise up, that message said. Rise up and fight for your freedom. Since then, Telor's imagination had gone into overtime; he could picture Legate Damar's resistance in his mind. They were brave soldiers, hiding in dark caves, living by their wits, always one step ahead of their aggressors.
It wasn't like that, his father said. His father painted the resistance as a rag-tag bunch of rebels, cold and hungry, cowering in their bolt-holes, fumbling blindly in the darkness. Telor could not bear to hear such words. Cardassians didn't cower, no matter how cold and hungry they got. Legate Damar certainly didn't cower. Wasn't the fact that he was here, on Cardassia Prime, leading the rebellion, proof of his bravery and his cunning?
"I don't see why I can't go to the meeting," he reiterated pointlessly.
"I told you before. It's too dangerous. The Jem'Hadar have orders to shoot rebels on sight, and as far as they're concerned, any two or more Cardassians meeting clandestinely are rebels these days."
"I would rather die fighting than live a coward under Dominion rule."
His father sighed, limped forwards and pulled him into an embrace, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.
"The words of a man from the mouth of a boy. I'm sorry, Telor. Perhaps I'm being selfish, or over-protective, but you're all I have left. The only family I have. Besides, I need your help here. I get the feeling that things are going to get a lot worse before they get better."
Telor felt his shoulders slump as the fight went out of him. His father was brave, in his own way. Four days ago, two injured rebels in desperate need of shelter had found their way to the house. His father had tended their injuries, sheltered them from the Dominion soldiers seeking them, and then helped them to return to the resistance. Since then, rumours of Legate Damar's activities were spreading like wildfire across the city, and the Jem'Hadar were hard-pressed to keep up with all the alleged sightings of the rebel leader.
"Why don't we go to the hospital, then?" Telor asked. There was a much better chance of encountering the rebels—perhaps even the Legate himself—in the city's main hospital.
"Because the hospital is on the outskirts of the city, far from where the fighting will be." Father grunted. "Besides, we are safer here."
Telor nodded at his father's logic. Their house was a stone's throw away from the Dominion's headquarters. From his bedroom window, he could see the front gates of the building, heavily fortified by Jem'Hadar troops.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked.
His father released him from the embrace, and gave him a smile. "For now, get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we'll need to check my triage kits. We'll make bandages, slings and tourniquets. Then we'll go through my supply of medicinal drugs and take stock of how much I've got."
"Okay," he acquiesced.
His father smiled again, and took him by the shoulders. "You remind me so much of your mother, sometimes."
"I miss her," he admitted. It had been four years since his mother's death, and those four years had not always been easy.
"So do I, son. So do I."
His father limped out and closed the door behind him, and Telor changed for bed. Despite the talk with his father, nothing had changed. He still felt frustrated about being cooped up in the house. Still felt his whole body itching with the desire to go outside and fight, as Legate Damar had instructed. And even now, lying in bed, he could still feel the heavy, oppressive air, and it felt as if it was crushing him alive.
o - o - o - o - o
The next day, after stock had been taken and triage kits tended to, Telor ventured outside to find food for himself and his father. As usual, rumours were spreading through the streets; Damar had contacted the Federation, who were bringing the Klingons and the Romulans to aid in freeing Cardassia from Dominion occupation; No, Damar had contacted the Federation but they were coming to invade Cardassia and occupy it, to deny the Dominion their foothold in the Alpha Quadrant; The Dominion reinforcements had finally come through the wormhole and had obliterated the Alliance fleet; Damar was cunningly planning to blow up the Dominion Headquarters on Cardassia; The Rebels had poisoned all the ketrecel white. And so they went on.
Telor listened to them with interest and scepticism. The idea of the rebels blowing up the Dominion HQ was laughable; the building was heavily fortified and patrolled round the clock. Allegedly there was a Founder inside it, one of the shape-shifting aliens responsible for the Dominion's presence in the Alpha Quadrant in the first place. Attacking it would be foolish. Suicidal.
"Telor!"
He stopped at the sound of his name, and was quickly joined by Kaskar. The older, taller Cardassian gave him a swift grin which didn't entirely disappear from his face as they both continued down the street to avoid the attention of the Jem'Hadar.
"You should have been there last night, Telor!" Kaskar said quickly. "It was incredible."
"Did you see him?" Telor asked eagerly, half-hoping that the answer would be yes, so that he could live vicariously through his friend, and half-hoping that the answer would be no, because he didn't want others to have the pleasure he had been denied.
"In the flesh."
Telor grabbed his friend's arm and led him off the street, into a small alley-way. "What was he like?" he demanded.
"Well," said Kaskar thoughtfully, "I thought he would be taller. And he didn't stay for very long… just long enough to tell us that something is going down tonight. Something big. And that we all need to be ready for it, and look out for our neighbours. Try to keep order in case people start to panic."
"Did he say anything about the Federation?"
"They're coming," Kaskar grinned, his white teeth flashing in his grey face, his dark brown eyes alive, animated by excitement. "The Federation, the Klingons, the Romulans… they're going to engage the Dominion fleet."
Telor exhaled slowly. A space-battle above the skies of Cardassia? 'Something big' planned by Legate Damar? It wasn't fair! He wanted to be there, right in the middle of it… but instead he'd be helping out his father with men and women injured by the fighting.
"What's your role in all of this?" he asked.
"My brother and I are going to keep order on our street. My father's cleaning up his old phaser rifles as we speak. We've been charged with protecting it in case the Dominion retaliate." Kaskar's chest puffed up with pride, but he quickly noticed the glum look on his friend's face. "Why don't you come and help us? I'm sure my father can dig up another rifle from somewhere. He kept quite a few after the Bajoran occupation."
Every fibre of Telor's being wanted to say 'yes!', but he knew his father would never allow it. Of course, he could hardly admit that to his friend. Kaskar was more man than boy, now; he listened to his father's guidance, but was not ruled by it. So instead, Telor shook his head, and tried not to lie too much to his friend.
"I already promised my father I'd help him at home. I think he wants me there to protect the house in case the Jem'Hadar come looking for injured rebels."
"Well, we all need to do our part," said Kaskar. Then he gave another grin, and punched Telor playfully on the arm. "Think of it… tomorrow, our people will be free. Tomorrow, there won't be a single Jem'Hadar, Breen, Vorta or Founder left alive on Cardassia. And once we're free, we'll never allow an alien force to occupy us again. By this time tomorrow, we'll be celebrating."
Telor smiled, because it was expected of him, but he could still feel the weight of the air around him, closing in, crushing him, making it difficult to breathe. He'd heard that to aliens, Cardassia was hot and humid, but in the past he'd only ever found it comfortable. Now, however, he felt that heat and that humidity, and it was not welcome.
"I have to go," said Kaskar, glancing around and failing to notice Telor's unease. "I've got much to do before tonight. Stay safe, my friend, and tomorrow we'll share a bottle of my father's kanar. I promise you."
"I look forward to it," Telor assured him.
The young man looked around to ensure the main street was free from Dominion troops before stepping out of the alley. When Telor was left alone with his thoughts, he found them racing. Clearly tonight was going to shape the future of Cardassia. Tonight, heroes would be forged. He just wished he could be one of them.
o - o - o - o - o
When Telor told his father that 'something big' was going to happen that night, the response was that rebels often exaggerated their claims. It was, therefore, a surprise to both of them when the power to their house was cut just as the skies were fully dark. Dashing to the downstairs window, Telor saw the whole neighbourhood in darkness. In the larger public buildings, the emergency lighting came on, but it was a pale imitation of the usual brightness, and personal buildings remained black.
"Those cursed rebels!" his father complained loudly. "I understand the wisdom in cutting power to the city, but did they have to cut it to my home? Come on, son, help me check the clinic."
Telor reluctantly left the window and left the house by the back door, following his father across the narrow courtyard into the small clinic which was built just behind the house. His father had constructed it himself after returning from Bajor before Telor was even born, and for the past fifteen years he'd worked there, supplying this section of the city with their minor medical needs. People came to him with small problems, or when they were too ill or old to travel to the hospital on the outskirts. And even though it was a small clinic, it was well kitted-out; a bed with a stasis field, a dermal regenerator, numerous surgical instruments, as well as a full array of medicines.
The clinic, too, was in darkness, but the emergency power generator was keeping the machinery, if not the lights, running in standby mode, ready for immediate use. Telor checked the temperature of the refrigeration unit as his father examined the bed.
"If this lasts longer than two hours, we're in real trouble," his father growled. "This generator is old. It can run the bed on minimal power, but not if it needs to be used. If we start getting casualties, we'll need much more power than this."
Telor stepped out of the clinic, into the courtyard, and looked up at the night sky. The stars were more visible without the glow of ambient light to dim their beauty. How many ships were up there now? How many Cardassians were fighting against the Dominion? How many were fighting for them?
"What're you looking for, son?" his father asked.
"The ships. Kaskar said the Federation Alliance was coming to Cardassia. I thought I might catch a glimpse of some of their ships."
His father snorted, in disgust or amusement.
"Those ships won't be anywhere near Cardassia today. And maybe not ever. You really think the Dominion will just sit back and allow the Federation and their allies to approach the planet? They'll shoot down any ship that gets within beaming distance. No, the battle will be taking place far from here, at the edge of our territory."
His father's words reminded him of something else… something he had considered when he'd heard the rumours in the streets. And as much as he was loathe to give voice to his fears, it was a question he had to ask.
"Father…" he began hesitantly, "I heard that the Federation might be coming to conquer us. To occupy us, as the Dominion do now."
His father gave a great long sigh, and knelt down in front of Telor in the courtyard, supporting his weight on his good leg. The black pupils within his blue eyes reflected the light of the stars, and Telor saw a ghostly outline within them; the reflected image of himself.
"I don't know what will happen when the Federation get here—if they ever do," his father admitted. "All of that might depend on how many ships the Allies have left, and how badly their own homeworlds are in need of aid. But I think it's safe to say that they won't want to leave us to our own devices. Not for a long time. Our people… when Gul Dukat signed the treaty that linked Cardassia inexorably with the Dominion, he spoke for our entire empire. He told the rest of the Alpha Quadrant exactly what he thought of them—that they deserved to be ruled by us, and he was willing to do anything to make that dream a reality. The Federation and the Klingons saw this as an aggressive move on our part, and later, when the Romulans joined the war, it made us appear cowards and collaborators. We sold out the Alpha Quadrant in the hopes of claiming new territory, gaining new power. It will be a long time indeed before anybody trusts us. Until then, we'll probably have to put up with an occupying force. Somebody to 'oversee' us, and make sure we don't step out of our bounds. If we're fortunate, it will be the Federation. If we're not fortunate, we'll have to tolerate the Romulans. Or worse, the Klingons. But it's the price we pay for our part in the war."
"So… Legate Damar didn't ask the Alliance to come here to help liberate us?"
"I'm sure Damar did as he thought was best. He knows that against the Dominion and the Breen, there is only so much we can do alone. What happens once the Federation Alliance gets here is up to him, and others like him. Whatever future leaders are left here."
Telor cast his eyes down to the ground, feeling his heart sink into his chest. He had been swept up in the whirlwind of change, carried down the river of dreams by thoughts of fighting and freedom and the Cardassian people throwing off the shackles of their oppressors. He hadn't considered that the Dominion would simply be replaced by new oppressors. He hadn't considered that the rest of the Alpha Quadrant would fear, hate and distrust Cardassians for playing their part in the Dominion war. Most people that Telor knew did not trust the Dominion, but they'd had no say in the treaty signed by Dukat, and to speak out against their Dominion masters would have meant being labelled a traitor and summarily executed.
"Listen to me," his father said, using his fingers to lift up Telor's chin. "You keep your head held high no matter what happens. You have nothing to be ashamed of. And whilst I'm here, you have nothing to fear. I'll keep you safe, I promise. We'll get through this together, and what happens in the future has no bearing on what happens today."
As if on cue, the lights in the clinic and the house came back on, and the sky was filled once more with the artificial glow. Power, it seemed, had just been restored to the city.
"You see?" his father smiled. "Things are getting brighter already. Now, why don't we go and see what the Dominion has to say about this outage?"
Telor nodded, and led the way back into the house. The lights had come back on automatically, as had the communications console. As they stepped into the living room, the Vorta, Weyoun, was already giving one of his famed speeches.
"…the rebels need to understand that it is you, the people of Cardassia, who are hurt by their actions. That is why, only moments ago, Lakarian City was reduced to ashes. Two million men, women and children were killed instantly. For every act of terrorism aimed at the Dominion, another Cardassian city will be razed. Please. I implore you. Do not allow these rebels to break the peace. Return to your homes, and let us return to the era of peace which we have cultivated between our peoples."
There was a sound behind Telor, and he turned to find his father had fallen to the floor, his grey face pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. Thoughts of Lakarian City and the Vorta fled from Telor's mind as he rushed to his father's side.
"Father, father, are you okay?" he asked, shaking the older man's shoulder.
His father's lips moved, but Telor had to lean close to pick up the words that he whispered.
"Two million… women and children… two million… ashes… ashes…"
"Father, please get up!" Telor implored. His father's damaged right leg was already at an unnatural angle.
Somehow, he was able to manoeuvre his father up and onto a chair, but the whispers did not cease, and the colour did not return to his face. Not knowing what else to do, Telor brought him a glass of cold water and made him sip it little by little.
Without warning, the whole house rocked, and there was a loud booming sound nearby. The noise and the movement did what the water and Telor's pleading could not; they roused his father, his eyes becoming alert, his face darkening to its proper grey shade.
"That sounded like an explosion," his father said. "Surely the rebels aren't foolish enough to be attacking the Dominion base?"
Telor dashed to the window, eager to catch a glimpse of the rebels. What he saw horrified him. Buildings in the near distance were aflame, and as he watched, fire rained down from the sky, reducing the Lakat library to rubble. His mouth agape, he backed away from the window, and only when his father grabbed him by the arm did he realise the older man had been asking him what was happening.
"The city… its being destroyed from orbit!" he said, and felt a horrible cold chill sweep over his skin. That's when he realised something had changed; the air was no longer heavy and oppressive. The rainless storm had broken.
"They won't fire on our house," his father assured him. "We're too close to the Dominion headquarters. They wouldn't risk the safety of their precious Founder."
"What if it's not the Dominion?" Telor asked, the alternative possibilities worrying him desperately. "What if it's the Klingons, or the Romulans, or the Federation? What if they're punishing us for joining the Dominion?"
"It's the Dominion," his father said grimly, surely. "The Federation would not kill civilians. The Klingons would not bomb us from orbit if they could fight in the street. The Romulans… well, anything's possible with the Romulans, but I doubt that Romulans would be destroying our homes, right after the Dominion has destroyed Lakarian City."
"What should we do?"
"Turn the lights off. Pretend we're not here."
Telor did as his father commanded, turning off all the lights in the house, plunging it back into near-darkness. His task complete, he returned to his father's side.
"I'm afraid," he admitted. Finally, the war was real. It wasn't soldiers in ships fighting the Federation. It wasn't Dominion soldiers on the streets. It was here, right outside his front door, making its presence known. Every boom, every rocking motion, was another building destroyed. Another family killed. He had never known hate and fear before, but now he did. He hated and feared the Dominion equally, and he hated himself for sitting in the dark and hiding when brave men and women, and even children, were dying out in the streets.
There was a knock on the front door, and he jumped, his heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing through his ears. He felt light-headed, dizzy, as if he was in some sort of terrible, surreal dream.
"Stay here," he heard his father say, but he was powerless to stop the older man from going to the door. All he could do was stand and watch as his father peered through the spy-hole, and then sighed with relief. The door was pulled open to reveal four Cardassians; three men and a woman. One of the men was bleeding badly, his leg severed at the knee, and he was supported by one of the men and the woman, as the last man followed them, a rifle gripped tightly in his hands. "Come in, come in," his father said, ushering them into the house and quickly shutting the door behind them.
"We met Jem'Hadar whilst trying to escort civilians away from the buildings," the armed man explained as another explosion rocked the house.
Telor looked at the faces of the other men, but none of them were Damar.
"Telor!" his father said shortly. "Grab one of the triage kits from the cupboard and bring it to the clinic. You four, follow me. I need to operate on this leg immediately."
And with that, his father was gone, hobbling with surprising speed as he led the rebels through the house and out into the courtyard. Telor dashed to the cupboard, grabbed a kit, and looked out one last time at the city. Red and black with fire and ashes, he could barely recognise it, and he knew the sky-line would be forever changed.
Movement in the smoke outside the Dominion compound caught his attention, and he saw several armed people approach the building, each of them moving in a crouch, taking shelter behind crates once they reached the perimeter. Telor's heart fluttered in his chest. Resistance fighters! Only a handful of them, but he could see that several were wearing military armour. This must be the organised resistance! Perhaps Damar was down there, leading them. Was he finally waging an offensive against the Dominion HQ?
Slinging the triage kit over his shoulder, all thoughts of his father's clinic fled from his mind. The rebels were right outside his door, ready to strike at the heart of the Dominion. He couldn't sit by and do nothing! He ran to the front door and opened it wide, dashing out into the street and slipping into the alley that ran beside the house. From there he was able to keep to the shadows and slowly make his way towards the Dominion compound. The thick smoke was a screen, that helped as much as hindered him, and in just a couple of minutes he found himself crouched in another alley, looking at the rebels as they waited outside the compound gates.
The only source of light was the burning buildings, but it was enough to allow his eyes to see that not all of the rebels were soldiers, and not all of them were Cardassians. Two of the men wore civilian clothing, and the woman with them was Bajoran, and wearing a strange uniform; Starfleet, he thought.
Suddenly, another shot fired from orbit lit up a nearby building, and in the brief flare of light he caught sight of Legate Damar; he was one of the ones dressed as a civilian, and he was crouched next to the Bajoran woman. His face was calm, free of the fear that gripped Telor's heart like a vice. The voices of the rebels were carried by the air, barely audible above the sound of continued aerial strikes. Not only voices, but laughter; the rebels were giggling like school-children! What was so funny? Cardassians were dying by the hundreds.
Without warning, the gates to the compound opened, and three Cardassian soldiers were escorted out by Jem'Hadar soldiers. What happened next would haunt Telor's dreams for years to come; the Jem'Hadar used bladed extensions on their rifles, plunging them into the chests of the Cardassians. The sound of metal slicing flesh was wet and sickening, and Telor closed his eyes.
He didn't see the rebels advance, but he heard the gunfire, and when he next opened his eyes he found the Jem'Hadar soldiers dead on the floor, as the rebels stood over their corpses.
"We stop for nothing," Damar said, and the other rebels nodded.
After that, time seemed to slow. Telor saw the rebels enter the compound. He saw them encounter several Jem'Hadar warriors. He saw shots fired. He saw Legate Damar hit by phaser-fire several times. He saw one of the other rebels fall, and he saw the group take cover whilst they continued to shoot. He heard the second Cardassian man dressed as a civilian tell the Bajoran woman that Damar was dead, but he could not see the reaction on her face, because her back was to him.
"Remember what he said," the woman told the other rebels. "We stop for nothing."
There was a cry, repeated over and over again. "For Cardassia!" The rebels charged, and Telor was left alone. Alone with the smoke and the fire and the bodies of the Cardassians, alone with his useless triage kit.
This… this could not be real. Legate Damar could not be dead. The Dominion had already tried, once before, to claim he was dead, but it hadn't been true then, and it couldn't be true now. Legate Damar could not die… Kaskar had seen him just last night! Heroes did not die. Not like this.
His body moved of its own accord, his legs taking him forward, towards the body of the fallen Cardassian leader. Had any Dominion troops come across him just then, they would have found him easy pickings. But fortune must have been smiling on him, because he was completely alone. When he reached the still body of Legate Damar, he dropped to his knees. The Legate's clothes had been burnt by phaser fire which had struck his chest, but the man did not look dead. Dead people were cold and stiff. The Legate did not look cold and stiff. Reaching out, Telor felt for a pulse through the warm skin on the Legate's neck, his fingers picking up the faint beat. It was weak, and slowing, but it was there. Legate Damar could not die!
His father! Yes, his father would know what to do! His father would be able to save the leader of Cardassia. The saviour of Cardassia. Dropping the triage kit, Telor pondered the best way to get the Legate to his father's clinic. Damar was not a large man, but he was a man, with a man's height and weight, and most people still classed Telor as a boy. A child.
With no better idea, he hooked his arms beneath the Legate's shoulders and began to drag him back onto the street. It was not easy. Damar was heavier than Telor had thought he would be, but he didn't dare stop. He was the son of a doctor, and he knew how quickly a heart could fail, how quickly a brain could die when it was starved of oxygen. He was also worried about encountering Jem'Hadar troops, so he did not stop or even slow until he reached the house.
He didn't bother taking the Legate through the house, dragging him instead into the alley which led to the courtyard. Clearly, his father had realised he was gone, because the Cardassian man with the gun was standing guard outside the clinic, and as soon as he saw Telor he turned his head towards the door and called, "Your son has returned, Doctor."
"Please help me," Telor said desperately, his arms trembling with exertion. As if it would persuade the man, he added, "he's not dead!"
The man's eyes widened when he saw who Telor was dragging, and he rushed forwards, throwing aside his gun to half-carry, half-drag the Legate into the clinic. Telor followed him closely, afraid to take his eyes off his hero.
"We need help!" the man said, and Telor's father looked up from the operating table, where the still-conscious rebel was being prepped for surgery.
"He's not dead!" Telor added again, with more volume this time.
"Is that… Legate Damar?" the man on the bed asked, craning his neck to see. Pain flooded his face and his voice, and his eyes were feverish.
"I don't have time for this," Telor's father said irritably. "I have to operate on your leg, now. Without surgery, you'll die."
"My life is unimportant!" the man insisted harshly. "I can wait. You have to save Damar. We need him to lead us."
"I don't even know if he can be saved."
"You have to try!"
"Father, please!" Telor begged.
His father looked from the man on the bed to the man in the rebel's arms, and then back again. It seemed to Telor that everybody in the room held their breath.
"Alright," his father said. Then he pointed at the woman and the other uninjured man. "You two, get this man onto the bed in the corner. Make him as comfortable as you can. You," he said, gesturing to the guard, "put your precious rebel leader here. I'll see what can be done, though I don't hold much hope."
"Thank you, father," Telor said gratefully.
His father looked at him sharply. "I needed you here, and you ran off. We will talk about that later. For now, put a tourniquet on the other man's leg. Maybe we can stop him from bleeding to death. You remember how to apply a tourniquet, I hope?"
Telor nodded and bowed his head, grabbing a second triage kit that one of the rebels had brought from the house and hunting inside it for a tourniquet. His father was disappointed in him, and that shamed him. But he did not regret his disobedience. Perhaps Legate Damar's life might be saved. Perhaps, if fortune was smiling on Cardassia, they would still have somebody to lead them tomorrow.