Restoration
7. Tour of Tomakan
At eight fifty-five the next morning, Gin was standing in the reception hall of the embassy. She'd dressed in a pair of beige trousers and a light green shirt; if she was going tramping around Cardassia, she didn't want to wear dark clothing, which was a heat-magnet when out of the shade. In a small satchel she carried a couple of datapads, a canteen of water, enough Starfleet field rations to last her the day, the phaser Damar had returned, and a pretty Japanese hand-fan that her father had bought for her on her twentieth birthday.
At nine o'clock exactly the embassy door opened, revealing Legate Damar and two armed soldiers behind him.
"Wait here," he told them, and they took up positions of alertness at either side of the door as the Legate stepped into the building. Today he was wearing grey trousers and shining black boots, topped off with a dark blue shirt. He carried no bag or equipment, but he had a small Cardassian phaser holstered at his belt.
"You're very punctual, Legate" she said. "And you appear to have made some friends." She gestured at the now-closed door.
"They're my guards," Damar replied. "Gul Amaro seems to believe I need personal protection when walking the streets. They'll be coming with us to Tomakan city, along with half a dozen councillors – Amaro and Garak included. They weren't keen on the idea of me leaving the capital, but I think they believe that I'll be safer, and less inclined to make hasty decisions, whilst under their keen gazes. They're waiting for us in the command centre's transporter room."
"I thought they would be. That's why I've arranged my own transport."
He looked surprised. "Oh?"
"I have a ship in orbit. I had a feeling the transporter pad was going to get a little... crowded. And," she admitted, "I thought you might like the chance to talk to the people without the interference of the council."
"Just the interference of yourself?" he pointed out.
She held up her hands to protest her innocence. "I promise I won't interfere. You won't hear a word out of me. Of course, if you would prefer the company of your fellow politicians and their guards, I will completely understand."
He glanced at the door, outside which were his guards, and she could see him weighing up the options in his mind.
"Gul Amaro warned me you were a trouble-maker," he said.
"The Gul is as astute and eloquent as always."
"And I am, naturally, going to tell him that you abducted me against my will."
She gave a snort of amusement and tapped the comm badge attached to her satchel.
"Sarajevo, this is Ambassador Fox. Two to beam up."
Her vision greyed and shimmered as she was demolecularised, and when everything swam into focus she found herself looking at a ship's bulkhead, and a member of the ship's engineering team standing behind the transporter controls.
"Welcome to the Sarajevo, Ambassador," the woman said. She gave Damar only a passing glance. "I'm ready to beam you back down to the planet's surface."
"Then please make it so."
"Energising."
There was more greying and shimmering, and this time the scene that swam into view was of dusty red soil and green and red vegetation as far as the eye could see. At her request, they'd been beamed down just behind one of the hills that surrounded Tomakan city — she'd wanted to get a view of the place, before going into it.
"That Starfleet officer didn't have any idea who I am, did she?" Damar asked.
"I haven't quite gotten around yet to advising the Federation that you're alive," she admitted.
"Why not?"
"I wanted some good news to report for a change, and until yesterday, I wasn't sure that you'd ever recover. Besides, the council asked me not to."
"That doesn't sound very... Starfleet," he accused.
"I don't work for Starfleet. I believe Tomakan city is that way," she said, pointing off in the direction of a dusty path through the foliage.
Damar took the lead, striding out along the path as if he was strolling down a paved street. Gin, who'd had the foresight to wear sturdy boots, had to take a faster pace to keep up, and before long she found herself wishing she'd brought something to keep the sun out of her eyes. Though it was only mid-morning, the temperature was already twenty-five degrees, and she knew it was only going to get hotter. Reaching into her bag, she brought out the fan and released the clasp, opening it and using it to fan slightly cooler air into her face. Damar looked at her as if she was mad.
"Are all Humans so frail? This weather is quite pleasant. A little chilly at the moment, perhaps, but it will get better later."
"Frail?" she scoffed. "If the temperature was ten degrees colder, I'd be having a fine time and you'd be begging me for a heater. Anyway, how long do you think it will take the council to realise we're not coming back?"
"Another twenty or thirty minutes, I should imagine. And then they'll have another three or four hours of arguing what to do about it."
"I take it your meeting with them yesterday didn't go well?"
He stopped walking so that he could speak face to face.
"They're not bad people," he insisted. "They've got a lot of ideas about how to take Cardassia forward. It's just that they can't agree on which ideas are best. There's a lot of mistrust between the military and the civilians. Even the civilians themselves are fractured into groups... scientists, teachers, traders... even a couple of former members of the Obsidian Order. They argue about everything. It's so... frustrating. At least when Central Command was making the decisions, nobody argued."
"Is that the sort of system you want to go back to? Military rule?"
He sighed. "I don't know. I'm not very good at making decisions. I tend to make the wrong ones. And I've made a lot of bad decisions in my life." He turned and resumed walking, but not before she saw the momentary anguish in his eyes. Gin hurried after him, but she didn't offer any further words. She suspected he didn't want to talk about those 'bad decisions,' and besides, it was starting to get warmer, and her fan was doing little to cool her down
"Garak tells me that you chose to come here," Damar said at last.
"That's right."
"He thinks you're insane. I suspect he might be right."
"Why? Because I chose a difficult assignment over an easy one?"
"Pretty much. You could be stationed somewhere much cooler than this, where there's little or no risk of disease or starvation or outbreaks of violence. Surely there's more to your being here than looking for a challenge?"
"Alright," she admitted. "I see a lot of potential in your people. You have an ancient and rich culture that I think you've fallen out of touch with. You have a strong sense of duty that I see as a benefit, though I think it needs to be tempered to give your people greater personal freedoms. I see this situation as a terrible tragedy, but also a great chance. And I want to be here, to see history made. So yes, my reasons for being here are selfish. But at the same time, I won't sit back and do nothing whilst Cardassians starve. I want to help, as well. You look surprised," she said, noting the look on his face.
"I'd assumed that the rest of the Alpha Quadrant would hate us, for siding with the Dominion."
"Well, I don't think it made you any friends. But that doesn't mean the Federation is going to sit back and watch your people suffer."
"And what to they want in return?"
"What the Federation has always wanted. Peace, and friendship."
"And if peace and friendship fail, like they did with the Dominion?"
"Then it helps to have a sizable military to fall back on. But we prefer to lead by example. We fight if we have to, but we don't deliver the first blow. We would rather be friends of Cardassia, than enemies."
"I doubt the majority of Federation citizens would echo that sentiment," he snorted.
"You'd be surprised."
They stopped as they crested the hill, and Gin let her eyes rove over the city, whilst simultaneously trying to watch Damar's reaction. The destruction here was not as bad as Lakat; only the outskirts had been hit before the Jem'Hadar were ordered to ceasefire. In the near distance was a large reservoir of water held back by a dam, the fields in its shadow churned to mud and waterlogged. In drier places temporary encampments had been set up, consisting of tents—some Cardassian, some Federation—and makeshift bunkers. It appeared the reconstruction of the homes and farms destroyed had already begun; in an area a little east of the dam, foundations of buildings were being laid out, and the makings of walls erected.
Damar took it all in, his face expressionless. Cardassians, Gin had found, were harder to read than more human-like aliens, such as Betazoids, Trill or Bajorans. For a start, they were much more practised at guarding their emotions to appear aloof. Their faces, covered in parts by scales, were also less naturally expressive. Still, they were easier than Romulans...
"It's not as bad as I'd feared," Damar said at last, possibly looking for the least negative observation he could give. "Everything looks a little less clean than I remember it, but I suppose we can change that."
"You've been here before?"
"Yes, several times. If only Lakarian city had got off this easily."
"Should we make our way down to the settlement?" she asked, her fan working overtime.
"Yes." He nodded to the encampment. "That looks the best place to start."
Knowing that this first meeting between Cardassia's leader and its people was going to be an important one—possibly one that would set the rules for all future meetings—she let him lead, opting to walk a couple of paces behind and to his left. As she walked, she put away her fan, took out her padd, and began consulting the information it held. Information provided to her by the Federation relief teams who'd been working here up until a week ago, relating to the aid provided... and the number of Cardassians they'd dug graves for.
As they approached the outskirts of the encampment, a few people looked up from their places outside their tents, but most ignored the newcomers; they were obviously used to seeing Humans here, because nobody questioned Gin's presence. Most likely they thought she was another aid worker, and they paid her little attention as they went about their business; men and women talking, older children washing clothes in metal buckets, younger children chasing each other, managing to find some moments of happiness despite their predicament. It wasn't until somebody recognised Damar that word of the Legate spread, and suddenly the whispers were like wildfire. The people closed in, looking reverentially at the man who walked in their midst; somebody must have run on with word of his arrival, because as Gin and Damar approached what appeared to be the centre of the encampment, three grey-haired men and a white-haired woman appeared. When they all stopped, and the crowd quietened down, what appeared to be the eldest of the men stepped forward.
"Legate Damar? Is is really you?" he asked.
"Yes," Damar said. "I've come to see for myself how the people of Tomakan city are faring, following the withdrawal of the Dominion."
"But... we were told you were dead!" There was a look of disbelief, of deep skepticism, on the man's face. Gin couldn't blame him. Damar was dead. Everybody knew that. She'd known that. And yet here he was. Proof that miracles sometimes did happen.
"I was gravely injured during the rebellion," Damar replied, taking a step forward, fixing his gaze on the elderly man's face. "My recovery has been long and slow, and during that time, the council felt it best to keep news of my survival quiet. But now I am back, to help lead Cardassia into the future."
"This is Federation trickery, Narik," the elderly woman said. She stepped forward to place a hand on the man's arm, and gave Gin a suspicious glare. "They have a shape-shifter, you know. They think we'll be more likely to do their bidding if they bring back the hero of Cardassia."
"I'm no hero," Damar said, and whispers passed through the crowd. "But neither am I a shape-shifter. The heroes are the brave men and women who gave their lives for our freedom. Our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters. I'm more than willing to undertake any test required to prove my identity."
There was a silent impasse, both men standing tall, staring at each other. For a brief moment, Gin thought that a DNA test really would be necessary. Then, the elder man backed down, a slight bend of his head as a mark of respect.
"That won't be necessary," the man said. "I can see the truth in your eyes. You are no shape-shifter. Please, forgive our suspicions. I am Narik Marite." He gestured to the woman by his side. "This is my wife, Larin."
"I'm afraid I cannot offer you the hospitality of our home, Legate," Larin said. "It was washed away during the flood. I can, however, offer you the hospitality of our tent. Will you and your... companion... share a drink with us?"
"This is Ambassador Fox," Damar said, gesturing towards Gin. It seemed he finally remembered she was there. "She is the Federation representative, and has been co-ordinating relief efforts on Cardassia."
"We are grateful to you, Ambassador," said Narik, though Larin gave her a glance that was much more disapproving. "Please, both of you, come this way."
The elderly couple led the way deeper into the camp, and the crowd grew noisy once more. People called out to Damar, asking him questions, enquiring about his health, about how the situation was in the capital, asking where he'd been all this time, and what was he doing to help their fellow Cardassians? Gin had never seen anything like it. The encampment was alive with voices and faces that displayed more hope and happiness than she had ever thought possible. Even the president of the Federation did not receive this sort of reception from the people he met.
Narik ducked into a large, grey tent, and Larin followed him, with Damar behind her and Gin bringing up the rear. It was fairly spacious inside, with a small table, around which were four chairs. Unfortunately for Gin, it was only a few degrees cooler in here than it was outside, and she was torn between wanting to bring out her fan again, and wanting to put on a strong front and not appear weak in this miserable heat. Narik gestured for both she and Damar to sit, and joined them whilst Larin brought over a pitcher of water and four cups.
"Anything we can do for you, Legate, you need only ask," Narik said, as he poured water and gave the first cup to Damar. The second went to Gin, and she gave him a grateful nod of thanks. She gulped down the cool liquid, feeling it quench her parched throat. The three Cardassians watched her blankly, though she did think she saw amusement in Damar's eyes.
"Thank you," Damar said, turning his attention fully to Narik. "Please, tell me what has happened here, since the rebellion."
"When the orbital bombardment began," Larin began, "we ran from our homes, into the forest. Others did likewise, and that is the only reason we are alive today. The dam was hit; we heard it all the way from the forest. For as long as I live I will never forget that terrible roar as the wall crumbled and the great wave of water came rushing towards our homes. We could do nothing but watch as every house on the plain was washed away, reduced to nothing but rubble. Others were not so lucky. Some chose to stay in their homes, rather than flee. Entire families drowned."
"In a way, we were fortunate," said Narik. "When the dam was originally constructed, it was made down-stream of the city. Had it been built up-stream, I believe the devastation there would have been catastrophic."
"That even one person was killed is a great tragedy," Damar said. And Gin believed he truly meant it. "How did you cope with the aftermath of that?"
"The first few days were chaos," Narik admitted. "With planetary communications down, nobody knew what was happening. People had begun evacuating the city, moving out into the countryside carrying what few possessions they could. Those of us who were downstream had no possessions to take, and nowhere to go. Instead, we waded through the waist-deep mud, looking for survivors... finding only bodies." Larin lay a hand on his arm, and he patted it as he continued. "A few days later, a Federation relief team came. They told us that the Dominion had surrendered, that we were free. It pains me to admit it, but by that point, I didn't care. I'd lost my home and my livelihood. Many of my friends, and their entire families, were dead.
"The relief team set up this encampment here. They supplied the first of the tents, like the one we're in now. They brought us medicines and machines to provide clean water. They dug graves for our people, though I think they were a little offended that we asked them to leave when it was time to perform funeral rites. And I don't think they understood why we didn't want them searching for bodies. Why we had to do it ourselves."
"I'm sorry if I sound ignorant," Gin interrupted, "but what is the significance of that?"
"It is considered... disrespectful... for outsiders to view our dead," Damar explained.
"Though of course, we are very grateful for everything else they did," Narik added. "Food, shelter, medicines, blankets... every basic amenity we have, the relief team provided. When the rest of our people returned to the city, they donated clothing and kitchenware, and toys for the children. Whatever they could spare. I must admit, those Federation engineers can work quickly, when they're pushed. I never thought a dam could be built in such a short time. Now all we have to do is wait for our fields to dry out. As you've probably already seen, reconstruction of farm houses has already begun, albeit a little closer to the city than we would have liked. Unfortunately, waterlogged land is useless. We can't grow anything."
"Forgive me, but I'm no farmer," Damar said. "Is there any way of speeding up the process of drying the land?"
"Is that another amazing power that heroes have?" Larin asked. "Being able to defy death, and waving their hand to dry out flooded land?"
"Larin," Narik cautioned. "The Legate is just trying to understand what we need. I'm sorry Legate, but the water table is so saturated that it is now above the ground. Even several months' worth of drought conditions would hardly make a dent in the sheer amount of water here."
Damar nodded thoughtfully, and glanced to Gin. "Does the Federation have anything that might help?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I'll look into it as soon as we get back to the embassy."
"Thank you," Narik said, as she made a note on her datapad to contact one of the engineering teams as soon as possible. "Anything you could do would be appreciated."
"Is there anything else that you need?" asked Damar. "Food? More tents? Medicines?"
"I don't think so. Don't get me wrong, times are tough. We're all having to tighten our belts and ration food. But for now, we will survive. Doctors come out every day from the city, to make sure we're all in good health. New houses are being constructed, although the construction is a little slower than I would have liked. The children are all well... indeed, they're faring better than any of us. I think they see it as a sort of adventure. Young minds are better at forgetting horrors."
"Narik," Gin said, flicking through the information on her pad, "a few days ago I heard some reports about possible unrest in the city. Do you know anything about that?"
The old man looked hesitant, and Damar spoke up.
"I would appreciate any information you can give me, Narik. The city is our next stop, and I'd rather not go in there blind."
"To tell you the truth, Legate, you don't need to go there at all. There was some... unrest... but it's passed now."
"What sort of unrest?"
"The exarch of the city was killed in the orbital strike. There was much debate about who should be the next exarch. But the situation has passed; a new exarch has been chosen, and order has returned to the city."
"I'd be more worried about Rotan and Silmoras, if I were you," Larin added.
"Hush, woman," Narik chastised. "The Legate has far more important things to concern himself with than those two."
"Who are they?" Damar asked, frowning. Clearly the names meant nothing to him.
"Just two stubborn old men," Narik said dismissively.
"Two stubborn old men who need their heads banging together!" Larin trilled. "They're having a... disagreement, Legate. The whole camp would be grateful if you could go and speak to them. You can find them on the west side of the camp, near the dam."
"Alright," Damar agreed. "If you're certain you need nothing else, I'll go and speak to these men now."
"Please, don't trouble yourself with them," said Narik insistently. "It's hardly a matter that concerns the hero of Cardassia."
"If it concerns my people, then it concerns me," Damar replied. "Ambassador, if you've finished your water, I'd like to go and speak to these men."
Gin gulped down the last contents of her cup and, following Damar's lead, stood up.
"Thank you both for your hospitality," she said. "If there's anything else you can think of, please don't hesitate to contact me at the embassy."
The crowd outside the tent had not grown any smaller. In fact, it had grown larger. It felt as if hundreds of men and women were there, waiting to catch a glimpse of Damar. Parents had lifted children onto their hips and shoulders, and as Gin followed the Legate out of the tent, a young couple rushed towards them, the woman carrying a baby in her arms.
"Forgive me for interrupting you, Legate Damar," the woman said, bowing her head demurely. "My daughter was born three days ago, and she has yet to be named. I... we... were hoping you would choose a name for her."
"You want me to name your child?" Damar asked in disbelief. His expression, a mixture of confusion and incredulity, was hilarious, and Gin suppressed the wide smile that threatened to split her face.
"With your blessing, she is sure to lead a successful life," the young man said in earnest.
"Please, Legate," the young woman begged, biting her lip, hope etched into every angle of her face. Damar, meanwhile, looked incredibly uncomfortable.
"Do you... have any names picked out already?"
"I was thinking about Zarene," the woman replied. "My husband likes Mitra."
"Then use both. Zarene Mitra sounds like a fine name to me."
"Oh, thank you, Legate! Thank you!"
"Yes, thank you," the man added. "We'll be sure she grows up knowing where her name came from."
"I'm glad," Damar replied, sounding anything but. "And now, I have much to do. But I promise you; I will be back. And when I return, I expect to see you all thriving. I expect to see those houses built, standing tall and proud, as you are standing now. So... get to work. You've got more important things to do than stand around watching a soldier."
To Gin's surprise, the crowd began to disperse. All except the children, who still loitered, looking awed at seeing their hero standing right before them. Without another word, Damar set off across the encampment; people watched him go, but they didn't crowd him now. Clearly they felt they had to impress him with their efficiency and obedience.
"Is there something you find amusing, Ambassador?" he asked curtly, and she realised she was grinning.
"Me? Not at all," she smiled. "Just wishing I'd brought a camera along. Your expression was priceless."
"Hmph. Maybe I should make you name the next one."
"Oh, nobody cares about my opinions," she assured him. "I'm not the hero of Cardassia, after all."
"That makes two of us, then."
It didn't take long for them to find Rotan and Silmoras; they were on the very western edge of the camp, and the situation was not what Gin had been expecting. They found Rotan first, but mostly because his family needed four tents to house it. Twenty-seven of his family were present, including his wife, four children, twelve grand-children, and a multitude of great-grandchildren. Fecundity, Gin realised, was not an issue for Rotan's family. And as soon as they realised Legate Damar was right outside their tents, the proverbial red carpet was rolled out, and Damar and Gin found themselves sitting at another table, drinking yet more water, as a large group of wide-eyed Cardassian children looked on.
"Rotan," Damar began, addressing the ancient white-haired man, "Narik tells me that you and Silmoras are having some problems. I'd like to help if I can, but I need to know what's happening first."
"What's happening? What's happening is that greedy old jackal is denying my family a home!"
"I don't understand."
"What's not to understand? Our home was washed away during the flood, wasn't it? Now we need to rebuild, but Silmoras is camped on the land we need, and he won't get off it! We need that land, Legate. As you can see, there are a lot of us... the children need a home. Little Talia is only six months old!"
"Why won't he move off the land and let you settle there?"
"Because he's greedy, and thinks he has more right to build there than we do! But does he have a family? No. He had only two children left before the flood, and now he has no family at all. The grief of losing them has driven him to madness!"
"I'll talk to him," Damar said, rubbing his left temple with his fingertips. "I'm sure we can resolve this swiftly."
"Good. And I'll come with you."
"That really isn't necess—"
"Nonsense! I've got to take care of my family. Of course it's necessary. A man who can't take care of his family isn't a man at all."
Damar's expression was stony, but he relented.
"Very well. But just you. And the Ambassador. Everybody else can wait here."
"Don't see why you need a Federation Ambassador to sort out a simple Cardassian problem," Rotan sniffed. "Just order Silmoras to get off the land."
"Let's go," Damar sighed.
Gin followed the two men out of the tent, and they allowed Rotan to lead them to a nearby field, in the middle of which a single small tent was camped. Outside the tent, sitting in a chair, was another elderly man, though not quite as elderly as Rotan. And, in his hands, was a phaser rifle. Suddenly, Gin realised why Rotan hadn't ousted Silmoras himself.
When he noticed them approaching, Silmoras stood up and pointed his weapon at Rotan.
"That's close enough, you blood-sucking fiend," he growled. "One step closer, and we'll have to get the Federation to come back and dig another grave."
"You wouldn't dare fire on me!" Rotan shouted, calling the other man's bluff.
"I wouldn't put latinum on that bet, if I were you! And I see you've even talked others into coming here and doing your dirty work for you! Illegally removing a man from the land he owns... shame on you all!"
"Ha! This is Legate Damar, and the Federation Ambassador," Rotan returned triumphantly. "They've come to tell you to move your hovel somewhere else."
"Rotan, one more word out of you, and I'm leaving," Damar warned. His patience was clearly growing thin. "Silmoras, I would like to talk to you. Lower your weapon."
"Or what? You going to shoot me, boy? Go right ahead. I've nothing left to lose."
"I'm not going to shoot you," Damar said calmly. "But I'd like to talk without having a gun aimed at me. I've had more than enough of that to last me a lifetime."
"Hmph." The old man lowered his weapon. "Talk fast, then. And keep that blood-sucker away from my tent."
"Rotan has explained that he and his family do not yet have a place to live," Damar replied, gesturing for Rotan to stay back as he himself moved closer. Gin stayed between the two, blocking Rotan's advance. "He says that he needs this land, but you won't leave it. I want to know why."
"Because this is my land. It's been in my family for generations. And Rotan knows it. He tried buying me out years ago, because he knows how fertile my fields are. But I wouldn't sell it to him then, and I'm certainly not going to give it to him now. If you don't believe me, you can check the land registry office in the city. The records are all there. He's no right to be here, and I've got every right to defend my home. Even if it is just a tent."
"And why is it so important that you stay? Surely you won't be able to work all of your fields yourself?"
"Legate, this was my family home," Silmoras said, his face taking on a sad cast. "My last two children died here during the flood. Now, this is all I have left of them. All I have left of anyone. Besides, it's the principle of it. Coming in here and stealing another man's home and land is not right! If law and order is broken, we'll be left with nothing but chaos! You tell that blood-sucker, Legate. Tell him that if he was a true Cardassian, he wouldn't be advocating anarchy."
Damar rubbed his temple again, then took a step back, to address both men.
"I'll consider your arguments and come back in an hour with a suggestion. In the mean time, try not to kill each other."
Before either of them could protest, Damar set off across the field, heading towards a small stand of trees against which several large boulders had come to rest. Gin hurried after him, trying, and failing, to avoid the wettest patches of ground. After only a few steps, her trousers were full of mud splatters, and her boots were a dark brown colour. She sighed, and when Damar reached the boulders and disappeared behind one of them, she hurried after him so as not to lose sight of him.
When she rounded the boulder herself, she found the Legate leaning back against the large stone, his eyes closed, an expression of pain on his face.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing." He opened his eyes, which looked a little redder than they had earlier. "Just a headache."
She opened her satchel and handed him the canteen of water. "Drink," she said. "And then eat something." She gave him one of the packets of rations.
He accepted both, then found a small, dry rock to sit down on. As he turned his attention to opening the rations, and picking at what was inside, Gin took out her fan and found a rock of her own to sit down on, fanning her face in an attempt to dry some of the perspiration that was covering her skin.
"Do you believe what Narik said?" she asked at last. "That the unrest in the city has gone? That you've no need to go there?"
"Yes, I believe him. My people may have many failings, Ambassador, but dishonesty is not one of them. Whatever you may think of us, we're not liars."
"I did not intend to imply that you were," she acquiesced. When he offered nothing else, she said, "what do you think about the situation with Rotan and Silmoras?"
"I'm not sure. I do, however, know the law's position on this. By rights, the land belongs to Silmoras. He doesn't have to let anybody else onto it." He sighed. "But I can see Rotan's problem. Twenty seven is a large family, even by our standards. If their land is completely under water now, and they truly have nowhere else to go, they may end up living in those tents permanently. What's your take on it?"
"I think," she said cautiously, "that whatever decision you make, you need to bring your people together. Not drive them further apart. The rebellion has shown that together, you are strong. Alone, you are—"
"Weak," he finished for her.
They fell into silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, each concerned with their own thoughts. The Cardassian people, Gin knew, had always been proud of their strength and accomplishments. Arrogant, most would say. They valued intelligence, cunning and strength, sacrificing joy, happiness and modesty. Their society was rigidly structured – everybody had their place. It was this breakdown of order that was undermining the Cardassians' belief in themselves. They had been broken of their arrogance and pride at a terrible cost, and now they had to find it again. They had to find something to be proud of. Something to believe in.
She glanced at Damar. Suddenly, she knew why he had received such a joyful reception in the encampment. He represented what the people had lost; pride, strength and cunning. He had turned against their oppressors, bloodied their noses, and driven them from Cardassian soil. Though the people had lost their homes and their government, and their pride in themselves, they could have pride in him. From the very beginning, she had hoped that she would be able to somehow bring the Cardassian people around to the Federation way of thinking. But if that happened, they might lose the qualities that were uniquely Cardassian. That was why, she realised, Gul Amaro was so opposed to her presence. Why he seemed to hate her, and everything she represented. To her disappointment, and with some disgust in herself, she realised that he was right to do so. But where was the line to be drawn? She desperately wanted to aid in the rebuilding of Cardassia. She wanted to see reforms, and more freedom for its people. But at what point did her interference cease to be beneficial, and start to become an insidious way of altering the Cardassian mindset?
"What is it?" he asked, when he noticed her staring at him. "You look upset."
"I... I don't think I should advise you about matters of governance," she said. Though it pained her to say the words, she knew they were the right ones.
He looked surprised, and for a moment, it chased away the look of pain on his face. "Why not?"
"Because Gul Amaro is right. He accuses me of wanting to change Cardassian society, to 'warp' it with 'twisted Federation ideals.' Even Garak remarked, the first time I met him, that the Federation can't stand to see something broken, that we feel an incessant need to fix things. To make things better. To make people more like us. I didn't realise it until now, but they're both right. I told you earlier that we like to lead by example. I came here hoping to set an example, and I hoped it was one your people would follow. But they deserve more than to be remade in my image. In the Federation's image. They deserve to remake themselves. I think... I'm not sure how impartial my advice to you can ever be."
"And it's taken you weeks to work that out?"
"I suppose I'm not as clever as I thought," she smiled sadly, and looked down at the patterns on her open fan.
"Ambassador," he said, and then stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Gin. Your epiphany may come as a surprise to you, but I've known for a long time how the Federation works... if not its true motives. The very fact that you have figured out for yourself that your intentions are biased, tells me that you're the right person to advise me on such matters. What's the alternative? That they send me some other ambassador, one who lives in denial about their motives and intentions? One who thinks that the Federation's way is the best way for my people? If I wanted pure logic and impartiality, I'd go to a Vulcan. But a Vulcan could never be passionate about something... they would see numbers, instead of people. Problems, instead of lives. Now that you know you're not infallible, you'll be less inclined to give me biased advice. Besides, I need somebody to temper Amaro's traditionalist xenophobia, and Garak's realism and paranoia. Somebody who won't revere the ground I walk on just because I was fed up enough to stand up and say 'no.' If that person isn't you, then tell me now, and I'll ask the Federation for a new ambassador."
"I... I suppose I should at least try," she relented, her mind still caught up in his speech. It was the longest thing she'd ever heard him say.
"Good. If there's one thing I've learnt recently, is that it's better to try and fail, than to sit back and do nothing. Now that that's settled, finish your rations quickly. I know how to solve Silmoras and Rotan's problem."
She swallowed her last mouthful of rations and packed her small bag, then followed the Legate from the trees, back across the field to Silmoras' tent. Her mind still felt dazed – what had just happened? Her ideals, the very foundations of her world, had just been shaken by the revelation that her motives—the Federation's motives—were not as pure as she had always believed. She'd been ready to quit her post, go back home, and rejoin her family business; trading was so much easier than politics, after all. And yet somehow, Damar had managed to sway her. He'd made it sound as if she was the only person who could do the job of Ambassador adequately, and that he was reliant on her advice. How could somebody she had known for little more than a day, so accurately understand how to manipulate her into following his suggestions?
Her mind was so deep in thought that she only noticed they were back at Silmoras' tent when she heard twenty-eight voices thrumming in the air. Rotan, it seemed, had brought his entire family to hear Damar's judgement. And, admittedly, she was interested in what he was going to say too. Silmoras was still clasping his phaser rifle, but he'd retreated to the entrance of his tent, clearly feeling outnumbered by the large family. At Damar's approach, they all fell silent.
"I've given your situation careful consideration," Damar said without preamble. "The letter of the law is clear. The land belongs to Silmoras. He can do with it as he wishes." There was a groan from the adults in the family. But Damar wasn't finished. He held up his hand, asking for silence, and got it immediately. "Silmoras. You are an old man. You have no family left. There is nobody who will build you a new house, and with twenty-thousand deaths in this region, you will find it difficult to hire help to work your fields, when they eventually dry out. According to the letter of the law, once you pass away, your lands will fall into possession of the state, because you have no family left to inherit them.
"Therefore, I propose, that instead of wasting your life, wasting the memories of your family, and wasting all of this land, you transfer the land deeds to so that upon your death, they will fall into possession of Rotan's children. In the mean time, you will allow him, and his family, to build a home on the land, in preparation for when the fields are once more dry."
Silmoras looked shocked by the proposition, whilst Rotan was looking smug. Before either man could comment, Damar turned to the latter.
"Rotan, you are old. I hope you have many years left, but when you die, your family will no longer benefit from your wisdom. Silmoras is younger than you, he will live longer, and perhaps your family may benefit from his wisdom instead. In return for living on his land, and eventually owning it, you and your family will build him a fine house, right next door to yours. You will feed him, clothe him, and treat him as an honoured elder should be treated. You will work his fields when they are once more fertile, and give him a generous percentage of all takings.
"All of you – these are difficult times for Cardassia. If we can't learn to live with each other, we are going to die alone, without friends or family to comfort us. There are not twenty seven members of your family standing here today. There are twenty eight. And over there, in the encampment, are hundreds more. 'Every man for himself' is not the Cardassian way. It is for Romulans, who care for little but personal gain. I say we show them how Cardassians stand up for one another. How times of struggle drive us closer together, not further apart."
"I suppose it would be nice to be around children again," Silmoras relented, putting down his phaser rifle. "It gets so lonely, sometimes."
"And allowing you to live with my family would be a small price to pay for your generosity in allowing us to live on your land," Rotan said.
"I make wonderful sem'hal stew," one of Rotan's granddaughters said to Silmoras.
"We could build you a house right here," one of his sons said, and another nodded. "Or perhaps over there, on that small rise, so that you have a wonderful view of the fields and hills."
"I could help watch the little ones," Silmoras added. "Teach them and look after them whilst their parents are hard at work."
Gin felt tears prick her eyes. People who had only moments ago shouted words of venom at each other were now working together and planning their future. As various members of the extended family began walking around, laying out foundations in their head, describing where various buildings could go, she felt something plucking at her sleeve. Damar gestured for her to follow him, and they made their way unnoticed back to the boulders amongst the trees.
"You're not crying, are you?" he asked, once they were hidden from sight.
"Of course not," she snapped, fanning her face vigorously. "It's all this damned heat and bright sunlight making my eyes water."
"Hmph."
"Are you ready to return to Lakat now?"
"Return to Lakat? No... I feel like we're making progress. Let's go to one of those other places you reported previously. Which city was having problems with strikes in protest against the government?"
"Pallan," she said, consulting her datapad. "They're protesting military involvement." She glanced up, at his eyes which were still tinged red and had an unnatural tightness about them. "Are you sure you'll well enough?"
"Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"Then it's not your place to question my health."
"I was merely... expressing concern for your wellbeing."
"There are already far too many people concerned for my wellbeing. I am fine. You should be more concerned about advising me of political matters. Let me worry about my health."
"Very well," she sighed. "Pallan city it is, Legate." She tapped the comm badge on her bag. "Sarejevo, this is Ambassador Fox. Two to beam up, please."
o - o - o - o - o
One of Rotan's grandchildren—a young man, just into his adulthood—saw Legate Damar walk away from the group with the Human woman in tow. He followed at a distance and saw them step behind a pile of large boulders, casually strewn against the trees by the river during its flood. Wanting to thank the Legate for resolving the situation, and finally giving his family a place to live, he stepped around the boulder, his mouth already open to offer thanks.
There was nobody there. Looking around, he found no sign of either of them; they could not have walked on any further, because the tree line ended with a sheer cliff, carved out by the river. The Legate was simply... gone.
That night, stories were told in the encampment of Legate Damar, who had risen from the grave and appeared in their camp without warning, to spread word of his return and request that the people of Cardassia work together and follow him into the future. Tales were told of Legate Damar, who with only a few short words, had settled a quarrel that had been going on for three months. Rumours were passed around of the Legate who left as silently, swiftly, and mysteriously as he had arrived.
And from there, word of the saviour's return spread.
