Restoration
10. Turmoil
"Ambassador Fox, we've had chance to read over your most recent reports. I must say, this is a startling new development. To think, that Legate Damar has been alive all this time, his recovery kept hidden from even his own people." The familiar face of Senior Ambassador David Callaghan looked much smaller on Gin's communications panel than it did in person, but he still managed to project and air of authority… and disapproval.
"The council members did as they thought best," she rejoined. "If he'd died in the hospital, and people knew about it, it would have destroyed what little is left of the Cardassian people's fighting spirit. They'd already lost him once; they didn't deserve to lose him again."
"I suppose." Callaghan straightened in his chair. "At least the situation has worked out in our favour. This is an unexpected boon for Federation-Cardassian diplomatic relations. From the moment we heard about Damar's resistance, we hoped he'd be the one to come out on top of a new Cardassia. Starfleet Intelligence suggest that he's much more willing to work with outsiders than most of the other potential leaders who cropped up over the past few months. But of course, I don't have to tell you the importance of working with someone who's less insular than his fellows."
"No, Ambassador," she agreed.
"Nor do I have to tell you how much more precarious the situation there has become, despite this good news."
Gin nodded. "A co-operative leader is good for our own political agenda, but one who tries to bring too many changes, too quickly, risks burning the house down around him."
Callaghan smiled. "Glad to see you're keeping my lessons in mind. To be honest, Ambassador, the feeling around here is that you may have a potential political revolution on your hands. A lot of men and women who passed up the post are now regretting that decision. In fact, a few have put their names forward. Just in case you should tire of the role."
A sliver of pleasure worked its way up Gin's spine. She'd promised herself that she would make the people who'd doubted her abilities because of her youth and inexperience eat their own words. Granted, Damar's recovery wasn't of her doing, but the fact that those same detractors now wanted her job made her feel justifiably smug. Just a little.
"Don't get me wrong, you've got a long road ahead of you," Callaghan continued. "First stop on that road is the Summit at Deep Space Nine. The Cardassians need to be ready for it, and it's your job to see that they are. A lot is going to be asked of them, and they're not going to like it, but they have to start to learn that if they want any say in shaping Alpha Quadrant affairs, they're going to have to get on the team-player bandwagon."
"I understand, Ambassador Callaghan. And don't worry, they'll be ready for the Summit even if I have to spend every waking moment beating common sense into their heads."
He chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised if you have to do exactly that. Good luck, Ambassador. I'll speak to you again in a few days."
The screen went blank and retracted into the desk, and Gin let out the breath she'd been partially holding. She'd been a little worried that her seniors in the Federation Diplomatic Corps would be angry with her for withholding information about Damar's survival, but they seemed to believe she'd only just discovered that fact herself. Small relief, compared to the mountain she now had to climb.
"The time is fourteen-hundred hours," the computer told her in a Cardassian monotone.
Quickly, Gin flipped up the screen that had just disappeared, and switched to the frequency for Lakat city. Today was the day of Damar's speech, and she knew she wouldn't be the only Federation citizen watching it. No doubt Starfleet Intelligence had turned their gaze, and all of their listening posts, to Cardassian space as soon as they realised Damar was alive. Just one more reason for her to get the Cardassians prepared for the Summit. One more reason to get this right.
o - o - o - o - o
For two weeks, Gin felt like an observer watching a play, a witness to events completely out of her control. Like the rest of the population of Lakat city, she watched Primarch Damar's speech. And, like them, she had no idea what to expect. Damar was a loose cannon, under nobody's control. The council couldn't take away the authority they had let him claim, even if they wanted to. From the moment they had let him dictate how they should work, they were under his control. From the moment he appeared on the public comm channel to address the people of the city, they were bound to him.
He'd started off by saying how proud he was of his peoples' actions on the night of the revolution. And indeed, he said, it was a revolution, not just a mere rebellion, for the actions of that night would have long-lasting consequences. Though he had nearly died in the attack on Dominion Headquarters, he had come back to them, returned to them, because he could hear their cries for help. He could feel their pain as his own, and he could not abandon them to a future of suffering and uncertainty.
He was going to do whatever it took to help rebuild Cardassia, he told them. He didn't promise to make them a power in the Alpha Quadrant. He didn't promise to make them masters. He didn't promise to make them feared once more. Perhaps he knew that they'd had enough of being fed lies, of being told that other races needed to fear them. Perhaps he knew that such words would have sounded empty, and that what starving, homeless people needed was not more words, words which would only affect those who had power, because although the Cardassian military and the Obsidian Order had been feared, nobody would fear a common citizen who could not even feed himself.
He spoke of reforms. At giving the people more of a say in how they lived their lives. He spoke of the future as a thing of hope and of change, something to make for themselves that they, and every Cardassian who had died at the hands of the Dominion, could be proud of. When he spoke of the past, he portrayed it as a time of doubt and oppression, of shadow-dreams controlled by shadow-men, minions of the Founders who imposed their will on the Cardassian people. But the Cardassian people had shown the Founders what they were made of. They would not cower, like the Vorta, or obey, like the mindless Jem'Hadar. They would stand strong, and they would stand together.
He didn't go into too much detail about the changes that would be made, but he promised they would soon be felt. No longer did the citizens of Cardassia need to fear having their voices heard. After everything they had been through, they deserved to have a voice. After their sacrifices, they deserved life and freedom. Anybody who tried to oppress their freedom to speak their minds was an enemy of Cardassia, and he would not allow any more enemies to undermine their once-great empire.
Though Gin spent the two weeks effectively cut off from the Cardassian United Council, and the Primarch himself, she did not spend them alone. Because Rokann was now splitting his time between his Ministerial duties at the headquarters and his medical duties at the hospital, he sent Telor to the embassy whilst he was dealing with council business, and several times the man and his son stayed for their evening meal. When he returned to the hospital, Telor went with him, to continue his studies, but Gin looked forward to the times when the boy returned to the embassy.
Telor proved to have a very quick mind. He was a fast learner, responsible, and very capable. He'd had to learn to look after himself and his father, he'd told her, after his mother died. Whenever he spoke of his mother, his eyes turned sad, but the sadness didn't last for long. Full of exuberance, he'd soon be smiling again. Though Gin had never needed a staff, Telor was so eager to please and to learn that he fell quite easily into the role of her assistant. He'd help her gather and collate information from the relief teams, put together reports for both the Federation and the council, and he seemed to know just when she needed a fresh coffee from the replicator.
Feeling somewhat responsible for him, she began to teach him about different alien worlds and cultures; at least, those she herself was familiar with. He learnt easily, only needing to hear or read something once before he had it memorised, and he seemed to enjoy learning about other species.
After two weeks had passed, and word had been spread of Damar's new government to the rest of Cardassia Prime, Gin returned to the council headquarters for her next meeting. The building was abuzz with activity, now, and change was coming swiftly to the leaders of Cardassia. Each Minister now had two Junior Ministers reporting to him—or her—who in turn were served by a small team of administrators. The wheels of power needed many cogs, it seemed, and Damar was the oil which kept it all running smoothly. Or at least, from breaking down completely.
In accordance with the Primarch's wishes, Gin had requested further information regarding the summit from the Federation Council, and had been sent an itinerary of events. The first day involved a welcoming banquet arranged by the host species, the Bajorans, followed by a short break, and then the proper summit would begin with talk of reparations. The second day of the summit would involve talk of maintaining a defensive fleet in the Alpha Quadrant, along with continued exploration of the Gamma Quadrant. The third day would close the summit, after an open forum of discussion in which concerns and ideas could be addressed, and individual trade or friendship treaties could be established by the various groups present.
The council, after hearing about the agenda, spent some time debating and bickering about who would be the best suited to attend. Everybody thought they had the best reason for going, and they weren't hesitant in explaining why. Amaro seemed to believe that the right to go would be afforded to whoever could shout the loudest, and he exclaimed at some volume that this was clearly a military matter, whilst the civilian members of the government either objected to or ignored him. The only two who didn't participate in the argument were Rokann and Damar. The old man seemed to have no desire to travel to the summit, and he busied himself with work on his datapad whilst his colleagues bickered. Damar, meanwhile, merely watched everybody argue, and when he finally tired of it, he lifted his hand for silence.
"I have decided," he said, once silence had descended, "that I will lead the delegation myself. Because this is a matter of foreign affairs, Minister Unaran will accompany me. And since it will no doubt concern matters of military and intelligence importance, Minister Amaro and Minister Garak will join us as advisors. Ambassador Fox, as an expert in Federation policy and diplomacy, you will come too. We'll take a Keldon-class warship, with a standard crew complement and ten personal guards. Everybody else will remain here and ensure smooth running of the council."
That was when Gin had realised that there had never been any question of who was going. Damar had decided long before the meeting had begun. He'd allowed them to argue, let them believe that they had some say in it, but ultimately had made the decision himself, and they were powerless to oppose him. Besides, he was right. There was no need for a Transport Minister or Agricultural Minister at a summit of galactic affairs.
At the end of the meeting, Damar called for another meeting in two weeks' time, and Garak offered to walk Gin back to the entrance of the headquarters. Along the way, they encountered a small group of Cardassians, one of whom watched the Primarch—who was walking ahead with Ministers Makala and Jaral—with such a look of hatred and anger, that it made Gin shiver.
"Who's that?" she whispered to Garak, indicating the glaring young man with a nod of her head.
"Ah," he said, looking uncomfortable. "Junior Minister Farik Rusot."
"Why's he glaring at Damar with such hatred? I've never seen anybody look at Damar with anything but adoration before."
"His older brother, Gul Rusot, was a friend of the Primarch. He helped Damar plan the first resistance attack on the Rondac-Three cloning facility."
"That doesn't explain the hatred."
"Unfortunately, Damar had to kill Gul Rusot. Farik has never forgiven him, and probably never will."
"He had to kill Gul Rusot?"
"It's all a long, messy story," Garak said evasively. "Suffice it to say, Gul Rusot was unable to overcome his hatred of Bajorans. His actions were threatening the resistance, so Damar killed him."
"Does he regret killing him?" she asked. How casually these Cardassians could speak of murder, as if it was nothing more than a tiresome chore.
"I don't know. I never asked him. Do you think I should?"
She rolled her eyes at his flippant question. As they continued down the corridor, she cast a quick look back at Farik Rusot. The anger was still in control of his face, contorting it into a snarl that he couldn't hide, and it worried her. Cardassians prided themselves on being in control of their emotions – though not to the same extent, or in the same ways, as the Vulcans. To see such hatred on the face of a man worried her. And to see that hatred aimed at the leader of Cardassia, worried her even more.
o - o - o - o - o
"Will you do me a favour?" Telor asked two weeks later, as she was preparing reports for her meeting with the council.
"Of course. What is it?" she asked absently.
"When you go to the summit, will you take some pictures of the station for me? I know I can't go with you, but I'd like to see where you've been, and look at what you've seen."
"I promise I will," she smiled. "But that's a couple of weeks off, yet, and I've got a lot to do before then."
She was interrupted by the embassy comm unit, which bleeped to get her attention. Activating it, she waited for a face to appear on the screen, and was surprise by who she saw.
"Legate Amaro? I wasn't expecting to see you until the meeting. What can I do for you?"
"This is a... courtesy call," he said, still unable to keep the disapproving sneer completely from his face as he looked at her. "The Primarch has decided to take an impromptu vacation. He won't be returning to the capital today, therefore the council has decided to postpone the meeting until he returns."
"Have you any idea when that might be?"
"None."
"I see. Well, thank you for saving me the trip over there. I look forward to hearing about the Primarch's return."
The comm deactivated and the screen disappeared into the desk. She found Telor watching her worriedly, and put aside her own misgivings.
"What do you think that was about?" the boy asked.
"I don't know. But taking a vacation doesn't sound like something the Primarch would do."
"Maybe my father will know more."
But when Rokann returned that evening, it was from the hospital, where he'd been called away during the morning on urgent business. He had no more idea about where Damar was and why than Gin or Telor did. When asked for his thoughts on the matter, he merely answered dismissively that the Primarch was a rash young man, and rash young men were given to making impulsive decisions. If the Primarch wanted a vacation, he certainly deserved one, and Rokann could well understand him wanting to get away from 'those vultures on the council,' as he called them.
For two days, Gin waited for word of Damar's return. When she grew bored of waiting, she contacted Garak, who merely told her exactly the same thing; that Damar was taking a break, and would return when he was ready. Exactly when that would be, he did not know. Nobody seemed to know anything, and it was frustrating. The following morning, however, she finally got some answers.
Rokann returned, this time without Telor in tow, and led Gin into the embassy's sitting room, requesting a glass of fish juice for himself from the replicator. She had no idea where he'd been for the past two days, but it definitely wasn't the hospital. He looked hot, even by Cardassian standards, and his trousers bore patterns of red dust.
"I'm worried about the Primarch," he confided in her as they took seats.
"In what way?"
"He's not been sleeping properly. More than once over the past month I've had to administer a sedative to him, to knock him out. But Ambassador... Gin... Sedation is not true sleep. The body needs to sleep. The mind needs to dream. A lack of a healthy sleep cycle leads to a lowered immune system and chemical imbalance within the brain. I'm not an expert on Human physiology, but I know it's quite similar to our own. Sleep deprivation affects our species in much the same way. And, as well, he hasn't been eating regularly. I've offered him all sorts of foods, but he seems to have no appetite. He picks at things, but doesn't eat enough to maintain a healthy weight."
"Do you know where he is, Merak?" she asked, leaning forward to look into his eyes.
He nodded. "A village called Kobaal. He went there to speak to the villagers, to settle some dispute. But after he sorted the problem out, he didn't leave. By day he sits beside the shore of a small lake there, staring out over the water to the forest on the other side. It reminds me in some ways of the state he was in after we saved his life, following the revolution. But this time, he's not catatonic. He speaks... he tells us to go away. That he wants to be left alone. To get back to the city and make ourselves useful. But he never stops staring."
"How long have you known?"
"Since yesterday. Amaro hid his condition from the others, at first. And then Garak insisted on knowing where the Primarch was, so Amaro had to tell him, or risk being mobbed by the rest of the council. They decided against telling you. A 'Cardassian problem', they call this. None of the Federation's business."
"So you've gone against their wishes by coming to me?"
He nodded again.
"What do you want me to do? Have the Sarajevo beam him up and run a full medical on him?"
"No. I want you to go to Kobaal and talk to him."
"I fail to see what that will do. If he won't even speak to his own ministers, to his own personal physician, what makes you think he'll talk to me?"
"You roused him once before," Rokann insisted. "I don't know why he responded to you. But for some reason, he did. And I'm hoping that he'll respond again. Short of sedating him and taking him back to the capital by force, I have no other ideas, and I don't think the villagers would appreciate that. They don't bother him, but they watch him, constantly. They seem to think he's undergoing some sort of personal growth, that whilst he's sitting out there at their lake, he's devising new plans, envisaging a new Cardassia, and that once his dreams are complete, he'll tell them how to make it a reality. They're coming dangerously close to venerating what would otherwise be considered a mentally disturbed individual. Please, at least try. The summit is in less than two weeks. We need the Primarch if we are to come through it intact."
"Very well," she agreed. "I'll talk to him. But I make no promises about success."
"That you try is all I ask."
o - o - o - o - o
When Gin contacted the Sarajevo and asked for herself and Rokann to be transported to Kobaal, they were rematerialised in the centre of a small village, that was built staggered up a hillside. Water bubbled gently from the middle of a rock pool—a natural spring, she surmised—in the middle of an open courtyard, and something immediately struck her as odd. When at last she put her finger on the reason, she realised it was because this village had escaped the devastation that she had seen in every other settlement. The people here looked happier and healthier than those in the cities. Their clothes were not dirty and torn, their faces were not worn by months of doubt. The only thing missing were children; likely they'd been called inside at the arrival of the strangers, she guessed.
"Doctor Rokann?" a Cardassian man asked, approaching the newly arrived pair. Several other men and women were clustered behind him, watching with suspicion.
"This is Ambassador Fox, from the Federation. She's been working with the Primarch over the past few weeks. Don't mind us, Prenor, we've just come to speak with the Primarch."
"He still does not wish to be disturbed," the man, Prenor, advised.
"Does he interact with you much?" Gin asked him.
He gave her a suspicious glance before answering.
"He drinks the redleaf tea that we bring him, but he does not eat the food, and he rarely speaks, except as a whisper that is too faint for us to hear. I don't believe we are meant to hear what the Primarch says while he waits for answers. When he is ready to speak, he will speak for all to hear."
"He's late for his medical checkup," Rokann told the gathering crowd. "And the Ambassador has some reports to give. So we thought we'd kill two birds with one stone. Don't worry, we shan't intrude on your lives."
"Very well," Prenor said.
Limping, Rokann led Gin through the paved streets towards the edge of the village. When they were far enough away from Prenor, he spoke in a hushed whisper. "You see what I mean? They seem to think he's some sort of... of..."
"Prophet?" she asked.
"It's not right!" Rokann hissed. "Regardless of what he's done, Gin, he's still just a man. Those people back there think he's waiting for answers from someone or something. It's antithetical to all that we Cardassians believe! We have to put a stop to this nonsense. You have to make the Primarch see sense and return to the capital before those people start... deifying him! We need a leader, Ambassador. Not a god."
They fell to silence as they continued on the path out of the village. When it forked, Rokann took the lower road, and Gin truly became aware of her surroundings for the first time. This village had been built within the hills themselves, and it climbed up one such hill like a serpent draped across the land. In the distance were more hills, and nestled between them, an expanse of blue-green water.
It was a pitiful thing as far as lakes went. Nowhere near as grand or impressive as the great lochs of Scotland, guarded protectively by their craggy mountain shepherds. It didn't sparkle deep blue, a sapphire gem in a crown of emerald green, as the lochs did. But it was nice enough; too big to be called a pond, it shone a pleasant turquoise colour beneath the sun.
The path continued to descend, snaking through the edge of a blessedly cool forest before coming into the open once more. On the rocky shore, seated on a large grey boulder whose colour blended perfectly with his skin, the Primarch of Cardassia sat looking out over the lake. He was so still that she thought, for a moment, this was some trick, that somebody had carved a stone-Damar and sat him here to cruelly fool everyone. Perhaps even Damar himself had done it, to make the council believe he was here, when in reality he was elsewhere.
Then she saw him move, and the breeze tugged gently at his shirt and his hair, and she knew this was no trick. Rokann approached him, stopping a few paces behind.
"Primarch," he said. "I've brought the Ambassador to see you. I'm sure you'll find it less easy to bully her into leaving, than it was those vultures on the council." Then he patted her arm, and set off at a limp back to the village.
She studied the Primarch's back for a moment. He did not acknowledge her in any way, but she knew he was aware of her presence. He couldn't fail to hear what Rokann had said. But if he wanted to ignore her, then that was fine. She walked past him and made her way to the shore line proper, then stopped and cast her eyes around on the ground for a flat stone. When she found one she palmed it, then threw it at an angle with as much force as she could, so that it skipped along the water, bouncing five times before it sank. The next stone wasn't as heavy, and sank after four skips, but the next one reached six. Then she found a small, round pebble, and bounced it on the palm of her hand as she turned back to the Primarch.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, watching the pebble rise and fall, "we're a little like stones. We skip along for a while, before losing energy and sinking. Some make only one or two skips before they lose momentum. Some really good stones can go for eight or nine bounces, depending how how much effort you put into the throw. The question is; how far will you go?"
"Save me your insipid Federation allegories," he said, his eyes still fixed on the far shore of the small lake. "I came here to get away from people like you. Not to be nagged every five minutes about duty and leadership and responsibility."
"Fine," she said, and snatched the stone from the air, now rolling it around the palm of her hand. "Let's not talk about those things, then. Let's talk about something else."
"You want to talk about something else? Do you know what's up there?" His head turned and his eyes went to over a dozen shallow, oblong cairns on the side of a nearby hill. She knew, and she suddenly realised what had triggered the latest out-of-character behaviour in Damar.
"Bodies," she said.
"Bodies of children," he amended. "You probably came here and thought 'what a nice village. So free of the destruction that's plagued the rest of Cardassia.' That's what I thought. Finally, somewhere that escaped the carnage. Somewhere that escaped the destruction, the orbital bombardment. A last piece of paradise on this wasteland of a planet. And do you know why it escaped the bombardment, Ambassador?" His voice was dangerously low. Unable to answer, she shook her head. "Because there were Jem'Hadar stationed here. And when the order was given by the Founder to eradicate my people, it wasn't night-time here, as it was in the capital. It was the middle of the day, and the children were playing in the courtyard. It was they the Jem'Hadar targetted first. They slaughtered children. Innocent, defenceless children. What sort of mindless beast does that? Actions that would sicken Klingons. Even Romulans would not engage in wholesale slaughter of the young. But the Dominion? The Jem'Hadar? They place no value on life. Only on order. Obedience. I wish that Federation-made virus had killed them all."
His face was a contorted mask of pain and anger that she couldn't bear to look at. Turning away, she let the pebble in her hand drop to the floor, all hope of convincing Damar to return to the capital lost.
"What's wrong? Does what I'm saying worry you? Scare you? Offend your delicate Federation ideals? Of course it does. You've never hated anything in your entire, privileged life. You come here with your all-mighty morals and compassion, full of pious forgiveness, but you don't know how my people have suffered. You can't know what it means to lose all that you love. And you will look at me when I'm talking to you, Ambassador. You came here to witness what was happening to Cardassia? Well you can witness it all. The pain, the loss, the anger."
She turned to face him, her heart feeling tight in her chest. She should never have allowed Rokann to talk her into coming here. Her presence had pushed him from melancholy to anger, and his wrath was as great as that of the river freed from the restraints of its dam outside Tomakan. Apparently, he didn't like what he saw in her face when she turned because he stood, and the intensity of anger in his glare only grew.
"Don't give me that look. Don't look at me like you're some wounded animal. You're not a victim, here." The gestured at the graves on the hillside. "They are the victims. My people are the victims. Each and every one of them. Innocents, all."
At his statement, her own anger quickly bubbled and then snapped like a cold piece of elastic pulled too far. She placed her hands on her hips, a gesture inherited from her mother, and glared right back at him.
"And what about all the innocents your people killed aboard our starships?" she asked hotly. "Many of our starships carried families aboard them. Husbands and wives and children. How many were ambushed by your forces before they could evacuate their civilians? How many children died caught up in a war they knew nothing about? Your people may be innocent, but your leaders were not. You, Gul Dukat, the other collaborators... you invited the Dominion into bed with you, and now the innocent people are paying the price. Yes, what happened here, what happens still, is a terrible tragedy. One that could have been avoided had your leaders not been power-hungry war-mongering sycophants!"
She took a few step towards him, letting her anger grow cold and simmer now that the initial flash was over. She stopped just out of his reach.
"I'm going to tell you what none of your own people will, because they're so afraid of offending the 'hero of Cardassia.' You deserve to be punished for what you did. You, Amaro, Parnon, and any other Cardassian in a position of authority who accepted and aided the Dominion in the conquest of the Alpha Quadrant. I'm sorry about your wife and son, I truly am. If there was any justice in this world, you would have died and they would live. But justice does not exist. It's a lie we tell ourselves, to make ourselves feel better about the harshness of reality. Sometimes there can be no justice, and you have to live with the pain forever. That is your punishment."
"I don't even know where they're buried," he said, the anger disappearing from his face. "Or if they're buried at all. Their bodies... I don't know what the Dominion did with them."
"Have you... tried to find them?" she asked hesitantly. Death was a very uncomfortable subject for her. She wished Rokann was here now.
He shook his head. "All the bodies that could be found were buried soon after the devastation. Eight-hundred million graves. To uncover every one, subject its occupants to DNA testing... even if I had the heart to do it, I wouldn't put the families of the deceased through that. It wouldn't be fair. Not even to give myself peace of mind."
"I don't want to lessen your pain, because your pain shows how much you loved your family. And I don't want to make this about me, but I know what it's like to lose somebody you love and not be able to say goodbye to them. It's a pain that stays with you forever. And it haunts you. I'm not going to lie, or offer you platitudes and say that everything will be okay, that you'll feel better in time. I don't know if you will. But for now, your people need you. They need you to be strong. They've suffered too much, at the hands of people who haven't cared about them. Now, they're in need of a good man to lead them."
"Then they should look elsewhere. I'm not a good man. I've killed a lot of people. Even innocent people." He lifted up his hands, showing her his palms. "If you could see how red my hands are, you would not be here now. I can see the blood every time I look at them."
"That was in the past. It's not who you are now."
"Isn't it?"
He took a step forward and grasped her throat with his right hand, his fingers exerting a tight grip. There was anger in his blue eyes, though it was cold now, and calculating.
"I could kill you right now," he said. "Crush your windpipe. Snap your frail neck. You'd just be one more victim."
She could have stopped him. One didn't achieve a third-dan black belt in krav maga without learning how to break a strangle. But she sensed this wasn't the time for self-defence. It might have led to further violence. Besides, she didn't feel that her life was in danger. He was trying to scare her. To prove a point. To prove something to himself.
"Then why don't you?" she whispered, unable to speak at full volume because of the strong grip around her throat. "What do you have to lose? What's stopping you from killing me? From getting my blood on your hands too?"
He let go of her throat, and stepped backwards. She had to resist the urge to feel around her neck, where his hand had been squeezing her skin.
"The Federation would stop sending aid to my people," he replied.
"If you believe that's why you haven't killed me, you're a liar and a fool," she said. "You didn't kill me because you can't. You yourself won't allow it. That feeling, inside you? That hollow feeling, that emptiness and pain that burns and freezes and makes you feel sick all the time? That's guilt. Guilt which proves you have a conscience. Your people have been telling yourselves for decades that you have no conscience. How can you feel guilty about what you do, when it is your right to do as you chose and you are the superior race? And now... now you suddenly find yourself sympathising with others. Putting yourself in their place. You know what it's like to lose everything that you have. You know what it's like to make a mistake and be held responsible for that mistake – not by your twisted justice system, but by your own conscience. You will punish yourself more than any jury ever could, for every person you have killed. But your conscience will keep you from adding to the death toll. Prove me wrong, if you like. Prove yourself wrong." She lifted her hands to show they were empty and took a step forwards. "We're alone here. You have the advantage of height and weight and age. You're an experienced military officer, I am a mere civilian. Nobody would ever know if you decided to get rid of me. I'm sure some part of you wants to do it. Some part of you wants to kill me, because you recognise in me qualities which you fear in yourself. You know what I represent... what kind of people I represent. You could deny all of that. Deny that you want to be a better man. Kill me, and prove yourself to be a loyal, ruthless Cardassian."
For a moment she thought that he might actually try it, but at last he turned away from her and took a few paces along the shore, turning his gaze once more to the opposite bank of the lake.
"This... conscience," he said at last. "It's not an easy thing to live with. How is it that your people aren't tearing themselves up inside?"
"Most of us do, sometimes," she admitted. "But learning to listen to a conscience helps guide actions and motives. Feeling bad... it's a necessary part of life. Humans accept that. We accept it as a terrible weakness which may actually be our greatest strength. Your conscience... it makes you doubt yourself. It makes you doubt your decisions. It's a special... duality... that is very Human. The Vulcans don't understand it. The Klingons are amused by it. The Romulans can't even conceive it. But perhaps it's something that we have in common with Cardassians. Perhaps this ability to feel doubt and guilt and inner-conflict is something our people share."
"Perhaps." He gave her a side-glance. "This conscience thing seems like a heavy burden. What if it destroys my people? What if the guilt and self-loathing and anger is too much for them to bear?"
"I think you underestimate the strength of your people," she said, giving him a small smile. "You could always just point out that the Humans are doing a better job at living with conscience... that should certainly get them motivated. Who wants to be out-done by a mere Human?"
"I'm starting to learn, Ambassador, that there's nothing 'mere' about your people." He glanced at her neck. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"I think you'll learn, too, that Humans aren't as frail as you think them."
"Something else you can teach me," he said, a flash of humour flickering briefly in his eyes. "Now. You will return to the embassy."
"And you—"
"Will return to the village. These people have suffered a lot. I should spend one more night with them before disappearing. Besides, if they know you're down here, and I transport back with you, they'll likely suspect you of kidnapping me. Apparently, I can't take care of myself, these days."
"I wonder why people think that," she said with a sardonic smile.
"I'll return to the capital tomorrow morning, with Minister Rokann. Until then, I'd prefer it if you didn't mention any of this to the council. They're an annoyance, at times. I rather like keeping them in the dark about my plans."
"As you wish, Primarch," she said, giving him a bow of her head. Then she tapped the comm badge she'd attached to her shirt. "Sarajevo... one to beam up."