Chapter 34

A Monster and a Child

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Klingon. Humongous. Wearing leather the color of drowned earth. Clearly not a council member or soldier. I say that he is not a soldier because the weaponry is all wrong. Soldiers carry phaser and blade. He only carries a hammer. From this angle above the lower level, I can only guess that he is a merchant.

Why else would he be screaming in Klingon and throwing Jumish lettuce at a crying Bolian chef…

Slow day for me. I have shadowed Ziyal across the station and back to our quarters then out again. The girl can hardly stand to stay still. Always has to be moving.

She is an imp. Already she has tried to sneak out twice without a word. Late in the night. Although at every show of indignation, I also sense that she wants to explain herself.

Why do so, young Ziyal? It won't stop you from doing the same thing again. I can guarantee that.

The upper level promenade is quite empty at this hour. It is past lunch but many hours before even a decent supper. Passer-bys pay me no attention. All they can see is a middle-aged Bajoran woman.

Holo-masks are such fun. However, registered ones are not as fun. Odo has limited me to only three faces. I didn't have to meet the Constable. Thank the gods. It's too much of a risk to see him face to face. His attention to detail would have been a threat.

Instead, this mask was issued to me by Kira. She entered our quarters. Then presented the item to me in a robotic tone of hardly caring if I wear the mask or am carried off by a Breen battalion. I expect such behavior. Ziyal tried to excuse the Major's behavior after her hasty departure.

"Nerys wasn't too happy when my father told her that he wanted to send you with me. I think it has more to do with his lack of faith in her than having another Cardassian here." Her youthful visage strained to appear as kind.

She's always doing that. Trying to be nice. Talking to me. At one point, within our first week, she had spooked me. I was sitting against the door frame of our quarters, waiting for any intruders. My ears and all other senses were doing the guarding. However, my mind was not there. I didn't think about guarding myself against an inside force.

I had her down on the ground before I could comprehend who it was.

Then I saw the flask next to her. The moist sheen of a Bajoran pear shining through her clenched fingers. My own hand was twisting her other limb and her voice busted out into crying.

She was trying to bring me refreshments.

After releasing her and eliciting a silent apology, I hid. Literally hid away. In the dismal room that had been decreed to be mine. I couldn't bear to see the terror and fear in her eyes because of me. She had been so afraid of me. It made me realize that everyone in my vicinity has been scared of me; I have lived like this for a very long time.

I didn't want her to be afraid. Not of me.

Since then, we've taken our meals together in silence. A long glass table with designated ends for each of us. I sit closest to the door. No eye contact. That, of course, is a personal stipulation that I uphold. I know that she still tries to be friendly; even though I appear to not hear her.

"Are you available for dinner tonight, Nerys?"

Ziyal is currently right below my position. I don't have a visual on her because she is with the Bajoran Major. Although, by some odd blessing, all of my sensory lines still words on the station. The visual lines have faded in some areas but the auditory sensors are perfectly intact. This means that I can watch Ziyal from a distance. But as long as she is with Kira, I do not have concern for her safety.

I do hope that Ziyal will dine with the Major, then I can rest.

The Major is silent.

My palm slides across blue railing. My paces are measured and I anticipate the Major's response.

"No. I'm on duty tonight. But how is school? You haven't said too much about it."

"I like it."

She comes home from school more frustrated and depressed than before last. Don't believe her, Kira.

Thankfully, the Bajoran voice contains some doubt. "It can be difficult changing places, Ziyal. First, you were on Cardassia with your father. Then on the freighter. Now, you're here on the station."

"I promise you that I am doing fine." A brightly dressed Ferengi rushing by distracts me and I barely hear Ziyal until she goes on, "Some days aren't as good as others but I am adjusting. The other students are usually kind but sometimes, I feel as though there is this gap between us."

A gap, Ziyal? How about an entire quadrant of differences-

"It's not because you are Cardassian and Bajoran, Ziyal-"

"No, it is that but it's not just that alone. It's also because of my father- Well, mainly because of my father."

"That may be so. But you shouldn't hold that against them. With some time, they will come to realize that you are not your father."

"When, Nerys? I have been here for almost two months and nothing has changed."

No more listening. I turn away from the railed edge and stroll to the glass hull of the station. I just can't hear anymore of that. The lights above hardly shine against the glass. A light glare glimmers and makes the far-off star all the more bright. I would lose myself in these simple things but I can't block out the state of Ziyal.

In my lifetime, I have never lived in close quarters with another being. My years have always been kept private and separate. No one shares the time with me. I have not needed them to. I am a solitary actor in a large universe and I live as so.

But seeing this passive person try and fail everyday at finding a place in the worlds. I haven't even sought to do so. My place is by myself and without others. The location doesn't matter. Nor the civilization or the species. I suppose I am somewhat at peace in that way. I don't seek to belong and somehow she does. If only I could pass on my own social deficiency to her.

I think I want to help her. Wonderful. Bloody wonderful.

Leaning as though seeking a certain orbit, I take up the audio feed again.

Nothing there but a chatty Starfleet officer.

I close my eyes and meander through the visuals. Inside of Quark's, I don't see her. The lower promenade flashes by and I see from corner to corner. After three more images, panic starts to set in.

No hiding, Ziyal.

Walking at a hurried pace, I head to the only place that she has to be. If she isn't there, I might as well aim a phaser at my head.

-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-

She has been here. I stare at the door that leads to the sitting room where she is sitting on a couch reading a book. She hadn't even looked up when I entered. I could have been an assassin or any other sort of an intrusive character and she does absolutely nothing to ensure her safety.

Which is why I am walking out of this room right now. No uniform. No holo-mask. Only my civilian garb of a brown tunic and trousers.

She still doesn't meet my eye as I sit opposite of her. Lavender dress. Bajoran style, covering all the way up to the adjunction between neck and shoulder. Glossy hair piled on top of her head. Not a true black but a dark brown with golden highlights.

"You're not fine, Ziyal."

The room's echoes only reply to me and no one else.

"I heard what you said to the Major." I recline as if this were going to be a casual conversation. "You are not doing well on this station."

Finally, her glare comes alive. The impenetrable wall of passivity has fallen and now she stares down at the pad as though it could shatter into a thousand pieces if she wished. I need her to look at me though if there is going to be any reciprocity.

Perhaps, another strategy. "You are a wonderful student. We have covered the First and Second Hebitian society; you can name at least 50 artists from each period. Including a broad overview of their art and lives. You are excelling at your schooling in the Bajoran sector. Your academic record reveals no shortcomings. But you are very unhappy here."

Her book lays wasted beside her. "I miss my father."

"Of course, he is your family. We all miss our families."

I am only following my instincts on what to say. Comforting someone has never been a required skill. That is why I am unsure of what to say next. I do pray that she will just reveal everything and we can have it done with.

A pearl colored hand creeps up and covers dapper blue eyes. Tears may fall.

"It's more than that. Everywhere I go, people hate my father." Her fragility blends with lavender of her dress. "And it makes them hate me as well or feel pity for. I don't care, Raiec, about being popular or making friends."

Is that so?

"But it's the way they look at me-"

"Like you're a monster."

She looks up at me. Like I had awaken her from something deep and paralyzing. Yet, now I find that I am just as unable to express myself as she was. Only words can pass.

"I know, Ziyal. You looked as me the same way just a little while ago." Pink lips open and close in denial then acknowledgement. "I don't blame you. I shouldn't have laid hands on you, even if you did startle me. But you made me realize that during my entire career in the military, people have treated me as everyone is treating you."

"On the ship, the other officers said that you were a murderer."

"Do you think that I am a murderer?"

"I think that you have killed before." How child-like her honesty seems. "But I'm not sure if it was during war or for your ambition as the other officers said."

I hum through my nose. The sound could be seen as amusement but she understands that I am only thinking on my next words. Picking and passing over. Reviewing. Exploring the truth and finding ways to lead through it without the entanglements that may trap me.

I shift my legs up to lay on the chair. "Both. I won't lie about it. I have rid myself of competition and defended myself in battle. I am not a morally clean person, Ziyal, but it's what I've chosen."

The painting above her is Bajoran. I never noticed that the design was a maternal one. I had only studied about it in my early years. I follow the intricate patterns and keep my ears open.

"Do you regret what you've done?"

There are light blue insignias inside the lines. Prophet symbols. I lick my lips before speaking, "Sometimes. Most days, I feel nothing."

Do I regret it?

"What about the peoples' families?"

The center of the piece is a circle outline in squares. No, they are diamonds. Coral shaded around a tawny center. The effect is warming and safe. The maternity is within the painting.

Do I regret it? I can't say.

I know why I have done all this. She must never know it. When someone only possesses half the story, does the story truly ever make sense? If they see a mountain in the dark, will they ever fully experience the giant that it is? However sometimes, in order to protect those that are good, we must keep them from those that are evil. Like her, like me.

She waits in her usual patient manner of watching through bright eyes and smooth features. The ridges on her shoulders are barely risen, like a newly sprung child's. No cleft in her sternum to denote her Cardassian lineage. Only small pebbled features and slightly gray countenance show her father's side. It could be this combination that makes her so innocent in my eyes.

The emotiveness of her gentleness may be the only reason that I am answering this.

"I can't say. I didn't think about that when I did the things I did. I wanted something and there was only one way to get it."

She has trouble understanding this. Of course, it makes little sense to myself. It's not supposed to be comprehensible.

"But why didn't you? Why don't you feel bad?"

I need to close my eyes. Forget who I am talking to. As if I were talking to myself.

"The mind is the strongest part of yourself. Your heart is the weakest, truly. Emotionally and physically. The soul-"

The three that created me spring up in my darkened vision. "The soul is the most impressionable; it will scar beyond all recognition."

Hastily, I add in softness. "But Ziyal, this is not the answer that your father will give. We are both soldiers for the Cardassian Empire and we perform different duties. I am a Dalin. He is a Gul.

"His career is one of command and government. Mine is warfare and strategy. I have no desire to take command of a ship or to detail a government policy."

Small lines surround the horizontal lines across the bridge of her nose. "I know that. It's just that-" She searches me for something. "You both give such different explanations. He says that what he did during the Occupation was to help Cardassia and Bajor. You don't have any reason except that you wanted it. He tries to make it so that I understand him and he asked for forgiveness. You don't. You don't want to be forgiven or understood."

Eyes still shut. Even tighter than before. But my closed eyes won't block her from getting into my head.

"Perhaps, your father is trying to change who he is. Maybe he wants to be a better person-"

A streak of a dour Dresik crosses my vision as she speaks. "Don't you want that?"

Don't let her break you. Give up or give in but use it to your advan-

No. I'm not listening to orders anymore. I can't. I actually cannot ruin this young girl. What trait is it of hers that makes everything feel so important, so new, and so alive? When did coming and going without a word become beyond enduring? Why must I explain myself to her? She has only shown a little kindness and I-

When was the last time that someone was kind to you? Touched you without hate or lust? Even more, not afraid to touch you or speak to you without fear.

I barely reply to the profound musings of my hysteria-induced projection of Dresik. Inside my head, I whisper to him, Not since Garak.

With that, he disappears with a nod of satisfaction.

"I want-" Her face appears even more cherubic as I face her without confusion. "I never knew what I wanted. No one ever told me that being a good person was worthwhile. So, I never tried. But I don't enjoy hurting people, Ziyal; it's just that's what I'm good at. I've always been good at it."

For a second, it's as though she breathed in my words. They seem to pass through her lungs and she is living through them in a way that I can't comprehend. Irises darken with severe contemplation. Then, what I had tried to avoid, a tone of immature aging lines her voice.

"Maybe you should try other things."

And as I watch her, she floats away. No standing or rising. Ziyal possesses a grace that would be impossible to mimic. I couldn't replicate the same effortlessness in movement. Maybe in battle but not in a casual form. She heads towards her room at the opposite end of the space. I stare down at the small table she passes and wonder if she will ever be able to smile or attempt petty conversations again.

I shouldn't have said so much.

"Dalin."

From an opened doorway, she hangs off the side frame. A child once again.

"I understand you. I understand you even more than I understand my father. Maybe, if there's time in between the lessons and the watching; you could be my friend."

With only a repressed grin, she slides into her side of the quarters.

I return to mine and begin counting the risks of having something that I've never had in my life.

A friend.

AN: Teaser! Teaser!

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The box was hidden under an overturned hospital bed. He had found it within moments of entering the room. He can't explain why it was so effortless to pull up the cot and reveal the object of his want but it was. It was so quick. It had to be.

The rubble on the streets did not deter him entering the abandoned hospital. His polished boots were not kept in careful steps so as not to let the dust rise from the ash covered floors and cover the toes. They had kicked up the dust and welcomed it through a pace of frantic running.

This was the hospital that she had escaped from. There was only one escapee listed in this city and it was an unknown female. Found trapped under the collapsed security building that held the positioning field for the entire planet. No one connected her location with being involved in the Dominion's difficulty in locking on its targets. No one saw that she might have been the one that they whispered about on the streets and was hunted by the Jem H'dar. No one recognized "her."

She had counted on that. That's why she left it here. The only evidence of her activities.

But he holds it in his hand. It is precious and irreplaceable. It is her only link to freedom. She wouldn't take it but he will.

The steel box opens with his lifting the top. Inside, one could miss the black cloth. The only detail that gives it away is the silver thread that waves the Cardassian emblem. No other agent was given a cloth like this. Only "her."

The Cardassian officer doesn't touch it. He can't contaminate it. It can not be tarnished. She needs it; even if she won't admit it.

"Sir?"

The juvenile Cardassian Gorr that had accompanied him stands alone in the threshold of the wrecked room. The twisted metal suggests failure of support but it holds all the same. The older Cardassian shuts the box and gestures for the boy to come forward.

"Take this to Ambassador Garak. Tell him and only him that he needs to scan it then compare the DNA with Gul Entek's. Do not tell him who sent it."

"Yes, sir."

The officer numbly bows before him then races off with the box under his arm.

The Glinn examines what is left around him and prays that it will save his daughter. Someone has to fight for her. He, Dresik Yaval, will. Even if it is too late.