Chapter 35

A Lesson Unlearned and Learned

Every day has become a challenge for her. I can see it in her countenance. Every morning is spent with a smile and a conversation ready for me. I prepare our breakfasts and she shares the "good morning's" of a young Cardassian woman with busy plans.

I respond much more warmly than I did before. I do spend time and words with her. Days, in the early hours, with our meals and lessons about Cardassia. Then throughout the day, I keep behind her and make sure that she is within a safe reach. Nights are treated as opportunities for furthering our friendship. I listen carefully to the stories that Ziyal tells. The students that greet her or snub her. Bajorans who stare too much while she prays in the temple. The things that Major Kira tells her about the Occupation; I intercede only when Cardassia is in need of defending.

In actuality, Kira's viewpoint of the Occupation fascinates me. I never imagined what was going through the Bajorans' minds as so conflicting. Some saw the Cardassians as misled or ignorant. Most were quite hostile; as I have experienced. The only difficulty I find in hearing about Kira's experiences are when Ziyal asks me about my own.

I tell her what I know. I tell her about what should have been my life.

According to what my military record is holding at the moment. As a Gorr, I was a security officer in a civilian prison on Bajor. My time at the prison was brief because of heightened hostilities between the Bajoran Resistance and Central Command; within a short period, I was stationed to another province. From there, my duties became that of Garresh and I was stationed on a military freighter.

Until I was made Dalin through a series of rather unfortunate incidents with my higher ranking officers. Then the Dalin Sk'eth. Then Dukat and now Ziyal. Of course, I skipped over these rather revealing facts about my past.

Everything appears so simple.

Underneath though it is not.

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The colors of the jumja stick bob against the radiance of her shimmering gown. Candy red against Earth grape purple with a line of lavender. Her slender fingers hold onto the popsicles with a beaming smile. I stare at her scampering around the Bolian shop and begin to rise from my table.

I had been waiting for her school to disperse. Silly girl must have slipped past me. I watched the other students leave and go on their business. I didn't believe that she would try to avoid me; we've been getting along so well.

We're friends.

So she keeps repeating.

I cross the few yards between shops and bustling customers. A step backwards to avoid a merchant. Slanted eyes to show all sense of disinterest. My human face in place to evade suspicion. No one minds that a young human woman in cargo clothes is walking right up to the daughter of Gul Dukat.

Before she can pick up on my approach; I stand next to her. A box of Dilavian chocolates in her eyes' reflection. The smile hasn't even faltered as she decides on a price.

"I hope that you were buying those jumja sticks for me."

I don't bother to prepare her for any disruption. Even though she looks positively pleased that I am here.

A small laugh makes her persona shine even more. "You caught up to me. I was hoping that you would wait at home."

"I never stay in our quarters. You know that."

"You worry too much." One of the sticks drips its sweet juice across her hand. Immediately, she licks at the spot before resuming. "You know that I am teasing you. I just wanted to say thank you for the dress you bought me yesterday."

I shake my head in dismissal of her gratitude. Then I grin back because it is a kind gesture. "Perhaps, you should let me have my jumja stick. You might spill some on your new dress."

Ziyal passes it to me. I take a small bite. I feel her watching my expression.

"It's good. Thank you." I tip the dessert in honor of her actions. "Now let us return home."

It is a day for strolling. The tempo of our lives is not pushing us from place to place. There is no strict schedule in place. Everything is temporarily on hold for the enjoyment of a walk home. The quiet colors of the promenade mixes with the blasting of its inhabitants. A contradiction that only two Cardassian girls could revel in and consider to be a haven.

"You are so happy." I say in observation of her glow. The jumja sticks only add to it. "What happened? You passed your last test, the one on the Bajoran military history?"

As though we were playing a game of teasing, the seashell sheen of her skin blushes. "No. I mean I did pass with the highest marks but that's not why I'm smiling."

Taking another taste of sweetness, I watch her prepare diligently.

Breath. Eat. Search around the landscape of the station for courage. Then she readies herself.

"There's another Cardassian on the station."

My face is incapable of actually expressing everything that is in me as I hear her. How does one express the most conflicting of emotions without seeming insane? None it stops me from remaining unsurprised though in the face of this.

"Elim Garak."

Ziyal stops our walk and chides me in a precocious tone. "You knew? Why didn't you tell me? Nerys knew as well but she said that there wasn't any point in telling me."

"And she's right." My jumja stick drips red down onto the carpet. "I'm sure that your father and her have spoken about why this course of action has been for the best."

I seize another drop before it can fall. The cold blast of Bolian dessert has me turning away from her and continuing before she can reply. The stars wave at me through the station's glass and I find myself counting them in distraction. Until my curiosity gets the better of me.

"How did you even find out about him?"

Ducking her head shyly, Ziyal catches up from her own detour behind me. "I saw him and Dr. Bashir having lunch-"

"Did he see you?" I become more forceful at the sight of a threat on the horizon.

Her hair ornaments twinkle silvery blue against the environmental beams. "No. I was on the upper level of Quark's and they were on the bottom."

"Good. That may be for the best."

I reassure myself that all of this is done for safety. Not for my own feeling of being threatened or afraid. It's all for her. It has to be.

Isn't it?

I leave her standing there like a mime caught in its own act. I wait for the click of her heels against soft carpet but the lack of this stops me. Only her hurting reaches me through railed words.

"Raiec, you're treating me like a child."

The smell of cinnamon cooking from one of the shops below adds an air of bitter sweetness to our predicament. "I'm sorry, Ziyal but Garak is a plausible threat to your well-being. Believe me."

The forgotten jumja stick stays in her hand. No more sweet candy on it. Only a wasted skeleton of a stick. She waves it around unknowingly as she glares at me with disbelief. Fighting against my own displeasure with her attitude, I take another route at getting Garak off her mind.

"Why do you even care if there's another Cardassian on board?"

"Just a change of company, Raiec. He's Cardassian."

"We're friends and we're both Cardassian. We do a lot of things together. Holosuites, shopping, meals-"

Then I see it. What she doesn't want to say. Although I know that she will find a way of saying it without appearing cruel. She is Gul Dukat's daughter after all. People pass us and don't bother staring so openly but we both know there are watching.

With no one currently walking by, she speaks on cue to me in a direct and honest way. "We do have a lot of time together and I love it. But you're my only friend."

"The Major is not your friend?"

Weak argument.

"She is but she's very busy and I only see her at the end of the week."

Come on, Dalin. Think very hard.

My mind pushes about faces and names until it reaches the one I seek. "That one Bajoran boy who is always bothering you. He's a friend."

Ziyal laughs at me as though I were crazed beyond repair. "Phiren only wants to talk about the Prophets. He only talks to me because I am the only one that doesn't get annoyed by it."

That's it. I am out of excuses.

"Raiec, when we go out, you are always masked."

I want to come to the most selfish and easiest conclusions for her feelings. I don't want to admit that I am not enough of a companion for her. No, it is worst. I don't want to see that there is perhaps as many differences between one another as there are between her and the other Bajorans. This space that is between us, as I had assumed, is not merely one of respect and duty.

It is our own natures that are so different.

"I am your teacher. I am your friend. I am also a soldier who has their duty to protect you. Part of that requires me to remain unknown to the station." I touch the face of the holo-mask and grimace at the sensation of neurons against my hand. "If it were known that a Cardassian soldier is on the station while things are so unsettled-"

"I understand, Raiec." Her eyes are fluttering franticly. "I don't mean to make you worry. I was just so excited to see another Cardassian. I didn't realize how much I miss Cardassia; even if it was not so kind to me."

"I know. I feel the same."

It is not much to confess to one another. It is a fact. Like the existence of the Founders or the Bajoran Occupation. It does not go away and can not be assuaged.

"But I also have a question for you."

My pulse tightens up. "Yes?"

"Father has mentioned this Elim Garak before. He told me that he was on the station."

She walks past me. Her voice stays behind and she barely edges by. "But I must have not taken it seriously because I was taken by surprise. So, I asked Nerys about Garak and she told me the same as my father. That Garak once served the Obsidian Order."

I nod and think quietly.

Served Tain. Quite the difference.

"He has killed many people. Including my grandfather."

Once again, I confirm her words without a change in demeanor.

"That he wouldn't even stop for a second in killing me."

The way she so openly cups the words to me. Like a prayer or a song. The threat against her life is not real to her at all. Ziyal has faced death many times and still, somehow, she is unable to comprehend what her fate may be meant to suffer.

I must make her believe it. I must make her see it.

I drop my gaze to her knees. Gestures like this always catch her attention. She is incorrigible.

"You remember that time that you had asked to see me in combat?"

I don't need to look at her to know that she is answering me.

I don't even have to stop to ask her to follow me. Already, I am several strides ahead her and she rushing to catch me. I doubt she can even hear my whisper.

"You get your wish today."

Ziyal knows the rules.

Stay outside the arena. Do not speak until I am through. Do not be afraid.

I warned her explicitly of what she would see.

Like any other teenager, she pretended to know all. As though she has smelt blood fresh from a wound and knows the sensation of it drying on her skin. The dread of being driven into a corner with the only chance of survival being to rush into certain death. To have no mercy once an enemy is on their knees because they will only do the same.

She knows the rules but she doesn't know war.

I am going to show her.

What I need for her to understand doesn't require a classroom, but a holo-suite. Yes, I had traipsed through Quark's and by luck, one suite was open. I plopped down my latinum and warned the Ferengi not to disturb me for the next 30 minutes.

He wholeheartedly pledged to follow my instructions.

After a blade was flashed from the inside of my cloak.

Ziyal, of course, was not amused. She huffed at my actions but followed me upstairs nonetheless. I worried that she would decide not to come. Yet, I know that she has always seen something in warfare. A surreal sort of beauty, perhaps. Her admiration for her father might have led her to look further into the act for something more.

I can't imagine why anyone would see war as a piece of art.

The program was ready before we entered the chamber. Very basic settings. A sky that cannot decide between weeping and smiling. Black sand held in a concrete pad. It lays hollowed in a circle. The only show of life is ourselves and a wind that is only sweeping the hair off our necks.

"This is it?"

There's no arrogance in her tone. I am still annoyed by the question though.

Quickly, I dismantle the holo-mask before grumbling, "I said to not speak. Just watch."

Without a human face to scrutinize, her Cardassian features look at me for some sign of humor. Eventually, her stare breaks and she realizes that I am not joking. I don't wait for more answers.

The cloak drops to the ground. Then my blade. A sound cuts off from her before she can control it.

I try to subdue her worry. "You need to realize what we are capable of with and without weapons. Phasers are clean. Too clean. Knives can be the same if you have someone that knows how to handle them."

Stepping onto the sand, my boots sink enough to warn me of the disadvantage. I circle the area and prepare. It is not for battle but for the education. I am still her teacher and her friend. I want her to be aware of what may happen and to be prepared for it.

"Computer, safety controls off." I stand ready before deciding. "Opponent 17."

A Bajoran woman materializes. Her face is unimportant as are all other details. She is only a shadow set against me. Without any count, she is at me.

The movements of the holo-warrior feel slow. The strength feebled down to tiny stretches of tendons pulling across bone if she were flesh and blood. I can't decide how this lesson should be drawn out.

I move. I do not dodge or duck. It is of no use to me. So, I move.

The long reach of the Bajoran wants me. Around my neck and snapping it. Pulling my wrist back until a crack is played. Yet, I evade it all. Then that moment comes forth.

Checking on Ziyal.

She's mesmerized and lost to it all. She doesn't know that I can end it so fast.

I will have to show her.

I allow myself to be taken into the hologram's hold. A hand covers my face and I know the chosen course of death. Suffocation. Covered eyes and a forearm shoved under my chin. Immediately, she squeezes and I feel that all too sudden sense of oxygen deprivation.

But war floods into my veins. Instincts tell me, direct me and take over. I no longer think about what should or needs to be done.

Twist. Elbow. Knee to solar plexus. Palm smashes nose. Our positions are switched.

I sit on top of her chest and wrap my fingers around her throat. Her trachea is on the verge of collapsing beneath my thumbs. The only thing I concentrate on is the speeding up of her breathing and frantic struggling.

She's choking. She's yelling. She's fighting for her life.

Then it stops.

It's not the same as an actual being. I know this. No smell. No foaming around the mouth or spittle across the chin. Bruising won't be found around her broken neck and the trachea is sunken in as if it were meant to be.

An unnatural kill.

Before I can form another comment, something important comes into view.

Ziyal.

Her small limbs crawl over each other and grasp the edges of her clothes. She stares down at me like she has never seen me before. Eyes of ocean stand out in this holo-desert and I find myself wondering if I may have gone too far.

My lips wet themselves in nervousness at her silence.

My breath is all that I can give to her.

I tell myself that she needed to see this. Ziyal won't survive until she understands.

"Raiec."

How her expression screams at me as her voice whispers. Her mouth sets itself in an ugly shape that tears through me. I stand up from the corpse of electron and protons.

"Garak could kill you with the same ease," I walk to her with hands folded together. "He could poison you. Shoot you. Set a bomb inside the quarters. Or do what I have just done."

Ziyal settles against me and I hold the entirety of her to me. Her fear. Her disgust. Her sorrow. I sink it into myself and try to heal what I have injured. I can't explain the reason but I can not have her lost.

It is acceptable if I am scarred beyond recognition. Inside and out. I am set in this. What I can not have is her suffering the same as me.

"I didn't do this to scare you. You shouldn't be afraid. Nothing will harm you when I am with you." Her tear seeps through the fabric of my shoulder. "Not even Garak. But whatever you decide, I cannot let you do it unless you know."

"You are not against me being in communication with Garak?"

My heart wants to answer no. My mind indefinitely wants me tell her not to do it. The soul though knows otherwise and doesn't reply so quickly.

Ziyal glances at me through wet lashes. "You will watch while I interact with him?"

I hold her a little tighter. She snuggles like a young pet and for a moment, the action frightens me. I am closed around her, yet open. Her scent mingles with mine. Dear to me and not expendable in any way.

"I will always be here for you when you need me, Ziyal. Garak or no Garak."

And so she forgives me.

She laughs.