The Sequel to "Yesterday's Terrors"
Chapter 4A beautiful red sunset brushed a golden sheen over the intricately arched rooftops of Cardassia Prime, casting long shadows across the world below. The streets were abuzz with people, although the variety of species was monotonous to say the least. Variety on this planet indeed left a lot to be desired. As far as the eye could see there were no aliens, only Cardassians -- a testament to their inherent xenophobic tendencies.
The scenery was almost peaceful. Large screens displayed pictures of the most beautiful regions of the planet and enormous speakers droned patriotic sermons into the minds of passers-by. Crowds had gathered in front of certain screens that were showing life transmissions of show trials. Cardassians were proud of the fact that every criminal was punished on their world. No one ever stopped to think that some of the punished ones might be innocent. After all, if the criminal justice system was taking you to Court, then you had to have committed a substantial crime....
It was that time of day when children were running home from school. The market traders were closing down their stalls after what had hopefully been a lucrative day, and the aroma of home cooking filled the air. It was almost time for dinner. The overhead trains of the capital's public transport system were bursting with commuters who were eager to get home after another day's work. Most Cardassians worked in the capital or one of the other cities and lived in the suburbs. Cardassia was a planet drained of its natural resources, so foods came either replicated, imported from other planets or grown in specially designed airponic environments on the borders of the cities.
Rural regions had been deserted for nearly a millennium, when it had become apparent that the soil had been robbed of most of its nutrients, which was due to extensive mining in the planet's past. There were no jobs in the countryside, and nothing would grow in the dead soil of Cardassia Prime. Thus in order to survive people needed to find work in urban areas, or else move to one of the more fruitful colonies in neighboring sectors. However, Cardassians were passionately patriotic, and not many were willing to abandon their homeworld, no matter what promises the vastness of space held for them.
Far away from the warm, golden glow of the sun and the appetizing aromas of Cardassian cuisine, deep down in the catacombs of the capital's sewerage system, there was another way of life entirely. The sewers were black, dank and slippery with lichen. Various forms of mould and mildew that had nestled between ancient bricks. The system had not been renewed for eight centuries. The putrid water in the sewers was knee-high at the best of times, and could drown a grown Cardassian man of an average size of six foot two during rainstorms, although the unfortunate person would probably sooner die of suffocation from the ghastly stench of the water than from drowning. The capital's sewerage system consisted of thousands of tunnels that ran underneath the city in a chaotic labyrinth, which had never been mapped. There was no logic to the layout of the tunnels, and it was only too easy to get lost in the endless, rodent infested passageways. As far as rodents went, Cardassia sported only the best. Around ten times the size of an adult terran rat the Cardassian vole is hairless and has six legs. Their external cartilage and large sharp-toothed jaws definitely make them less than cuddly. The vole is a fighting animal. It attacks everything that gets in its way, and those razor-sharp teeth can do a lot of damage, especially on a child. The sewers definitely were not a place for humanoids and certainly not the ideal environment for raising children.
However, from all corners dark figures of all sizes, clad in black cloaks, were moving towards the center of the sewers, following the musky smell of a warming fire. The fire was not directly in the sewers, but in an adjoining basement -- an ancient and unused part of the Cardassian Institute of Art. Until about a century ago paintings had been stored here, but after the disastrous flooding of 2269, which had destroyed everything that had been put into storage here, this part of the basement had been sealed off, never to be used again. Ancient paintings that had been irreparably damaged during the flooding still lined the walls, their soaked, partially torn parchment now claimed by variety of fungi that ate away at the beauty of the great Cardassian masters of the past.
In the middle of the large vaulted cavern that was the old basement the fire burned warmly, casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. People were beginning to gather here.
Dunar stood patiently by the fire, waiting for everyone to make their way to this secret meeting place. The sewers had served the Cardassian underground movement as shelter against the authorities for a long time now. This basement was where he was hiding with his family and the members of his cell. Tonight was an important night. It was time for action. Time to stop hiding in basements and sewers. Help was on the way. But Dunar knew that the help he had called for would not be welcome by everyone. He had to convince the other cells to follow him, to trust him with this one, but they were a proud people....
Dunar's wife Lebora, his daughter Shetala and son Jeloc were hovering by the entrance to the sewers, offering every new arrival a cup of hot fish juice, a beverage that to a Cardassian was like coffee to Kathryn Janeway. The members of Dunar's cell, Dorek, Lemar and Tulin were helping people climb into the basement. Zarel, the only female member of his cell, hovered near the fire opposite him, the flames an angry barrier between them. Zarel seemed to stare into nothing, a deep frown between her young eyes.
Dunar had had a tough time convincing his own cell members that asking Starfleet for help was a good idea. Zarel had yet to be convinced of it. She was decidedly against the plan. The other three -- he sometimes could not believe that his cell of fifteen had been reduced to only four members -- had been reluctant at first, but after Dunar had explained to them just how desperate their situation had become, he had been able to reason with them. Zarel however hated the Federation with such a vengeance that Dunar began to have concerns about her mental health. He had attempted to question her about the reason behind such hatred only to find her completely closing herself to him. This once he wished that the underground movement were not quite as secretive as it was. Most members were known by pseudonyms, fake names that they had chosen to be known by, and no one knew where the next person came from. Apart from a few famous exceptions -- people whose faces were well known through the media -- the resistance was entirely anonymous. What had happened to Zarel to cause such ice-cold hatred against the Federation to rage within this young woman who had barely reached adulthood? There was no way to find out. Zarel certainly was not going to volunteer any information. With a member of his own cell still opposed to the plan, it would be quite a challenge to convince the other cell leaders -- Torat, Retor and Rekelen, not to mention their respective members. But he had to make them understand. It was crucial to the success of their mission and to their survival.
Survival. It had come down to basics. The fact was that resistance members were being exposed on almost a daily basis now, not just in the capital, but also in the other Cardassian cities, even in the colonies. If the underground movement cold not survive, then how would it ever achieve its goal? Survival was now essential for the cause, and no longer simply a selfish goal. The latest exposures, not at least to mention the terrible tragedy of Lemok Togal and his family, were very suspicious. People were beginning to talk of a mole, an infiltrator, a treacherous element among the resistance. It was time to act.
Eventually everyone had gathered in a large circle around the campfire. They had all brought their families. It was the way the resistance worked. You had to keep an eye on your loved ones at all times or you might never see them again. The memory of what had happened to Lemok Togal and his family was still fresh in their memories. Now, with additional talk of an informer among them, they were growing increasingly paranoid. And who could blame them?
Dunar steeled himself, cleared his voice and addressed his visitors.
"Friends! I have some interesting and wonderful news. Finally our victory is at hand. Soon we will be able to realize our dream of a democratic Cardassia. But first we have to open our hearts as well as our minds and fight one final battle. We have allies more powerful than we thought. Help is on the way."
There. That had certainly gotten their attention. Curiosity coursed through the crowd like a beam of light. Dunar chose to continue.
"Before I'll tell you where this help comes from let me share a few things with you. What happened to Lemok Togal and his family was a terrible tragedy. Lemok was a close friend and a loyal citizen, as was his father and his father before him."
Murmurs of agreement came from the crowd.
"His death opened my eyes. I finally realized that we couldn't possibly hope to win this battle alone. We need help. Someone from the outside. Hence, a few days ago, I called in an old favor."
Now curiosity began to mix with suspicion. He could see it in their faces. They were a proud people. It was difficult for proud people to admit that they needed help. And help from the outside? What exactly did that mean? Zarel had moved into a corner of the cavern, and despite the darkness that surrounded her he could see her black eyes glaring at him, shining like coals in the reflection of the campfire. Eyes filled with contempt and outrage. Soon those same emotions would run freely through the crowd, of that he was certain. Dunar took a deep breath before resuming his speech.
"In approximately twelve hours the Federation Starship Voyager will be in orbit of our beloved homeworld."
Shouts of disbelief, protest and disgust erupted. Dunar had to raise his voice and shout the rest of his speech over the outcries of his people.
"Captain Janeway owes me her life, and she has agreed to help us. Furthermore she's got the support of Starfleet and the Federation behind her. They have agreed to aid us in a coup against the Military so that we can build a new, better Cardassia. A Cardassia we can once again be proud of."
No, that definitely did not do the trick. He would have to find another angle to persuade them.
Torat, the leader of the second resistance cell stood up.
"We don't need the help of the self-glorified Federation!" he spat at Dunar.
Now Retor, leader of the third cell rose and proclaimed,
"We're Cardassians. This is our homeworld. We don't need interference from outsiders!"
The crowd joined in with cries of agreement.
The final leader, Rekelen of the fourth cell, stood up from the crowd and yelled,
"I would rather die fighting for our Cardassia than beg the Federation for help. It's an outrageous suggestion!"
The crowd chimed in again. Dunar could only shake his head in frustration. He had expected this. Centuries of pride and arrogance and self-glorification were difficult to unlearn, not to mention decades of open animosity against the Federation. The leader of the first cell took a steadying breath and silenced the crowd with one movement of his hand.
"Listen to yourselves! You'd rather die and fail than ask the Federation for help and succeed? Yes, we are used to seeing Starfleet and the Federation as our enemies, but in all the years that we have known them as such they have never been less than honest. If there is one thing that we can be sure of than it is that their offer help is genuine. We can no longer afford this misplaced pride in our past glory. Our situation is desperate. Cardassia is desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures. Do you really wish to see your families dead? Only too recently you've seen what the exposure of a member of this movement can do. They killed him and his wife and his daughter. If there is an informer among us, how long do you think it will take to expose us all and to stop this movement altogether? A couple of weeks? A few days? We've run out of time. Now we have to swallow our pride and take all the help we can get. This isn't just about our survival; it's not even just about the movement. This is about the future of our children."
There was a brief moment of stunned silence. Then Torat once again addressed Dunar.
"You may trust the Federation, Dunar. I don't. What if they take this opportunity to conquer our world? We've been at war with them before..."
Dunar shook his head.
I believe that a democratic Cardassia is as much in the Federation's interest as in ours. Besides, they are not the conquering type. They annex territory, not through battle like the Klingons and the Romulans, but through democracy. And I have my own reasons for trusting Kathryn Janeway. Reasons, which I won't discuss here. Suffice it to say that she owes me her life, and I know that she will honor her debt to me."
From the corner of his eye he saw Zarel slipping through the hole out of the basement. His heart sank. If only he knew what was going on in her head...
Once again Dunar addressed the entire crowd in a final plea.
"I'm not asking you to trust the Federation, or Starfleet, or even Kathryn Janeway. All I'm asking is that you trust me like you've done so many times before. Trust my judgment, and help me fight this final battle."
The crowd began to murmur quietly as the members discussed what they had just heard amongst each other. Then finally Rekelen faced Dunar and said,
"We've come to an agreement. We're not willing to trust the Federation with the future of our homeworld and our children. However, we trust you. You've led us well during the past months. If you think that bringing the Federation into this is the right thing to do, then we're with you, Dunar."
Dunar exhaled slowly. Tears began to rise in his eyes as a smile lit up his face.
"I thank you, my friends. I'll make sure you won't regret this. Now let us have a peaceful evening. My wife Lebora has procured some refreshments. And we have some games in that corner. Would anyone like to join me for a game of Kotra?"
The crowd soon relaxed. Everyone helped themselves some food and drink. The children began to play and their parents enjoyed some conversation among themselves. A few people had begun to play Kotra, the traditional Cardassian game of bold strategy and decisive action played between two opponents. The game was reminiscent of the human game of chess, but Kotra used two dice. Like the battle they were about to face Kotra was about attack and aggression. It was a game of war. Had they stopped to think about it, the parallels between the board game they were playing and their real lives would have turned their stomachs. But who was thinking?
"Hot fish juice" may sound disgusting to most of us terrans but as a matter of fact the Japanese have had something very similar for centuries. They use a fish stock called "dashii" for their soups, which are traditionally served for breakfast in Japan. If you have ever drunk Japanese soup out of a bowl you might appreciate the appeal of "Cardassian hot fish juice".