Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 11 Mar 2004 04:24:35 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: sisko2374@aol.com (Sisko2374) REP DS9 "Truth" PG by Sisko2374@aol.com Summary: A Cardassian professor must lie in order to tell the truth about war The morning sun was warm behind him as Professor Crinik approached the grounds of the Central Command's Military Academy, briefcase in hand. For blocks around the academy, the lampposts were festooned with Cardassian banners. Once upon a time, when he was younger, more complacent and naive, the flag of Cardassia swelled his heart with pride and certitude about himself, his planet, and its place in the galaxy. Back then he had loved Cardassia, its government and the great people that it presided over. But that was long ago. Before the occupation of Bajor took his only son. Before his son had become a willing and eager participant in the enslavement and extermination of an entire people. Before his son died on the wrong side in an ignoble and unjust war. Today, the banners only angered and shamed him. He wished he was young, strong and stupid enough to crawl up those posts and rip the flags down, or set them all aflame with a phaser blast. He sighed as he entered the shrub lined parade grounds of the Academy, nodding greetings to passing teachers and students. It would be a senseless and futile protest to rip those banners down, even if he could scale the lamp posts at his age. No, he was too old to protest, to let himself disappear inside the headquarters of the Obsidian Order, along with his life's work. He was just a weak old man with a dead wife and son and a daughter almost completely alienated from him. How could he defy the whole of Cardassia when he couldn't even stand up to his own daughter? Despite her low level job in the Obsidian Order, their constant arguing and bickering, she was still his daughter and he loved her. She was all he had. He didn't want to be alone. If she left... Perhaps he should have let her and Feron continue their flirtation last night at dinner. Then perhaps things would not have ended in disaster. Feron would have made a wonderful son-in-law. The boy was such a thoughtful child when he was growing up. Whenever Feron came over to play with Hirik he always took time to visit the professor in his study. The boy had a natural, inquisitive love of books and learning, so unlike his own son. Grief suddenly overwhelmed him at the thought of his dead son. He broke down, sobbing, leaning against a wall, hiding his face. Hirik! Did you really do those terrible things on Bajor? Was it my fault? Did I fail to raise you right? No, it was Central Command. They ordered and encouraged the troops to commit atrocities. It was policy to seize Bajoran lands and resources, drive the people into the cities with famine and terror, use them and throw them away. Hideous, monstrous deeds, all in the name of "liberation" and "enlightenment". Lies, all lies. "Professor? Are you all right?" A hand touching his shoulder and a sympathetic female voice forced him to compose himself. Stifling his tears, he turned. It was one of the female students at the Academy. She had been in his class last semester. He couldn't recall her name. "Yes, yes, thank you. I was just ... remembering my son." A sad but determined expression filled the young woman's face. "You must be so proud of your son, sir. We all are. He died a hero for Cardassia. And when I graduate, and go to Bajor, I'll make those terrorist scum pay for what they did to Hirik, a thousand times over!" He looked into the fiery black pools of her eyes, burning with outraged patriotic fervor, filled with a righteous thirst for vengeance and retribution against a people she had never met or known. "Yes," he responded calmly, distantly. "Yes, I'm quite sure that you will. Thank you for your concern. I really must go now, I'll be late for my class.' She nodded. "Take care of yourself, Professor Crinik. We all love you." Love? he thought, as he hurried into the History Department. You wouldn't love me if you knew what I was thinking. Make the terrorist scum pay a thousand times for Hirik's death? Nameless, faceless Bajorans had already paid thousands of times over for Hirik, before he even died. And they would keep on paying, over and over again, as long as we keep sending young men and women like her off to war, to pillage the galaxy. Terrorists? We are the terrorists. Cardassians are the masters of state administered terror. The Bajorans are only defending themselves. Everyone in the galaxy knows that... except ourselves. An idea began to from in his mind. Given what he knew, it was his duty to impart the truth to others. Like that young woman who, unknowingly, was going off to fight for the enslavement of women on other planets. He had to find a way to tell the truth, to wake them all up so that the sons and daughters of Cardassia would not kill or be killed, not suffer, like poor Feron, in anguished silence and isolation for the crimes they had been forced to commit. Yes, he would find a way to tell the truth. He would begin now, in his class, today. The hall was mostly empty. Fifty or so students were seated randomly across the semi-circular rotunda that rose above the lecture pit. Jeral, his teaching assistant, greeted him at the lectern with today's class roster and his usual morning cup of Earth coffee, Jamaican blend. "You have some guests in class today, Professor." Jeral indicated with his head a dozen young men sitting in the upper tiers. "Inductees for Bajor. Central Command is running a test to see if exposing them to three weeks of Academy classes will result in improved combat performance." Crinik savored the steamy aroma of his coffee, took a sip and smiled in satisfaction. "I don't know Jeral, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. What if it gets them into trouble? Thinking too much can be bad for your health in combat." Jeral chuckled and handed him the roster. "Ours is not to reason why..." The professor completed the one line joke that was infamous among the more independent and critical minded faculty. "... only to teach and shut our eyes." As Jeral took his seat in the front row, Crinik reviewed the outline of the lecture he had formulated in his mind only a few minutes before. Thanks to the memory training of the Cardassian public school system, he knew his material by heart. The problem was that it was prohibited. But he believed he had a way around that. He glanced up at the young Bajor bound army inductees in the center top row. If ever a group of young men needed to hear what he had to say, it was them. "Good morning. To those of you who are new to this class, I am Professor Crinik and this is ‘History of the First Cardassian Republic, From the Year One to the Coup d'etat of Gul Krakol'. Today we were scheduled to review the campaigns of Marshal Finst against the Latreans. But I would like to do something different today by placing Marshal Finst in the political and philosophical context of his time." There seemed to be a slight shifting and lifting of heads. Good, he was getting their attention. Apparently anything was better than the same old discussion of force strengths, terrain, weather and battlefield diagrams. "It may surprise some of you to know that Marshal Finst, perhaps the greatest military leader Cardassia ever produced, was also a contemporary of Volpik, whom the dissidents today sometimes refer to as ‘the philosopher of galactic peace' but who was in fact a traitor to Cardassia." He glanced at Jeral. The assistant's posture was stiff, his face a mask, only a hint of fear in his eyes. "Now, why do I need to know about Volpik, some of you may ask. What does this have to do with battlefield strategy or tactics? Because the ideas of Volpik, though centuries old, continue to infect our society, even to this day, to the detriment of our military. What's the first rule of combat? Secure your rear area. And this is precisely where Volpik continues to strike, at the home front, in the hearts and minds of our citizens, and yes, even our military from time to time. So like with any other virus, the best remedy is a good inoculation. Forewarned is forearmed." He put his hands behind his back and began slowly pacing to and fro behind the podium. "So you need to listen very carefully to what I say, and not misinterpret or misquote me. Some of you may misunderstand and infer the exact opposite of what I am really saying. Exercise caution as you ponder over what I am about to convey to you. Its for your own good. So that you may be better leaders for the greater glory of Cardassia." A slight collective puzzlement filled the otherwise usually vacant faces. He returned to the lectern, glancing down as if consulting notes. "Volpik began his career, oddly enough, as an exo-biologist. From his years of research he generalized that all sentient species had, more or less, the same capacities for reasoning and problem solving. Their abilities were by and large the same. For all practical purposes, he concluded, all sentient species throughout the galaxy were equal." "Now the problem, as he saw it, was that despite their all having equal capacities of intellect and reasoning, they were not all at the same state of development, either socially or technologically. From this flows Volpik's entire political and philosophical perspective. He drew the rather radical conclusion that whenever a more advanced society, say such as Cardassia, entered into a war with a less socially or technologically advanced planet, the war was unjust, no matter who started it and that morally, victory should go to the less advanced planet." A few sneers filled the faces of the students that he could see. "Let me make it clear just what Volpik was saying. He wasn't just talking about technological differences of a few years, but of decades, centuries or more. Further, he believed that regardless of the form of government of the more advanced society, even if it was the highest form of government, which Volpik believed to be a republic, it deserved to be defeated in war against a more primitive society. For this sort of war could otherwise only lead to a master-slave relationship, where both societies would be morally and politically degraded and destroyed by the victory of the ‘more advanced' civilization." "On the other hand, the victory of the ‘oppressed' society, as Volpik called it, if it was successful in driving out and defeating the oppressor, could lead to a spiritual and political rebirth of both societies, assuming the citizens of the ‘imperial-republican oppressor state' were able to draw the correct conclusions and take responsibility for regenerating their planet so that it could live as an equal among the rest. This was how Volpik believed galactic peace could be attained. If the oppressed fought to defeat the oppressor and the citizens of the more advanced invading planet fought for the defeat of their own government." He paused. More snorts and sneers, but otherwise, a stunned silence filled the air. "Obviously, the man was a traitor, perhaps the greatest traitor Cardassia ever had the misfortune to produce. Questions?" He waited. But no discussion was forthcoming. He sighed. "In any case that gives you some idea of the sort of opposition Marshall Finst faced at home during the campaign against the Latreans. We can take that up tomorrow. Class dismissed." There were murmurs and exchanges of shrugs and quizzical expressions as the lecture hall emptied. Crinik looked around for Jeral, but his assistant had disappeared. A lot of good his first attempt to sow dissent had done. It seemed to only have generated confusion. If only he could openly talk about the oppression of Bajor! A young man came up to the podium. "Excuse me Professor Crinik, but I found what you had to say really insightful!" Eyeing the young man carefully, he began closing his briefcase. "Well, I hope you realize now what a danger Volpik posed, and still poses to Cardassia. Don't be deceived, Mr. ...." "Maritza, sir. Amon Maritza." "You're not one of my students, are you Mr. Maritza?" The youth shook his head. "No sir, I've just been inducted into the army. They're sending us off to Bajor in a few weeks." "And just what will you be doing there to serve Cardassia?" Maritza shrugged. "I don't know. I'm a file clerk." Crinik smiled and patted the young man on his shoulder. "Just remember to keep your head down Mr. Maritza. Even a file clerk is not safe in enemy territory. And do think about what I said." "I will, sir. Thank you and goodbye." As Crinik was about to leave the lecture hall, two modestly dressed men came up from behind and seized both his arms. "What's the meaning of this?" One of the men flashed a badge with the emblem of the Obsidian Order. "You're under arrest Professor. We know what you just tried to do and it won't work. You're a fool, attempting to corrupt the minds of our future military leadership." "No! No! I was just trying to show them the dangers of Volpik!" "You did that very well professor. But it's a bit outside of your authorized curricula I'm afraid. You'll have to come with us now. We hear that you wanted to be a dissident. Well, you're going to meet a lot of them where you're going." The two men waited a few moments until the halls were empty, then they dragged the old man, still protesting his innocence, out to their ground vehicle, pointed toward the headquarters of the Obsidian Order. END These stories will be continued in "The Quiet Cardassian". -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Awards Tech Support http://www.trekiverse.us/ASCAwards/commenting/ No Tribbles were harmed in the running of these Awards ASCL is a stories-only list, no discussion. Comments and feedback should be directed to alt.startrek .creative or directly to the author. Yahoo! Groups Links To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ From ???@??? Fri Mar 12 20:06:48 2004 X-Persona: Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n26.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.82]) by eagle (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1b1XBH6Dd3NZFji1 for ; Fri, 12 Mar 2004 17:06:29 -0800 (PST) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-13294-1079139988-stephenbratliffasc=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yah