Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.pas.earthlink.net!elnk-pas-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!news.maxwell.syr.edu!border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!ngpeer.news.aol.com!audrey-m1.news.aol.com!not-for-mail Lines: 334 X-Admin: news@aol.com From: sisko2374@aol.com (Sisko2374) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Date: 11 Jan 2005 16:09:00 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Subject: REP WIP DS9 "The Quiet Cardassian" Part 1 [PG-13] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=utf-8 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Message-ID: <20050111110900.06271.00000034@mb-m05.aol.com> Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative:161889 X-Received-Date: Tue, 11 Jan 2005 08:09:30 PST (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) REP WIP DS9 "The Quiet Cardassian" Part 1 Garak, Dukat, Tain, Feron [PG-13] by Sisko2374 Summary: During the occupation of Bajor, Garak is caught up in a web of Prologue, DS9 Infirmary, 2370: Doctor Bashir: "Why are you telling me this Garak?" Garak: "So that you can forgive me. Why else? I need to know that someone forgives me." Bashir: "I forgive you, for whatever it is you did." "I really don't know why I'm here at all." Garak gave the Military Intelligence officer his best puzzled innocent look. The square jawed Gul behind the desk suppressed an exasperated sigh, showing all the patience of a drill instructor training raw recruits. "You're here to complete the interrogation of the Bajoran terrorist who plotted and carried out the assassination of Governor General Vornal." "An interrogation, I might add, that you began without the authorization or presence of the Obsidian Order." The Gul spread his hands. "Military Intelligence captured him so we began the interrogation. Tell me where it says that we have to call you right away every time we bag a terrorist." Garak smiled. "It's the timing of your call that concerns us. You apprehended this man over six hours ago. You obviously got nothing out of him in that time. Now the suspect is probably near death and useless. So you apparently only decided to notify us after you had bungled the job. This leads one to suspect that you are attempting to make the Obsidian Order assume responsibility for your own incompetence." The officer rose and leaned across his desk. "Frankly, I don't much care what you or anyone else in the Order thinks." He tossed an information padd that skidded off the desk, landing at Garak's feet. "That's a direct order from Prefect Dukat authorizing the Obsidian Order to complete the interrogation in this case. I didn't choose you, the Order did. So somebody at the top must really like you ... a lot." Garak glanced at the padd at his feet. "Yes, my services are highly valued, particularly in hopeless cases. I almost always manage to turn up something even in the bleakest of botched circumstances." The Gul settled back in his chair. "Well then, good luck to you. Do call if you need anything." Garak started toward the door, then paused. "Excuse me, did you say that the suspect had confessed or implicated others?" "No," the officer replied irritably. "Then how do you know that he is the plotter and assassin?" "We arrested him didn't we?" Garak chose to let that one pass. "During the interrogation, did you at least offer him any inducements to confess?" "Inducements?" the officer replied incredulously. "He's a terrorist! The man is a known member of the Kon-Ma cell and was seen running from the blast area just after the bomb detonated. What more do we need?" "Indeed," Garak nodded knowingly. "What more does one need? Thank you for your assistance." Garak shook his head in mild disbelief as the door to the interrogation chamber whooshed aside for him. The terms ‘military' and ‘intelligence' are obviously mutually exclusive. How ever does Cardassia manage to stagger from victory to victory under such leadership? A strong stench of Bajoran blood immediately overwhelmed him. Bringing a handkerchief to his nose, Garak surveyed the scene. A barely conscious blond haired Bajoran male in his thirties was strapped to a table in the center of the room under a bright light. No one else was present. Garak walked over to the table. The subject's eyes were blackened, swollen and closed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Bruises and gashes covered his body. Despite the man's discoloration and disfigurement Garak recognized him immediately. He wondered if Military Intelligence realized just whom they had ‘bagged'. Sighing, he took out a hypo spray and applied it to the man's neck. A moment later, his effort was rewarded with a groan and a turning of the subject's head toward him. Garak quickly activated the dampening field generator in his coat pocket, neutralizing any listening devices. "Good afternoon," he smiled. "I'm the doctor and I've just given you a mild stimulant and general anaesthetic. I have come to see to your needs." A left eyelid shuddered. Cracked lips attempted to form a smile. Black holes where teeth had recently been. "If you're the doctor, I'm the damn Kai of Bajor." Garak daubed at the trickling blood on the man's chin with his handkerchief. "Yes, well I suppose there's no use in either of us pretending to be what we're not. I am agent Garak of the Obsidian Order and you are Stengo Lener, Chief Lieutenant of the Kon Ma cell and terrorist extraordinare. We need to talk." An attempt at laughter turned into a cough. "Pardon me if I don't feel much like talking right now, spoon head. I feel a lot more like dying." Garak chose to ignore the epithet. "Yes, well I'm afraid that's something we can't do much about. And unfortunately the anaesthetic that I administered will only be effective for the next ten minutes. But in that time I want you to rest assured that your place in history is guaranteed ... if we talk." The Bajoran tried to raise his head. "My place in history?" Garak nodded. "Exactly. We both know that the occupation of Bajor is doomed. You Bajorans have already won. Its just that we Cardassians are a prideful lot and slow to admit our errors. Withdrawal is inevitable. And when that glorious day comes and Bajor is free, there will be new schools, hospitals, universities, government buildings .... with your name on them." Garak paused for effect. "Just think of it. The name of Stengo Lener, that heroic Bajoran freedom fighter who assassinated the tyrant Cardassian Governor General Vornal, etched forever on the edifices of universities. Not only will you walk in eternity with the Prophets, but you will live in the hearts of your countrymen for countless millennia as well... that is if you co-operate." Stengo attempted a sneer. "And just how will betraying my comrades assure my ‘place in history'?" "Oh, you're sadly mistaken. I don't need you to betray anyone. We have the names and identities of most of the members of your cell already. All I need from you is how you obtained the precise information of Governor General Vornal's itinerary for today. As for how that will guarantee your elevation to hero of Bajor status, let me assure you that if you choose to cooperate, when I leave here it will be well known that you never talked. That you confessed to your crime but implicated no one. That you acted alone. As a hero for Bajor." Stengo turned his head. "I didn't kill Vornal for a place in history. I killed him because I want a Bajor without you Cardassian butchers. And by the way, I don't believe in the Prophets." Garak smiled affably. "Neither do I. But believe me when I say that if you don't help us, things will not go well for Auntie Myanna and all your little nephews and nieces in Tamulna. Do consider the alternatives. We're running out of time." Garak could feel the deep hatred and despair as Stengo stared back at him for half an eternity. Finally the Bajoran spoke. "All right. But what guarantee do I have that they won't be harmed?" "Only my word as an officer of the Obsidian Order." Stengo's head slumped back in resignation. "It doesn't matter. I only know his code name. I've never seen him. You'll never catch him. He's one of yours." Garak's eye ridges raised slightly. "One of ours?" he inquired mildly. "Yeah, you know, a Cardassian. He's some sort of high up in Military Intelligence. Or he has access to the high-ups. All I know is that everyone calls him ‘The Quiet Cardassian'." Garak chuckled. "You mean he's dead?" Stengo coughed, trying to spit blood that only wound up dribbling down his chin. "So you know that joke? That the only quiet Cardassian is a dead Cardassian? No, he's not dead. Far from it. He's been at it for years. Not just Vornal's itinerary, but troop movements, surprise raids, supplies and latinum shipments, the works. He's fed the resistance everything we've needed." Garak leaned close to Stengo's tattered ear. "Who does he give this information to? The Kon Ma?'"he whispered. Stengo weakly shook his head. "No. All the cells. He knows the leaders of all the cells. He feeds it selectively, to the cell that he thinks can use it most effectively." Garak's mind was racing. A mole, deep inside Military Intelligence, helping the Bajorans for years! "Thank you Chief Lieutenant Stengo of the Kon Ma. You have been most helpful. You may go to your rest knowing that you have betrayed no Bajorans, that you will join the pantheon of Bajoran heroes and that Auntie Myanna and all your little nephews and nieces will sleep peacefully in their beds tonight." Stengo coughed. "Go to hell." Garak turned, about to leave, when the Bajoran called him back. "One last request, Agent Garak. Your anaesthetic is wearing off. I'd appreciate it very much if you could give me something so I can go out without feeling any pain." "Certainly. It would be my pleasure." Garak took out his hypo, set it for an overdose of a particularly pleasurable narcotic and pressed it to Stengo's neck once more. The Bajoran's eyes almost immediately glazed over and rolled back, his breathing became more rapid. "Farewell, sweet dreams." Feron awoke gasping for breath. The nightmares had returned. This time it was the Bajoran sniper girl. He turned toward Raina in the darkness beside him, her back to him, deep in sleep. Apparently he had not cried out this time. She had heard nothing. But then Raina could sleep through thunderstorms and explosions. At other times she could snap to full alertness at the crack of a twig. He felt cold and clammy as he rose, finding his way to the bath. Turning on the tap, he splashed hot water across his face. Old fluorescent lighting harshly illuminated his visage in the mirror. It was still the face of a rather handsome middle-aged Cardassian male. But his skin color was no longer a youthful grey, his jowls were starting to hang, the cartilage of his once pronounced nose and eye ridges beginning to loose its resilience. Time was running out. That was the meaning of the return of this particular nightmare. There was something that needed to be done, that he was too slow about. Over the years he had come to understand the flashbacks and nightmares of the war as messages from his subconscious. Each had a particular meaning. When things were going well, the nightmares disappeared. When he was amiss about something, they returned. He wiped his face and hands with a towel, returning it to the rack. Timing, in war and politics alike, was everything. Sloth could be just as deadly as hastiness. Lately, he had been far more guilty of the former than the latter. A faint purple glow through the East window of the bedroom heralded the beginning of dawn as Feron slid back into bed beside Raina. A new day for action. Yes, he would have to act very soon. As Garak pulled his hover vehicle into the underground parking garage of Obsidian Headquarters Bajor, he continued to ignore the red light flashing on the console since he left Military Intelligence. His father would just have to wait until he parked and went upstairs to his office. Exiting the turbolift on the third floor he nodded to the Bajoran cleaning woman making her afternoon rounds. "I don't know how you keep the marble so polished Siddah." He passed her three slips of latinum as he eyed his reflection in the gleaming black stones. Not the color he would have chosen, though it was appropriate for the theme of the building. "How are your grand children?" The old lady bowed and slipped the money into her apron. "Hard work is the secret to polishing marble Master Garak. My grands are doing very well, thanks to your generosity." Garak smiled, feeling full of Cardassian noblesse oblige. He recalled that the Bajoran Gratitude Festival or some such religious rite was approaching. "I'm so glad. Do enjoy your holidays." Siddah bowed once more. "Thank you Master Garak, I have much to be grateful for this year." As the doors of the Interrogation Division parted for him, the Cardassian receptionist Traina stood up from her desk. "Agent Garak, Director Taine has been trying to reach you on sub space channel three for over an hour!" The Cardassian receptionist seemed determined to impress upon Garak just how scared that made her. Shouldn't he be afraid too? Garak simply smiled and nodded. "Thank you my dear, I'll take it in my office." After entering this day's encryption code Garak settled back behind his desk. Taine's visage sprang to life on the view screen. "Elim," the voice had an admonishing tone, the same one Taine had used in childhood when ever Garak had been a bad boy, avoiding his chores. "What ever have I done now?" A derisive snort emanated from the screen. "You ask me what you did? Killing off the second in command of the Kon Ma while still in the custody of Military Intelligence, that's all. What ever were you thinking? This isn't like you at all." So Military Intelligence did know who they had! "The man was already dying from a very bloody and botched interrogation session. Military Intelligence was obviously trying to put the blame on us. I merely assisted his departure as a reward for services rendered to the Order." "And just what services would rate such a ‘reward'?" Garak paused to admire his nails. "Oh, merely the disclosure of the fact that there is a mole deep inside Military Intelligence who has been passing all sorts of information to the Bajorans for years." Taine's eyes narrowed. "And you believe this fable? Did he give you a name?" Garak looked back into the view screen. "No. He only knew his Bajoran code name: ‘The Quiet Cardassian'. As to believing it, it makes perfect sense if you think about it. The resistance has been growing increasingly effective over the past decade or so. Even the new sects that spring up seem to anticipate every military operation we wage against them. What conclusion would you draw?" Taine leaned forward into the screen, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Listen carefully Elim. If this Bajoran was telling the truth, whoever this renegade is, wherever he is, he's built up a ring of protection and buffers around him over the years. Those protecting him may not even be aware of what he's really doing. But by ties of loyalty or latinum they will protect him. We must consider carefully how we proceed. This is very dangerous. Not just for you, but for the Order itself. So don't start any investigation on your own. Wait until you hear from me. Do we understand each other?" Garak didn't even blink. "Perfectly." Where to begin? That was the problem. All he had was a codename and a story from a dying terrorist. Not much to go on. But one thing was for sure. He was not going to wait for ‘daddy' to tell him it was ‘safe' to proceed. He didn't entirely trust Taine. That was only prudent. Taine had obviously authorized Garak as the Order's agent for the interrogation of the Kon Ma lieutenant. Garak's so-called immediate superiors would not have had the audacity to issue such an order on their own to the son of Taine without an okay from the Director. Taine must have realized when he saw the request from Military Intelligence that the Order was being set up to take the fall for a bungled interrogation of the assassin of Vornal, if that indeed was what it was. So Taine selected Garak for one of two reasons. He either believed that Garak was the best man for the job or else he was deliberately setting Garak up for a fall. The bottom line was that if Garak had learned anything growing up as the son of Taine, it was to trust no one, least of all family and friends. END Part 1 "The Quiet Cardassian" NewMessage: Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.pas.earthlink.net!elnk-nf2-pas!newsfeed.earthlink.net!newshub.sdsu.edu!border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!ngpeer.news.aol.com!audrey-m1.news.aol.com!not-for-mail Lines: 141 X-Admin: news@aol.com From: sisko2374@aol.com (Sisko2374) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Date: 11 Jan 2005 16:14:39 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Subject: NEW WIP "The Quiet Cardassian" Part 2 [PG-13] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=utf-8 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Message-ID: <20050111111439.06271.00000035@mb-m05.aol.com> Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative:161890 X-Received-Date: Tue, 11 Jan 2005 08:15:30 PST (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) NEW WIP "The Quiet Cardassian" Part 2 [PG-13] Garak, Dukat, Tain, Feron by Sisko2374 Summary: During the Cardassian occupation of Bajor, Garak is caught up in a web The human watched the Cardassian approach the rendevous point alone, walking down the center of the valley from the west, the sun casting long shadows before him. He turned to his bodyguard. "A giant of a man, eh? Judging by the shadow that is. Not very prudent though, this meeting in daylight, so close to Bajor." The Nausican shrugged and snorted. "Risk his, not ours." Putting down his Romulan field glasses the human glanced toward the hired thug. "You Nausicans certainly can't be faulted for an excess of humility. There's no guarantee that we'd get away if this is a trap. Over confidence can be fatal." The Nausican merely laughed and placed his hand on his knife. "Fatal him if us he betray." Shaking his head, the human resumed watching the Cardassian. He noted something peculiar. Despite the hot summer day on this Bajoran moon, the Cardassian was dressed in a long hooded robe that effectively concealed not only his massive frame but his face as well. "Greetings! A fine mid-summer's eve it is!" The human stepped from behind the bushes with his guard. Turning, the Cardassian gave the coded response. "It could be hotter." He nodded toward the Nausican. "I thought I told you to come alone." A voice synthesizer at his throat disguised his voice even as a visual scrambler turned the shadow of his face inside the hood into a wavy distortion. "I never go anywhere alone. This is my ... associate. Now, how may we do business?" There was a long moment of silence. Unable to see his customer's face, the human briefly wondered if he had made a mistake bringing the Nausican along. Was the Cardy going to back out? "We need thirty thousand Cardassian phaser rifles, model Mark V, with 150,000 charge packs. Rifles must have the following serial numbers." He handed the human a padd. "Payment will be in latinum at the agreed upon rendevous in two weeks. Twice the market rate. Half now, half on delivery." Eyeing the padd, the human whistled. "Thirty thousand Cardassian rifles with specific serial numbers? That's rather a tall order. How do you expect us to obtain these particular rifles?" "Those rifles were . . . lost . . . over a year ago. All you need do is imprint those particular numbers on the rifles you obtain. It's of no concern to us where you get them ... as long as it's discreet." "Indeed!" The human folded his arms across his chest, still holding the padd. "I don't think there are thirty thousand Mark V rifles to be had in the whole quadrant ... except perhaps from your army. And as for re-imprinting serial numbers, well that's going to take a lot more than double the market rate, especially if you want forged perfection." The Cardassian clasped his hands together inside the sleeves of his robe. "If you don't want the job we can always deal with one of your competitors. Squinting from the sun, the human smiled and spread his hands, sunlight gleaming off his white hair. "There's no need for threats. We're still haggling. We didn't get to be the largest arms merchants in the known galaxy by short changing our customers. They demand quality and we deliver it. But quality takes time ... and latinum." A snort breathed through the Cardassian's hood. "Spare me the advertisement. We both know that you gamble on independence struggles on small worlds. You give special deals and discounts now so as to reap governmental favors in the future ... assuming of course that your side wins. All we're asking you to do is continue to back up your previous investment with Bajor. Besides, twice the market rate still guarantees a reasonable commission. One that I'd much rather see line your pockets than those of the Orion syndicate." Hagath smiled. "You drive a hard bargain my friend. All right it's a deal. Thirty thousand Mark V rifles in two weeks with the serial numbers as specified. Now where's our down payment?" The Cardassian handed him a small communicator. "I'll give you the co-ordinates after I leave. Don't be late with the shipment." "Oh, come now! There's no need to say that. We have a reputation to maintain." Hagath extended his hand. "A pleasure doing business with you sir. I hope this is the beginning of a long and profitable relationship both for us and your Bajoran friends." There was no response from the Cardassian. Hagath smiled. "Oh, I see, danger of a DNA skin sample. Well, that's all right, I understand." The Cardassian nodded. "Farewell. We'll see you in two weeks." Long shadows crept through the window behind Garak, inching across his desk as B'havel sank in an orange glow toward the horizon. He took no notice. Names scrolled slowly across his computer screen. Life histories embedded in dozens of codes. Codes encoded with security clearances. Double and triple encryptions. ‘Need to Know' basis only. He had never realized just how many Military Intelligence agents lived on Bajor! And with such high security clearances to boot. Not that he had occasion to give it much thought before. But now these codes within codes beckoned him like a veiled siren. Somewhere in there was the mole. Behind a set of those encryptions lurked a traitor or, more likely, a number of traitors. Traitors whose exposure would rock Military Intelligence to its foundations, perhaps even result in its abolishment by Central Command, ensuring the permanent primacy of its competitor for resources, the Obsidian Order, which had uncovered the whole conspiracy. And all thanks to Agent Garak. All he had to do was find just one and the whole house of cards would tumble. A buzzing filled his ears. Briefly, he shut his eyes, massaging his temples with his forefingers. Staring at this screen all afternoon, deciphering codes in his head, was giving him a tremendous headache. There was that damn buzzing sound again! "Agent Garak, I'm leaving now. Is there anything you need?" He started at the sound of Traina's voice on the comm. "Not at all my dear, enjoy your evening. Good night." "Good night, sir. I'll see you tomorrow." Lights came on in his office as twilight descended. The scrolling stopped as the long list reached the end. Yes, he believed he had the most likely suspects narrowed down to a dozen men and women scattered across Bajor. He scrolled back up again, being careful not to pause at any one agent as he committed deciphered names, ranks, operation areas, addresses and biographies to memory. These dozen had the highest security clearances. He would begin with them...tomorrow. For now, dinner beckoned. There was a new restaurant across town, Home Away From Home, which featured ‘hearty Cardassian home cooked meals'. He shuddered. The food was likely atrocious. But the restaurant was reputedly a popular gathering place for employees working out of the nearby Military Intelligence building. He would have to try it out. Perhaps find a lonely soul like himself to talk to and help them forget their troubles by plying them with kanar. END Part 2 "The Quiet Cardassian" NewMessage: Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!newscon02.news.prodigy.com!newscon06.news.prodigy.com!prodigy.net!border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!ngpeer.news.aol.com!audrey-m1.news.aol.com!not-for-mail Lines: 139 X-Admin: news@aol.com From: sisko2374@aol.com (Sisko2374) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Date: 16 Jan 2005 05:48:01 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Subject: NEW WIP DS9 "The Quiet Cardassian" Part 3 [PG-13] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=utf-8 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Message-ID: <20050116004801.16015.00000040@mb-m15.aol.com> Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative:161941 X-Received-Date: Sat, 15 Jan 2005 21:48:38 PST (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) NEW WIP DS9 "The Quiet Cardassian" Part 3 Garak, Dukat, Tain, Feron [PG-13] by Sisko2374 Title: "The Quiet Cardassian" Author: Sisko2374 Contact: Sisko2374@aol.com Series: DS9 Part: 3 of ?, serialized, work in progress. Rating: PG-13 Codes: Garak, Dukat, Tain Summary: During the occupation of Bajor, Garak is caught up in a web of Years before, not very long after Feron had returned to Bajor to make his home, Professor Krinik came to him in a dream one night. In his dream Feron was asleep in bed and suddenly started awake to find Krinik just standing there at the foot. He was shocked at first to see the old professor. Opening his mouth he was about to tell Krinik that he couldn't possibly be here since he had died many years ago. But Feron said nothing as he didn't want the vision to disappear. For some time now he had felt a desperate need to converse with Krinik. "How are you my boy?" "Professor, you look ..." Feron noticed how gaunt Krinik appeared, "... thinner." Krinik chuckled. "One can loose a lot of weight in a labor camp. Although I wouldn't recommend it as a diet." Feron noticed that something else was wrong with the professor's appearance as well. "What happened to your face?" Krinik touched his jaw. "Oh, that. That's where a guard hit me with his rifle butt. Never healed properly after it broke." Feron sadly shook his head. "I'm so sorry professor, I didn't know. I should have tried to save you." Krinik walked over and set down on the bed beside Feron. Reaching out, the old professor gently patted Feron on the shoulder. "That's all right my boy. You couldn't have saved me, no one could have." Krinik nodded toward Raina, asleep on the other side of the bed. "I see you've taken up with a Bajoran woman. Is she political?" Feron smiled. "Of course, she's head of her resistance cell." Krinik nodded. "I see. And do you two work together?" "Yes, we're partners. I've been passing intelligence information to the Bajoran resistance through her." "Wonderful my boy! I'm so happy for you." Krinik grabbed both of Feron's hands in his. "But look here, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about for some time now. I know you're helping the Bajorans, and that's very commendable. After all, it's the least that we owe them after all the horrible crimes we've committed. But there's something more. You must begin to apply what I taught you so long ago about Volpik and the First Republic my boy." "The Cardassian First Republic?" Krinik nodded vigorously. "Yes, of course. The only way to guarantee freedom for the Bajorans and ourselves is to restore the Republic to Cardassia. You can do it my boy. I have faith in you." "Restore the Republic? But how can I? I'm just one man." Krinik sternly pointed his finger at Feron, as if he was giving a lecture in the old days back in his study. "You must seek out others like yourself. Soldiers who have lived through what you have. Those who have seen the true face of Cardassia on Bajor, under the occupation of the Central Command. Those who despise what we have become and yearn for the freedom that only the Republic can bring. And then you must have allies." "Allies? But who?" "Cardassia's greatest enemies are our allies my boy." "You mean the Bajorans?" Krinik smiled and shrugged. "Obviously, but not only them. Consider the Federation. Our masters in Central Command have brought us dangerously close to the brink of war with the Federation. An incident between the opposing fleets could break out any day now. Remember how the First Republic came about. Think about what Volpik said at the time, ‘Popular domestic revolutions are sometimes the consequence of the failure of foreign wars of conquest waged by incompetent and arrogant masters.' Remember that." Krinik squeezed Feron's hands tighter in earnest. "Save the Bajorans, restore Volpik's vision of a Cardassian Republic living in equality with other planets, not enslaving them. When we have attained the Republic, we can grant self-determination for all worlds under Cardassian rule. With the Bajorans, we'll only have to recognize it, since they're already taking freedom back for themselves." Krinik paused, staring into Feron's eyes. "The revolution needs only a spark to set freedom blazing across the empire. Think about it. The folly of Central Command in involving us in a long war with the Federation may very well be the catalyst we need to bring about the revolution and restore the Republic. Out of the defeat of Central Command would arise a rebirth of freedom for Cardassia and all the worlds under their rule. Everything can turn into its opposite. You're in a perfect position to start this glorious work. You can do it my boy. But you must first prepare yourself so that you may prepare others. Go back and study the history of the First Republic, in particular, Volpik's political writings and speeches. Think well upon his fate and above all how you can avoid repeating his tragic history... which led to the tragedy we are all in today. If you first prepare yourself politically, and immediately start to organize your fellow veterans in secret, then we will have a very good shot at restoring the Republic when the opportunity inevitably presents itself." Yes, it was so transparently obvious, so simple. But it all came as a sort of revelation to him. Now he realized that everything, his whole life, had been building toward this one moment. He could see it all so clearly now. Feron looked back into the professor's eyes. All the guidance and reassurance that he had ever received in his life had come from this kindly, wise old man. Emotions stirred and clashed within him; joy that he at last had found a way out, not just for himself, but for all Cardassians, joined with infinite regret and guilt that he had not rescued Krinik from the labor camp. Only now did it sink in just how very, very much he had missed and needed this wonderful old childhood tutor. Tears welled up in his eyes. "I wish you had been my father." Krinik embraced him, as he had so many years ago that fateful night on Cardassia Prime. "You will always be my son." END Part 3 of "The Quiet Cardassian" NewMessage: