Cathedral by Michael Mangels (ebook reader color screen txt) 📕

many times. But my countrymen are not yet ready, even after more than a century of civil war. They still have much to learn about the ways of peace.”

“Interesting. Until seven years ago, Bajor was in a permanent state of military occupation and guerrilla war. And yet the Federation has agreed to admit Bajor before Capella. Does this not anger you?”

Akaar’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Taran’atar wondered if he would have to defend himself. But the admiral never moved. “If Bajor becomes a productive Federation member, it will bode well for other candidate worlds that have known the scourge of war during living memory. I have faith that Bajor’s success will one day lead to the same for Capella. Perhaps not while I live. But someday.”

Faith again. Taran’atar was beginning to find the concept most vexing. “But is not faith required only when no other factual basis exists for believing in a thing?”

Akaar downed the remainder of the contents of his glass, then fixed a steely eye on Taran’atar. “Precisely. Because we cannot know in advance what will happen, no matter how much we prepare. Consider Bajor again. There are some who believe that the Bajorans should not enter the Federation until after they make peace with their old enemies, the Cardassians, on their own. But there are many more who believe that Bajor is ready for membership now, and that peace with Cardassia will flow inevitably from her Federation allegiance. Both sides, however, are acting on faith.”

Taran’atar found that his own curiosity had been piqued. “On which side have you placed your faith, Admiral?”

An enigmatic smile slowly spread across Akaar’s face. “It is not my nature to advocate waiting over action. I believe Bajor to be more than ready for Federation membership, just as she is today. But no Capellan who hopes to live as long as I have believes that peace can ever be inevitable.”

This last was the first straightforwardly sensible thing Taran’atar had heard the admiral say so far. And he also intuited that it gave him an opening to ask another question that had begun nagging at him.

“Why did you not ask me how many humans I slew during the war?” Taran’atar said quietly.

Akaar’s expression suddenly grew dark, and Vic once again appeared worried. “Maybe we ought to steer clear of politics for the rest of the afternoon,” the holographic host said.

Taran’atar wondered with some dismay whether he had once again trodden across one of the Alpha Quadrant’s many indefinable social taboos. These humanoids seemed to hide them everywhere, like subspace antipersonnel mines.

He decided he could lose little by pressing on. “Perhaps it will ease your mind to know that I never entered the Alpha Quadrant during the war. I never fought against the Federation or its allies.”

Akaar’s glower was slowly replaced by a more thoughtful expression. He nodded. “Perhaps it will at that.” Then, setting his empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, the fleet admiral made ready to leave.

Taran’atar perceived that an important opportunity was about to be lost forever. “May I ask you one final question, Admiral?”

Akaar paused, then assented with a sober nod.

“Would you have been as sanguine about my mission of peace had I slain many thousands of your people during the war?”

The question appeared to surprise the iron-haired Capellan. For a protracted moment he grappled with it. At length, he said, “I do not know for certain. But I have faith. Therefore I do not need to know for certain.” And with that, Akaar bid adieu to both Vic and Taran’atar and was gone.

The Jem’Hadar stood mutely beside the crooner, who finally broke the contemplative silence by saying, “I hope that helped clear things up for you.”

“I’m not sure,” Taran’atar said.

“Have a seat, then, while you think about it. And let me order you something. Quark says you’ve got a soft spot for root beer floats.”

Taran’atar favored Vic with an earnest nod. “He is correct.” And talkative.

Returning the nod, Vic approached one of the cocktail waitresses, then paused to speak over his shoulder to Taran’atar. “Oh, by the way—sorry I accused you of being about to trash my lounge the way Worf did.”

“Perhaps,” Taran’atar said, “you should place more faith in people.”

12

Gul Macet had piloted the shuttle from the Trager himself, aided by Norit, his most trusted young officer. Macet wasn’t sure why he felt the need to flex his piloting muscles. Was it a desire to keep them sharp, or to show off a bit for Vedek Yevir’s benefit? He suspected it was a bit of both.

He landed the shuttle in an open area amid the ruins of Lakarian City, near the coast of Cardassia Prime’s largest continent, South Forbella. Dusk was approaching, and the descending sun cast long shadows across a horizon-to-horizon expanse of dusty wreckage. The city had once been numbered among the planet’s most treasured leisure spots, boasting everything from fanciful entertainments for children to pleasures of a decidedly more adult nature. Their landing zone lay in the ruins of a wide section of what had once been Krendalee, a large amusement park, before it—and most of Lakarian City—had been razed during the waning hours of the Dominion War. Because of the resource allocation decisions of Cardassia’s provisional leadership, reconstruction of the city had not yet begun. Macet felt that this was a grave mistake. Cardassia’s demoralized billions had become accustomed to living well prior to the coming of the Dominion; now more than ever, they needed the fantastical escape that Lakarian City represented.

Macet stepped out of the shuttle, followed by Norit, Yevir, and a pair of armed guards. The two protectors spread out, weapons drawn as they scouted the immediate area. Scans taken from orbit had shown seven Cardassian life signs in the area—which added up to two more than Cleric Ekosha had said would be in her party. Macet had his own suspicions regarding the identity of one of the surplus