The Serpent and the Hawk 3/6 (DS9)
TITLE: The Serpent and the Hawk
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Ziyal's brutal death unites Gul Dukat and Major Kira in ways neither of them expected.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART TWO
Dukat did not expect to see Kira waiting by the airlock to give him a last goodbye as Security escorted him to a waiting shuttle, although part of him almost wished she had been there. In fact, Alpha shift had not even started as he was led, manacled, through the nearly empty corridors of Starbase 375, and he recognized none of the faces that passed by him. Sisko had visited him the previous evening to ask some final questions about Damar, and Garak had flaunted his freedom in his face one more time, but for the most part the people Dukat knew from Terok Nor were occupied with the ongoing war effort. Still, it would have been nice to see the major one more time, he thought. He had obviously pushed the right - or wrong, depending on one's perspective - button during their last meeting, and he would have liked the chance to push it again, just to see her reaction.
Another time, perhaps, he thought as the guards strapped him in to a seat in the shuttle's passenger bay.
The war was beginning to escalate, according to the information he overheard in his holding cell. Damar had almost completed dismantling the minefield, and Starfleet was supposedly amassing a huge armada to retake Terok Nor. Dukat would have liked to be there, to defend the station against his current guardians. Even if it meant death, it would have been a less ignominious defeat than his current prospects.
If circumstances had been different, he wondered, would Kira have mourned him? He would have to remember to ask her when next they met.
If they ever met again.
The shuttle pushed free of the docking pylon and turned its bow towards Terra. Dukat had never visited Terra before, and he concentrated his thoughts on all that he had learned of it. He would have to learn to like Terran food, he supposed; he was not likely to find boiled taspar eggs in the prison kitchen. What did the air on Terra smell like? What would the climate be like? Would he be warm enough, or would he be banished to a prison near one of the poles? Would he be fitted with a translation device, or would he have to speak Federation Standard? Would he have access to other Cardassians? Would he be placed at the mercy of vengeful Bajorans and Maquis?
Would Kira come visit him?
What was it about Kira Nerys that fascinated him so? She was not beautiful, not even by generous Bajoran standards, and her formal education was so far behind his own the disparity was laughable. She had little or no sense of humor, as far as he could tell, and she was quick - too quick, in his opinion, to anger and too slow to forgive. So what was the hold she had on him?
The truth, he had to admit, was that she challenged him. Every exchange between them was rife with tension, intrigue and innuendo. She kept him on his toes, his wits sharp, and his blood pressure near the boiling point. She was not afraid of him - or, if she was, she did a very good job of hiding it - and her courage impressed him.
Time was, not so long ago, he could have had any Bajoran woman he wanted. A look and a gesture to one of his men, and he would find the woman of his choice waiting in his bed a few hours later. Some of them came willingly, most not, but in the end none of them refused the demands of the Prefect of Bajor.
Naprem, on the other hand, had been different. She laughed at him. She laughed at him! She had knelt on his bed, completely and unashamedly naked, and tossed back her head and laughed uproariously when he entered the room and began removing his armor. When he had asked her what was so funny, she replied, "Is the Prefect so insecure with his manliness that he has to kidnap his own property to satisfy his needs?"
He raised his hand to strike her but she did not flinch, and her defiant stare made him lower his hand in wonder. "Why did you come, then?" he asked. "You could have said no."
Her answer provoked him as no other woman had. "I heard that generations of sex with Cardassian women made Cardassian men terrible lovers. I wanted to find out for myself if it was true."
He spent the next eighteen years proving her wrong.
Throughout their long courtship, Dukat had other dalliances, but Naprem never seemed to mind; she even facilitated a few affairs. She once told him that it was good for them both that he take other lovers on occasion, that it made him appreciate her all the more. When she found out about Mekor, however, she had been furious. He could remember the shrillness in her voice as she cried, "How could you? How could you make love with your Cardassian wife and give her another child, when you have a child with your Bajoran lover?" Naprem left him that night, taking Ziyal with her, and went into seclusion in the apartment he had given her in the capital city.
It took him six months to win her back, and in the end it was the pledge bracelet that broke her resistance. He never returned to his wife again.
Naprem was fearless, and that was why he loved her. In her own way, Kira reminded him of Naprem: haughty, courageous, provocative, challenging. If circumstances had been different, he told himself, he knew that Kira would have come to appreciate and love him as Naprem once had.
At least, that was what he chose to believe.
Dukat's attention was diverted by an exchange between the pilot and co-pilot. Apparently they had picked up a ship on their long-range sensors, and it was not responding to their orders to maintain a clear corridor. Starfleet was taking no chances with Dukat; not only was he, personally, under heavily armed guard at all times, but his shuttle had also been equipped with the latest in sensor and weapons technology, and the pilot had been ordered to follow a specific flight path between the starbase and Terra. Sisko had told Dukat that only he and the pilot knew all the details - time of departure, flight plan, shuttle specifications, and so forth. Yet Dukat knew that spies - perhaps even former Obsidian Order spies - could have accessed that information without anyone being the wiser. He was too valuable a target for some opportunistic assassin not to try to take a potshot at him.
Dukat leaned forward in his seat as much as the restraints would allow, and tried to hear as much of the exchange as his limited hearing made possible. The guard seated next to him noticed his movement and stood in the doorway between the cockpit and the passenger bay as he spoke to the flight crew, thus effectively blocking the conversation from Dukat.
He had nevertheless overheard enough to sense that something was wrong, and it was not just the mysterious ship headed directly for them. Although he could not be certain, Terran voices being modulated differently than Cardassian voices, Dukat thought he heard an unwarranted degree of confidence in the pilot's voice as he repeated his hails to the oncoming ship. Terrans, if he remembered correctly, tended to raise the pitch of their voices as they neared the end of a question, or when they were uncertain or afraid. The pilot's voice, in contrast, was smooth and uneven. Unfortunately, Dukat's brute of a guard was standing between him and the pilot, and he could no longer hear what was being said. He hated not knowing everything that was happening, especially when it pertained - however obliquely - to him.
Dukat's irritation and impatience increased. Humans could be so inconsiderate sometimes. He began to try to free himself from the restraints, twisting about in his seat to loosen them enough to allow him to apply greater pressure to the links. The guard must have heard him shuffling around, because he turned away from the cockpit. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, bending down to adjust the restraints.
The phaser blast coming from behind caught the guard completely unprepared, and he toppled over onto Dukat, pinning the Cardassian under his dead weight. Rocking his shoulders to shift the guard's head out of his way, Dukat saw a similar blast eliminate the co-pilot. He then found himself looking up into the cold eyes of the pilot leering down at him with a malicious expression that betrayed his single-minded purpose.
"Let me guess," Dukat said, unflappable despite the danger or the rather compromising position in which he found himself, "former Maquis?"
The pilot pistol-whipped him. Dukat tasted blood and his vision grew blurry. "Shut up, you arrogant spoonhead," the pilot said.
Dukat rolled his eyes. He had been in far worse situations than this, and the pilot was obviously no match for his superior intellect and experience. "Oh, how clever," he slurred through the blood filling his mouth. "Judging from your original choice of vernacular, I'd say you didn't plan this mission." He did not flinch when the pilot struck him again, but instead spat blood at him, laughing as the man grimaced in disgust. "What's the matter, does your own barbarism sicken you? Was your mother a Klingon, or are you a throwback to the Terran Dark Ages?"
The pilot raised the phaser, this time to fire at Dukat, but he must have thought better of it because he lowered it as he smirked at him. "I'm under orders to shoot your scaly hide, but I've got a better idea."
"Please enlighten me. I'd be thrilled to know what qualifies as a 'better idea' in your pathetic excuse for a brain."
The man should have shot him when he had the chance, although Dukat was not about to tell him that. He had outwitted far superior enemies driven by overconfidence to make foolish mistakes, and this man would have lost if he had tried to match wits with a Bolian. Yet Dukat was somewhat disturbed by the pilot's obsession with pointless brutality and mayhem. Unrestrained savagery was a dangerous trait, especially in a race as uncivilized as humans. There is no obstacle that a properly disciplined mind cannot overcome, Dukat reminded himself as the pilot destroyed the helm controls, shield emitters, life support and the transporter controls with his phaser.
"That was brilliant. How are you going to escape?" Dukat asked.
"Just like this." He took a hand-held communicator from beneath his tunic and engaged it. "Juarez to Ticonderoga. Mission accomplished."
A female voice replied, "Is he dead?"
"He will be soon enough." Dukat just glowered at him. "I'm ready to beam over."
"You were supposed to kill him, Juarez."
"I decided to have a little fun with him first. Give him time to think about all the pain he's inflicted on others. Then let him suffocate while the hull collapses around him. There's no way he can escape."
"And what if somebody comes to rescue him?"
"They won't. This corridor is off limits for another sixteen hours. It'll be too late then."
There was a deep sigh on the other end of the link, and Dukat thought he heard the woman mutter "idiot" under her breath. Then, "Acknowledged. Stand by for transport."
Juarez took the opportunity to beat Dukat one last time before the transporter beam took him away. Dukat heard the crack of shattered bones as pain radiated through his jaw and down into his neck ridges.
It brought Dukat some small degree of satisfaction a few seconds later when Juarez' atoms rematerialized just beyond the forward viewscreen, his face frozen by the frigid vacuum of space into a hideous mask of triumph and surprise.
A blast of phaser fire rocked the shuttle, throwing the dead guard covering Dukat's body to the floor, as Juarez' compatriots destroyed the port nacelle. Flames exploded from the consoles and alarms sounded from all directions.
The impact loosened Dukat's restraints enough that he was able to wrestle his hands free, and he quickly pulled the restraining straps out of the buckles and made his way into the smoking cockpit. Juarez had blasted his way through every instrument that Dukat could have used to defend himself against another attack or flee for safety. Through the haze of smoke and fire Dukat saw the Ticonderoga circling around for another attack and he cursed himself for ever having trusted Sisko. Without shields, propulsion, or life support, he was as good as a praying Bajoran. His only hope was the upgraded weapons system, but he was unfamiliar with Starfleet firing protocols, and there was no time for mistakes. The Ticonderoga would soon be in firing range.
Dukat was not prepared to surrender, not yet. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He had not crawled his way up through the ranks of the Cardassian military on charm alone.
He made a few quick calculations in his head, then programmed the coordinates into the targeting computer. Just as the phaser banks on the other ship began to glow, he fired.
It almost worked.
He had succeeded in targeting the phasers to slice through the Ticonderoga, but as it sheared apart a large piece of the hull struck the side of his shuttle, sending it careening out of control towards a large planet that swerved into view as gravity began to pull the shuttle to its surface.
There was little that Dukat could do to stop the shuttle's inexorable plunge into the planet's atmosphere. He knew that if the shuttle entered the atmosphere at too steep an angle, the resulting friction would burn the hull to a crisp. If it entered at too shallow an angle, it would skip across the atmosphere until the keel broke apart.
His only chance was Chance itself.
Fortunately, Chance was on his side, at least for the moment. The shuttle entered the atmosphere at about a 25 degree angle, just enough to heat the outer hull without igniting it. The temperature inside the shuttle became stifling, however, and the raging inferno was feeding on the remaining oxygen. Dukat felt the world around him grow fuzzy and indistinct as he braced himself for the inevitable impact. He was oblivious to the searing heat and flames, oblivious to the blinding light reflected from the planet's barren surface, oblivious to the encroaching darkness that lapped at the edges of his mind, as he trained his thoughts on the first pleasant image that crept into view. If he was going to die, then he would die with a smile on his face.
When the impact hit, throwing Dukat simultaneously backwards and forwards as the shuttle disintegrated around him, the last thought on Dukat's mind was of Kira.
Then oblivion fell, enshrouding Dukat with its comforting presence.
~ * ~
Kira arrived at Sisko's office as quickly as possible. His call had sounded urgent, and with the planned attack on the station less than a day away, she was taking no chances. His response to her requested entry was almost concurrent with the request itself.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" Kira asked, standing before his desk.
"Have a seat, Major."
Sisko leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. Kira recognized the gesture; it was not a good sign. She took the chair to her left and draped her arms over the rests.
"I've just heard from Starfleet Command headquarters on Earth." Kira gave him a look that urged him to continue. "Gul Dukat's shuttle never arrived."
Kira did not know what to think. This was not what she had been expecting to hear. "When was he due?" she asked.
"Yesterday. The last transmission we received, approximately thirty-eight hours ago, was a report of an unauthorized ship trespassing in the flight corridor we established for the shuttle."
"And you haven't heard anything since then?"
Sisko shook his head. "I suspect foul play was somehow involved." Something in his manner caught Kira's attention, and she stiffened as anger flooded her veins. Sisko's hand went up, halting her retort. "I didn't mean for that to come out sounding like an accusation, Major. If you had intended to do away with Dukat, you would have done so long ago, and in full view."
Her mind raced as she considered various possibilities. "Do you think Garak might have been involved?"
Sisko shrugged. "I doubt it, but it's certainly within the realm of possibility. At the moment, however, Starfleet doesn't have the time or resources to investigate Dukat's disappearance."
Kira's eyes widened with comprehension. "Which is why you called me in here."
"Exactly."
"Captain, you can't --"
Sisko leaned forward. "Major, I can't risk involving you in this war. You are still the Bajoran Liaison Officer, and as such your primary responsibility is to Bajor. You're here only because Dukat brought you here, because you were wounded on the station. If...When we retake Deep Space Nine, I want you back as my first officer. But I don't want you fighting in this war, not unless it becomes absolutely necessary. This is not Bajor's war to fight. I won't be responsible for the loss of any Bajoran lives if I can help it. Do you understand?"
Kira, who had risen from her seat to protest his speech, sank back down. "Yes, sir."
Sisko leaned back again. "Good." He pushed a padd across the desk, and Kira took it. "Everything you need to know is right there: the shuttle's identification, engineering schematics, crew manifest, flight plan and schedule. I want you to find anything that will tell us what happened - wreckage, weapons signatures, casualties. I've set aside a runabout for your use."
Kira nodded as she scanned the information. "Should I take Doctor Bashir? In case there are survivors?"
Sisko considered her request. "I could use him on the Defiant, but I'll allow it. I want you to leave as soon as possible. If this is Dukat's doing, it could severely jeopardize our battle plan."
"I'll get right on it, sir."
* ~ *
Eight hours had passed before Bashir felt Dukat was stable enough to attempt removing his uniform. Kira was relieved. While Bashir had remained seated on the ground, simultaneously monitoring the intravenous drip and Dukat's condition, she had erected the shelter, set up camp, and kept Dukat's skin moistened with a jury-rigged sprinkler system circulating through the runabout's environmental control system. Despite her exhaustion, she took comfort in the realization that, as time wore on and Dukat's outermost scales fell away, the underlying skin appeared to be improving in health and elasticity. She remembered how thin-skinned - both physically and psychologically - Cardassians were, and Bashir had mentioned that if the burns extended beyond Dukat's third epidermal layer he would have to be placed in stasis until new skin could be regenerated - a difficult task, considering the complex network of scales and ridges on the Cardassian body.
The sun had gone down several hours ago, but the arid surface continued to radiate enough heat to keep them warm without a fire. It was a good thing, Kira thought as she decreased the water pressure to a fine mist at Bashir's request. The Cardassian resistance to extreme heat may turn out to be Dukat's only hope. Any sudden chill would surely kill him.
Kneeling in the mud on Dukat's right, she gently lifted his arm and unbuckled the fasteners between his underarm and rib cage, holding her breath as she peeled the still-warm plate away. Bashir did the same on the left side. The bodysuit covering Dukat's arms remained intact, a good sign that the skin beneath was at least healthy, if not undamaged. Kira took a moment to offer a prayer of thanks.
Removing the breast plate would require a joint effort to lift it over Dukat's head and pull it out from under his back. "If we're lucky," Bashir said, "his back was protected from the heat. If not, the mud should provide a cushion."
Kira nodded as she unbuckled the fasteners on her side. A chunk of melted hull fused to the plate made it difficult for Bashir to unbuckle his side, so Kira leaned over Dukat's chest, being careful not to touch him, and tugged at the fasteners until they disintegrated, weakened by the intense heat. She then kneeled beside Dukat's head and lifted it from the ground, cradling it in her hands as Bashir attempted to tug the uniform above Dukat's shoulders. The silky softness of Dukat's hair surprised her; she had always presumed Cardassian hair to be coarse, like their skin. She was tempted to run her fingers through his scalp.
A grating noise made them both stop, and Bashir quickly scanned Dukat for signs of distress or additional injury.
Kira exhaled a sigh of relief when Bashir said, "His uniform's caught on a piece of metal. I don't think we'll be able to pull it off without causing significant damage."
"Do you have a laser scalpel in your medkit?" Kira asked. Bashir nodded. "Maybe we could cut through the uniform at the shoulders and just remove the chest portion."
Bashir thought for a moment, then said, "That'll work."
As he turned to his medkit to retrieve the scalpel, Kira took the opportunity to brush her fingers around Dukat's eye ridges. She inhaled sharply when the nictitating membranes snapped shut as several dead scales sloughed free and fell into his eyes. He showed no other signs of life - or death - so Kira continued her delicate exploration of his contours, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the surface of his skin. Down the ridge just above his left temple, then around the eye until it met the nose ridge, then following the long line of his nose until the ridge stopped just above his upper lip. Beginning at the lobe of his left ear, following his strong jawline, across his chin, and back up to his right ear. The same course with the ridges on the right side of his face as with the left. The hollow in the center of his forehead, just above his nose, she saved for last. How many times had she wondered at its evolutionary purpose? She shifted slightly, just enough to allow her to bend over and blow across the slight depression, marveling at the tiny water droplets as they skittered across its gently sloping surface.
How strange it was, to see her greatest adversary so frail and weakened, his life literally in her hands. For the first time since she met Dukat, Kira felt like she was in complete control. It was exhilarating and unsettling at the same time.
"Don't give up on me," she whispered. "We're doing all we can. Please."
She thought back on their last confrontation. With Dukat, every meeting, no matter how polite and innocuous, was a confrontation. Subtlety was not the Cardassian way. It was not Kira's way either, and she wondered if that was what had attracted Dukat to her in the first place. She may have been afraid of him, or of the legacy he left on Bajor, but she was not impressed or awestruck by him, and she made no effort to hide her disdain. As the years progressed, however, and as time slowly erased the effects of his brutal reign, Kira's disdain of what he had been began to evolve into a grudging respect for what he had become. She could never forgive his past, but she had learned, against every rational instinct, to accept that he was capable of change. As long as the balance of power between them remained relatively equal, Dukat's gradual transformation rang true. When he tried to shift the scales in his favor, however, her old animosity resurfaced with a vengeance.
Realization dawned on Kira. She was in control. Complete control. She always had been, even when she seemed to be at Dukat's mercy. Even when he seemed to try to usurp power from her, he always pulled back at just the last minute, and let her resume control. In all these years, he could have easily overpowered her. But he never did. And he never would, not without her permission.
He respected her.
Had Dukat ever respected anyone in his life? Had he ever admired anyone? Kira could think of no one, yet all the evidence seemed to point to the fact that he respected her. A Bajoran woman. His former property. His enemy.
Bashir turned back toward them, and he must have seen something in Kira's face, because he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Nerys?" he asked. Kira lifted her unseeing eyes to his. "Is something wrong?"
A soft smile appeared. "No, Doctor," she said.
He gave her a quizzical look, and her eyes quickly snapped back into focus. "If he's survived this long, he'll recover. Cardassians have a remarkable will to live, although I doubt I need to tell you that."
"Yes, Doctor. They do. Did you find that laser scalpel?" The old Kira was back in full force.
Bashir activated the tool and began cutting through the uniform at the shoulder seams. Kira knew from experience that the armor was made of a tough alloy fairly impervious to most extremes of temperature and pressure, but the stress Dukat's uniform had endured protecting him from the crash had weakened it enough that the laser sliced through the seams with minimal output. In a matter of minutes Bashir had completely separated the chest plate from the back plate, and he deactivated the laser and returned it to its case.
"Ready, Major?" Bashir asked. Kira gently placed Dukat's head back on the ground and moved around to his right side. Sliding her fingers between the chest and back plates next to his rib cage, she began to lift the plate free of Dukat's torso.
"Wait a minute, I'm caught." The hull fragment that had hampered Bashir's effort to unbuckle the armor before had snagged the inside of Dukat's left elbow, tearing through the bodysuit and leaving a deep gash in the tender skin beneath. Kira noticed with mixed relief that blood spurted from the wound; it meant that the electrolyte solution had rehydrated him enough to get his blood flowing again. She waited for Bashir to extract a shard from the wound, then quickly close it with a dermal regenerator. "Okay."
As she continued to lift the armor away from Dukat's body, the weight began to press on her fingers and she had to slide first one hand, then the other, fully under the plate. Although his bodysuit remained as a barrier between her skin and his, it was the first time she had come into contact with his unarmored chest. The underside of the armor was still warm, but his heat-retardant bodysuit where her knuckles brushed against it was cool to the touch. She suppressed a hiss of delight.
It took Kira and Bashir nearly half an hour to separate the plate from Dukat's chest and lift it away. On the one hand, Bashir wanted to take no chances with inadvertently removing any of Dukat's skin with his armor; on the other, the plate was quite heavy.
"How do they sleep with all this weight pressing on them?" Bashir muttered through clenched teeth as he tried to draw his long legs under him. "I'd be breathless in less than a minute if I tried to lie down on my back with a hundred kilos sitting on my chest."
"You're forgetting their ribcages are almost one solid piece of bone," Kira reminded him. "They can withstand much more pressure than humans and Bajorans. Besides, Dukat's worn his armor for so long he probably can't sleep without it." She tried to grin but the exertion of lifting the plate made it appear as a grimace. "Call it a Cardassian security blanket."
Bashir's laughter came out as a grunt. "Somehow I can't imagine Gul Dukat being insecure about anything."
Her response was noncommittal. "Even Cardassians have their weaknesses." Bashir gave her a strange look, but said nothing.
At last Bashir maneuvered himself into a position that enabled him to rise to a standing position. Kira braced her hands under the plate, then at his command they slowly rose, bearing the brunt of the weight in their legs, until they were both erect. Then Bashir directed her to edge towards Dukat's feet, and, after a few shuffling steps, the plate was completely clear of his body. With a grunt and a heave, they tossed it on a heap of scrap. Bashir wiped his hands on his pants and retrieved his medical tricorder as Kira kneeled by Dukat's side.
Bashir provided a running commentary while he examined Dukat, but he might as well have been talking to himself. Kira had never before seen Dukat quite so exposed, quite so...naked...and she was mesmerized by the sight, oblivious to the talking man right next to her. Dukat was much more slender than she had expected; his uniform made him seem almost larger than life. Except for a few tears in his bodysuit, he was still modestly covered, but she could easily see the contoured ridges decorating his torso, and she knew that between those ridges lay overlapping layers of tiny silvery-white scales. She had seen Cardassians unclothed before, so the patterns were not unfamiliar. The man who lay before her was no ordinary Cardassian, however, and she was tempted to reach out a hand and trace her fingers along the
cloth-covered contours. She resolved to wait until she would have the opportunity to do so at her leisure, without the risk of causing him further injury.
"Have you heard a word I've said?" Bashir's voice once again interrupted Kira's musings.
"Hm? Did you say something, Doctor?"
"I asked if you thought it would be better to remove his bodysuit now, or wait until we can get him to the runabout. The armor seems to have done a good job of protecting his vital organs from the heat and flames. He's in no immediate danger."
Kira chewed her lip, trying to control the impulse to urge Bashir to remove his bodysuit now, so she could examine Dukat in his natural state. She felt a sudden wave of irritation at Cardassian prudishness, a stark contrast to Bajoran aesthetics. "It might be better to leave it on for now," she finally said. "It'll protect him from the elements, until we can get him out of this heat."
Bashir nodded his agreement, but looked at her sternly. "Nerys, you need a rest," he said, taking her hand in his when she demurred. "You've been through a hell of a lot in the past few weeks. I know the stress is getting to you, because I can see it in your eyes. Go back to the runabout and lie down. I'll stay here with him."
Kira wanted to protest, but she was exhausted, and she reluctantly acquiesced. "You'll let me know if there's any change?" she asked.
"I will. He should be all right, but I'll tell you if anything happens."
"Thank you, Doctor." She slowly rose to her feet and stretched, taking one final, lingering look at Dukat's unconscious form as she did so. It was the last image on her mind when she fell into a deep slumber.
~ * ~
After another twelve hours, Bashir agreed that Dukat could be moved, by transporter, to a stasis unit he had set up in the runabout. They had now been on the barren planet for twenty-five hours, away from all contact with Starfleet for two days, and they were both eager to return to Starbase 375.
Kira's newfound confidence had awakened in her previously undiscovered feelings of compassion and tenderness. She had always known that she had a bit of a maternal streak, which manifested itself in her decisions to look after Ziyal and to carry the O'Briens' baby to term, but until recently she never believed that she possessed the ability or the desire to actually nurture another being, especially a Cardassian. For years, she had believed the facade she presented: that she was an angry, fierce, unforgiving fighter, that the only genuine tenderness she felt was for Bajorans. True, a part of her loved Sisko, and Dax, and Bashir, and especially Odo, but it was a love engendered from respect and loyalty, rather than compassion.
Did she love Dukat? It was too soon to say. She would willingly die fighting to protect Bajor from his rapacious desire to reclaim it in the name of Cardassian expansionism, but she understood, finally, that Dukat wanted her more than he wanted Bajor, that it was her, not Bajor, he had lusted after all these years. For the first time, it occurred to her that she might not have to die, that she might not even have to fight. Dukat would accept her in Bajor's stead.
And she was willing to offer herself, not just to save Bajor, but because she wanted to. Dukat had been right after all; she did desire him. He empowered her.
All these thoughts ran through Kira's mind as she set up the signal enhancers to transport Dukat to the runabout. She had suggested using the enhancers rather than just one of their commbadges, to improve the likelihood of an error-free transport. She did not want to run the risk of incurring further damage to Dukat's ravaged body. Bashir agreed with her, and as she activated the enhancement beam he programmed the transport coordinates into the runabout's computer.
Kira tapped her commbadge. "Kira to Bashir."
"Bashir here."
"He's ready for transport."
"Acknowledged. Stand by."
Kira gently attached her commbadge to Dukat's bodysuit and offered up a silent prayer of supplication, pleading with the Prophets to protect him. The transporter beam shimmered around his body, enveloping him in its eerie glow, then he effervesced out of sight. She began packing up the equipment, confident that Bashir would promptly inform her if the unthinkable had occurred.
~ * ~
"Major Kira and Doctor Bashir reporting in to Starbase 375."
An unfamiliar female voice replied, "It's about time we heard from you, Major, Doctor. Captain Sisko's been about to send out a search party."
"We were a little delayed. Requesting permission to approach the starbase."
"Would you mind taking a slight detour?"
Kira sighed and Bashir rolled his eyes. "What kind of a detour?"
"To Deep Space Nine."
Kira could hear the triumphant grin over the link, and responded with one of her own. "Acknowledged. Plotting new course heading for Deep Space Nine. Kira out."
"Have a safe trip, Major."
~ * ~
"You want to do what?" Bashir's voice was incredulous.
"Don't play dumb with me, Julian. You heard exactly what I said."
"You want to take Gul Dukat down to Bajor, hide him with friends of yours, and you expect me to lie to Captain Sisko about it?"
"Dukat trusted Sisko with his life, and look what happened. I ca --"
"Nerys, this is Gul Dukat we're talking about here, not just some random troublemaker!"
"I know --"
"I just can't believe you're even considering this. You are protecting Gul Dukat. You are protecting Gul Dukat!" He stared at her long and hard. "What's gotten in to you? Six months ago, you would have never even attempted this. Hell, six months ago you would have been the first to celebrate his death!"
"That's not fair, Julian. Dukat and I may have had our differences, but --"
"Your differences?" he sputtered. "I shouldn't have to remind you that he nearly destroyed your homeworld, that he was responsible for the deaths of ten million Bajorans, that he ordered his men to poison the land in your province....I'd hardly call that a difference of opinion!"
Kira gritted her teeth. "Do you intend to let me finish a single sentence?" she barked.
"Not if you're not going to say anything that makes sense." He slammed his hand against the helm control panel. "Dammit, Nerys, what is with you? You've been distracted, moody, and unpredictable, even for you!"
She was seething with fury. "I didn't realize I was supposed to be following a script!"
Bashir's chagrin was evident in his face as he took Kira's clenched fist. "You're right," he said, lowering his voice in regret. "I'm sorry. I was over the line. But, please, Nerys...I don't understand why you want to do this. It just - it doesn't make sense. Why are you helping Dukat?"
Kira took a deep breath, and the hard, angry lines in her face softened. "I don't know if I can explain it. Dukat saved my life when Damar took control of the station, and I --"
"You feel like you owe it to him to return the favor?"
"It's not just that, although it's certainly part of it." She turned to face Bashir. "He's lost everything, Julian. Not just the station, and not just Ziyal. Everything. And I - I - I know what that's like, to lose your family, your home, everything that you cherished. I've been there." There were tears in her eyes and her voice grew very quiet. "If it weren't for the Shakaar, I would have lost my mind during the Occupation. They couldn't replace everything I had lost, but they filled the empty spaces in me. When we liberated Gallitep, I saw the looks in the eyes of those prisoners, the ones who had given up hope. It was...as though they weren't even alive anymore, just going through the motions. I'll never forget --" She studied her hand in Bashir's. "Dukat had that same look in his eyes, holding Ziyal in his arms. It was terrifying, to see such empty eyes in his face, as if he died with her."
"He certainly seemed back to his old self on the starbase."
"Except that he wasn't. He didn't even harass me the way he used to."
Bashir snorted. "You're complaining about that?"
"No - Yes - I don't know." She sighed. "I told you I didn't think I could explain my reasons. It doesn't even make sense to me. It's just something I have to do. Please trust me."
"Let me state for the record that I think you're making a big mistake, Nerys. Once he's back on his feet, I guarantee you Dukat will be up to his usual tricks."
Kira nodded. "You're probably right. But something tells me that this latest setback will have a much greater impact on him than others."
"We've all said that before."
"Please, Julian. Do this for me, until he recovers?"
Bashir shook his head in disbelief. "All right. I'll take the runabout back to the station and tell Sisko we found no survivors and you decided to take an extended personal leave on Bajor. If he finds out otherwise, though...I won't cover for you."
"Thank you," Kira exhaled in relief.
"I just hope we don't both live to regret this."
So did she.
PART FOUR
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Ziyal's brutal death unites Gul Dukat and Major Kira in ways neither of them expected.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART TWO
Dukat did not expect to see Kira waiting by the airlock to give him a last goodbye as Security escorted him to a waiting shuttle, although part of him almost wished she had been there. In fact, Alpha shift had not even started as he was led, manacled, through the nearly empty corridors of Starbase 375, and he recognized none of the faces that passed by him. Sisko had visited him the previous evening to ask some final questions about Damar, and Garak had flaunted his freedom in his face one more time, but for the most part the people Dukat knew from Terok Nor were occupied with the ongoing war effort. Still, it would have been nice to see the major one more time, he thought. He had obviously pushed the right - or wrong, depending on one's perspective - button during their last meeting, and he would have liked the chance to push it again, just to see her reaction.
Another time, perhaps, he thought as the guards strapped him in to a seat in the shuttle's passenger bay.
The war was beginning to escalate, according to the information he overheard in his holding cell. Damar had almost completed dismantling the minefield, and Starfleet was supposedly amassing a huge armada to retake Terok Nor. Dukat would have liked to be there, to defend the station against his current guardians. Even if it meant death, it would have been a less ignominious defeat than his current prospects.
If circumstances had been different, he wondered, would Kira have mourned him? He would have to remember to ask her when next they met.
If they ever met again.
The shuttle pushed free of the docking pylon and turned its bow towards Terra. Dukat had never visited Terra before, and he concentrated his thoughts on all that he had learned of it. He would have to learn to like Terran food, he supposed; he was not likely to find boiled taspar eggs in the prison kitchen. What did the air on Terra smell like? What would the climate be like? Would he be warm enough, or would he be banished to a prison near one of the poles? Would he be fitted with a translation device, or would he have to speak Federation Standard? Would he have access to other Cardassians? Would he be placed at the mercy of vengeful Bajorans and Maquis?
Would Kira come visit him?
What was it about Kira Nerys that fascinated him so? She was not beautiful, not even by generous Bajoran standards, and her formal education was so far behind his own the disparity was laughable. She had little or no sense of humor, as far as he could tell, and she was quick - too quick, in his opinion, to anger and too slow to forgive. So what was the hold she had on him?
The truth, he had to admit, was that she challenged him. Every exchange between them was rife with tension, intrigue and innuendo. She kept him on his toes, his wits sharp, and his blood pressure near the boiling point. She was not afraid of him - or, if she was, she did a very good job of hiding it - and her courage impressed him.
Time was, not so long ago, he could have had any Bajoran woman he wanted. A look and a gesture to one of his men, and he would find the woman of his choice waiting in his bed a few hours later. Some of them came willingly, most not, but in the end none of them refused the demands of the Prefect of Bajor.
Naprem, on the other hand, had been different. She laughed at him. She laughed at him! She had knelt on his bed, completely and unashamedly naked, and tossed back her head and laughed uproariously when he entered the room and began removing his armor. When he had asked her what was so funny, she replied, "Is the Prefect so insecure with his manliness that he has to kidnap his own property to satisfy his needs?"
He raised his hand to strike her but she did not flinch, and her defiant stare made him lower his hand in wonder. "Why did you come, then?" he asked. "You could have said no."
Her answer provoked him as no other woman had. "I heard that generations of sex with Cardassian women made Cardassian men terrible lovers. I wanted to find out for myself if it was true."
He spent the next eighteen years proving her wrong.
Throughout their long courtship, Dukat had other dalliances, but Naprem never seemed to mind; she even facilitated a few affairs. She once told him that it was good for them both that he take other lovers on occasion, that it made him appreciate her all the more. When she found out about Mekor, however, she had been furious. He could remember the shrillness in her voice as she cried, "How could you? How could you make love with your Cardassian wife and give her another child, when you have a child with your Bajoran lover?" Naprem left him that night, taking Ziyal with her, and went into seclusion in the apartment he had given her in the capital city.
It took him six months to win her back, and in the end it was the pledge bracelet that broke her resistance. He never returned to his wife again.
Naprem was fearless, and that was why he loved her. In her own way, Kira reminded him of Naprem: haughty, courageous, provocative, challenging. If circumstances had been different, he told himself, he knew that Kira would have come to appreciate and love him as Naprem once had.
At least, that was what he chose to believe.
Dukat's attention was diverted by an exchange between the pilot and co-pilot. Apparently they had picked up a ship on their long-range sensors, and it was not responding to their orders to maintain a clear corridor. Starfleet was taking no chances with Dukat; not only was he, personally, under heavily armed guard at all times, but his shuttle had also been equipped with the latest in sensor and weapons technology, and the pilot had been ordered to follow a specific flight path between the starbase and Terra. Sisko had told Dukat that only he and the pilot knew all the details - time of departure, flight plan, shuttle specifications, and so forth. Yet Dukat knew that spies - perhaps even former Obsidian Order spies - could have accessed that information without anyone being the wiser. He was too valuable a target for some opportunistic assassin not to try to take a potshot at him.
Dukat leaned forward in his seat as much as the restraints would allow, and tried to hear as much of the exchange as his limited hearing made possible. The guard seated next to him noticed his movement and stood in the doorway between the cockpit and the passenger bay as he spoke to the flight crew, thus effectively blocking the conversation from Dukat.
He had nevertheless overheard enough to sense that something was wrong, and it was not just the mysterious ship headed directly for them. Although he could not be certain, Terran voices being modulated differently than Cardassian voices, Dukat thought he heard an unwarranted degree of confidence in the pilot's voice as he repeated his hails to the oncoming ship. Terrans, if he remembered correctly, tended to raise the pitch of their voices as they neared the end of a question, or when they were uncertain or afraid. The pilot's voice, in contrast, was smooth and uneven. Unfortunately, Dukat's brute of a guard was standing between him and the pilot, and he could no longer hear what was being said. He hated not knowing everything that was happening, especially when it pertained - however obliquely - to him.
Dukat's irritation and impatience increased. Humans could be so inconsiderate sometimes. He began to try to free himself from the restraints, twisting about in his seat to loosen them enough to allow him to apply greater pressure to the links. The guard must have heard him shuffling around, because he turned away from the cockpit. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, bending down to adjust the restraints.
The phaser blast coming from behind caught the guard completely unprepared, and he toppled over onto Dukat, pinning the Cardassian under his dead weight. Rocking his shoulders to shift the guard's head out of his way, Dukat saw a similar blast eliminate the co-pilot. He then found himself looking up into the cold eyes of the pilot leering down at him with a malicious expression that betrayed his single-minded purpose.
"Let me guess," Dukat said, unflappable despite the danger or the rather compromising position in which he found himself, "former Maquis?"
The pilot pistol-whipped him. Dukat tasted blood and his vision grew blurry. "Shut up, you arrogant spoonhead," the pilot said.
Dukat rolled his eyes. He had been in far worse situations than this, and the pilot was obviously no match for his superior intellect and experience. "Oh, how clever," he slurred through the blood filling his mouth. "Judging from your original choice of vernacular, I'd say you didn't plan this mission." He did not flinch when the pilot struck him again, but instead spat blood at him, laughing as the man grimaced in disgust. "What's the matter, does your own barbarism sicken you? Was your mother a Klingon, or are you a throwback to the Terran Dark Ages?"
The pilot raised the phaser, this time to fire at Dukat, but he must have thought better of it because he lowered it as he smirked at him. "I'm under orders to shoot your scaly hide, but I've got a better idea."
"Please enlighten me. I'd be thrilled to know what qualifies as a 'better idea' in your pathetic excuse for a brain."
The man should have shot him when he had the chance, although Dukat was not about to tell him that. He had outwitted far superior enemies driven by overconfidence to make foolish mistakes, and this man would have lost if he had tried to match wits with a Bolian. Yet Dukat was somewhat disturbed by the pilot's obsession with pointless brutality and mayhem. Unrestrained savagery was a dangerous trait, especially in a race as uncivilized as humans. There is no obstacle that a properly disciplined mind cannot overcome, Dukat reminded himself as the pilot destroyed the helm controls, shield emitters, life support and the transporter controls with his phaser.
"That was brilliant. How are you going to escape?" Dukat asked.
"Just like this." He took a hand-held communicator from beneath his tunic and engaged it. "Juarez to Ticonderoga. Mission accomplished."
A female voice replied, "Is he dead?"
"He will be soon enough." Dukat just glowered at him. "I'm ready to beam over."
"You were supposed to kill him, Juarez."
"I decided to have a little fun with him first. Give him time to think about all the pain he's inflicted on others. Then let him suffocate while the hull collapses around him. There's no way he can escape."
"And what if somebody comes to rescue him?"
"They won't. This corridor is off limits for another sixteen hours. It'll be too late then."
There was a deep sigh on the other end of the link, and Dukat thought he heard the woman mutter "idiot" under her breath. Then, "Acknowledged. Stand by for transport."
Juarez took the opportunity to beat Dukat one last time before the transporter beam took him away. Dukat heard the crack of shattered bones as pain radiated through his jaw and down into his neck ridges.
It brought Dukat some small degree of satisfaction a few seconds later when Juarez' atoms rematerialized just beyond the forward viewscreen, his face frozen by the frigid vacuum of space into a hideous mask of triumph and surprise.
A blast of phaser fire rocked the shuttle, throwing the dead guard covering Dukat's body to the floor, as Juarez' compatriots destroyed the port nacelle. Flames exploded from the consoles and alarms sounded from all directions.
The impact loosened Dukat's restraints enough that he was able to wrestle his hands free, and he quickly pulled the restraining straps out of the buckles and made his way into the smoking cockpit. Juarez had blasted his way through every instrument that Dukat could have used to defend himself against another attack or flee for safety. Through the haze of smoke and fire Dukat saw the Ticonderoga circling around for another attack and he cursed himself for ever having trusted Sisko. Without shields, propulsion, or life support, he was as good as a praying Bajoran. His only hope was the upgraded weapons system, but he was unfamiliar with Starfleet firing protocols, and there was no time for mistakes. The Ticonderoga would soon be in firing range.
Dukat was not prepared to surrender, not yet. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He had not crawled his way up through the ranks of the Cardassian military on charm alone.
He made a few quick calculations in his head, then programmed the coordinates into the targeting computer. Just as the phaser banks on the other ship began to glow, he fired.
It almost worked.
He had succeeded in targeting the phasers to slice through the Ticonderoga, but as it sheared apart a large piece of the hull struck the side of his shuttle, sending it careening out of control towards a large planet that swerved into view as gravity began to pull the shuttle to its surface.
There was little that Dukat could do to stop the shuttle's inexorable plunge into the planet's atmosphere. He knew that if the shuttle entered the atmosphere at too steep an angle, the resulting friction would burn the hull to a crisp. If it entered at too shallow an angle, it would skip across the atmosphere until the keel broke apart.
His only chance was Chance itself.
Fortunately, Chance was on his side, at least for the moment. The shuttle entered the atmosphere at about a 25 degree angle, just enough to heat the outer hull without igniting it. The temperature inside the shuttle became stifling, however, and the raging inferno was feeding on the remaining oxygen. Dukat felt the world around him grow fuzzy and indistinct as he braced himself for the inevitable impact. He was oblivious to the searing heat and flames, oblivious to the blinding light reflected from the planet's barren surface, oblivious to the encroaching darkness that lapped at the edges of his mind, as he trained his thoughts on the first pleasant image that crept into view. If he was going to die, then he would die with a smile on his face.
When the impact hit, throwing Dukat simultaneously backwards and forwards as the shuttle disintegrated around him, the last thought on Dukat's mind was of Kira.
Then oblivion fell, enshrouding Dukat with its comforting presence.
~ * ~
Kira arrived at Sisko's office as quickly as possible. His call had sounded urgent, and with the planned attack on the station less than a day away, she was taking no chances. His response to her requested entry was almost concurrent with the request itself.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" Kira asked, standing before his desk.
"Have a seat, Major."
Sisko leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. Kira recognized the gesture; it was not a good sign. She took the chair to her left and draped her arms over the rests.
"I've just heard from Starfleet Command headquarters on Earth." Kira gave him a look that urged him to continue. "Gul Dukat's shuttle never arrived."
Kira did not know what to think. This was not what she had been expecting to hear. "When was he due?" she asked.
"Yesterday. The last transmission we received, approximately thirty-eight hours ago, was a report of an unauthorized ship trespassing in the flight corridor we established for the shuttle."
"And you haven't heard anything since then?"
Sisko shook his head. "I suspect foul play was somehow involved." Something in his manner caught Kira's attention, and she stiffened as anger flooded her veins. Sisko's hand went up, halting her retort. "I didn't mean for that to come out sounding like an accusation, Major. If you had intended to do away with Dukat, you would have done so long ago, and in full view."
Her mind raced as she considered various possibilities. "Do you think Garak might have been involved?"
Sisko shrugged. "I doubt it, but it's certainly within the realm of possibility. At the moment, however, Starfleet doesn't have the time or resources to investigate Dukat's disappearance."
Kira's eyes widened with comprehension. "Which is why you called me in here."
"Exactly."
"Captain, you can't --"
Sisko leaned forward. "Major, I can't risk involving you in this war. You are still the Bajoran Liaison Officer, and as such your primary responsibility is to Bajor. You're here only because Dukat brought you here, because you were wounded on the station. If...When we retake Deep Space Nine, I want you back as my first officer. But I don't want you fighting in this war, not unless it becomes absolutely necessary. This is not Bajor's war to fight. I won't be responsible for the loss of any Bajoran lives if I can help it. Do you understand?"
Kira, who had risen from her seat to protest his speech, sank back down. "Yes, sir."
Sisko leaned back again. "Good." He pushed a padd across the desk, and Kira took it. "Everything you need to know is right there: the shuttle's identification, engineering schematics, crew manifest, flight plan and schedule. I want you to find anything that will tell us what happened - wreckage, weapons signatures, casualties. I've set aside a runabout for your use."
Kira nodded as she scanned the information. "Should I take Doctor Bashir? In case there are survivors?"
Sisko considered her request. "I could use him on the Defiant, but I'll allow it. I want you to leave as soon as possible. If this is Dukat's doing, it could severely jeopardize our battle plan."
"I'll get right on it, sir."
* ~ *
Eight hours had passed before Bashir felt Dukat was stable enough to attempt removing his uniform. Kira was relieved. While Bashir had remained seated on the ground, simultaneously monitoring the intravenous drip and Dukat's condition, she had erected the shelter, set up camp, and kept Dukat's skin moistened with a jury-rigged sprinkler system circulating through the runabout's environmental control system. Despite her exhaustion, she took comfort in the realization that, as time wore on and Dukat's outermost scales fell away, the underlying skin appeared to be improving in health and elasticity. She remembered how thin-skinned - both physically and psychologically - Cardassians were, and Bashir had mentioned that if the burns extended beyond Dukat's third epidermal layer he would have to be placed in stasis until new skin could be regenerated - a difficult task, considering the complex network of scales and ridges on the Cardassian body.
The sun had gone down several hours ago, but the arid surface continued to radiate enough heat to keep them warm without a fire. It was a good thing, Kira thought as she decreased the water pressure to a fine mist at Bashir's request. The Cardassian resistance to extreme heat may turn out to be Dukat's only hope. Any sudden chill would surely kill him.
Kneeling in the mud on Dukat's right, she gently lifted his arm and unbuckled the fasteners between his underarm and rib cage, holding her breath as she peeled the still-warm plate away. Bashir did the same on the left side. The bodysuit covering Dukat's arms remained intact, a good sign that the skin beneath was at least healthy, if not undamaged. Kira took a moment to offer a prayer of thanks.
Removing the breast plate would require a joint effort to lift it over Dukat's head and pull it out from under his back. "If we're lucky," Bashir said, "his back was protected from the heat. If not, the mud should provide a cushion."
Kira nodded as she unbuckled the fasteners on her side. A chunk of melted hull fused to the plate made it difficult for Bashir to unbuckle his side, so Kira leaned over Dukat's chest, being careful not to touch him, and tugged at the fasteners until they disintegrated, weakened by the intense heat. She then kneeled beside Dukat's head and lifted it from the ground, cradling it in her hands as Bashir attempted to tug the uniform above Dukat's shoulders. The silky softness of Dukat's hair surprised her; she had always presumed Cardassian hair to be coarse, like their skin. She was tempted to run her fingers through his scalp.
A grating noise made them both stop, and Bashir quickly scanned Dukat for signs of distress or additional injury.
Kira exhaled a sigh of relief when Bashir said, "His uniform's caught on a piece of metal. I don't think we'll be able to pull it off without causing significant damage."
"Do you have a laser scalpel in your medkit?" Kira asked. Bashir nodded. "Maybe we could cut through the uniform at the shoulders and just remove the chest portion."
Bashir thought for a moment, then said, "That'll work."
As he turned to his medkit to retrieve the scalpel, Kira took the opportunity to brush her fingers around Dukat's eye ridges. She inhaled sharply when the nictitating membranes snapped shut as several dead scales sloughed free and fell into his eyes. He showed no other signs of life - or death - so Kira continued her delicate exploration of his contours, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the surface of his skin. Down the ridge just above his left temple, then around the eye until it met the nose ridge, then following the long line of his nose until the ridge stopped just above his upper lip. Beginning at the lobe of his left ear, following his strong jawline, across his chin, and back up to his right ear. The same course with the ridges on the right side of his face as with the left. The hollow in the center of his forehead, just above his nose, she saved for last. How many times had she wondered at its evolutionary purpose? She shifted slightly, just enough to allow her to bend over and blow across the slight depression, marveling at the tiny water droplets as they skittered across its gently sloping surface.
How strange it was, to see her greatest adversary so frail and weakened, his life literally in her hands. For the first time since she met Dukat, Kira felt like she was in complete control. It was exhilarating and unsettling at the same time.
"Don't give up on me," she whispered. "We're doing all we can. Please."
She thought back on their last confrontation. With Dukat, every meeting, no matter how polite and innocuous, was a confrontation. Subtlety was not the Cardassian way. It was not Kira's way either, and she wondered if that was what had attracted Dukat to her in the first place. She may have been afraid of him, or of the legacy he left on Bajor, but she was not impressed or awestruck by him, and she made no effort to hide her disdain. As the years progressed, however, and as time slowly erased the effects of his brutal reign, Kira's disdain of what he had been began to evolve into a grudging respect for what he had become. She could never forgive his past, but she had learned, against every rational instinct, to accept that he was capable of change. As long as the balance of power between them remained relatively equal, Dukat's gradual transformation rang true. When he tried to shift the scales in his favor, however, her old animosity resurfaced with a vengeance.
Realization dawned on Kira. She was in control. Complete control. She always had been, even when she seemed to be at Dukat's mercy. Even when he seemed to try to usurp power from her, he always pulled back at just the last minute, and let her resume control. In all these years, he could have easily overpowered her. But he never did. And he never would, not without her permission.
He respected her.
Had Dukat ever respected anyone in his life? Had he ever admired anyone? Kira could think of no one, yet all the evidence seemed to point to the fact that he respected her. A Bajoran woman. His former property. His enemy.
Bashir turned back toward them, and he must have seen something in Kira's face, because he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Nerys?" he asked. Kira lifted her unseeing eyes to his. "Is something wrong?"
A soft smile appeared. "No, Doctor," she said.
He gave her a quizzical look, and her eyes quickly snapped back into focus. "If he's survived this long, he'll recover. Cardassians have a remarkable will to live, although I doubt I need to tell you that."
"Yes, Doctor. They do. Did you find that laser scalpel?" The old Kira was back in full force.
Bashir activated the tool and began cutting through the uniform at the shoulder seams. Kira knew from experience that the armor was made of a tough alloy fairly impervious to most extremes of temperature and pressure, but the stress Dukat's uniform had endured protecting him from the crash had weakened it enough that the laser sliced through the seams with minimal output. In a matter of minutes Bashir had completely separated the chest plate from the back plate, and he deactivated the laser and returned it to its case.
"Ready, Major?" Bashir asked. Kira gently placed Dukat's head back on the ground and moved around to his right side. Sliding her fingers between the chest and back plates next to his rib cage, she began to lift the plate free of Dukat's torso.
"Wait a minute, I'm caught." The hull fragment that had hampered Bashir's effort to unbuckle the armor before had snagged the inside of Dukat's left elbow, tearing through the bodysuit and leaving a deep gash in the tender skin beneath. Kira noticed with mixed relief that blood spurted from the wound; it meant that the electrolyte solution had rehydrated him enough to get his blood flowing again. She waited for Bashir to extract a shard from the wound, then quickly close it with a dermal regenerator. "Okay."
As she continued to lift the armor away from Dukat's body, the weight began to press on her fingers and she had to slide first one hand, then the other, fully under the plate. Although his bodysuit remained as a barrier between her skin and his, it was the first time she had come into contact with his unarmored chest. The underside of the armor was still warm, but his heat-retardant bodysuit where her knuckles brushed against it was cool to the touch. She suppressed a hiss of delight.
It took Kira and Bashir nearly half an hour to separate the plate from Dukat's chest and lift it away. On the one hand, Bashir wanted to take no chances with inadvertently removing any of Dukat's skin with his armor; on the other, the plate was quite heavy.
"How do they sleep with all this weight pressing on them?" Bashir muttered through clenched teeth as he tried to draw his long legs under him. "I'd be breathless in less than a minute if I tried to lie down on my back with a hundred kilos sitting on my chest."
"You're forgetting their ribcages are almost one solid piece of bone," Kira reminded him. "They can withstand much more pressure than humans and Bajorans. Besides, Dukat's worn his armor for so long he probably can't sleep without it." She tried to grin but the exertion of lifting the plate made it appear as a grimace. "Call it a Cardassian security blanket."
Bashir's laughter came out as a grunt. "Somehow I can't imagine Gul Dukat being insecure about anything."
Her response was noncommittal. "Even Cardassians have their weaknesses." Bashir gave her a strange look, but said nothing.
At last Bashir maneuvered himself into a position that enabled him to rise to a standing position. Kira braced her hands under the plate, then at his command they slowly rose, bearing the brunt of the weight in their legs, until they were both erect. Then Bashir directed her to edge towards Dukat's feet, and, after a few shuffling steps, the plate was completely clear of his body. With a grunt and a heave, they tossed it on a heap of scrap. Bashir wiped his hands on his pants and retrieved his medical tricorder as Kira kneeled by Dukat's side.
Bashir provided a running commentary while he examined Dukat, but he might as well have been talking to himself. Kira had never before seen Dukat quite so exposed, quite so...naked...and she was mesmerized by the sight, oblivious to the talking man right next to her. Dukat was much more slender than she had expected; his uniform made him seem almost larger than life. Except for a few tears in his bodysuit, he was still modestly covered, but she could easily see the contoured ridges decorating his torso, and she knew that between those ridges lay overlapping layers of tiny silvery-white scales. She had seen Cardassians unclothed before, so the patterns were not unfamiliar. The man who lay before her was no ordinary Cardassian, however, and she was tempted to reach out a hand and trace her fingers along the
cloth-covered contours. She resolved to wait until she would have the opportunity to do so at her leisure, without the risk of causing him further injury.
"Have you heard a word I've said?" Bashir's voice once again interrupted Kira's musings.
"Hm? Did you say something, Doctor?"
"I asked if you thought it would be better to remove his bodysuit now, or wait until we can get him to the runabout. The armor seems to have done a good job of protecting his vital organs from the heat and flames. He's in no immediate danger."
Kira chewed her lip, trying to control the impulse to urge Bashir to remove his bodysuit now, so she could examine Dukat in his natural state. She felt a sudden wave of irritation at Cardassian prudishness, a stark contrast to Bajoran aesthetics. "It might be better to leave it on for now," she finally said. "It'll protect him from the elements, until we can get him out of this heat."
Bashir nodded his agreement, but looked at her sternly. "Nerys, you need a rest," he said, taking her hand in his when she demurred. "You've been through a hell of a lot in the past few weeks. I know the stress is getting to you, because I can see it in your eyes. Go back to the runabout and lie down. I'll stay here with him."
Kira wanted to protest, but she was exhausted, and she reluctantly acquiesced. "You'll let me know if there's any change?" she asked.
"I will. He should be all right, but I'll tell you if anything happens."
"Thank you, Doctor." She slowly rose to her feet and stretched, taking one final, lingering look at Dukat's unconscious form as she did so. It was the last image on her mind when she fell into a deep slumber.
~ * ~
After another twelve hours, Bashir agreed that Dukat could be moved, by transporter, to a stasis unit he had set up in the runabout. They had now been on the barren planet for twenty-five hours, away from all contact with Starfleet for two days, and they were both eager to return to Starbase 375.
Kira's newfound confidence had awakened in her previously undiscovered feelings of compassion and tenderness. She had always known that she had a bit of a maternal streak, which manifested itself in her decisions to look after Ziyal and to carry the O'Briens' baby to term, but until recently she never believed that she possessed the ability or the desire to actually nurture another being, especially a Cardassian. For years, she had believed the facade she presented: that she was an angry, fierce, unforgiving fighter, that the only genuine tenderness she felt was for Bajorans. True, a part of her loved Sisko, and Dax, and Bashir, and especially Odo, but it was a love engendered from respect and loyalty, rather than compassion.
Did she love Dukat? It was too soon to say. She would willingly die fighting to protect Bajor from his rapacious desire to reclaim it in the name of Cardassian expansionism, but she understood, finally, that Dukat wanted her more than he wanted Bajor, that it was her, not Bajor, he had lusted after all these years. For the first time, it occurred to her that she might not have to die, that she might not even have to fight. Dukat would accept her in Bajor's stead.
And she was willing to offer herself, not just to save Bajor, but because she wanted to. Dukat had been right after all; she did desire him. He empowered her.
All these thoughts ran through Kira's mind as she set up the signal enhancers to transport Dukat to the runabout. She had suggested using the enhancers rather than just one of their commbadges, to improve the likelihood of an error-free transport. She did not want to run the risk of incurring further damage to Dukat's ravaged body. Bashir agreed with her, and as she activated the enhancement beam he programmed the transport coordinates into the runabout's computer.
Kira tapped her commbadge. "Kira to Bashir."
"Bashir here."
"He's ready for transport."
"Acknowledged. Stand by."
Kira gently attached her commbadge to Dukat's bodysuit and offered up a silent prayer of supplication, pleading with the Prophets to protect him. The transporter beam shimmered around his body, enveloping him in its eerie glow, then he effervesced out of sight. She began packing up the equipment, confident that Bashir would promptly inform her if the unthinkable had occurred.
~ * ~
"Major Kira and Doctor Bashir reporting in to Starbase 375."
An unfamiliar female voice replied, "It's about time we heard from you, Major, Doctor. Captain Sisko's been about to send out a search party."
"We were a little delayed. Requesting permission to approach the starbase."
"Would you mind taking a slight detour?"
Kira sighed and Bashir rolled his eyes. "What kind of a detour?"
"To Deep Space Nine."
Kira could hear the triumphant grin over the link, and responded with one of her own. "Acknowledged. Plotting new course heading for Deep Space Nine. Kira out."
"Have a safe trip, Major."
~ * ~
"You want to do what?" Bashir's voice was incredulous.
"Don't play dumb with me, Julian. You heard exactly what I said."
"You want to take Gul Dukat down to Bajor, hide him with friends of yours, and you expect me to lie to Captain Sisko about it?"
"Dukat trusted Sisko with his life, and look what happened. I ca --"
"Nerys, this is Gul Dukat we're talking about here, not just some random troublemaker!"
"I know --"
"I just can't believe you're even considering this. You are protecting Gul Dukat. You are protecting Gul Dukat!" He stared at her long and hard. "What's gotten in to you? Six months ago, you would have never even attempted this. Hell, six months ago you would have been the first to celebrate his death!"
"That's not fair, Julian. Dukat and I may have had our differences, but --"
"Your differences?" he sputtered. "I shouldn't have to remind you that he nearly destroyed your homeworld, that he was responsible for the deaths of ten million Bajorans, that he ordered his men to poison the land in your province....I'd hardly call that a difference of opinion!"
Kira gritted her teeth. "Do you intend to let me finish a single sentence?" she barked.
"Not if you're not going to say anything that makes sense." He slammed his hand against the helm control panel. "Dammit, Nerys, what is with you? You've been distracted, moody, and unpredictable, even for you!"
She was seething with fury. "I didn't realize I was supposed to be following a script!"
Bashir's chagrin was evident in his face as he took Kira's clenched fist. "You're right," he said, lowering his voice in regret. "I'm sorry. I was over the line. But, please, Nerys...I don't understand why you want to do this. It just - it doesn't make sense. Why are you helping Dukat?"
Kira took a deep breath, and the hard, angry lines in her face softened. "I don't know if I can explain it. Dukat saved my life when Damar took control of the station, and I --"
"You feel like you owe it to him to return the favor?"
"It's not just that, although it's certainly part of it." She turned to face Bashir. "He's lost everything, Julian. Not just the station, and not just Ziyal. Everything. And I - I - I know what that's like, to lose your family, your home, everything that you cherished. I've been there." There were tears in her eyes and her voice grew very quiet. "If it weren't for the Shakaar, I would have lost my mind during the Occupation. They couldn't replace everything I had lost, but they filled the empty spaces in me. When we liberated Gallitep, I saw the looks in the eyes of those prisoners, the ones who had given up hope. It was...as though they weren't even alive anymore, just going through the motions. I'll never forget --" She studied her hand in Bashir's. "Dukat had that same look in his eyes, holding Ziyal in his arms. It was terrifying, to see such empty eyes in his face, as if he died with her."
"He certainly seemed back to his old self on the starbase."
"Except that he wasn't. He didn't even harass me the way he used to."
Bashir snorted. "You're complaining about that?"
"No - Yes - I don't know." She sighed. "I told you I didn't think I could explain my reasons. It doesn't even make sense to me. It's just something I have to do. Please trust me."
"Let me state for the record that I think you're making a big mistake, Nerys. Once he's back on his feet, I guarantee you Dukat will be up to his usual tricks."
Kira nodded. "You're probably right. But something tells me that this latest setback will have a much greater impact on him than others."
"We've all said that before."
"Please, Julian. Do this for me, until he recovers?"
Bashir shook his head in disbelief. "All right. I'll take the runabout back to the station and tell Sisko we found no survivors and you decided to take an extended personal leave on Bajor. If he finds out otherwise, though...I won't cover for you."
"Thank you," Kira exhaled in relief.
"I just hope we don't both live to regret this."
So did she.
PART FOUR