A Sunday Drive to Cardassia

[Cptn Swain 0]

Paris One cruised along at warp, flanked on either side by two Norway-class starships and a two wings of Advanced Lancelot-class fighters. Perched against the window of her stateroom, the silver haired President of the Federation, Nanietta Bacco, watched with muted interest as the stars steamed by in a rainbow of colors. It occurred to her that she she really didn’t spend a great deal of her time in Paris when it came down to it. Not that you could ever really say a President was on vacation, either, mind you but she had found herself spending a much larger chunk of time in her second term abroad.

She sighed and headed away from the window, settling in a chase lounger with a PADD in hand. Surrendering to necessity she began to read over the speech that her aides had written for her, taking out a stylus to edit and modify it as she was prone to do, much to their chagrin. Marking out a particularly odious section, she considered just how important the speech actually was, and despite herself, she was actually looking forward to this trip. In six hours, she noted, she would be the first sitting President to ever set foot on Cardassian soil. It was hard to imagine that the war had been over for a decade now.

November 3, 2375 -- by the Earth calender -- marked the end of the Dominion War. The war had changed everyone’s lives. Starfleet had been in wars before, the Tzenkethi War, the Pytherian War, even the Cardassian Wars; but those had been, relatively small in scope or limited to a smaller portion of the Federation. The Dominion War, on the other hand, was the first time in the collective memory of the Federation since the Romulan-Earth War, that a conflict had threatened so many worlds and species.

Nothing had been the same since the war. Not Earth, not the Federation, not herself. Maybe that was why this particular trip had taken such a personal feeling for her. It was a chance at resetting relationships, a chance to move beyond the turmoil of the last ten years. Sure there had been peace, but tensions between the three major powers remained high; the shadow of the Dominion still loomed; Cardassia remained unable to stand on her own; and now she had to worry about her own people circumventing the ideals they’d sworn to uphold.

Smiling to herself, she recalled the reaction her top advisers had given her when she’d floated the idea past them. “You want to do what?” One of them had said incredulously.

It really was a zany idea, she admitted. There was a reason why the sitting heads of states of the five major powers of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants had never been in the same room before: logistics, for one. The amount of planning that had gone into this was astounding. Security on Cardassia was going to cost a small fortune. That alone had initially nearly killed the idea in its infancy. Not that she could blame the Cardassian government. They were still rebuilding, still trying to just get back on their feet -- you couldn’t really expect them to shell out the billions in credits that were required for the type of security needed. Thankfully, she’d convinced the Council and Grand Nagus Rom to support the costs. Then had come the hard part: getting the Romulans and Klingons to sign on. It was almost as painful as getting them to actually sign a treaty. She understood, of course, their positions. Both the High Chancellor and the Praetor were extremely busy people with empires of their own to manage, but in the end, they had both been savvy enough to recognize the potential benefits of being on the same stage as each other for the first time in history.

For her it was providing a welcome distraction from the sudden departure of a number of high ranking intelligence and fleet officials for personal reasons. As she marked through another section of the speech, which she would eventually be giving at the site of a new memorial being erected on Cardassia Prime to honor civilian causalities of the war on both sides including the millions killed on the Cardassian homeworld before the Dominion surrender, another welcome distraction entered her stateroom.

“Madame President...”

“You don’t have to call me that, Kale.” She said, looking up from the PADD to her Chief of Staff.

“Habit,” he said with a sly grin. “How’s the speech going?”

Putting the PADD down and smoothing her silver hair, she took a deep breath. “Tvel always does a good job.”

“Then why do you always bleed all over his drafts?”

“Habit,” she said flatly.

Smirking he nodded. “Fair enough.”

“I’d write them myself if the lot of you wouldn’t have an aneurysm.”

They exchanged grins for a moment before Kale straightened in posture again. “Praetor Gaher’s people let us know they’re running a little bit behind schedule.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he said. “Apparently they had a small matter on homeworld that had to be dealt with before they could leave.”

“Lovely,” she said dryly. “But he is still coming?”

“Yes,” Kale said. “He just won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“He’ll miss the opening gala.”

“More food for the rest of us.”

“Your stomach never ceases to amaze me,” she said bemused. “It could be worse, I suppose. The main part of this confab isn’t till day three anyway.”

“Yep.”

“I do have to admit,” she said. “I’d rather hoped my first face-to-face meeting with the Praetor would have been with his predecessor.”

Kale nodded.

“It’s not that I have anything personally against Gaher,” she said candidly. “He seems balanced enough. Maybe a little weak in the knees.”

“Shame about Avfad.”

Nodding, she continued. “He and I had started a good dialog...”

“Yes,” Kale said. “You know how these things are. At least he’s not... what’s that guys name?”

“The extremist that’s Proconsul?”

“Yeah, that one.”

She gave him a rather stern, if not playful look. “Kale, a man in your position should know these things.”

“I know who he is, it’s just hard to keep the pointy-ears' names straight. I mean, which one is the crazy one, the weak-kneed one, or the dead liberal one? And do they all have to have such difficult to pronounce names? Can't they just have normal names?”

“Don’t let the press or the Romulans hear you talk that way,” she scolded him. “They’ll never shut up about it.”

“Sorry,” he said honestly. “I’ve just been spending a lot of time with my Klingon counterparts.”

Her glower eased somewhat and she picked up the PADD again.

 

“So when you meet with Gaher,” he said, “just what are you going to talk to him about?”

“For starters,” she said, not looking up from the PADD. “We’re going to have a little chat about the incident with the Excalibur and the weapons smuggling.”

“That should be interesting.”

“Oh, I suspect, from the way their Ambassador has danced around the subject, he’ll be less than pleased to talk about it.”

“I know his people have indicated they’d like to talk about the Lyonesse situation”

She frowned. “I know, but I suppose if I am going to get him to talk about something he doesn’t want to talk about...”

“So are you?”

“It is the nature of diplomacy.”

“And then there’s the big one...”

A sigh escaped her lips. “Our governments have to do something about it sooner or later.”

“I know,” he said. “And whatever we do is going to ###### someone off.”

[Cptn Swain 0]

Drapped in wispy clouds of smog and dust, Cardassia Prime’s Laher reminded Nan Bacco of a cross between 21st century Beijing and the desert wastelands of North American west. The arches and spires unique to Cardassian architecture rose high into skies blotted about the remains of centuries of industrialization that had stripped the planet bare of most natural resources. As one of the few major cities to remain relatively untouched during the Dominon Purges, Laher had become the nexus for the new civilian government. Though the Klingons were no doubt enjoying seeing what remained of the Cardassian’s once proud planet still in ruin ten years later, Nan couldn’t help be overcome with a feeling of sympathy.

On some level, and in her weaker moments, she could understand the Klingon perspective. The Cardassians had brought this on themselves -- they’d betrayed the entire Quadrant to the Dominion; but then she reminded herself that it wasn’t the entire Cardassian people. It wasn’t the civilians, or even the average foot solider that had committed the act of treason. They’d never asked for any of this. Sure they’d perhaps allowed it to happen, hadn’t acted when they could have, but was it any different from events in Earth’s history?

As she considered the similarities, the door behind her slid open. “Madame President,” Hirishi Santon, her personal assistant said, “The Castellan is here.”

“Send him in.”

A few moments later, the Castellan -- the chief executive officer of the Cardassian Union, joined her in the vast stateroom that had been provided for her stay in the Cardassian capital. She’d spoken with him, of course, on intergalactic communique, but she’d never met the man. Now, face to face with him, she took a few minutes to look him over.

Alem Racet was a tall, squarely built man of moderate height with a proudly puffed chest and even prouder chin. He wore his sleek, sliver hair neatly pulled back around his scalp as was traditional among Cardassian males. He’d once been a high ranking Legate serving in Central Command, who’d earned a reputation of being fair and honest. And while service in Central Command had largely become a liability in the years after the war, with many of the more populist groups blaming the troubles that beset Cardassia on the military junta, Racet’s resignation during the Occupation of Bajor in protest of what he believed to be a waste of resources, and his subsequent lack of involvement in the events that followed had placed Racet in a unique position to capitalize.

“Madame President,” he said in a low, baritone. “Welcome to Cardassia.”

The pride was evident in his voice, and she smiled. “It is an honor to finally met you in person, Castellan.”

“The honor belongs to all of Cardassia, madame. For too long our peoples have stood apart.”

“In deed,” she said thoughtfully, motioning for him to join her next to the window. “Ten years ago... I think even before that … I don’t think there was any way this could be happening.”

“I remember,” he said glancing to her for a moment before turning his attention to the city he’d grown up in as a small child in a home for laborers. “When we first met your people.

“And though they tried to scare us with stories about your people, I think what I remember most was the dream that someday my homeworld could look like yours. Lush, fertile -- clear skies and clean water.”

She smiled again, and put a hand on his shoulder. “It still can be.”

“Maybe,” he said returning her smile. “Though likely not in my lifetime, and likely not even my children. The scars and wounds that we’ve inflicted on our world and our people will take generations to heal. I fear too that my people do not have the resolve to make the tough choices that face us. I fear that they will give in to their own fears and let the more conservative elements of our society return them to the old ways...”

Nan nodded thoughtfully. She appreciated his candor, and that he knew that the old ways weren’t sustainable. “It is good,” she said, “that Cardassia has someone like you to lead it then.”

“We shall see.”

After a few more exchanges of more personal natures, the two once more returned to business.

“This summit,” Racet said more seriously than he’d been in the prior twenty or so minutes, “is of vital importance to my people. I know you know this, but I cannot stress it enough. It is the first time since the war that the attention of the quadrant has been on us and the first time in years that it’s been in a positive light.”

She nodded. In truth, it was just as important to her as it was him. She needed something to take the public eye off the Gamma Quadrant and diplomatically, a pivot point with the Romulans.

“I know,” she said. “Hopefully we can reach some sort of agreement with the other governments...”

“And if not?”

“If the Klingons and the Romulans chose to ignore their responsibilities,” she said firmly, “I will do everything in my power to remind them.”

Racet nodded again, templing his fingers. “I’ve read over your proposal,” he said. “It has promise.”

Bacco smiled. “It’s a start.”

Smiling, Racet straightend. “Well I should let you go,” he said. “It’s almost time to meet with the others.”

--

Chancellor Martok frowned as his shuttle began its descent through the lower layers of the Cardassian atmosphere, circling Laher before heading towards the Ulan Mountan Range where the first day of meetings would occur at a small mountain retreat famed for it’s rustic overlooks of one Cardassia’s largest fresh water lakes. He joked with his advisers that the only reason he had accepted the invitation to the summit had been because the Cadassians had promised to allow him to hunt a gre’tha, a Cardassian antelope that had been rumored to be nearly impossible to track.

In truth, and only in the confidence of his closest advisers did he admit, that his real reason for attending the summit was to do something Klingons were rarely accused of doing well -- tending wounds. For ten years, Cardassia had festered as an open wound; trapped in the bounds of shame and dishonor, virtually occupied by foreign powers. The Klingon Empire alone had spent billions of its own funding to help rebuild the empire, yet the planet remained only superficially improved from the last time he’d set foot upon it.

“Chancellor,” came the voice of Katok, his personal aide, “we are on final approach.”

“Good,” he said standing. “Let us hope that they have at least improved the smell since I was last on the his wretched planet.”

Katok grinned toothily. “I thought you enjoyed the smell of victory?”

Martok laughed and smacked Katok on the shoulder. “I do,” he said, “however the bloom and fragrance of victory is short lived, much like the bliss from a wedding.”

The young, handsome Klingon lifted his brows. “And then you are stuck with your wife?”

“Welcome to Cardassia, Katok!”

--

“President Bacco, Castelan Racet” Martok said heartily. “It is an honor to see you again...”

“And to you as well, Chancellor. I hope your trip was... uneventful.”

After a few more salutations, the Chancellor turned towards the open air balcony of the woodland lodge. “I must admit Racet,” he said in a tone only a Klingon could get away with, “I had no idea that Cardassians had such an interest in nature and the outdoors. The trophies in the main hall are... almost impressive.”

Taking the compliment for what it was, the Cardassian smirked to Bacco before responding. “On behalf of the Cardassian people, I take your compliment with sincere admiration.”

Boys, Bacco thought with a patient shake of the head that had come from years of growing up around dominate males. “Well gentlemen,” she said before the good natured joking took a turn for the sour, “I am glad we’re almost all here. The Praetor should be here this evening...”

“Bah,” Martok said with a wave. “A delay he says. Always late to everything the Romulans are...”

Racet wondered if that was a veiled joke about the late entrance of the Romulans to the war, but decided not to press the point. “We can still perhaps make some progress on the President’s proposal...”

“Ah yes,” Martok said, leaning against the railing of the balcony. “You are a mad woman.”

Bacco blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Totally out of your mind,” Martok said. “I like it.”

She sighed, relieved.

“But that does not mean my people will like it, nor will the Council like it.”

“I see...”

“Chancellor,” Racet interjected, his voice remaining as calm as the gentle breeze whispering through the mountain forest that surrounded them. “The President and I have been working on this proposal for months... the situation...”

“I am aware of the situation,” Martok said with a flourish, “but you must also understand the position of my people. We have given the Cardassians far more than we have ever given any other race we have defeated in combat. Food, water, technology... money.

“And yet here we are ten-years later and Cardassia still cannot stand on her own. My aides tell me that corruption is rampant in the municipal governments, that monies intended for aide line the pockets of government officials and their cronies. And lets not forget the near disaster that occurred when...”

“Are you accusing me of running a corrupt government, Chancellor? Perhaps had your government not launched an unprovoked invasion of our space, we wouldn’t have had to seek the Dominion’s help in the first place...”

Before he could respond, and sensing the situation slipping out of her control, Bacco interjected herself forcefully. “Both of you,” she said, “stop right there.”

The two men glanced at her, taken a back by the assertiveness of her tone.

“I didn’t come all this way to listen to you two recriminate each other. We could spend the next hour, the next day, the next year, the next hundred years deciding who is at fault about what, and we’d still likely never have an agreement. The truth is that it doesn’t matter who started what war or who finished it and on which side they were when it happened. It’s over now. We are here to lay framework for Cardassia to stand on her own, and whether you like it or not, it’s going to happen.

We have a responsibility not just to our own ideals, but to the future. If we abandon Cardassia now, if we continue to burden them with them with the offenses of the past, then history is only going to repeat itself and in a hundred years we’re going to end up right back where we started. Well dammit, I am not going to allow that cycle to continue any longer.”

Martok’s glare that had been transfixed on Racet began to slowly fade into wry grin and he looked towards Bacco. “Very well,” he said, “perhaps you are right. There is no tactical wisdom in fighting battles twice. You have my promise that the Klingon Empire will negotiate in good faith during these proceedings.”

Marginally mollified, she nodded. “Good.”

Now, to get the Romulans aboard.