Disclaimer: I fully acknowledge that Paramount has exclusive rights
to the Star Trek universe, and that all characters are the uncontested
property of Paramount television.
 
 

A Cardassian Ghost Story.

  'That's the trouble with this place,' the doctor said, fretfully.
'There aren't any seasons in space.  It's always the same.'
  'I'm sure that could be changed,' his dining companion remarked.  'A
few minor adjustments to the climatic regulators, and we'd have a frozen
winter or blazing summer at the flick of a switch.'
  'Yes, but there are so many things that accompany the seasons - there
are on Earth, anyway.'  Bashir sighed.  'The leaves will have turned
golden by now, and the evenings have that low, honey coloured light that
you get just before winter sets in...'  His voice trailed away into
memory.
  'Tell me,' the Cardassian said, gently.  'What would you be doing back
home, at this time of year?'
  'Well, it's a long time since I've been back...it's close to
Hallowe'en now - or Samhain, as the Revised Pagan Alliance call it.'
  'Is that a festival, or - ?' Garak prompted.
  'Sort of, yes.  It goes back thousands of years.  It's the ancient Day
of the Dead, when people remember their ancestors.  At least, that's the
case in some parts of the world.'
  'And how does one celebrate Hallowe'en?'
  'Oh, you light candles and float apples in a bowl - try to catch them
in your teeth.  You do rituals if you belong to one of the RPA sects.
And there are ghost stories, of course.  People tell ghost stories.'
The Cardassian smiled.
  'That doesn't sound too complicated to arrange.  After all, the
Tassarians have a festival in which an entire coastline is set on fire.
Your Hallowe'en seems modest by contrast.'  He paused.  'Why don't we
arrange a celebration?'
The doctor looked somewhat startled.
  'We could do.  It's not something I've ever really celebrated before,
except as a child, perhaps.  I suppose it's more a children's thing,
unless it's part of one's religious practice.'
  'You humans do seem to have the most morbid attitudes towards your
offspring,' Garak mused.  'Gruesome stories, and celebrations of
death...Oh, well.  I suppose it instils a healthy sense of realism.'
  'Actually,' the doctor said.  'I wouldn't mind hearing a few
Cardassian ghost stories...'
  'There are plenty of them.  I'll try and remember a few.'

Garak resembled a spirit himself, Bashir thought on the following
evening, as he took a seat beside his friend.  In the candlelight, the
Cardassian's face fell half into shadow and he seemed indistinct in the
smoky air.  In his sombre clothes, his head bowed, he could have been a
shade from the dark past; patient, waiting, about to vanish into air.
Suddenly aware of Bashir's regard, he glanced up and smiled, breaking
the spell.
  'Well, Doctor?  Ready?'
Bashir settled himself back in his chair.  He would never have confessed
this to Garak, but one of the reasons why he so greatly enjoyed the
Cardassian's company was the mildly entrancing effect of Garak's voice.
Bashir found it soothing; he was quite happy to listen to Garak for
hours.
  'I've given the matter some thought,' the Cardassian said now.  'I've
been wondering which story to tell you.  I considered relating the tale
of Ynessian Macat, who entertained the spectre of his murdered uncle at
dinner every night for a year, until the sight drove him mad.  I also
thought I might tell you about little Selen Tenar, who saw a child's
shadow beneath the tree outside her window; she ran out to play with it,
and was never seen again.  But then I thought, no, I'll leave the old
stories for another day.  Instead, I'm going to tell you a ghost story
which involves myself.'
  'You?' the doctor asked, surprised.
  'It happened a long time ago now, and perhaps the details have altered
a little in my mind, but sometimes it seems to me as though it only took
place yesterday.  You see, doctor, in my younger days, I was
occasionally called in as an adviser on cases involving a breach of
security.   This time, however, a security breach was only part of the
problem, for I was also obliged to deal with murder.'
Bashir listened, rapt, as the Cardassian continued.
  'I was, at this time, working in the national library.  It was a very
minor post, you understand, nothing very elevated, but it entailed that
I had access to certain classified documents, generally relating to the
occupation of Bajor, or to relations between Cardassia and the Romulan
Empire. I was then based up in the north of Cardassia Prime, in a town
called - well, the name isn't important. I can't say I was very
enamoured of the place.  I regarded it very much as a provincial
backwater - they'd moved the library up there in case the capitals were
invaded, but this was the only heritage the town really possessed, and
even then only by default.  The people in this part of the world weren't
particularly sophisticated, either - unlike southerners, who tend to
model themselves on Hebitian graces.

I remember the day  of the death very well.  It was just on the edge of
winter - as it is now, on your world - and the days were becoming colder
and darker. The town was, moreover, beset by sudden storms and sometimes
even snow.  So my main preoccupation was to get my work done as quickly
and effectively as possible each day, then return to the comforts of my
home.

Anyway, on this particular day, I made my way to the library as usual
and stayed there as the weather grew worse and the day grew darker.  I
remember staring out of the window at the distant edge of the mountains,
thinking gloomily how quickly the snows were creeping down their slopes,
and dreaming of the warm, basking south.  My reverie was interrupted by
a communication from my immediate superior, one Gul Ravek, to inform me
of the unwelcome news that a priority transmission was due to come in
later that evening and that I would have to intercept it and deliver it
to a Gul Assach, who would come to see me at the library.  Cursing the
unwise choices that had led me to my current career, I sat down to wait
for the evening to pass.  It grew late, and against the dim lights of
the town beyond I could see that the snow was growing heavier, sinking
down to bury the streets in an uneasy silence.  We were relying on
thermal insulator packs to keep the cold at bay, and though it was warm
enough in the library I couldn't help thinking with distaste of the
chilly journey I'd be forced to make back to my house when Assach
finally arrived.  Furthermore, I'd been looking forward to seeing a
young person that evening - one of the few diversions with which I
consoled myself during my northern sojourn - and I was not very pleased,
to say the least, to have my evening curtailed.  Don't misunderstand me;
the interests of the State should come before the personal every time,
but the matters with which I was then engaged were trifling enough, and
I didn't feel that they justified the secrecy.  I contacted my friend,
therefore, and whiled away the best part of thirty minutes in pleasant
conversation.  When at last we said goodbye, Jhirhai having promised to
wait for me at home, I glanced at the clock and realised that it was
well past the time when Gul Assach had been due to come to the library.
The transmission was intact and safe, but he was not there to receive
it.  Perhaps there had been a change of plan; it would be typical of the
current command, I reflected bitterly, to leave me mouldering in the
library without telling me what was happening.   I contacted Assach's
base, fully prepared to lambast the person on the desk for their
incompetence, but found to my bewilderment that Assach had left two
hours previously.  Even in the currently inclement conditions, it should
have taken no more than an hour to reach the library.  I informed the
base that he had not appeared, and suggested that they try to
communicate him.  Then, I sat back and waited.

It was very quiet in the library, and very still.  Although there was a
great deal of modern communications equipment, the bulk of the library
consisted of old Hebitian manuscripts and Middle Period metal-bound
books.  It sometimes seemed to me, in my more whimsical moments, that I
could hear them whispering, and that beyond the pale pool of light cast
by the desk lamp, the shades of my Hebitian ancestors wandered between
the bookcases, gazing up at the words that had once been their own.  I
am not, you understand, a superstitious man, but the old, primitive
country beyond, combined with night and the cold, created an odd unease
in me.

Eventually I left the desk and walked down the two flights of stairs to
the entrance hallway.  This was a huge, echoing room: surrounded by
pillars of the grey stone that is such a feature in those parts, and
ornamented by calligraphic banners depicting the words of Cardassia's
most renowned scholars.  Wan globes of light illuminated the hallway,
and as I stepped through the door, I activated them so that the hallway
was lit with a faint haze.  Gul Assach's disappearence was abruptly
explained.  He lay in the middle of the hall, quite still, and a slow
thread of blood trickled across the glossy stones as if attempting to
escape the prison of his body.
 
Naturally, I made no move to touch the unfortunate Gul. Ascertaining
with a scanner that he was indeed dead, I called the base and notified
them of his regrettable demise.
  'But the transmission is quite safe? ' Gul Ravek asked.
  'It is.'
  'Good,' he said.  'I'll collect it myself.  Disturb nothing until I
reach the library.'
It was a lonely wait, there in the cold hallway watching the body of the
Gul.  At last, Ravek and his aides arrived and were able to commence
with their investigation.  As the recipient of the message, and the only
person on the premises at the time of the death, I instantly fell under
suspicion.  I promptly asserted my innocence.  Why, I asked, would I
have reason to slay Assach, given that I'd already seen the priority
transmission and, moreover, had no connection whatsoever with the Gul?
I'd never even met Assach.  However, Gul Ravek may have been a ponderous
man, but he was not an entirely stupid one and he had the wit to realise
that my loyalties might have lain elsewhere than with his own chain of
command.  Fortunately for me, relations between the local command and
the central branch of the Order down south were at that time quite
cordial, and Ravek was able to ascertain that Assach had fallen foul of
no-one in the secret service.  The complete lack of evidence against me
soon entailed that I was dropped from the list of suspects and Gul Ravek
enlisted me as an assistant rather than as a candidate for the murder.

With the help of Assach's file and a judicious series of interviews with
his colleagues, Ravek had managed to draw up a list of possible
suspects.  Unsurprisingly - Assach being a pretty typical Cardassian -
it was almost as long as my arm.  We also prepared a list of
hypothetical candidates who might have wished to interrupt the
transmission.  This was slightly less lengthy and neither Ravek nor I
could attach any particular plausibility to it. After all, if the
transmission had been the target, I was a more likely candidate for
murder than poor Assach.

The late Gul had been killed by the ingenious method of sabotage to his
thermal insulator.  Instead of keeping his body at a comfortable
temperature in the freezing conditions outside, it had begun instead to
cool him down by degrees, so that by the time he realised what was
happening, it would have been too late.  Evidently, Assach had staggered
towards the Library with the last of his strength.  He was already on
the verge of death, and fell, hitting his head on the stone floor, which
accounted for the blood.
  'At least it's not such a bad way to die,'  Ravek remarked, gloomily.
'He wouldn't have suffered much.'
  'Small comfort to him now,' I said.  Ravek only grunted.

Gradually, through the usual process of establishing alibis and time of
death, we narrowed our list of suspects down to two.  The first suspect
was one Gul Raccan, Assach's second in command, who was known to resent
his superior and had been unwise enough to say so, at some length.  The
second suspect was the brother of a young woman named Elica Narran, who
had been Assach's lover.  Her family, wishing her to marry a business
associate of theirs, had not approved of the match and this had been the
cause of some dissent in the family.  All this was related to me with
some relish by the young person I spoke of earlier, Jhirhai.
  'Elica was fit to be tied when her brother started laying down the
law,' my friend said.  '  ìI'm marrying Assach and that's that,î she
stormed.  Apparently you could hear her in the street - that's how I
know.'
I listened as Jhirhai's soft, accented voice related a story more
appropriate to the old Seventh Republic feuds, and I'm afraid that at
that point my thoughts were not entirely devoted to the case.  In those
days, Doctor, I saw no reason why I should not temper business with
pleasure, as long as the two were kept in their proper proportions, and
I was very fond of Jhirhai.  Well, I let my attention wander from the
murder to more immediate matters, and it was certainly the most pleasant
part of my round of interrogations.  It was only later that night, as I
lay with my head on Jhirhai's shoulder, listening to the soundless drift
of the snow, that my mind turned back to the murder.  We'd lit a fire,
as was the custom in the north, and it hissed as the wood settled.
Warmth, and sensual satisfaction, had made me drowsy, and I lay in a
kind of half dreaming state.  But I was not asleep.  When next I opened
my eyes, Assach was standing by the fire, holding out his hands to the
flames.  He turned his head and gave a thin smile; he was pale with
cold.
  'There's no warmth where I am now,' he seemed to say.  I blinked in
astonishment and then he was gone into the smoke.  I must have imagined
it, I told myself, and seeking refuge in my lover's shoulder, I went to
sleep in the firelight.

I didn't mention the incident next morning, but it would hardly have
mattered.  Jhirhai was more interested in the death than I was: Assach
had, after all, been a local, and not much happened in those parts.  So
while Ravek and I continued to follow leads, Jhirhai started to do a
little solo detection work, and unearthed some interesting rumours.

It seemed that Elica hadn't been quite so enamoured of Assach as
everyone had supposed.  In fact, gossip had it that she was dividing her
attentions between Assach and another young officer, stationed up in Rhu
to the North.  On the night he died, when Elica had ostensibly been
visiting her sister, Assach had learned the truth from a mutual
acquaintance of the two men.  He was not, to put it mildly, pleased.
  'Elica has a temper like a rabid vole,' Jhirhai told me.  'She once
shoved her sister off a pleasure barge on Lake Perit because the girl
made some disparaging remark about her hairdo.'
  'Did the sister live?'
  'Oh, yes, they fished her out, spitting mudweed and curses, but they
were best friends again by the end of the day.  No, Elica's always had
rages like summer storms: quick to come and quick to go.  But Assach was
different.  Very little angered him, but once the damage was done, he
was capable of anything.  And he was besotted with Elica, no doubt about
it.  Perhaps he threatened her, and - well.  Who knows?' Jhirhai said,
growing bored with the conversation and coming over to sit on my lap.

Next day, in the library, I saw Assach again.  He was standing at the
edge of the bookshelves, his head bowed over some ancient insubstantial
work.  He glanced up at me as I came in.  He looked even worse than he
had on the previous occasion.  Frost starred his hair, and his lips were
blue with cold, but he managed to speak her name: *Elica, Elica slew
me*, and then he was fading, the pages of the book he held melting into
snow and flurrying up until he was lost in the freezing air.  I found
that I was shaking, and not only with the cold of his passing.  When I
reached my desk, I put through a call to Gul Ravek and told him to
perform a more thorough investigation of Elica Narran's alibi.

Well, to cut a long story short, Elica's sister at last confessed to me
that Elica hadn't spent that night at the family home, as she had
claimed.  Perhaps the girl was afraid of me; perhaps she bore some
lingering resentment for that near-drowning so long ago.  She told me
that Elica had gone to see Assach, to repair the damage and tell him
that he was her only lover.  We called Elica in, and she confessed -
though not to murder.  It had indeed been her intention to speak with
her lover, but when she reached the base, Assach had already gone.
Distressed and guilty, Elica had gone after him.  It was too late to get
a public transport, and she had been obliged to walk through the snowlit
streets, back to her home.  She did not see her lover alive again.'

The Cardassian paused and rubbed a weary hand across his eyes.

'I didn't believe her.  We had no evidence one way or another, and I
could hardly stand up in court and say that my conviction of her guilt
stemmed from a name on the lips of a shadow.  But Cardassian justice,
Doctor, does not function like yours, as I'm sure you know.  It demands
a subject; it demands guilt, and Elica Narran was the most likely
candidate.  She was brought to trial for Assach's murder, and later that
day she was hanged.

Well, other matters arose to occupy my attention, and the case gradually
faded into memory.  I was posted back south at the end of the winter.  I
said a reluctant farewell to Jhirhai, and once more found myself in the
civilised streets of Gened.  I was sitting in a cafe along the river
walk one afternoon, when a man came in who had, it chanced, known both
Assach and I in the north.  In fact, he'd gone with Assach that night to
the transport station on the edge of town, just before Assach went on to
the Library.   He remembered seeing Assach, he said, through the window
of the transport as it pulled away.  The Gul had been adjusting the
thermal controls on his insulator, and it struck him as curious that
Assach had seemed to be turning the dial down, not up for added warmth.
The look on Assach's face, he added, was not one that he would ever care
to see on his own countenance.  Instantly, I knew what had happened.  It
had not been murder at all, but suicide.  Assach had come all the way
back from the shores of the dead, to lie to me, and implicate his
treacherous lover in a death that had, after all, been his own choice.
Now that I consider it, it was a peculiarly Cardassian thing for him to
do.  So that, my dear Doctor , is my own Cardassian ghost story.'

He turned to meet Bashir's fascinated gaze and for a moment there was an
unnatural light behind his eyes as they caught the candle flames.  Then,
he smiled.  'Happy Hallowe'en, Doctor,' the tailor said.

THE END