S
Steel Hyaena
Guest
Original poster
A lone Galor-class cruiser, flat black rather than the usual amber hull, drifts close to Deep Space Nine. Upon its bridge, its commanding officer allows his mind to track the past...
I am sitting on the bridge of my ship, in the command chair, and my eyes are closed. The view within my mind is occupying my attention more than that seen outside the forward viewport. I have a few minutes left before our final approach to Terok Nor... or 'Deep Space Nine' as its new tenants call it.
I look into the past, at the hell that was Mursilis IV—the class Y planet that I chose for my final test as a Surface-Tactical Marine. The radiation would have rotted my flesh and bones had I not had the protective suit I wore, and the heat would have charred what was left nearly to carbon. But I prevailed.
I look at Setlik III—the site of a massacre, a black deed done under the pretense that the Federation colony there was a staging area for an attack on our space. The evidence for this was tenuous at best, and the force used there, excessive. I know that a survivor—indeed, a hero—of that engagement is present on this station. Perhaps this Chief Miles O'Brien and I will cross paths.
I look at Hedrikspool Province on Bajor, where I served for a single year as a prefect. The people were starving, terrified and demoralized, and my heart weighed heavily to see it. A Bajoran child smiles as beautifully as a Cardassian child when given bread, and so I gave bread and all else I could manage. My reasoning was sound: not only was what we were doing wrong, people also cannot work their hardest or smartest when weak from malnutrition. When Gul Dukat learned what I was doing, he remonstrated with me. Rather than be brought up on charges of sedition, I resigned my post.
My eyes are now open. I look over the bridge of the most powerful vessel in all the Cardassian Union. I command her because of a man named Legate Ghemor. Neither he nor I are happy with the current way of things in the Union. Once, we Cardassians were as peaceful and spiritual a people as the Bajorans. A return to that would heal so many wounds—within and without. But these men over whom I watch, good officers all, have not come round yet to such realizations. I well know that I am different than they. The secret is written in the markings I bear down my back.
It is all in the blood...
I am sitting on the bridge of my ship, in the command chair, and my eyes are closed. The view within my mind is occupying my attention more than that seen outside the forward viewport. I have a few minutes left before our final approach to Terok Nor... or 'Deep Space Nine' as its new tenants call it.
I look into the past, at the hell that was Mursilis IV—the class Y planet that I chose for my final test as a Surface-Tactical Marine. The radiation would have rotted my flesh and bones had I not had the protective suit I wore, and the heat would have charred what was left nearly to carbon. But I prevailed.
I look at Setlik III—the site of a massacre, a black deed done under the pretense that the Federation colony there was a staging area for an attack on our space. The evidence for this was tenuous at best, and the force used there, excessive. I know that a survivor—indeed, a hero—of that engagement is present on this station. Perhaps this Chief Miles O'Brien and I will cross paths.
I look at Hedrikspool Province on Bajor, where I served for a single year as a prefect. The people were starving, terrified and demoralized, and my heart weighed heavily to see it. A Bajoran child smiles as beautifully as a Cardassian child when given bread, and so I gave bread and all else I could manage. My reasoning was sound: not only was what we were doing wrong, people also cannot work their hardest or smartest when weak from malnutrition. When Gul Dukat learned what I was doing, he remonstrated with me. Rather than be brought up on charges of sedition, I resigned my post.
My eyes are now open. I look over the bridge of the most powerful vessel in all the Cardassian Union. I command her because of a man named Legate Ghemor. Neither he nor I are happy with the current way of things in the Union. Once, we Cardassians were as peaceful and spiritual a people as the Bajorans. A return to that would heal so many wounds—within and without. But these men over whom I watch, good officers all, have not come round yet to such realizations. I well know that I am different than they. The secret is written in the markings I bear down my back.
It is all in the blood...