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Kira studied the documents in front of her. They were Cardassian files from the Occupation, and reading them was a grim part of her secondment to the Truth and Reconciliation Board, now that Cardassia had a government that was willing to comply with such things.
Most of them were records of the kinds of atrocities she had heard about all her life, but could never be entirely inured to. The mass murders, the rapes, the prison camps, the parents tortured in front of their children and the children tortured in front of their parents. Hideous, heartbreaking stories – but ones she had been expecting to find.
What she hadn’t been expecting to find were mysteries. She had been well connected within the Resistance, after all, even though they were careful about information sharing. But it seemed that there were things she hadn’t known about; things that were still a mystery. One of them was QB. A person? A place? A codeword? She didn’t know, but QB came up half a dozen times or more, scattered across disparate documents from Hedrikspool Province.
A comfort woman who murdered her Cardassian lover, then vanished with a trace. QB.
A beautiful young man, known for his singing voice, one of the few sources of joy in Hedrikshill labour camp. Raped publically by the Cardassian guards. Believed dead. QB.
A resistance fighter, barely 18 years old, captured by the Cardassians. QB.
A young woman who had spoken openly and defiantly of her desire to escape the Cardassian rule of Bajor. QB.
QB was never associated with collaborators, only with people who hated the Cardassians. Could it be a method of execution? A torture device? But the Cardassians had been proud of their atrocities. They wrote about them lovingly in their reports; they didn’t hide them in code. And they seemed to have no idea what QB meant either. It was a dead end in their reports.
Her office door chimed.
“Come in,” she said.
Quark came in, pulling a small catering trolley behind him. “Ezri says you have to eat,” he said. “So here’s hasperat, and mapa bread, and a milaberry tart for afterwards. And a bottle of springwine for when you’ve finished.”
“How much extra do you charge for the delivery service?” Kira asked.
Quark attempted to look offended, unconvincingly. “I’m just trying to look after you. And so is Ezri. She said you’d reached Hedrikspool Province. It’s hard work, going through all those files. Digging up the past.”
Underneath the usual sycophancy, there was a note of anxiety in Quark’s voice.
“We’re digging it up so that we can move on in the knowledge that justice has been done,” Kira said.
“Is it justice?” Quark asked. “You’ve said yourself, people did all kinds of things to get through the Occupation.”
“We’re not judging ordinary people,” Kira said. “People did what they had to do to survive. It’s not black and white. It’s about finding out the truth. You were here on the station through all that time, Quark, you know what it was like.”
Quark sniffed. “I’m just a bartender. I just served drinks, ran dabo wheels, kept my ears clean. You look through your files, that’s all you’ll find.”
“Is there something you’re worried I’ll find?” Kira asked.
“Of course not,” Quark said, a little too quickly. Then he hesitated. “The report from this – will that be made public? Outside of Bajor?”
“Yes,” Kira said. “It’s about establishing the truth. We don’t want to keep that to ourselves.”
“As far as Ferenginar?”
“If they’re interested, then yes.”
But Quark was unmistakably alarmed. Words flowed out of him, unstoppably. “I was only ever a bartender,” he said. “Nothing else. Nothing unusual. I hired people. Sometimes I hired Bajorans. They were desperate, you know? You didn’t have to pay them as much as the other girls. Or boys. Sometimes boys. Whatever people prefer. Not my job to judge. Just give them what they want – give them a drink, a spin of the wheel, someone pretty to look at.
“Hiring Bajorans was good sense. Some of the Cardassians had a taste for them. If my staff didn’t always use their real names, why should I care, as long as they showed plenty of skin? Maybe the Bajorans didn’t always stick around that long, but there were always more. It was good sense, good business sense. That’s all it ever was. That’s all your report needs to say.”
Oh, Kira thought, as all at once the pieces slotted into place.
“It was good business sense,” she echoed gently.
“That’s right,” Quark replied.
She stood up from her desk and walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand Ferengi culture,” she said. “But if you don’t want people to know, then I guess they don’t have to know.”
Quark avoided her gaze.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’ll send someone up for the trolley when you’re done,” Quark replied.
“Yeah,” Kira said. “The food. Thank you for the food as well.”
Quark shuffled out of the room as fast as his legs would take him.
QB, Kira thought, reaching for some hasperat as she turned back to the report. Well, the history of the Occupation inevitably held gaps and mysteries. It could cope with one more.
But she was pleased to know, all the same.