“This reminds me of my part of Earth,” Hans said as we gazed out over the valley. He explained that everyone in his family loved to climb and hike. “If we manage to come to an agreement, many people from Earth would come here to vacation. I assume Cardassians would also visit Tohvum and Dorvan if there were peace between our peoples, no?”

“We tend to stay within the limits of our Union.”

“Except where resources are involved,” Hans said cheerfully, watching carefully for my reaction.

“What would you have us do? Cardassia is not a rich place like Earth. We have to live.” I was equally cheerful in my reply.

“Everyone has the right to live, Alardig. But does it have to be at the expense of others?”

“If that’s the competition, so be it. Very often, Hans, the game is about survival.”

“But surely there’s another way of dealing with scarcity than forcibly occupying another homeland and reducing its people to the level of vassals and slaves.” Hans continued to smile, and I wondered if he really believed these sentiments–or was this another example of Federation hypocrisy? These people reduced all political complexity to pious platitudes, while they constructed the greatest empire in the history of the Alpha Quadrant.

“Have I been brought to this beautiful place to be subjected to a critique of our Bajoran policy?”

Hans laughed and looked out to the distant mountains. As the sun moved behind some clouds a cold wind kicked up. When he turned back he was no longer smiling.

“Your brother is not well. I’m sure you know that.”

I took a long breath and nodded. “He hasn’t been well for a while.” I wasn’t sure where this was going, but it felt right.

“Then you’re concerned about his welfare.”

“We all are.” The art is to thread and extend meaning, using as few words as possible.

“Is he getting the help he needs?” So concerned, so caring. I took another long breath.

“Well . . . it’s difficult. In our culture. . . .” I shrugged.

“Is that why he came to us?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately, instinctively feeling that any hesitation would alert him to my ignorance and subsequent scramble for footing. I looked Hans in the eyes and resisted being swallowed by their immeasurable blue depths. I shivered against the cold. Hans saw this; I couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t happened.

“He’s not a traitor. But he needs help. I told him not to go to you, that we’d find a way. . . .” I trailed off, translating my ignorant isolation into that of someone caught between two powerful forces. Tears came to my eyes, and I marveled that I had absolutely no emotional attachment to them.

“We know he’s not a traitor. When Saurik came to us and explained the situation, he made it clear that your brother had no other recourse.” Yes, the Vulcan. Careful now. Another breath.

“That’s true,” I replied.

“What usually happens to people in your culture who suffer from a . . . mental imbalance?” Hans was now treading delicately; clearly, they needed my help with Maladek. I wondered if he had really gone to them, or if they had enticed him in some way. Or was this all a lie?

“We kill them.” Something very sharp emerged from the blue depth of Hans’s eyes, and for the first time I was afraid I had gone too far. But it was too late to back down; I had to rely on human prejudice.

“Cowardice and madness are unforgivable,” I went on. “They reflect flaws in the Cardassian character that can never be redeemed.” This was to a certain extent indeed true of cowardice; madness, however, was looked upon as a mysterious disease, and those who suffered were isolated and treated well. In any event, no one was killed unless the cowardice occurred in battle.

“My God,” Hans breathed, confirming, I’m sure, his belief that we were capable of any kind of atrocity. I hated his self‑righteous superiority, and calculated the several moves that would send him flying into the abyss. Instead I turned and sat down on a rock that still held warmth from the departed sun. I put my head in my hands to give him the impression of my utter vulnerability.

“So, Alardig. What do we do now?”

“Father had hoped that if he brought Begom on this trip–got him away from home and the pressures–but it’s only gotten worse. Father can’t even concentrate on his work. We never should have come here. I’m afraid. . . .” I stopped as if I’d gone too far.

“Of what?” he asked. I just shook my head.

“I understand,” Hans said, thinking that he had me. There was a long silence. “We’ll take care of Begom. You have my word. I think I know a way.” I looked at him, full of gratitude.

“Thank you, Hans.”

“But we will need your participation. I am going to set up a meeting as soon as possible.”

“With Begom?” I asked, hiding my concern.

“No. With the people who are helping him.”

“Anything I can do . . .” I assured him with heartfelt sincerity.

“I know. Well . . .” Hans looked around, smiling again.

“. . . we’d better get back before we lose the light.”

As we came down the trail, I wondered about Maladek and his illness, the people who were “helping” him, and the exact nature of my participation.

That night I reported to Limor, and he checked and double‑checked every detail I had related with probing, specific questions. I assumed that it was because the situation had reached a critical point and he was concerned that a probe was in the middle. But the discomfiting thought did occur to me, as I patiently responded to his interrogation, that he was also scrutinizing my veracity. I was about to ask him if he doubted what I was reporting, when he preempted me.

“I may put you on the enhancer.”

I said nothing. It was enough of a challenge just to return his look.

“How would you feel about that?” he asked.

“I would . . . submit, of course.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Elim?”

“No.” I continued to hold his look and knew better than to ask him anything now; I would only appear defensive. I waited in the long silence, and refused to back down.

“Consult your comm chip. There is some information I want you to pass on to Hans Jordt when you see him next.” I was dismissed.

Hans contacted me two days later, and we took another hike up the Mandara. Once again he set a grueling pace on a different, steeper trail. As I struggled to keep up, it occurred to me that breaking me down physically was certainly a part of his strategy. When we stopped to “admire the view” (Hans’s sentimental expression), I didn’t try to hide my exhaustion. I flopped down, panting heavily, and giving the not untrue impression that I couldn’t go any further.

“Are you all right, Alardig?” Hans asked, barely showing any effects at all of the arduous hike. I nodded. He watched me as I “struggled” with my breathing. He took a small instrument from his pocket and waved it over me. I was warned by Limor to deactivate my comm chip, because Hans would check to see if I was recording the conversation. He was satisfied that I wasn’t.

“We’ve found someone who can help Begom.”

I nodded again, pretending that it was still too difficult for me to speak.

“But to give him the help he needs, we’re going to need some information.”

I waited for Hans to continue.

“He speaks of betrayal, and he mentions you.”

“Me?” I didn’t have to feign surprise.

“Yes. Why would he say that about his own brother?” Hans asked.

“I don’t know.” And I didn’t know how to reply to this. “What else did he say about me?”

“He told us not to believe anything you tell us. According to him you’re here to pass on misinformation regarding the Cardassian position, and you represent an intelligence agency that wants to scuttle these talks. He says that you’re not even his brother.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What did Maladek think he could accomplish by telling them this? Was this his revenge for what happened at Bamarren? Or was this another example of having only the information I needed for the moment? I had no choice but to stay with my story. I didn’t even try to hide my true confusion from Hans.