JP: Ensign Etan Iljor & PNPC Akhbett Jirall - An Inconvenient Truth Part I

[Michael Meir-Wright]

OOC: This is a little foreshadowing for an arc I am taking Iljor on in the coming weeks and months. I want to take the opportunity to thank my scene partner Justin for writing this with me- in the midst of writing Yogan's recent zhian'tara arc. Thank you for coming on this journey with me! x

((Nahx Cafe, Leran Manev, Trill))

((Time Index: Two Days after Iljor’s zhian’tara experience))

From a spot at the far corner of the square, Akhbett Jiral kept her eyes trained on the cafe, allowing everything else to merge into an inconsequential backdrop of alien architecture.  Etan Iljor had entered a short while ago, and Akhbett allowed herself the opportunity to revisit the facts and reports she kept stored inside her highly ordered mind.  There was no way to know how this interaction would turn out, but by meeting in public, Akhbett believed Etan would keep his composure and allow her to say what she needed to say.

Bringing truth to those who live in the shadow of the night.

If things didn’t go well, there was little she could do but continue working her way down the list of names.  Eventually, someone would listen.  As she stood up, her toned body constrained and kept to an upright posture by restrictive civilian attire, she looked through the windows of the cafe, keeping her eyes only on the young Bajoran male sitting alone at a table.

His hands clasped around a cup of herbal tea- one that had not yet gone cold- Etan Iljor sat and watched the throngs of Trill passing the cafe on their way to wherever they were going. It had been two days since he had shared his consciousness with the kindly farmer, Edanne- a former host of Iljor’s roommate and friend. It had been a wholly unique experience- not to mention a thought provoking one. He had spent much of the two days following reflecting on what had happened and what it had felt like to share the memories of somebody else. The process had been reversed and he could not recall Edanne’s remembrances- but he had been left with an impression of her warmth and her motherly pride towards Yogan. The scientist in him wondered how the entire process was possible- especially since telepathy was required to separate former host memories from the symbiont and transfer them into another being- but for once, he was simply content to leave it unexplained. What had happened had happened. Besides, a little mystery was good for the pagh.

He held the mug of tea close to his chest as he watched the world go by, his fingers interlaced around it’s circular shape. The heat of the beverage was palpable through the thick ceramic holder and felt welcome in the chilly morning light of the Trill capital city. He was about to take another sip when he caught sight of a figure on the other side of the street staring intently at the café window.

Staring intently at him.

He looked away quickly, feeling as though he was exposed. Then he furtively looked back, trying to make it look like he wasn't. The figure appeared to be a young Cardassian woman- a little older than him, no more than 2 or 3 years. She was sat a bench although she rose to her feet and began crossing the semi-busy thoroughfare.

His heart started beating.

There had been an intensity in her eyes that he has seen even in the instant their eyes had connected. It troubled him. He was of a generation born after the Occupation, during the infant stages of the treaty between Bajor and Cardassia. The Occupation was something he had heard about, but had not lived through. He didn't hate Cardassians as many did but he was mindful of the tangled and bloody skein of their shared and often dark history. There had been a Cardassian boy at his elementary school. Some of the children had shunned him. Iljor had befriended him. He might have come from a race of conquerors but he himself was not one. Last he had heard, Corlitt had been accepted to the University of Ashalla to study accounting.

The Cardassian woman entered the shop and he felt her gaze boring into the back of his neck. He thought about rising up from the table and leaving the cafe but knew that would look suspicious. Calling for help, moreso. Instead he tried to cast an air of nothing bothering him. He wasn't good at it.

A minute later, the woman sat down in the chair opposite his, clutching a cup and saucer. Iljor tasted the pungent aroma of hot fish juice- a typical Cardassian morning beverage. He tried not to heave.

Akhbett noticed Etan’s traditional earring.  It wasn’t a guarantee that the man was an observant follower of the Prophets–some wore the earring purely as a cultural decoration–it strongly suggested as much.  She had prepared for two conversations, one with a believer, one with a non-believer, and she was relieved that she could begin on the assumption that Etan was the former.  Akhbett spoke softly, her tone falling as she said the man’s name as a statement rather than a question.

Jirall: Etan.  Etan Iljor of Musilla Province.

Etan: Yes. ::he said after a moment's hesitation, eyeing her warily.:: And you are?

Jirall: Akhbett Jiral.  I have been looking for you.

He looked at her with a scrutinising stare.

Etan: How can I help? ::he said, quietly. He had been struck by a sense that this was not a conversation that should be overheard.::

Akhbett leant in, keeping her voice low and even.  Unemotional.  She could react later, but for now, it was imperative that she remain focused.  Her sentences were short, presumptive, leading Etan to confirm each one in sequence.  The fact that he’d not got up from his seat right away was promising.

Jirall:  Your parents were in the Bajoran Resistance.

Instinctively, Iljor straightened and bristled at the sentence. It was true- his parents were part of a cell in the Bajoran resistance. That was the extent of what he knew. They did not discuss the Occupation in any great detail and had actively taught Iljor not to ask about it. He had tried once, but the spectre of something unpleasant in his mother's eyes had dissuaded him from asking again. He had never been able to quantify what that something was- all he knew is that he never wanted to see it.

Etan:  ::he paused, pursing his lips a little tighter and studying Jirall's inscrutable face.:: Yes. ::he said finally.::

Jirall:  I have information about them.  About an operation they participated in during the Occupation.  What I have to tell you may be difficult to hear.

He heard the scraping of a nearby chair and the clattering of a teacup. It took him several moments to realise that it had been his chair, his teacup. He was on his feet. He glared at Jirall, trying to ascertain what she was trying to do.

Etan:  This conversation is over. ::he exclaimed with a blunt finality.::

He willed his body to disengage and to walk away from whatever it was that Jirall was trying to do. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to bring himself to leave. By now several patrons of the café were looking in their direction. Not wanting to be the subject of rumour, he sag back down. He softened his glare, although he didn't bother to hide his suspicion.

Akhbett removed a small display device from the inside pocket of her jacket and called up the file.  She didn’t need to read it again–she recalled its contents by heart–but holding it kept her grounded and focused on what she needed to say.

Jirall:  Thirty-three years ago, your parents’ resistance cell obtained intelligence about a new Obsidian Order foothold in Musilla Province, that they were hiding in a disused storage facility just outside of Tamulna.  Predictably, the cell eliminated it.  Those Cardassians who survived the bombing of the building were picked off one by one as they tried to escape.  ::beat:: There were no survivors.

Iljor closed his eyes and drew a breath. The idea that his parents had been party to the murder of Cardassians made him sick to his stomach. The thought that they had actively hunted survivors revolted him. He leaned forward, opened his eyes and drew a breath. The glare had returned.

Etan: My parents were farmers, not butchers. ::he hissed venomously, feeling a sudden need to defend the two people that had given him life. He tried to ignore the knot that was forming in his stomach.:: I know they were in the Resistance, but I will not subscribe to the idea that they went around killing your people. I absolutely will not.

He had envisioned that their involvement with the resistance was limited to passing on messages or hiding members of the cell. Of course, that never quite sat right with the awful expression in his mother's eyes… but then again, he had always found it easy enough to convince himself of something.

The knot in his stomach tightened into an acute ache.

--

To be continued…

--

Ensign Etan Iljor

Science Officer

USS Resolution

C239203TW0

&

NPC Akhbett Jirall

Cardassian Truth Teller

simmed by

Lieutenant JG Yogan Yalu

Helm Officer

USS Resolution NCC-78145

D238804DS0