Reconciliation

He threw himself back into his own work, not even realising that he had turned his back on the others.

"Lieutenant Ral?"

Tynoc turned, realising that a couple of hours had passed, and that he hadn't spoken to the Cardassian once this morning. She was standing nearby, clutching her own PADD, her face cold, lips pursed in what seemed to be distaste. What could she possibly find to disapprove of with him? It wasn't his race that had... well, no, he corrected himself, it hadn't been her, either, not personally. But still, her presence kept reminding him of things he would rather forget.

"Yes, what is it?" he replied, more snappily than he meant to.

"We need the data on water supplies and purification for the colony."

"It's all in the database." He looked across at Max, wondering why he had not already dealt with the obvious. But he was currently talking to Svetlana and not looking towards their end of the room.

"The historical data, yes. But we need some idea of the plans for restoration to make predictions about..."

"We can deal with that at the end of day briefing!" Was she trying to accuse him of shirking? That was rich, coming from a race of slave drivers!

Ledzia looked up, the dark-skinned Trill's eyebrows raised in surprise at his tone. She said nothing, of course, but perhaps Debem had a point. "Yes, all right," he conceded, "I'll send what we have to your PADD."

"It's a Cardassian PADD," she said stiffly, "I'll need your ID before I can interface it with yours."

He almost said something rude to her then, but stopped himself when he realised that he should really have done this the day before when they set up. The two humans had presumably already done so, after all.

"Give it here," he said, instead, almost snatching it off her, and, after a brief moment of confusion at the unusual screen layout and alien lettering, found that she had already opened the relevant box for him.

He tapped in his ID, and handed it back to her. For a moment, their fingers touched. Debem's were warm and soft, as fleshly as any Bajoran's, not the cold scaly feel he had somehow conjured in his mind. He flushed for a moment at the thought, suddenly embarrassed and unsure of himself. He didn't know if she noticed.

"That should help," he said, with what he hoped was a softer voice. She was starting to get to him, and he wasn't responding in the right way.

"Thank you," she said, her voice conveying no trace of emotion, just a simple formality. Then she headed back to the others.

She managed to stay out of his way for the rest of the day, for which Tynoc was grateful. She confused him, if he was honest with himself. She had not done anything that would have raised his ire had she been anyone else, except to simply be in the way. Yet somehow, she was bringing out all of his worst qualities, dredging up memories simply by her presence.

Of course, he hadn't wanted a civilian interfering with their work in the first place. They didn't need her; they didn't need anyone. So surely that was it? He disliked her because she was here where she shouldn't be - it was nothing to do with her race, after all.

So why did those sharp, grey features keep intruding on his mind? Why couldn't he get her out of his thoughts? Was it that she represented some sort of connection with home, even if it was one that brought all the wrong associations with it? He had to try and relax tonight, do something to put himself back in control. If nothing else, if he carried on like this, he wasn't going to look good to the Chief Science Officer. This was no way to build a team.

But, before he could get out of the room and have a stiff drink, he had to get through the end of day briefing that he had promised.

--***--

They didn't serve springwine in the Endeavour's bar. It was hardly surprising, since he was the only Bajoran on board, and it wouldn't have been the real thing anyway. So instead, after glancing around to check the object of his discomfort hadn't chosen the same venue to relax for the evening, he ordered a Terran brandy.

Of course, that wasn't real, either - it came out of the replicators, and had synthehol in it, so you couldn't really get intoxicated. That was a good thing, both from a career point of view and from the perspective of somebody raised in a religious culture that praised moderation. But there were times when even the fake kick of synthehol was just what you needed.

He leaned back in one of the padded seats, and washed the fiery liquid down, sighing and closing his eyes, rubbing the ridges on the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. It was not long, however, before he was interrupted.

"Tough day?"

He looked up to see Ledzia, fresh from the bar with a drink of... actually, he had no idea what it was, apart from the fact that it was yellow. He waved for her to sit opposite him, and she did so, a serious expression on her face.

"Permission to speak freely?" she asked.

"Always," he said, slightly surprised. She wasn't normally this formal.

"I can see that you've found it difficult, working with Debem."

"Nothing I can't handle. It just brings back memories sometimes."

"With respect, I'm not sure that you are handling it. Everyone has noticed, but none of the others are going to say anything. And when I say everyone, I am including T'Sel in that."

He sat up straighter, suddenly concerned. "T'Sel? She said something to you?"

"No, but when you turned on Debem in that final briefing, you may not have noticed, but she raised an eyebrow. For a Vulcan, that's like her jaw dropping to the floor. For the rest of us... it was uncomfortable. Look, Tynoc, I'm saying this as a friend - you've got to get this worked out. It's affecting the project, and that's going to look bad for all of us, but it's mostly going to look bad for you."

"Yes, but she..."

"Is this really about her? Or about her species?"

He deflated again, and took another shot of the brandy. "No, I guess you're right. She hasn't really done anything wrong. She's actually quite good at her field. It's just... it's not easy to explain if you haven't grown up in that situation. I try to avoid seeming prejudiced, because really I'm not... I don't think..." he paused, and gathered his thoughts again before continuing, "...but because I'm thinking about that all the time, I guess I end up trying to avoid her. Does that make sense?"

"Not really... but you wouldn't be the first person to try too hard. The fact is, you don't notice that I'm a Trill, or Svetlana is a human, you just get on with it. But you're still noticing that she's a Cardassian. It may be hard, but clear your mind of it. Don't dwell on the past; she wasn't even there."

"She was there, on Bajor," he corrected her, "although she was a child at the time. At least I think so; she looks about my age, wouldn't you say? But, look, I don't blame her for anything. I know that she wasn't responsible for the things the Cardassian military did."

"Perhaps you should tell her some of this. Clear the water, as it were?" He frowned. "Trill saying," she waved her hand, "the point is you need to deal with this somehow. You just told me that she's good at her job. Try saying that to her tomorrow."

Ledzia had a point. He had been unnecessarily rude to Debem, had acted as if he resented her presence, when she had done nothing to deserve it. If it was affecting the others, as the Trill woman said it was, he needed to take action before it all became poisonous.

"You're right," he said, "in fact," he straightened his jacket and knocked back the last of his brandy, "I won't do it tomorrow. I'll do it now." It was about time I acted like an officer, he thought to himself ruefully, but didn't say so out loud. He tapped his communicator, "ship, where is civilian scientist Debem?"

"Debem is in her quarters on Deck 7."

Tynoc realised that he had never seen her about the ship in his off hours. Had she spent all of her time outside of work locked in her cabin? If so, he was starting to feel even guiltier than he had before. He should have at least offered to show her round the Endeavour.

Well, there was no time like the present.

"Good luck," said Ledzia, as he got up to leave.

Yeah... he was going to need it, after the way he'd been acting.

--***--

He pressed the buzzer outside the room that the Cardassian scientist had been assigned. "Hello," he said, "Debem? It's Lt. Ral."

"Yes?" came the voice over the intercom, sounding a little uncertain.

"I've come to... look, do you mind if I come in?"

There was a long pause, but eventually the door slid open, and he was able to step inside.

The first thing he noticed was the heat. She had evidently turned the thermostat up, and adjusted the humidity, too. He remembered that Cardassia was often described as a 'tropical' planet, and, while it presumably had as wide a range of climates as any other Class M world, that probably meant that the most densely settled parts of the planet were much warmer than those on Bajor. It wasn't, he had to admit, entirely uncomfortable, but the difference from the corridor was noticeable, and he'd be visibly sweating before long.

The second thing he noticed, as the door slid shut behind him, was that Debem had changed her clothing, perhaps for comfort in the warmer room. Instead of the grey chequered pantsuit she had been wearing earlier, she was now in a short-sleeved dress made of soft green fabric, the neckline squared off to show the flaring scaled cords running down to her shoulder. The skirt came down to just above her knees, and Tynoc was surprised that one of his first thoughts was that, grey skin aside, her bare calves were slender and attractive.

He had best get his thoughts away from that, he realised, gaze flicking back to her dark eyes in their deep set, ridged orbits. She looked at him silently, her arms crossed and her angular face impassive.

"Thank you," he said, after an awkward silence. "I wanted to say... sorry for earlier today. I was out of line, and your suggestion about the purification system was a good one. We should work more on it tomorrow." She still said nothing, although at least the set of her jaw relaxed a bit. "I realise that we got off on the wrong footing," he said, "and I haven't been the best host. I wanted to make it up to you. Have you seen around the ship yet?"

There was a pause before she finally replied. "I was about to eat."

He glanced behind her, and saw that the small table had a plate and cutlery laid out on it. So that probably wasn't just an excuse, then.

"I could join you," he offered.

"It's a Cardassian meal. Sem'hal stew with yamok sauce."

So she'd programmed the replicator herself, then, he realised. Perhaps she had brought the recipe with her on a chip. "Sure," he said, wondering what in the Prophets' name he was letting himself in for, "why not?"

"You don't mind?" she seemed genuinely surprised.

"I'm on a ship full of aliens. New food comes with the territory. If I can eat in the same room as someone with a Bolian soufflé, I'm sure that stew won't be a problem."

Her mouth twitched, putting a hint of a smile on her lips, if only for a second. Then she nodded, unfolded her arms, and walked over to the replicator, tapping a few buttons. Unconsciously, Tynoc's gaze slipped down again, admiring her legs and the shape of her backside as she leant over.

He was going to have to stop thinking like that.

They ate in silence at first. Tynoc found the stew rather pleasant, not at all the strange alien dish he might have feared. In fact, he seemed to recall a human recipe that was very similar, although he could not remember the name of it now. Yamok sauce was also far from its reputation, with a distinctive tart flavour not quite like anything else he had tried. It would go well, he suspected, with a number of different vegetables, although he had to question its use with this particular meal... the flavours seemed to clash, both fine on their own, but not quite working together.

Perhaps Cardassians liked it like that. Either way, he wasn't going to mention it, so instead he tried a different tack.

"Why did you choose to become a scientist?" he asked, breaking what he felt was becoming an increasingly uncomfortable silence.

Dark, deep-set eyes flicked towards him, judging him for a second as Debem swallowed a mouthful, and considered her reply.

"Lots of reasons," she said, eventually, "it's complicated."

"I'd be interested to hear."

She considered that too, watching him as he took another piece of stew, then looked at her expectantly. He thought he saw the faint hint of a smile on her lips, a slight softening of her harsh grey features, but it was gone in instant, and so slight that he wondered if he had imagined it.

"Well, it's considered a good career for women on Cardassia. In fact, it's regarded as rather..." she paused, watching him again, "...effeminate."

She didn't say it harshly, as a criticism. In fact... was she actually teasing him? Did she actually have a sense of humour?

"Cultures are different across the galaxy," he said, taking it in his stride.

"Yet your team is mostly comprised of women."

"True," he allowed, permitting himself a small smile. She did have him there. "But we do have Max," he added.

"Your point?"

By the Prophets! That was an actual smile. She had really just smiled at him!

"Max does have a girlfriend, you know," he said, remembering the looks the human had been exchanging with Sh'ree the previous evening. "And what about me?"

She leaned back on the padded couch she was sitting on, sweeping her eyes over him. It made him feel strange, as if he was being evaluated... which, perhaps, he was. Her expression was clinically detached, a sign of that famed Cardassian efficiency and attention to detail. But then, she leaned forward again, her face relaxing into a slight smile again.

She was actually quite pretty when she did that.

"No," she said, "I don't think you're effeminate at all."

Her eyes dropped suddenly, and she returned to her meal with gusto. It was almost as if she was blushing, although there was no change in the shade of her dead grey skin, so perhaps he was just imagining it. Or Cardassians didn't blush like Bajorans did... who knew?

"You were saying," he went on, changing the subject, "about why you became a scientist?"

"Oh, yes. Well, when I was young, back on..."

She broke off suddenly, stiffening, her eyes going wide. (Was he really watching her eyes that much? Apparently.)

"Back on Bajor," he said quietly, "I know where you were born. Don't worry about it."

"Yes," she said, her own voice initially quiet, too, but picking up as she regained her confidence, "back on Bajor, my father was a military engineer, and my mother was a nurse. So I wasn't exactly born into a science background, but there was always material of that kind around... engineering, medical... more than in many families, I suppose. I was encouraged, certainly."

"But there's also..." she paused, cleaning a plate that Tynoc noticed was all but empty now. "You know, Bajor is quite a pretty planet. A little cold for my taste, though, at least where I was. Telassa... do you know it?"

"I know of it," he admitted, "never been there, though." He did his best to finish off his own meal, not wanting to seem unwilling to do so.

Telassa... yes, that was on one of the southern continents, well outside of the tropics. It was hardly one of the coldest places on the planet that would have been worth garrisoning, but it was sufficiently so that it would have snowed every winter. Which, judging by the tropical heat that she seemed to prefer, probably felt quite cold to Debem.

"Anyway, the point is, I never saw as much of Bajor as I would have liked. My sister and I grew up in the compound. We weren't often let out, and certainly not on our own - it wasn't safe. What I saw left me with fond memories... childhood does that I suppose. But I felt a little constrained, you know?"

"And then, we went back to Cardassia. And," she shook her head, "it was like the compound, only bigger. Better weather, but otherwise... well, it inspired me to go out and see the universe when I had the chance. So here I am."

Debem leaned back again, pushing her plate away, taking a sip from some of the red, slightly syntheholic drink that she had chosen to accompany it. "But what about you?" she asked.

"Why am I with Starfleet, rather than some Bajoran scientific institute or university?" He was feeling more relaxed himself, pleased that he had got her to open up, and hoped that he had mended the ill-feeling that he had allowed to develop between the two of them over the last couple of days. With any luck, things should be more productive from now on.

"I've always enjoyed physical activities as much as academic ones, so exploration on the frontier was always interesting. Bajor is not a member of the Federation, but Starfleet has done more for us than I think many of my people realise. They helped end the Occupation, and then afterwards, they did a lot to help us with the devastation that..."

Debem stiffened, pulling herself upright as she firmly placed her cup back on the table, dark eyes flashing. Damn it! He had actually forgotten for a moment who he was talking, and had become too relaxed.

"Look," he said quickly, "I'm not saying that you had anything to do with that. I don't hold you responsible for your past government or the actions of the military."

"But we ransacked your planet. Killed your people, poisoned your ground. You blame people like my father, the military engineer. You blame them for what they did to Bajor, and I make you uncomfortable because of it, don't I?"

"No, it's not that..." But, of course, it was that. That was exactly the problem, even if, as a Starfleet officer, he knew that it shouldn't be.

"Why do you think I specialised in helping planets recover from chemical warfare?"

Oh. He actually hadn't thought of that.

"Do you think that my people didn't suffer, too?"

Tynoc almost did a double-take at that. She thought that the Cardassians had suffered because of the Occupation? That made absolutely no sense at all! So she hadn't been able to go out and play in the streets as a child? It was hardly the same thing as having your family massacred or your village pounded to rubble.

He groped for a response to the absurd accusation, angry at the fact that she was trying to turn things against him.

"To be honest," he snapped eventually, unable to think of anything better to say, "not like we did, no."

"Really?" She glared at him.

"My father died in a forced labour camp. The last time I saw him was when soldiers took him away. I don't even know where his grave is. Do you still get to see your parents?"

"No," she shot back, dark eyes flashing with a hint of anger, "because they're both dead."

He didn't have a response to that. She was glaring at him across the table, hands clenched, the harsh scaled lines on her face making the set of her jaw all the sharper. He stared at her, supposing she must have been the victim of some Resistance attack, blaming people that had only been defending their world from alien invaders. But he let her keep speaking.

"My parents," she said, her voice breaking a little, before she slumped, the fight gone out of her, "my sister. Her husband, their five-month old baby, who I never even saw in the flesh. My fiancé." Her lip quivered, and he saw dampness in her eyes. "The Jem'Hadar bombarded our city from orbit when Cardassia rebelled against the Dominion. Every relative I'd ever known died in that conflagration, and most of my childhood friends."

"They all died. As did 800 million others. For the sins of our government."