A man came around to their table to ask after their order, and Natima did not hesitate to request another kanar. Russol’s raised eyeridge made her smile. “I think I’ve developed a taste for it,” she said, indicating the empty glass in her hands.
Russol watched her, waited, and she made her decision.
“I agree that this topic might be best discussed elsewhere. Where and when would you like to meet?” The words rang slightly in her ears as she spoke them. If Russol was indeed trying to trick her, then she had probably just implicated herself. But she studied his gaze once more, and felt assured that he was not. Either that, or he was in the Order. She knew their agents trained to be as convincingly sincere as Russol was now being.
“I have a few friends I think you might be interested in meeting,” Russol told her. “I am hoping that they will benefit as much from the encounter as you will.”
The steward brought Natima her second drink, and this time, she downed it in a single draught.
Mora Pol was clearing up his desk for the night—a mere formality, but one that gave him some sense that he still maintained a shred of control over his own life. He felt overwhelmed by despair this evening—not a new sensation for him, though it was especially crushing tonight. The system he had been working on for over six years was finally complete. It was the sort of thing that should have given any scientist some measure of triumph, but not for Doctor Mora—for the system in question was a weapon, to be used against his own people.
Collaborator. Murderer.
He pushed the thoughts away and tapped off the lights in his laboratory, a space he shared with the Cardassian scientist with whom he had been working these past six and a half years. He headed for the door, intending to go to his cramped quarters at the far end of the building.
Mora was the only scientist who lived in the building in addition to working in it, for he was the only Bajoran left at the Bajoran Institute of Science. The name, of course, was a holdover from the days before the Cardassians had taken over this world, and the Bajoran scientists who had once worked here had gradually disappeared, one by one, until only Mora Pol was left. His job was to conduct research, but his primary task was to keep the Cardassians convinced that he was still one of their allies, one of the few Bajorans who remained allegiant to the occupying forces that had invaded their world. The Cardassians who ran the institute had decided, some years ago, that it might be easier to assure Mora’s continued loyalty if he did not leave the institute, and so it was here that he made his bed. He had, at first, been allowed visitors on a very limited basis, always with a Cardassian ear strategically placed so he could not reveal anything sensitive to his family when they came. But Mora knew that it was humiliating for them to be associated with a collaborator, and so he had long ago asked them to stop coming. He thought they would return if he were to request it, but he could not bring himself to do so.
His self-disgust had blossomed over the years, was finally coming to full flower. He’d never set out to hurt anyone, had cooperated with the Cardassians because he worked for the government, and even now, the few corrupt Bajoran figureheads that still remained—Kubus Oak and Kan Nion came to mind—continued to insist that they comply with Cardassian policy. Mora had been so afraid for so long, he’d fallen into the habit of willing, even eager compliance. He’d saved his own life, but he was starting to believe the price had been too high, after all.
“Doctor Mora?”
He started a little as his name was spoken suddenly from somewhere in the darkness of his lab, and he put the lights back on, exasperated. “What is it, Odo?”
The shape-shifter was in his tank, the vessel where he regenerated each night and where Mora often implored him to remain so he would stay out of the way of the other research that was conducted here. Mora’s lab partner, a woman named Kalisi Reyar, did not much care for Odo’s active presence in the lab while she was reviewing her notes. Odo had become more of a side project for Mora in recent years, since his research with Doctor Reyar had begun to take precedence over everything else he was doing. The tests and drills he ran with the mysterious life-form had slowed to a near halt.
Odo’s “head” was glimmering in its partially solid state, the rest of his mass a stretching, shining, amorphic liquid. The effect was unsettling, though Mora had seen Odo in this semi-humanoid state many times.
“Doctor Mora, now that your project with Doctor Reyar is concluded, will you and I resume our work?”
“Odo, please. If you’re going to speak to me, I’d prefer it if you would become completely humanoid. When you do that…it unnerves me.”
The liquid spilled out of the tank and Odo’s shape defined, the nearly transparent quality of his “face” instantly hardening into the appearance of an oddly smooth-featured Bajoran, his tall, stiff body seemingly clad in a plain jumpsuit—a concession to Bajoran and Cardassian notions of propriety. Odo had difficulty perfecting the form of a convincing person, though there were times when he was feeling especially confident that his bone structure looked more realistic than usual; when he was nervous, the shape of his jaw and the curves of his ears appeared particularly unfinished. Mora had discussed it with him many times, which seemed to give the shape-shifter even more difficulty in maintaining his appearance. The scientist did not mean to aggravate him about it, but it frustrated him somewhat that Odo’s progress in that area had stalled so significantly.
“You and I will resume the old schedule of testing just as soon as my superiors deem it necessary,” Mora said briskly. “In the meantime, you can continue to study on your own, and we will work together for a few hours in the evenings, when my other responsibilities don’t take my attention from you.”
He felt a little sorry for the creature, supposing him to be lonely without the same regimen of nearly constant supervision he’d enjoyed in the beginning. Odo had always seemed withdrawn, and really, he was essentially still a child. His appearance and voice suggested an adult male, but Mora knew better. He would probably not be able to live the life of an adult for at least another ten years or so, a thought that actually gave Mora quite a bit of comfort—for, as long as the shape-shifter needed him, the Cardassians would need him, as well. Doctor Yopal, the director of the Institute, had always maintained enough curiosity regarding Odo that Mora doubted very much she’d ever put him back on the shelf where he’d sat for so long before Mora had been assigned to him. And what else could be done with him? He was almost helpless without Mora, and even Yopal wasn’t cruel enough to just turn him out—unless, of course, she decided to assign a Cardassian scientist to work with him. That possibility did trouble Mora from time to time, but he felt somewhat assured that it was unlikely to happen on Yopal’s watch.
“You must regenerate now, Odo,” Mora instructed the shape-shifter.
“I have been regenerating for many hours,” Odo told the scientist, and Mora frowned.
“Then you may access my comnet link to study. I need to go to bed now. I will see you in the morning. I will probably have time to do some work with you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good night, Doctor Mora,” the shape-shifter said in his gravelly fashion, his voice heavy with a trace of what seemed to be sadness, though Mora could never quite tell if it was reflective of actual mood.
Mora headed to the small, dark room that was barely bigger than a closet—his home. He took off his shoes and coat and sat on the edge of his small bed, trying to push from his mind the duties he would have to perform in the next few days. He would help with the implementation of Doctor Reyar’s project, an anti-aircraft system that could target and eliminate Bajoran terrorist raiders as they left the atmosphere. Mora had done his best to stall the work for as long as he could without making it obvious, but now there was nothing more he could do—at least, nothing that wouldn’t result in his own execution. The system would go up with or without him, and what would happen to Odo if Mora was gone?