Yoriv Skyl, who had been Pa’Dar’s assistant and closest friend for the past four years, was now doing his best to provide consolation, but Pa’Dar found that he wished the other man would simply remain silent, as he could hardly bear to concoct responses for him.
“The others at the settlement continue to insist that your son may not have been here when the attack occurred,” Skyl said. “Every man in our vicinity has been instructed to look for an eight-year-old Cardassian child, and with so few of our children on this world, it will only be a matter of time—”
“Please, Yoriv. This isn’t necessary.” Pa’Dar found it ironic that his own house should be the one to be targeted. He had been sympathetic to the plight of the Bajorans almost since the beginning of his term; he had originally come to Bajor in the role of scientist, not conqueror, and during his reluctant political tenure had done his best to see to it that the Bajorans under his direct governance were treated fairly. But the terrorists did not distinguish, only worked to create the biggest impact with their violence. And who better to attack than an exarch?
Pa’Dar and Skyl were supposed to be discussing the particulars of a new dwelling that would be built here, directly atop the ruins of the old, but Pa’Dar was far from enthusiastic about the idea. He did not want to live on this spot anymore; in fact, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to live on Bajor anymore.
With that thought, his adjutant fielded a transmission that had come to his padd. It was Dukat—Pa’Dar knew it from the first silky word as the prefect greeted Pa’Dar’s aide.
“Yoriv.”
Skyl turned slightly, to keep Pa’Dar out of the frame. Pa’Dar watched impassively, sure that his assistant would know to keep him out of any exchanges with the prefect. Especially today.
“Hello, Prefect. Is there something I can do for you?” Skyl’s round face was the picture of helpful supplicant.
“Yes. You can remind Pa’Dar that the reports concerning drilling estimates in Tozhat were to be in my hands as of yesterday.”
“Prefect, perhaps you’ve not heard of the tragedy that occurred here four days ago—we are still dealing with the aftermath.”
“Of course I am aware of it,”Dukat said. “I am the one who ordered that the site be assessed right away for the approval of a new structure. I wanted the affair to be managed as seamlessly as possible, to allow Pa’Dar to put the incident behind him—after an appropriate opportunity to grieve, of course.”
“Yes, of course, and for that, I know the exarch is grateful. You’re most gracious, to extend such a courtesy when I know how you’re counting on that data…”
Skyl went on, handling the prefect with his customary aplomb. Pa’Dar was grateful for his assistant’s capabilities, for he himself had never been much of a politician when it came to handling Dukat’s demands—many of which Pa’Dar disagreed with directly. Pa’Dar had been acquainted with the prefect for a long time, and the rivalry and dissent between the two men had only increased over the years. It didn’t improve the situation that certain members of Pa’Dar’s family served on the Detapa Council, and it was no secret that the council was often in direct conflict with Central Command. As the civilian government started to exercise more influence over the military, Dukat’s position weakened—and he had Pa’Dar to vent his frustration on.
As Skyl continued to field Dukat, Pa’Dar had another look at the ruins of his home, and made a decision. Skyl finished his call and turned to Pa’Dar with apology in his expression.
“Business does not rest, Kotan. I will facilitate those reports for you—all that they will require is your thumbscan. None of it is of such consequence that you need to trouble yourself with it immediately.”
“Thank you, Yoriv. But if I may make an observation—it seems to me that you do my job even better than I do.”
Skyl looked worried. “I don’t mean to imply that your input is unnecessary, Kotan. I only meant that perhaps, at a time such as this—”
Pa’Dar interrupted him. “You misunderstand me, friend. My father insists that he can eventually get me nominated for a seat on the Detapa Council if I return to Cardassia Prime. There are two members of the council who will likely be retiring soon, due to their age…. I wouldn’t have considered it before now, but it seems to me that the Bajorans no longer appreciate my efforts here.”
Skyl appeared to understand, now. “And so…my services will no longer be required?”
Pa’Dar almost smiled. “They will be very much required, Yoriv, for I intend to recommend you as my replacement. I have little doubt that the prefect will approve, since it seems to me that your relationship with him is far better than mine has ever been.” He did not add that it was unlikely that any other, more experienced politician would want the position. Where once a man might feel that his political career could be secured by serving a few terms on Bajor, most now felt that it was not worth the risk. That skepticism was not likely to abate in the wake of this current tragedy.
Yoriv was speechless, and for a moment, Pa’Dar thought perhaps the other man didn’t wish to take the position. But Skyl broke into an earnest smile, a smile of gratitude, and Pa’Dar felt, for a moment, something almost like relief—but it was gone again with another slight breeze, the dust of his heart and home spinning up into the ever chill wind. If nothing else, the thought of leaving Bajor at last was of some consolation. That comfort was small indeed.
She was only imagining that she could hear the whistling of the wind outside, Kira knew. In fact, nobody in the Shakaar cell was sure what kind of weather was going on beyond the dense, soundproof rock, though they’d received a report that there was a strong storm front coming in. Unusual for this late in the spring, but deep in the cave, there was no way to confirm what was really happening out there. Refractory minerals in the surrounding hillside, so effective at concealing them from Cardassian scanners, likewise made their own tricorders useless, unless someone maintained a tricky relay system that would have to be periodically recalibrated from outside. Where the weather was concerned, it was easier just to crawl through the tunnels to have a look at the sky. Sometimes Kira looked forward to doing the weather report, just to glimpse the outside world, but she didn’t want to do it today. She was tired after another sleepless night.
Nobody went outside much anymore, and not for longer than absolutely necessary. After the detection grid had first gone online, they thought they had already defeated it; Mobara had come up with small individual devices that were supposed mask their biosigns, make them less distinguishable from the surrounding flora and fauna. The tech, as it turned out, wasn’t entirely reliable, a fact driven home during that harrowing week last year when Kira had been cut off from the rest of the cell for seven days while being hunted by Union troops.
More recently, Mobara had cobbled together a rig that generated a scattering field over a small area, making them invisible to the sensor towers, and within the field the cell was able to travel in small groups—up to a point. If someone happened to accidentally wander or be forced outside the perimeter of the field, Cardassians were usually upon them within minutes. That was how well the grid seemed to work.
Although, Kira reflected, it doesn’talways work. Even without Mobara’s gadgets, there were still times when Dahkur’s resistance fighters succesfully crept through the hills undetected, and Kira had often been among those lucky few. But unless and until they could discern a pattern to those failures in the grid, it was in the relative safety of the caves that they made their homes, living off emergency rations and making gradiose plans to knock out the sensor towers.