Keral heard a rustling behind him, and turned to find his eleven-year-old daughter approaching, her steps light. Jaxa’s blond hair had come loose from her braid, tumbling about her shoulders and making her look very much as she had when she was a little girl. It put a lump in Keral’s throat to recognize how quickly his daughter was growing up, especially when faced with how impossibly clever she was becoming. Some of the things she came up with—Keral could scarcely believe she was his own child. She was more like the Mora side that way, Keral’s mother’s side. They were all a clever people, many of them learned. How Keral wished he could do more for Jaxa than this primitive village—she could have gone so far!
“Jaxa,” he whispered. “Why aren’t you in bed? It’s another early morning tomorrow.”
“I know, Pa. That’s why I’m up. You need to sleep, too. Could I help?”
Keral chuckled. “I doubt it, though I wish someone could. Of course…you might be better suited to figure this out than I am.”
Jaxa peered over his shoulder at the sheets of paper he’d spread across the chipped wooden table. “What is this stuff, Pa?”
“I’m not sure, honey,” he admitted. “Maybe it’s nothing. You know the funny man I brought to the harvest yesterday? It’s from him. He says he knows my cousin, a man you’ve never met—a very smart man.”
“Mora Pol—he’s a scientist,” Jaxa said, picking up one of the scraps of paper.
“That’s right,” Keral confirmed. “I’ve told you about him before.”
Jaxa traced a finger along one of the lines on the paper she was looking at. “‘Sensors towers,’” she read. “‘Aircraft?’ ‘Coded engine signature.’”
He smiled. “It’s a lot of gibberish, I know.”
“Mora made the detection grid?” She looked at him, frowning. “The towers…?”
Keral answered carefully. “He has to work with the Cardassians, honey. He has to do it in order to stay alive. It isn’t his fault…” Keral trailed off, thinking.
“Maybe he’s given you an override code,” Jaxa suggested.
Keral started to nod, feeling a surge of excitement. He shuffled through the pieces of paper, snatched up the one with the numbers that followed the reference to a traveler’s array. He read the sequence, remembering something Pol had once told him, about programming…
“It’s a backdoor password,” he said. “He always built them into his programs, in case he needed to get back in.”
His excitement faltered. “Except…how am I supposed to use something like that?”
Jaxa was still looking at the same sheet of paper. “Someone would have to take the code to the resistance,” she said.
“Mora remembered that I knew Kohn Biran,” Keral said. He felt like he had to catch his breath, suddenly. If it was true, if it was an override code of some sort, probably with instructions on how to approach…His cousin had passed a huge responsibility on to him. Could he do this? Crack the code, and get it to Kohn Biran? Keral had a rudimentary idea of where the Dahkur resistance had gone. They had taken to the mountains after the grid had gone online, the low range visible beyond the western forest. Of course, this was assuming they hadn’t all been killed.
He held out his hand for Jaxa to give him the scrap of paper. “You go to bed,” he instructed her gently. “And thank you for helping me. Right now, we both need some sleep.”
Even as he said it, he knew sleep would be impossible. His cousin, he realized, was counting on him to do this thing, which indicated that Pol believed Keral was capable. He hoped that Pol’s faith would be enough to see him through, for Keral wasn’t sure if he had any for himself.
Alone in her quarters, Natima’s voice trembled ever so slightly as she introduced herself, setting forth her credentials to the man on the screen. The channel was hardened, but if the station’s prefect learned her business, her intentions, she would be as good as dead. She chose her words carefully, using phrases she’d worked out with Russol as she presented herself to Tozhat’s newest exarch, a man named Yoriv Skyl. Skyl had recently come to replace Kotan Pa’Dar, the man who had been exarch when Natima had lived in the surface settlement, years before.
Natima had never been formally introduced to Kotan Pa’Dar, though she had seen him in those years when she was on Bajor, at the occasional press conference, and once she had passed him on the streets between the habitat domes of the settlement. She had also seen him on Cardassia Prime, since he had returned from Bajor. Pa’Dar’s wife and young son had been killed in a terrorist attack, and he had resigned from his post shortly afterward. There were many dissidents who were convinced that Pa’Dar was one of them, that he attended some of the off-planet meetings under an assumed identity, but it had never been confirmed. It was Natima’s understanding that Yoriv Skyl, the man who had replaced him here on Bajor, was a close acquaintance of Pa’Dar’s. She hoped that meant that Skyl could also be sympathetic to the cause, but his expression was giving her nothing.
Skyl was a heavyset man, slightly younger than Natima, but with close ties to the Detapa Council, Cardassia’s civilian government. Russol knew him in some capacity, though not well enough to be sure of his political leanings. Still, after speaking with Pa’Dar, Russol agreed with Natima that the evidence for Skyl’s receptiveness was strong enough that Natima should contact him.
“You say Glinn Russol sends his respects, through you,”the exarch said. “He is an honorable man. I’ve met him many times, on Cardassia II. But I find it strange that he would fraternize with a member of the Information Service, let alone ask one to deliver a message.”
“My employment has no bearing on my allegiances,” Natima said. She took a breath, reminded herself that just because her job had taken her far from home, there were still things, however small, that she could do to help the movement. “I wish to speak to you as a citizen of Cardassia only.”
Skyl’s lips thinned. “I would prefer to speak to you in person.”
“That would be preferable to me as well,” Natima said quickly. “So, you’ll meet with me?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, time permitting. I will see you sometime next week, if that conforms with your schedule.”
“I can make it comform,” Natima said.
She signed off the transmission, and regarded another call that had been holding, one from within the station. Could it have been security, listening in and demanding to meet with her in regard to her business with Skyl? Even as she thought it, she knew better; security would not bother with the courtesy of a call. She considered letting the transmission go to her message system, but decided that she could use a distraction. In fact, the call came from Quark, the man who owned the bar.
“Miss Lang!”the Ferengi declared as he appeared on her screen. “I’m so glad I’ve caught you in. I was wondering…if you might have some time this evening, if you would care to have a drink with me, perhaps, or even a walk around the station? If you could use the company, that is.”
Natima hesitated. She could, indeed, use the company, and the idea of a walk was appealing. She spent most of her time reading feeds from Bajor, correcting copy, doing her job. She didn’t feel comfortable roaming the station in her free time, which both irritated and shamed her. She hadn’t expected to feel so intimidated by the constant stares of Cardassian men, as they silently assessed her status, but she’d come to feel quite isolated in the short time since her transfer. A tour of Terok Nor would be nice.
But with Quark?She wasn’t sure what to make of the Ferengi. She’d heard stories about them, of course, but had never personally known any. And she didn’t know him well enough to decide if he was trustworthy, or if he was as greedy as the stories made out. But he interested her, on some level; perhaps it was the reporter in her, curious about another culture, or perhaps it was just the invitation to be with someone from whom she didn’t have to fear exposure as a traitor. At least, she assumed not. Quark clearly had dealings with the Bajorans that were not looked upon kindly by the prefect.