It was thanks to Ro that her Captain Picard had managed to come through in an ugly situation with a resistance fighter named Orta, an accomplishment that had surprised Keeve not a little. Keeve had thought he’d seen the last of that girl just before she’d run away—and there was a part of him that wished he hadseen the last of her. In all his life, he had never met a more volatile teenager than she had been. If she was going to be the person to represent Bajor to the larger galaxy, Keeve had serious reservations that anything useful could come of it. No, he decided, as he left the old hangar, it would be unproductive to invest any hope in this situation. He had not given up hope entirely—but he hadgiven up hope in any possibility of rescue from the United Federation of Planets.
Gran Tolo walked along the Bajoran side of the Promenade, keeping his eyes out for anyone who might pose a threat. There were the Cardassians, of course, but there were also the more insidious enemies: Bajoran pickpockets and collaborating snitches, and, of course, the shape-shifting chief of security. Today, though, it was the shape-shifter that Gran sought, for he’d received a message from a resistance cell that insisted the so-called constable could help them.
Gran stopped in front of a shop that sold used clothing and rags, trying to look inconspicuous while he waited for the shape-shifter. He picked up a lone shoe from a rack of mismatched odds and ends in front of the little store, pretending to inspect it though he had no need for a single shoe, and even if he had, he couldn’t have afforded it—very few Bajorans could have. This shop was almost certainly a front for something else, but whether the Cardassians endorsed it or not, Gran didn’t know. It was difficult to trust anyone in this place.
He dropped the shoe as it began to shimmer in his hand, and he took a step back, realizing that he’d just been examining the chief of security.
“Hello.” The shape-shifter addressed him in a slightly condescending manner. Gran swallowed.
“I’m Gran Tolo,” he said uncertainly. The shape-shifter’s expression suggested that Gran was about to make a terrible mistake.
“How very nice to meet you,” the shape-shifter said with a trace of irritation. “I’m a very busy man, Mr. Gran, and I’d appreciate it if you’d inform me as to why you’ve asked to see me.”
Gran dropped his voice, so nervous he couldn’t remember exactly what he was supposed to say. “I’m bringing you a message from the resistance movement on the surface.”
Odo looked more annoyed. “I have no interest in the goings-on of the resistance movement,” he said sharply. “My job is to maintain order, not foster chaos. Is it possible you have me confused with someone else, Mr. Gran?”
Gran shook his head, though he feared that very possibility. He was beginning to panic, still unsure of what it was he was supposed to say. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that I was told you might sometimes help… certainBajorans.”
“I could arrest you right now for that implication,” Odo said, and as he spoke, his hand extended, became a tentacle that wrapped itself around Gran’s wrists. Gran pulled, but he found the restraint to be impervious to his own strength.
“Kira Nerys!” Gran blurted, remembering at last. “That’s the name I’m supposed to tell you! She said you—”
Odo hesitated for a brief moment, and then the tentacle unwound itself from Gran’s hands, melting back into an arm. The shape-shifter spoke. “I will speak to Kira,” he said, “but I will not speak to you.”
“I can give you a communication code,” Gran said, not sure if it was yet prudent to feel relief. “She’s expecting your call.”
Odo’s tone was not quite so nasty now. “You will accompany me to my office.”
Gran was still nervous, but he knew he mustn’t falter now. The resistance movement depended on him, and if this plan could be carried out, it would strike a significant blow to the Cardassians. It was worth the risk of a few hours in the brig—or worse, really. He reminded himself of this repeatedly as he followed the constable back down the Promenade, and toward the security office, hoping hard that he wasn’t about to find out what the inside of a cell looked like.
Dukat had been up all night in ops; there had been a situation down in the fusion core—an imbalance in the reaction chambers that threatened to blow out the entire ion energy network, if not for the quick thinking of the chief of engineering. Perhaps too quick,Dukat thought. Dalin Kedat’s talent for keeping Terok Nor functioning at optimum levels seemed exceptional, but Dukat sometimes wondered if he succeeded in creating that impression merely by surrounding himself with lesser men, who, while not incompetent, were certainly far less efficient when not under Kedat’s direct supervision.
But while the initial crisis was resolved with relative ease, investigation into the cause led to Kedat’s discovering evidence of sabotage in the generator control system, necessitating an all-night search for more signs of tampering. Odo was of course called in immediately, and Dukat wound up virtually chained to the ops situation table as he spent the night monitoring the progress of the enineering and security teams. In the end, the cause was found to be a time-delayed software virus, one that apparently had been entered into the system months ago and remained undetected until it suddenly went active. Purging the system of the malicious code would be relatively easy, according to Kedat. Finding the saboteur after so much time and turnover would be next to impossible, according to Odo.
Dukat was thoroughly exhausted when a call came through from Legate Kell, demanding privacy. Dukat reluctantly climbed the short staircase to his office, letting the doors close behind him and experiencing the persistent ache of a restless night as he seated himself behind his desk.
“Legate,” he said.
“Gul,”the Legate replied, seeming excited enough about something that he scarcely noticed the resigned rudeness in the prefect’s tone. “I have lately been thinking a great deal about the current treaty with the Federation. This will give us a chance to re-direct some of Cardassia’s resources to the B’hava’el system. It will require careful planning on your part, to see that those resources are utilized properly.”
Dukat was insulted; he scarcely needed the Legate to point out his job to him, and it stung him that nobody seemed to recall that he himself had suggested a Federation treaty some time ago, with this very result in mind. But he merely smiled. “Of course.”
“I strongly advise you to reorganize the Bajoran cabinet. With more troops in place on Bajor, you will have the opportunity to finally improve the situation on your host world. But unless you give the Bajorans some indication that you actually mean to change your policies—”
“My Bajoran cabinet has been loyal and effective,” Dukat interrupted. He had no desire to replace Kubus Oak or any of the others—not now, and not ever. He had always assumed that when those fools finally died off, it would be best to just leave those seats empty, or fill them with Cardassians.
Dukat had lately come to consider the bigger picture of the Bajoran venture, extending much further than the span of his life. When the older generation of Bajorans—those who actually had some memory of their world before the annexation—died out, Cardassia would begin to enjoy full-scale success on this world. In the meantime, they would have to continue to put down Bajoran revolts as they emerged, developing better weapons if they could, and occasionally accepting minor setbacks. But in the end, it would all prove worthwhile, he believed, for the next generation of Cardassians, who could expect to colonize this world permanently. The Bajorans would fall in line once they began to accept the natural superiority of Cardassian ideals. Of course, Dukat could not put voice to his prediction, for he knew that he might not live to see it come true—and it would never come true if the Detapa Council accused him of buying time to cater to his own agenda. No, the civilian government wanted immediate results, without recognizing the long-term benefits of waiting for larger returns on their Bajoran investment. Dukat believed that those returns could be tremendous, but they would require patience, something that had always been in short supply at the Detapa Council.