“I understand your frustration,”the woman replied. “But the Federation is not a reactionary body. We do not simply travel from world to world, putting out fires. We must make a full assessment of the conflict, and whether it is our place to interfere.”
Apren took a breath. “Vice-Admiral,” he said, willing himself to sound as sincere as he could—he must put his reservations aside. “I asked you to contact me because I must humbly ask you for help. Not in driving away the Cardassians, for I firmly believe that we are capable of fighting our oppressors on our own. But once they are gone, we will need assistance to rebuild our infrastructure, our government, from the ground up. Without an established body to scaffold us, we will most likely not succeed.”
Apren could not read the woman’s reaction from her voice alone. “So…you ask only for help once Bajor has won her independence? Forgive me for saying so, but by what logic do you believe Bajor has the capacity to drive off the Cardassians now?”
“I don’t need logic,” Apren said firmly. He could not risk sharing his plans with a member of the Federation. “I have faith. I have long believed that we would be capable of triumph, but after tonight, I know it. And I know it will be soon.”
“I…believe you are wise to make preparations to govern your world,”the woman replied, “but it would not be prudent for the Federation to sanction Bajoran violence when we have a treaty with Cardassia.”
“I repeat, I am not asking for Federation assistance in our fight for independence,” Apren said firmly. “I already know I will not get it. I am only asking for assistance in the aftermath—a circumstance that I don’t believe will interfere with your…Prime Directive.”
The woman ignored the iciness in his tone. “Very well, Mister Kalem. The Federation will monitor the state of affairs on your world, and do what we deem appropriate. I will stay in touch with you, either directly or through Keeve Falor.”
The communication concluded, Apren returned to his bed, though he did not expect to sleep. He had been desperately trying to contact Jas Holza today, for he was certain that the former minister would finally agree to help supply the resistance with weapons; would finally agree to enter the B’hava’el system, once he got word of the tenuous grip the Cardassians now had. Holza had proven difficult to reach, but perhaps he would learn the news for himself now—through the Federation. Still, Kalem meant to keep trying to contact Valo III himself.
It was only a short time before his weariness overtook him, pulling him far from his troubles, and into a deep slumber. It was by hope that Apren had continued to function during all these years of the occupation, and never had his hope been more fecund than now.
Prylar Bek was only too aware of how delicate his position was, here at the shrine on Terok Nor. Dukat had allowed certain religious officials to practice on the Bajoran side of the station, but it had not been so long ago that all religious activities had been banned—and there was no telling what might motivate the prefect to ban them all over again. Bek had always done his best to stay nearly invisible where the Cardassians were concerned; any misstep on his part could lead to his immediate dismissal from the station—or even execution. As a spiritual adviser, he was far more conspicuous here than any of the other ordinary folk in ore processing—and Bek had seen plenty of them dragged off to be put to death for virtually no reason at all. He’d at least felt some degree of safety on the station when the Oralian had been here, the security chief who had seemed to genuinely want to help the Bajorans. But now he was alone, no allies to get him out of trouble if he needed them. He’d long had the unpleasant notion that he was only here because the Cardassians suspected he could be their conduit to Kai Opaka—for he had a rough system of communicating with her, though it was not direct. If the need ever arose, he spoke to the Vedek Assembly, who passed his word on to the kai. If the Cardassians had any ideas of torturing him to try and find her, he had often thought, they would be sorely disappointed. Even if he hadknown exactly where she was, he would never have delivered that information, not for anything.
As he lit a small duranja,a lamp honoring the dead, he heard the rustling of a long tunic; a Bajoran had entered his shrine. “Welcome, child of the Prophets,” he began, but as he turned to see the face of his visitor, his heart went cold at the sight of the stooped old man who stood before him. Kubus Oak was less welcome here than any Cardassian soldier, for he was the most notorious of the politicians who had first fallen in league with Cardassian forces, decades ago. Every Bajoran understood that without the consent of Kubus Oak, the Cardassians would never have gained the foothold they needed to overtake this world. Kubus was a Cardassian pawn—a willing one. For that reason, his name and face were deeply reviled.
“Why do you come here?” Bek said slowly. This wasn’t the first time Kubus Oak had been to the shrine. The old politician still retained some shred of his former faith and he worshiped at regularly scheduled services from time to time, but it was unprecedented for him to come here when services were not being held. Occasionally he was known to have given large sums of money toward the upkeep of certain shrines, primarily in his old district of Qui’al, a practice he no doubt expected to give him absolution for the many evils he had committed. But despite his position, he had never attempted to use his influence to protect the faith. Many believed that his attendance at services was simply a means to ingratiate himself with the very few Bajorans who still served him; even more felt that his presence at the shrines was nothing short of an affront to the Prophets themselves.
“Prylar Bek,” the old man said, with his usual hardness of voice. “I have come to ask you…to speak to the Vedek Assembly on my behalf…for I seek advice.”
“Advice?”
“Prylar…today I have been ordered to issue a statement…one which I fear will lead to my spiritual undoing.”
Bek was confused. Here was a man whose signature on a work order meant certain death for a Bajoran—and whose signature was affixed to thousands of such work orders. The man’s arrogant refusal to relinquish any fraction of his own power had caused him to land squarely in the lap of those oppressors who had taken Bajor as their own, with no regard for the fate of its people. What could Kubus Oak possibly have to fear regarding the state of his pagh—what could be worse than what he had already done? “What statement might that be, Secretary Kubus?”
“I am obliged…to inform the residents of the villages of Kendra Valley…that they must reveal the location of the resistance cell that hides in their region, or face total destruction.”
“The resistance cell…” Bek trailed off in horror. “Secretary, we must warn them—the cell. We must tell them to leave the Kendra Valley before the detection grid is restored—”
“It may already be too late,” Kubus told him. “The Cardassians have deployed troops to be stationed along the perimeters of the villages.”
Bek could not believe what was happening. “And who informed the prefect of this cell’s existence?” he asked, barely able to keep his voice under control in this holy place. “Who was responsible—”
“I had no choice!” Kubus said tightly. “You must understand my position. I have no allies left, only the Cardassians! If I fall from favor with them, then I have only the Prophets to answer to!”
“I would advise you to answer to them now,” Bek said. “You had better pray, Kubus Oak.”
“I have prayed!” Kubus insisted. “I have asked the Prophets to tell me what to do, which is what led me here, to you—”
“It is far too late for you to pray for guidance, Secretary,” Prylar Bek told him.
“But—”
“No, Secretary, if you are to pray, it must be for forgiveness. I hope They can forgive you—because I doubt any Bajoran ever could.” It was on that note that Prylar Bek turned away from Kubus, lighting another duranjaand making clear with his posture that he had nothing more to say to the man. If Kubus Oak did not set this thing right, then all the prayers in the world would not help him.