"Uhhhh...it's that woman again. That Cardassian female. She's trying to find you."

"She's here?" Quark looked around, panicked. Should he duck under the bar?

"No, not this time. She's on the comm system again. She wants you to meet her in her quarters tonight."

Quark tightened his grip on one of the glasses as if he would crush it. He cleared his throat, and set the glass down underneath the bar, turning the other one over in his hands. "Tell her I can't, I have to work a late shift tonight because...because some Bajorans who were supposed to come for cleanup duty never showed."

The aged Bajoran busboy turned to gape as he overheard the lie.

"Get back to work!" Quark screamed, almost hurling the glass at the half-blind old idiot.

"But, brother, the Bajorans are right over there," Rom supplied helpfully. "And she keeps calling and calling. This is the fourth time today."

"I'm aware of that, Rom," Quark said, as carefully as if he were speaking to a child-a thick child. "But I want you to tell her that anyway, because it is easier than telling her the truth, which is complicated. And also private," he added.

"Okay," Rom said, shrugging. "But...it feels wrong."

Quark's voice was tight. "Rom, unless you want me to throw you and Nog out on your lobes-"

"Fine, Quark, fine!" Rom replied, agitated. "I'll do it! But I don't have to like it!" Rom scurried off to answer the comm, and Quark set the glass down underneath the bar with a dull clang. If Rom's intolerable honesty kept up, he might have to have his brother arrested again. He didn't like to do it, but occasionally it was necessary to frame Rom for some minor infraction just to get him out of the way for a night or two. Of course, he always dropped the charges in the end, but still, it was a hassle that he would have preferred to avoid, and anyway, Thrax was getting wise to it. He licked his lips and steadied himself for a moment before a large group of soldiers entered the bar all at once, and Quark looked up with his customary smile, more artificial than usual.

"Welcome to Quark's," he said cordially. "What'll it be?"

The soldiers were not in the mood for conversation, which normally would have been preferable to Quark, but today he regretted it; the distraction of idle chatter would have been welcome. He poured several glasses of kanar kanar and handed them around, accepted his payment on padds and in cash, and even stopped to rub his fingers over the currency, as he often did, almost as an unconscious inclination. But the sensation of hard latinum in his hands had little of its usual effect on him today. and handed them around, accepted his payment on padds and in cash, and even stopped to rub his fingers over the currency, as he often did, almost as an unconscious inclination. But the sensation of hard latinum in his hands had little of its usual effect on him today.

It occurred to him that there wasn't much purpose to making profit when it was only going to be accompanied with such doubt. But he quickly chased the thought away, experiencing a surge of shame at the notion. This must be exactly what Gaila and his mother were talking about-going soft, losing focus of what was really important in life. After all, love was temporary; everyone knew it didn't last. Latinum, though-that was forever. Maybe it couldn't keep you warm at night, but...

Who needs it, he snarled to himself, and went back to the distraction of stacking glasses, reviewing in his mind the day's hefty revenue margin. If that wasn't enough to soothe his nerves, then nothing would. he snarled to himself, and went back to the distraction of stacking glasses, reviewing in his mind the day's hefty revenue margin. If that wasn't enough to soothe his nerves, then nothing would.

Kira had been the first to volunteer for this one. She knew Tahna Los was furious that she was the one who had been assigned to reprogram the sensor towers, but since he had been out on a provision run when Kohn Biran got the news, Kira claimed the job for herself uncontested. The older members of the cell weren't especially eager to do it, but Kira and Tahna had built up a friendly rivalry between themselves, and she knew he was burning with resentment to think of her getting the credit for this job.

She worked her way across Serpent's Ridge, keeping to the thick undergrowth of the wooded hill as she headed for the tower. She moved quickly, but not with haste, finding the softest step, the deepest shade of the late afternoon. The days were getting shorter, but it was still warm out, still mostly green. She'd thought she was in good shape, but after so long hiding in the tunnels, she'd gotten lazy. Her ankles and back ached with the unfamiliar effort of staying unheard, unseen, and her adrenaline shot up at every sound, birds and small animals that she'd all but forgotten about.

Not that it would matter. She could be the fastest, quietest runner in the world, and if the sensors were able to pick her up, there would have been soldiers on to her by now. As with all of the active missions the cells took part in, she had to be carefully shielded for this venture, but there was always the chance that the shields would fail; despite Mobra's careful attention to detail, there was a first time for everything. She could be the fastest, quietest runner in the world, and if the sensors were able to pick her up, there would have been soldiers on to her by now. As with all of the active missions the cells took part in, she had to be carefully shielded for this venture, but there was always the chance that the shields would fail; despite Mobra's careful attention to detail, there was a first time for everything.

I'm small, though. Smaller than Tahna, anyway. And just small enough to make all the difference apparently. It was a suspicion that had grown within her for a long time, but not so much that she would have gone out unshielded. It was a suspicion that had grown within her for a long time, but not so much that she would have gone out unshielded.

She could see the automated tower less than a half tessipate ahead of her, rising from the apex of the winding ridge. Thankfully, this one wasn't too far from the tunnels; the next closest was eight, nine days on foot. Still, she was nervous. Even the dense cover of the woods high on the ridge felt too exposed, and she had to climb the tower, melt the panel lock, and plug in a whole series of carefully memorized passcodes and commands. What if the lock didn't melt? What if she forgot a number or a character? What if whoever had cracked the code in the first place had made a mistake?

I've hacked a hundred system panels, she told herself. And I won't forget And I won't forget. And if there was a mistake in the code's translation, there was nothing she could do about it, anyway. Worrying wouldn't rewrite it for her.

The sensor tower was a slender metal cage that rose well over the tree line, built of the dusky matte composites that the Cardassians favored, that they manufactured at a massive plant in the southern highlands. Surely there was no ambush, no reptilian squad hidden in the shadows, waiting for her to show herself. Kira took a deep breath and stepped out from the cover of the trees, moving quickly to the tower's base before she had a chance to second-guess the action. This wasn't a job to linger over.

She approached the tower and shifted her small pack to one hip before starting to climb, the structure's design creating its own ladder. The panel she wanted was about midway up, perhaps four times her height from the ground. Not a terrible fall, but bad enough. She concentrated on the rungs one at a time, holding tight, always looking up, and finally, the boxy computer relay access panel was in front of her.

An evening breeze blew, cool through the late heat of the day. She uncoiled her belt with one shaky hand, clipping each end to the tower's metal hook-rings, creating a simple sling she could lean against. She felt horribly exposed, sitting on top of the trees, and quickly reached into her pack and drew out a slender vial about the length of her index finger. She uncapped the vial, dripped its contents onto the duranium lock that sealed the panel. The solution hissed and reeked, the lock dissolving as the magnasite did its work. Kira turned her head away from the acrid fumes, ignoring the magnificent view, all too aware that it was still light enough for her to be seen. Early evening was the best time for one of their raiders to lift out, all of them agreed-the setting sun caused problems with the Cardassian visual systems-but for her own sake, she wished it was dark.

A thin ting ting as what was left of the metal turned brittle, and the panel was open, the tiny screen and keypads lighting up. as what was left of the metal turned brittle, and the panel was open, the tiny screen and keypads lighting up.

Access first, she told herself, using the trick Lupaza had taught her to memorize the long list of codes, breaking it down into mental pictures and associations. 2698178 2698178, she thought, tapping it in carefully. Twenty-six hours in a day. Keltis had ninety-eight prophecies. Seven plus one was eight.

She touched the input bar and the screen blinked once, twice, a third time-And someone screamed, so loud and close that she lost her grip on the tower, fell back against the sling, her knees banging into the structure hard enough to hurt. The sound stretched impossibly long as Kira scrabbled for the metal rungs again, her breath coming in shallow sips, the alarm klaxon tearing through the empty canyon from the top of the tower. The scream rose and fell, alerting the world to her trespass.

Kosst! She considered running for almost a second, disregarding the impulse in less time. She could afford a few minutes. She forced herself to think of the entry code. She considered running for almost a second, disregarding the impulse in less time. She could afford a few minutes. She forced herself to think of the entry code. Twenty-six hours, Ninety-eight prophecies, seven plus one is- Twenty-six hours, Ninety-eight prophecies, seven plus one is- "One plus seven," she said, her voice unheard over the deafening screech of the alarm. She'd transposed two of the numbers.

Focus. You know this, you know the numbers, so you do it, just do it. She typed it in again, forcing herself not to hurry-and the alarm shut off in mid-scream, the last echoes falling away over the treetops as she called up the next set of numbers, and the next, working her way into the system. She typed it in again, forcing herself not to hurry-and the alarm shut off in mid-scream, the last echoes falling away over the treetops as she called up the next set of numbers, and the next, working her way into the system. Focus, the nine days of atonement, the slash-dot key, four halved was two, plus... Focus, the nine days of atonement, the slash-dot key, four halved was two, plus...

As she watched the complicated command sequences flash by, she understood that without these codes, there would have been no chance at reprogramming the system. If it worked, Bajoran ships would read as Cardassian. The majority of the cells would still have to stay hidden, but their shuttles could be moved to Derna or one of the other moons, the communications equipment there repositioned. Everything could change.

7, characters ksi, 3, 3...9.

There. The last digit was in. She took a deep breath, watched the screen go blank, back to a waiting status. Had it worked? She didn't know how to confirm, and she couldn't risk staying any longer. Someone would come to see why the alarm had gone off, and she meant to be far, far away by the time they showed.

She unhooked the sling and half slid down the tower, giving herself a few more bruises in her hurry to be elsewhere. She thudded heavily to the forest floor, stopping only long enough to stuff her belt into her pack, grabbing her comm as she darted into the woods.

Shakaar spoke her name as soon as she tapped the switch, his voice riding waves of static. She kept moving, taking deep breaths, stretching her legs for a run. She thought she heard the hum of an approaching ship, a faraway drone in the rapidly cooling air.

"It's done," she said.

"Is...safe...send up...raider?"

"I have no idea," she said, and she was sure of it now: a ship was coming. She broke into a sprint, pumping her arms for speed, jumping over fallen logs and crashing through the underbrush, more concerned with gaining distance than with stealth. She tripped over rocks, slid down sudden drop-offs, ran and ran and finally stopped, unable to go any farther.

She doubled over, hands on her twitching legs, gasping for breath. The skimmer had been coming from the south, she was sure of it, and she was headed north. By the time they realized that someone had cracked the access panel, she'd be well out of reach.

She raised herself up, deepened her breathing, and heard something she hadn't heard in a very long time-the telltale sonic boom of a Bajoran raider as it prepared to leave the atmosphere, echoing out from behind the hills that hid much of what was left of the resistance.

Kira clenched her hands into fists, counting seconds, breathing through her open mouth so she could hear the roar of particle cannons firing. But she heard nothing. A brown bird, flapping through the brush. Wind in the trees. Her heart, pounding.

We did it, she thought, she believed believed. It was too soon to know anything for sure, but she couldn't help her belief. She started moving again, her breath coming more easily as she worked her way down the ridge. She even found the capacity to laugh as two more raiders went up, noisily scraping the sky as they broke through the sound barrier.

Dukat had just finished his weekly call to Athra and was feeling nostalgic for home. His wife was pregnant again, a happy result of his last brief visit to Cardassia Prime, and positively glowed with good health and humor. She had images to show him of the other children, stories of their accomplishments. This child would be their fifth.

Sixth, he thought, but quickly shook the thought. He did not often think of the son he had lost, a casualty of Cardassia's poor conditions before the annexation. Athra never spoke of him.

He sat back in his chair after his faithful wife had bid him a heartfelt good-bye; he wished he could be home more often. As it was, the extra day or two he spent on Cardassia whenever he went to present his periodic progress reports was all he could spare, often in conjunction with his reports to Command. Before the insurgency was under control, he'd been lucky to manage that. Perhaps with this birth, he would arrange to take a more substantial vacation, a week or so...

And, of course, a stopover at Letau as well....

A signal at his door, although it was late. The operations center staff was minimal at this hour, only a few men moving about among the softly blinking consoles. He saw that it was Glinn Trakad, and sighed.

He motioned the soldier inside. "Yes?"

Trakad carried a padd, held it up. "Summary of surface transmissions for the day, quotas, incident reports."

Dukat nodded, reaching for the padd. Trakad brought it to him, stepped back as the prefect scanned the reads.

"Anything of interest?" Dukat asked.

"A malfunction with one of the sensor towers. Possible sabotage attempt."

Dukat glanced up. "In what way?"

"An alarm was tripped, suggesting that someone tried to access the diagnostic system with an unauthorized passcode," Trakad said. "And the lock on the tower's relay was tampered with."

"Has the system been compromised?"

"No. It's been triple-checked. Everything is in working order."

Dukat frowned. "So, someone tried to break in and failed...?"

"Yes, but the alarm was shut down before the ground team arrived," The glinn said. "Not disabled, but turned off. They would have had to have a code to override it."

"But the system is still working?"

"That's right."

Dukat shook his head. "Contact the Bajoran Institute of Science at once. We will need to alert the engineer who designed the program to see if it is malfunctioning."

Trakad nodded.

"Anything else?"

"Several flyers-three, I believe-were detected leaving atmosphere late this afternoon, but air traffic says there were no ships scheduled for departure, no flight plans filed."

"Are there any ships currently unaccounted for?"

"You think the resistance stole them?"

"Well, without knowing all of the facts, I can't say, can I?" Dukat said. He smiled thinly at Trakad, printed the padd to show that he'd seen the day's reports. "Check airfield inventory. I want all of our crafts accounted for. And see to it that the security unit from that tower is brought here."

He handed the padd back to Trakad, who nodded quickly, a slight bow before leaving. Dukat waved him on, idly wondering if the few remaining insurgents were up to something. But no. The Bajorans were a cowed people, pacified once more by their religious amenities, submissive to the will of the Union. In truth, he couldn't afford it to be otherwise, with the pressure to produce more always weighing on his shoulders. In any case, he would take no chances, looking into any reports of potential resistance activity himself.

It was much like being a father, he often thought, overseeing a planet of children, some willing, some willful. It was a balance, knowing when to encourage, when to provide strict correction, but one he felt he excelled at finding. As the Bajorans grew, culturally, intellectually, they would come to appreciate him more, to understand the choices he'd made.

I'll be remembered here long after I'm gone, he thought, and smiled, leaning back in his chair once more.

12.

Thrax, finished with his station business for the evening, closed out the reports on his office computer, relieved to have finished the tedious chore after an especially trying day. But he didn't shut down his system after the mainframe link was disconnected; instead, he put a personal call through to Cardassia Prime.

It was some time before the call was answered, and he began to wonder, with disappointment, if the party he was trying to reach might have left her new "office" already, but she finally responded to the call, her face filling the tiny screen and causing Thrax to break out into a foolish grin.

"Hello," he said to her, feeling the welcome tremble that always attended their correspondence.

"Hello," she replied, her voice musical and soft, projected from his faraway homeworld. How he missed it. How he missed her! she replied, her voice musical and soft, projected from his faraway homeworld. How he missed it. How he missed her! "To what do I owe this occasion?" "To what do I owe this occasion?"

"I know it has been a long time," he apologized. "My business here keeps me from contacting you as often as I would like."

"Just your business?" she asked. she asked. "Not...threats?" "Not...threats?"

"No," he said firmly. "There are no threats, I have told you. I am safe. I only wanted to let you know...I located a dissident on the station, someone who is to return to Cardassia Prime tomorrow. A woman-a correspondent for the Information Service."

"What is her name?"

"Natima Lang. Do you know of her?"

"No, but I'll see what I can find."

"It could be helpful to do so. She is affiliated with Gaten Russol. But more interesting to you and me-she contacted a member of the Detapa Council here on Bajor. An exarch at one of the old settlements."

The woman's eyes shone with interest. "Do you think he is a dissident as well?" "Do you think he is a dissident as well?"

"Time will tell," Thrax told her. "But I believe he may be."

"And you believe this is good news for us?"

He nodded. "If the Detapa Council continues to oppose the government to gain power, it could eventually wrest the Union out of the military government's hands. It seems that the handful of dissidents I have been tracking have begun to add more followers to their ranks-followers in the civilian government."

The woman nodded. "This could be favorable for us. But the Detapa Council may be no more in support of us than Central Command has been." "This could be favorable for us. But the Detapa Council may be no more in support of us than Central Command has been."

Thrax frowned before his face twisted into a rueful smile. "Have you always been such a pessimist, Astraea?"

She smiled back, embarrassed. "No, Glinn Sa'kat," "No, Glinn Sa'kat," she admitted, she admitted, "only realistic." "only realistic."

He laughed quietly. It always amused him that she continued to refer to him by his military title-even his colleagues on the station called him by his first name. But for her, it had become almost a sign of affection to maintain the formality he had shown to her upon their first meeting. "Well," he said. "I thought it might be useful for us to find out more about these people, the dissidents. If there is any question that supporting their cause could serve to help us in the future-"

"I agree," she said. she said. "I don't suppose they could detest us any more than Central Command already does." "I don't suppose they could detest us any more than Central Command already does."

"One hopes not." Thrax fell silent.

There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he would have preferred to do it in person. He had never been able to convey his feelings regarding her, not even when he was with her, on Cardassia Prime. His support of her position within the Way was much more important than their personal relationship, a relationship that had started when he had discovered her walking in a near daze along the periphery of Cardassia City, trying to put some meaning to the frightening visions she had been having. If the Fates hadn't intervened that day, hadn't seen to it that he would find her there-But of course, Oralius watched over Her guide. It was meant that he would find her, and he hoped it was meant that he would be reunited with her someday on his homeworld-sooner rather than later.

Two quartiles, three at most, he promised himself. No more than another year, certainly. He would be done with this place, and with Dukat. he promised himself. No more than another year, certainly. He would be done with this place, and with Dukat.

"The Bajoran religious man we spoke of...he is still safe?"

"I can't be certain, but I believe so," he told her. "The one they call the kai is still safe, and I believe the man from your vision has a connection with her. That is what Prylar Bek tells me, but he will reveal no more."

"He is mistrustful of you?"

"No," Thrax said. "I believe he trusts me now, since I gave him the information to get his kai to safety before the detection grid went online. But he is simply not at liberty to reveal information. It is much the same way...that I feel about you, Astraea. I would guard you with my life."