Her package delivered, Kira was off and running back toward the caves, pushing herself until the burn in her calves subsided into a steady ache that was easier to ignore. She cherished the sensation of freedom, spelled out for her in the throbbing of her muscles, in lightheadedness and a racing heart.

"If that's all the Cardassians have for us, this will be easier than we thought," Kira called out, slowing down as she approached the men.

"I wouldn't get too cocky if I were you," Shakaar warned her. "We don't have any way of knowing how much longer the grid will be down-or how long until Dukat sends additional troops to the surface."

Kira was undeterred. "This is only the beginning, Edon."

She broke into a run again, eager to hear Gantt's reports from other cells around the planet. She was elated with the plan's success, thrilled to have played a part in such a coup against the Cardassians- -and the workers, she thought, but quickly put the thought aside, as she put the memory of their screams away, in a secret place in her mind that was not likely to be revisited, except perhaps in her dreams. She increased her speed, working her muscles and joints as hard as she could, and found herself back at the mouth of the cave in almost no time at all.

Dukat shivered as he took his final sip of hot fish juice, juice that could scarcely be called hot anymore. He clutched at the cup, trying to draw the last of its heat into his hands; he felt as though his fingers were coated in ice. The failure of the environmental controls had his entire staff operating in a kind of frozen lethargy.

"Will you be having a refill, Gul Dukat?" Quark's grinning face slid in front of his own. Perhaps he'd finally tired of chattering with the Lurian freighter captain who had made such a fixture of himself at the other end of the bar.

"No," Dukat muttered to the Ferengi. "Not at what you charge. I'd have been better off going to the Replimat. At least their juice is hot."

"So hot it will sear the flesh off the inside of your mouth!" Quark said indignantly. "You can't eat food from a machine-it's unnatural. The food and beverages I serve here are made with care. I personally ensure that the ingredients are only of the finest-"

"Save it," Dukat said, and stood to go.

"Wait!" the Ferengi cried. "I'll...offer you another glass...on the house!"

Dukat waited for the inevitable second half of the offer, but Quark only continued to smile helplessly.

"Why would you do that?" would you do that?"

"Well...because you're Gul Dukat! It's good for business to have the prefect seen in here...of course!" Quark said.

Dukat supposed it made sense, but the Ferengi was obviously up to something. He sighed and gestured his acceptance. "Fine, I'll have another drink. But I do plan to mention to Odo that you're acting suspiciously."

"Gul!" Quark said, pretending to be hurt. "Is generosity really so out of character for me that you would-"

"Yes," Dukat interrupted, and changed the subject. "How can you tolerate this cold?" he asked the gruesome little man as he heated another drink. "Is it as miserable as this on your homeworld?"

Quark spread his unnervingly toothy smile as wide as it would go. "It's miserabler," he said, and laughed at his own joke. "I rather like the new temperature setting, really. But then, it's not my station."

"No, it is not," Dukat said, and accepted the hot glass. He had to admit, the juice here was was more palatable than what could be gotten from the replicators, but he could hardly enjoy it with the persistent chill in the air. more palatable than what could be gotten from the replicators, but he could hardly enjoy it with the persistent chill in the air.

"Remember to savor that, now," Quark advised.

"If it weren't for Odo," Dukat complained, "I wouldn't be sitting here freezing half to death, talking to you."

"Well, then, I suppose I have Odo to thank for the pleasant conversation," Quark said.

Dukat ignored him and continued to air his grievances. "Our constable put the chief of engineering on the first penal ship back to Cardassia Prime, before we'd called in for a replacement."

"Odo is nothing if not overly efficient," Quark said. "I'd say he's pretty rigid, for a shape-shifter."

"And then the environmental controls would have to go down, on the one day I'm short an engineering chief! I've just been informed that I'm not to get another one for at least forty-two hours, which means the problem's got to be attended to by an engineering team without its leader. If you had any idea what fools Kedat surrounded himself with..."

"You know, we have a saying on Ferenginar. 'When it rains, it rains extremely hard, reducing the entirety of your surroundings to muck.'"

Dukat made a face. "Did I ask to hear your homespun folk wisdom?" he said sourly. "At any rate," he went on, "I reprimanded him for sending away the chief of engineering without my approval, but it isn't as though he could possibly appreciate what the loss of environmental control means for the rest of us."

"Odo isn't known for his empathy," Quark agreed.

Dukat was tired of listening to the Ferengi's acquiescence, and deliberately set his gaze elsewhere until Quark moved on to ingratiate himself to someone else. It seemed to take an excruciatingly long time before the Ferengi finally lost interest in furthering the conversation. Dukat briefly remembered a time when he'd had people on the station he'd thought he could trust. There had been Damar-the young, but wise-beyond-his-years garresh-and there had been Kira Meru. Beautiful Meru, so sensible-for a Bajoran, that was-but both had betrayed him. And then Basso Tromac. The Bajoran had been such a loyal servant before he'd disappeared, never returning from his errand to collect Kira Nerys. Dukat was left to wonder if Basso hadn't betrayed him as well.

He looked up to see Quark making his usual small talk with a group of security officers in the corner, the insincerity all but dripping from his words. It was certainly indicative of Dukat's isolation that he would be forced to seek companionship from the shape-shifter-or worse, from the Ferengi. He could trust no one, he recognized now.

He hurried back to his office, warming himself slightly by the brisk walk, feeling strangely melancholy. Why was it so hard to find people he could depend upon? How could he be expected to function when there was no one to whom he could speak?

He found a message from Legate Kell waiting for him in his cold office. He reviewed it without enthusiasm, an ambiguous request for an immediate callback, and Dukat reluctantly put in a return call. Perhaps it was related to his new engineering chief...

"Dukat," the legate said shortly. "I've given it much thought, and I believe my plan to reorganize the Bajoran government is best for all concerned." "I've given it much thought, and I believe my plan to reorganize the Bajoran government is best for all concerned."

Dukat gritted his teeth. Why did Kell continue to concern himself with details of the annexation? Dukat felt smothered.

"We need to discuss the particulars of the transition, as I would like to see the alteration occur as soon as possible," Kell went on. Kell went on. "But first, I feel it would be best to appoint a committee among some of your more trusted advisers, in order-" "But first, I feel it would be best to appoint a committee among some of your more trusted advisers, in order-"

A red light flashed on the console to Dukat's right, accompanied by an audible alarm. Kell broke off speaking, his expression parodying surprise. "What is that?" "What is that?"

Dukat was already reacting, having swiveled to regard the console at his right-hand side. There had been a failure of the program managing the sensor towers on the surface, guiding the sweeps and returning the data to Terok Nor.

"I must go, Legate," he said, ending the transmission without another word. He immediately alerted engineering, then called for his communications officer to start contacting surface bases for reports.

He spent a moment trying to call up more information on the nature of the failure, but the computer was giving him nothing. Frustrated, he stepped out into Ops, looking over his shivering skeleton crew as they went to task, working diagnostics and gathering information. The initial reports were bad-there was nothing coming up from the grid, no data being recorded at all, on any continent. Dukat sent them to double-check, his best hope right now was that the Bajorans on the surface would not learn of the failure.

He thought of the Ferengi, that ridiculous idiom repeating itself: When it rains, it rains extremely hard... When it rains, it rains extremely hard...

"Get me a diagnostic of the most vulnerable sites on the surface," he barked. "I need troops in place anywhere that is susceptible to insurgent attacks."

The dalin at communications spoke up. "There are literally hundreds of them, sir-could you be more specific?"

The female glinn working the sciences station spoke up, confirming the desolate news. "Sir. The entire detection grid has gone dark, sir."

Dukat took a breath, reminding himself that this was not yet cause for panic. If the Bajorans were not aware that the grid was off line, then unrest on the surface was unlikely-at least, for now. He made a quick mental list of the precautions that must be taken, before the same female glinn spoke with urgency in her voice.

"A report, sir, forwarded from a manufacturing facility in Dahkur-it suggests that insurgents have attacked, but the signal was only partial, they can't confirm..."

"Gul Dukat, there is a red alert coming in from the military base on the outskirts of Musilla Province!"

"A facility in Gerhami Province has gone offline!"

"Another report, sir, from Ilvia-"

More shouts, console lights winking and pulsing, simultaneous reports of scattered disasters, and Dukat felt his internal temperature plummeting, becoming as cold as his space station. This was not accidental, nor, likely, was the distraction of the environmental malfunction. This was sabotage, a carefully planned attack, and it had occurred on the prefect's watch-on his own station.

21.

The man who now stood at the podium was proving himself to be a poor speaker. Though it had been arranged far in advance of this date that he would preside over the meeting, Natima suspected that he felt uneasy with the location she had chosen-an empty classroom at the University of Prekiv, Natima's alma mater and current place of employment.

Natima had worked very hard to get to her current position; in just under five years, she had earned a postgraduate position as an assistant professor in the political sciences department. She continued to take classes in her spare time, and expected to be a full-fledged professor within the next two years; Natima was nothing if not driven. But she was also nothing if not cautious about her own political status as a dissident, and she would not have agreed to host the meeting if she were not confident that the meeting would be private.

She knew that most of the staff here at the university were sympathetic to her causes, particularly those professors who worked in her department. Natima was confident that any members of the university staff who felt otherwise could not touch her. She had flourished within the precise hierarchy of the university system, and she knew her place in it. This classroom was by far the safest public location the group could have chosen to meet in-safer than in a private residence, for large gatherings at people's homes were often secretly monitored by the government. Universities were generally better protected from that sort of intrusion, enjoying a certain measure of lenience in the name of education. Cardassians still valued education and knowledge very highly in the great scheme of their society, for it was the Cardassians' superior knowledge that had allowed their scientific community to be one of the most advanced in the galaxy.

The soundproof room was large, with chairs arranged in semicircular rows before a podium in the center. The design of the classroom, with graduated tiers rising up to the back of the room, made amplification devices unnecessary, helping to ensure that conversation was not likely to be monitored. Natima had personally checked for listening devices, and as she had expected, there were none. But Dr. Tuken, a professor from the settlement in the Cuellar system who had been chosen to chair the meeting this afternoon, still appeared too ill at ease to speak freely. His statements were vague, his intentions unclear. Natima felt a little annoyed, for she took the man's unease as a sign of his mistrust in her. She found his overly cautious, halting manner to be distracting, as well.

She glanced across the room to Gaten Russol, now a gul in the military, and saw from his expression that he was thinking the same thing that she was. After so many years of friendship, she could read him like a book. He met her eye, and then he stood.

"Thank you, Doctor Tuken," Russol said smoothly, "for that introduction. I have a few items that I wish to address."

"Of course, Gul Russol," Tuken said, and stepped down from the podium. If he resented the interruption, he didn't show it; nearly everyone knew to defer to Gul Russol. If their unnamed movement had a leader, it was Gaten Russol, and while the membership remained only somewhere in the hundreds, the squabbling and lack of direction of days past was gone now. The small, committed groups around the Union had mostly narrowed their focus toward common goals.

"Regarding my communication with the Federation," Russol began, which brought up a faint murmur from a few people seated around the room. Talk of Federation correspondence was probably the riskiest topic anyone could have chosen to address out loud, even taking the new treaty into consideration. It was certainly an attention getter. Natima thought he may have deliberately chosen it to offset Tuken's cautious approach, and watched with mounting interest. Her friend seemed especially intense this day, his shoulders tight, his expression grim.

"The talks have been mostly fruitless," he went on. "The Federation adheres to a very strict set of rules regarding involvement in other worlds' affairs. They are reluctant to help us, especially now that they have a treaty with our government. The treaty has, unfortunately, weakened our position with our own people, for there were many who felt that the struggles over the border territories were drawing strength from the Union. Now, many of those Cardassian subjects who were beginning to lose faith in the military government have been placated by the treaty."

Natima nodded, along with many of the others. The movement had lost a few of its followers as a result of the treaty, although most of the people involved with the dissidents felt that Cardassia's social, political, and economic woes could not be solved with one insincere treaty. Natima was sure the treaty was simply a means for Central Command to buy some time while it plotted its next move. But even if it had been genuine, the treaty was no better than a sticky plaster over a terminal hemorrhage.

"We all know that Cardassia has problems that extend far beyond the border colonies," Russol said, echoing Natima's thoughts. "The violence on Bajor is worse than ever. Even more perplexing, it is said that the resources there will not last another generation-but Central Command will not admit that it is time to withdraw our presence on that annexed world. And yet-" Russol paused dramatically to look around the room at his friends and cohorts. "What if we did pull out of Bajor? What would happen then?"

More murmuring as people in the audience muttered the answers to themselves and to the people seated near them. Russol spoke again, his eyes shining passionately. "Some say our government would simply look for another world to exploit, instead of drawing on the strengths of our own world, our own people-we would look for other worlds to conquer, instead of forming alliances that could help Cardassia become self-sufficient. But I do not see that as a foregone conclusion.

"We know that the Detapa Council has relatively little power in our governmental structure. In leaner times, our world was forced to defer to the military, stripping the power away from our civilian leaders. However, a majority vote coming from that body can still make certain decisions for Cardassia Prime. The issue, as we all know, is that the varied interests of the council members has made it all but impossible to achieve a majority vote on anything. We know it, and Central Command knows it. But what if this were to change?"

Russol leaned forward on the podium, as if to draw his audience physically closer for what he was about to say. "We can't rely on the Federation, or anyone else, to help us anymore," he said. "It's time for more drastic measures. We have talked long enough, and now we have to act."

A hush had fallen over the room, until someone finally spoke. "What are you proposing, Gul Russol?" It was Dr. Tuken, his voice trembling slightly.

"We cannot expect any change to come about from the military-we need the Detapa Council to be on our side," he said. "In recent years, with no small thanks to the efforts of the people here, many of the civilian leaders on the council have begun to favor a position very much like our own. In fact," he added, "there is more than one member of the Detapa Council taking an active involvement in our movement."

A number of people looked surprised, others seemed to know exactly of whom he was speaking. He did not say it, but Natima assumed he meant Kotan Pa'Dar-Russol would never confirm that the man was a dissenter, but Natima had long believed it was true.

"The division of power in the Detapa Council still swings in the general direction of Central Command, however. But if one seat on the council were to go vacant-were to be filled by a sympathizer-the balance would tip in our direction. Yoriv Skyl, who is an exarch at one of the Bajoran settlements, is poised to take the next open seat. I believe that Skyl would vote in favor of withdrawal, if the issue were to come to the council. Legate Ghemor and a few other important people with influence over Central Command mean to bring the item up for decision in less than one year."

A few of the people in attendance looked poised to applaud, optimism quickly spreading from one person to the next. But Russol was quick to interrupt them.

"Our problem, of course, is how to make that position...vacant. How can we guarantee the dismissal of tyrannical and corrupt civilian prefects and exarchs when their terms have no limit? What can we do?"

The room fell absolutely silent, and Natima's heart sank as she recognized the rhetorical questions for what they were, what Russol was suggesting. It seemed impossible, a stretch of character she would not have imagined of him, but the gravity in his voice was unmistakable. He was so desperate to pull his world's involvement out of Bajor that he would condone assassination.

"It is for the good of Cardassia," he said calmly.

"Is there no other way?" Natima asked, before he could put voice to the details.

"There is one other alternative," he said, his tone belying no emotion at all. "But I believe that a few selected eliminations would be preferable to a coup, which may not produce the desired effect, and will almost certainly result in more deaths."

Still, no one spoke, and Russol continued to sweep his gaze across the room, making steady eye contact with each person in attendance, one at a time. "I would not propose such a thing if I did not believe that it was necessary, and that now is the optimum time to act. The only time to act."

Someone cleared his throat, and a quiet chatter began to rise once more. "But, Gul Russol," someone called out, "how can we advocate for peace and murder at the same time?"

"We can't," Russol told him. "We simply must accept that we are forced to compromise our values in order to achieve the desired result-for the greater good. But it is as I say-there is no other way."

Many questions followed, which resulted in a few short arguments, but most were quelled by Russol's blunt responses. He had examined the issue from every angle, he informed the room, and he firmly believed that the time to strike was now.

After a good hour of moderately heated discussion, a vote was taken, and though Natima was hesitant to do so, she lent her support to Russol's proposal. In the end, Natima was not the only one who chose to agree to Russol's controversial tactics. When Dr. Tuken tallied the votes, Natima was surprised to learn that a strong majority had voted for it as well.

So this is what we've come to, she thought, looking around the room at downcast eyes, faces that seemed to reflect less patriotic zeal than usual. The vote had been secret, but the looks on the faces of those present were clear enough to reveal who had voted for the advocacy of murders-the deliberate killing of Union members-and who had not. Natima knew her own expression was far from innocent. she thought, looking around the room at downcast eyes, faces that seemed to reflect less patriotic zeal than usual. The vote had been secret, but the looks on the faces of those present were clear enough to reveal who had voted for the advocacy of murders-the deliberate killing of Union members-and who had not. Natima knew her own expression was far from innocent. Are we any better than that which we seek to overthrow? Are we any better than that which we seek to overthrow?

"Don't patronize me, Kubus," Dukat snapped. "I am fully aware that I look like a complete fool right now. To the Bajorans-and to my superiors in Central Command."

Kubus Oak coughed, quickly losing hope that this conversation would be brief, his placating manner seen for what it was. He disliked the prefect's office, preferring to keep his conversations with Dukat confined to the infinitely more comfortable comm system; but ever since Basso Tromac had vanished, Dukat had begun to treat Kubus more like an assistant than a political cohort. It wasn't as though their relationship had ever been on much of an even keel, but Kubus had never felt so much like a subordinate as in recent years, and it seemed to be getting worse as time went by. "As I was saying, it was was an unfortunate incident," he said, "but there is no need to-" an unfortunate incident," he said, "but there is no need to-"

"Incident?" Dukat laughed. "You speak as though this is some past event! My men have been unable to repair the detection grid on a global scale, Kubus, and we have only been able to maintain secondary systems in a few locales. Someone is going to pay for this."

Kubus was ready for him. "I have heard a great many rumors from my contacts," he offered. "They believe this is primarily the work of terrorists in Dahkur. They hide somewhere in the hills, though there has been no physical evidence of their exact location. It might be preferable to simply..." Kubus hesitated as he noticed that Dukat was shaking his head, but he uncertainly went on, "...destroy the entire region..."

"No," Dukat told him. "There are valuable commodities in that part of Dahkur. Minerals, timber...Give me someone else, Secretary."

"Someone else?" Kubus felt uncomfortably pressed, his mind going blank. He had been sure that the cell in Dahkur would be enough to satisfy Dukat, and he didn't know what to say now that his suggestion had been rejected.

There was a long pause while Kubus tried to come up with something useful. "Well, there is believed to be an especially large cell in Kendra Province. I have no hard evidence that they had any involvement, but-"

"Did I ask for hard evidence?" Dukat said coldly. "Can this cell be pinpointed?"

"I...believe...their hiding place is somewhat more definitive than some of the others, but-"

"Then why have they not been brought to my attention before now?"

Kubus suddenly realized what a terrible mistake he was making. "Well...sir...that cell...It's rumored that one of their members...is the son of our religious leader-"

"The kai's son?" Dukat said, his expression suddenly changing to reflect his apparent interest. Kubus felt his heart sink like a stone.

"Yes, sir, that's correct. No Bajoran is willing to reveal their exact location, but there is a general idea of where they might be found, near the forest just outside of the Kendra provincial seat..."

"Issue a statement, Kubus. If this Kendra cell does not surrender themselves, I will be forced to destroy the surrounding villages. However, if anyone from Kendra is willing to reveal their location before they surrender...well, the villages will be spared, of course..." He trailed off, a self-satisfied smile surfacing.

"Prefect," Kubus said nervously, aware that he was inching into dangerous territory, "I'm not sure you understand the gravity of what you ask. I must tell you, I think the cell from Dahkur-"

"Oak," Dukat said, and Kubus blanched. No good could come following the gul's use of his given name.

"I hesitate to bring this up at such a sensitive time," the prefect said, "But Legate Kell recently suggested to me that it would be in my best interests to appoint a new Bajoran cabinet. He believed it would be beneficial to simply execute all the current members of the Bajoran government and start anew. Of course, I assured him that I had no intention of betraying those who had been faithful to me for such a long time."