"Where are you taking us?" Li demanded fiercely.

"Quiet!" The Cardassian snarled. "Save that energy for the labor camps!"

Li turned to regard Mart, whose face was a mask of disbelief and fear. Li looked away from him before he registered the disappointment in the youth's expression. Of course, the legend of Li Nalas was a fraud-Gul Zarale's death had been an accident-but despite his protests, he'd been assigned the role of hero. Mart would have come to see it for what it was, eventually. Everyone had to grow up, sometime. It was just too bad it had to be like this.

Kalisi Reyar avoided the gaze of her lab partner. She knew that he was secretly taking pleasure from the news she had just received: she was to leave the Bajoran Institute of Science immediately, reassigned to a medical facility on the other side of the planet. She had argued with Yopal, the institute's director, though it made her feel frustrated and embarrassed for the Bajoran to overhear her protests. Despite the great success of the new detection grid, Kalisi was unable to glean any enjoyment from it. Her name had been barely a footnote in the comnet reports, all the glory going to the director of the institute, a woman who barely had anything to do with it.

Kalisi knew that Yopal was silently scornful of her inability to re-create the corrupted research from memory. The director had also mentioned to Kalisi, more than once, that it had been negligent and foolish not to keep more backups that were separate from the institute computer system. Reyar had kept only a single isolinear rod, stolen during the sabotage. It was a tack Kalisi had employed to safeguard her work from theft by her rivals. It had not yet occurred to her, being new to Bajor at the time, that terrorists might be bold enough to attempt to destroy her work. Add to it the ongoing humiliation Kalisi had suffered at taking such an unprecedented amount of time to reconstruct her data-her memory had never been as well-developed as her colleagues', and that truth was readily apparent to her coworkers, though Kalisi had always taken pains in the past to conceal her handicap. Yopal didn't want a researcher impaired with such a weakness to work on her staff, and now that Kalisi had finished her assignment for Dukat, the director was all too eager to dump her off somewhere else.

In a way, she should have been glad. She had often felt cursed, having to work alongside a Bajoran-a male scientist, no less-and she had labored to make his existence as unhappy as possible without resorting to overt torture. If Mora Pol was an accurate representation of his species, it was a wonder they'd ever crawled out of their caves. Yopal seemed to like him, though for what reason, Kalisi couldn't imagine. Perhaps as a reminder of what they strove toward. At least at the medical facility she would be working exclusively with Cardassians. The hospital was presided over by the illustrious Doctor Crell Moset, a man whose name had begun to carry weight back home on Cardassia Prime, from what little Kalisi had gathered on him. But still, it was an indignity to be sent away to a hospital when her particular line of expertise was better suited to the facility here.

While Kalisi gathered up her things in the lab, Mora was pretending to fool around with the shape-shifter in the tank while it "regenerated." He poked at it with some kind of electrical probe, but Kalisi knew he was watching her, and she kept her back to him, even when she heard someone else enter the room.

"Hello, Doctor Mora, Doctor Reyar." It was the institute's director. Kalisi supposed she had come in to deliver a smug good-bye, but Yopal scarcely acknowledged Kalisi and instead began to speak to Mora regarding his next project. Kalisi kept her back turned as before, pretending not to listen, but smiling slightly when she heard what the director had to say.

"You're to begin work immediately on improving anti-grav efficiency for the transports that go back and forth from Terok Nor. This is going to be a very time-consuming project, as Dukat wishes for this to be done within a very tight window. I don't anticipate your having any extra time to work with Odo."

"But...Doctor Yopal, I know I don't have to remind you, Odo is sentient. It doesn't do him good to simply sit in his tank with no interaction. I need to be able to see him-to speak to him-even if it is only a few times a week-"

"We'll do the best we can," she said crisply.

There was nothing Mora could say except to mumble a response.

"Very well, then. Oh, and Doctor Reyar?"

Kalisi turned, concealing her smile. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Your transport is here. You probably don't want to keep it waiting."

"Thank you, Doctor." Kalisi was finished anyway. She had only remained in the lab to listen to what the director had to say to Mora. She took her things and walked out, uninterested in further pleasantries. She stepped outside into the cold damp, wondering what the hospital would be like. Well. She'd know shortly.

Kalisi had very few things to be loaded into the shuttle's cargo compartment, only a small valise with her work clothes, a few document and padd cases. The vanity she'd possessed as a younger woman was all but gone now. She'd had no time for a personal life here on Bajor, a fact that hadn't troubled her when she'd believed her work would propel her to glory within the Union. Lately, though, she was starting to experience real pangs of regret for her decision to trade a family on Cardassia Prime for a career on Bajor. This transport seemed to symbolize her defeat, the certainty that she would never experience the notoriety in the scientific community that she had hoped for. She could expect to live out her twilight years calibrating biobeds on an occupied world. The thought was anything but welcome.

She was the only passenger on the tiny vessel, and she tried to strike up a conversation with the pilot regarding her destination, but quickly found him to be less than garrulous. She satisfied her boredom by looking over some reading material on her padd, but the novelty of her uncertain situation made it difficult to concentrate.

After what seemed like only a very short time, Kalisi looked up to see that the transport had continued to rise, as though the pilot meant to break out of the atmosphere. But that couldn't be right, could it? His authoritarian silence unnerved her to the point where she did not feel comfortable asking questions, but when the shuttle did not drop, she dismissed her awkwardness.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, just before the shuttle broke through the very highest clouds in the Bajoran sky, swiftly and calmly riding the turbulence out into the dark of open space. "I thought I was just going to the hospital at Huvara Province! Why have we taken this...unlikely route?"

The pilot, seated behind a security compartment, spoke to her through a comm system, his eerily disembodied voice no more talkative than it had been before. "We are making a required stopover."

"A stopover!" she exclaimed. "Offworld? Why was I not informed of this before I boarded?"

The pilot had nothing more to say, and Kalisi had no recourse but to ride in angry, terrified silence while the little skimmer took her not only from Bajor, but out of the B'hava'el system altogether. Her mind raced with questions, but there was no one to answer them. She clasped her hands together and waited.

4.

He was too close. No Cardassian had ever come this close to the Shakaar cell's hideout before, at least, not anytime before last week. He wasn't close enough to guess where the hideout was, necessarily, and his scanning equipment couldn't possibly reveal its location, for the hillside surrounding the caves was riddled with kelbonite. But he was still too close. Kira Nerys would have to get him before he got even a linnipate closer, just as she had gotten his two companions. The bulky Cardassian rifle she had lifted from one of the slain soldiers was slowing her down, and Kira knew that she was going to have to ditch it. She could come back for it later, she decided, even though Shakaar had been insisting for over a week that nobody leave base camp until they could confirm or deny the rumors they had been hearing. She was sure to get an earful from him when she returned to camp, especially when she told him that she didn't know where Bestram was.

She pitched the stolen rifle at the base of a tree with distinctive branches. She had been to this spot many times in her life, countless times, and she would be back again, to get that rifle, just as soon as she finished her job here.

She set off again, lighter now, clutching her phaser pistol in one hand and walking the way she'd learned years ago, the way that kept the needles and leaves and bits of bark and the papery seed hulls of the blackwood trees silent beneath the soles of her soft old boots. She could hear his footsteps, though they were a ways off; she would hear him long before he would hear her, and no matter how precise his scanning equipment, she would be the one to shoot first.

She stopped walking as she heard a subtle shift in the echoing crunch of the soldier's footfalls, edging for a large tree. He was headed vaguely in her direction, and although he probably knew exactly where she was, if she held completely still, she could still manage the element of surprise. He would approach as quietly as he knew how, but it would not be quiet enough. He would get within striking range, but she would be well protected behind the trunk of a wide tree. Before he even had a chance to aim, she would charge; he'd be dead before he realized she was coming.

She let her breath out in tiny increments, held her body as still as stone. His footsteps drew closer...and when she heard the telltale whisper of dry brush less than a body length away, she sprang out from behind the tree, already firing.

She did not miss. His body jerked as it staggered backward, his phaser falling, and he let out a single dying groan before he landed, and then he was silent and motionless on the floor of the forest. The birds chirped overhead, and Kira scrambled forward, phaser still trained on the dead soldier, to strip him of his weapons and comcuff. She stopped for a moment to listen, but she heard nothing more. Her companion, Bestram, was nowhere in sight, and neither were the Cardassians who had chased him off in a different direction.

Loaded down with equipment, she made for the tree where she had stowed the other phaser rifle, and then beat it back to the Shakaar cell's hideout in the nearby mountain, a mountain so low it was scarcely more than a hill, nearly invisible behind the grand, old-growth trees that surrounded it.

She took the chance that there were no more soldiers around and ducked for the entrance, a tiny, camouflaged opening in the rock that led to a system of tunnels, some of them natural, some of them blasted out by the network of resistance cells that operated in this region. She had to squat down on her haunches to avoid bumping her head on the low ceiling of this passageway, one that had been carved out a little at a time by another cell, the nearby Kohn-Ma. She shimmied along, grunting with the weight of all the equipment she pushed ahead of her, wishing that she had walked around to the more accessible west entrance, but then she remembered that the Cardassians had come from that direction-there could have been more of them, waiting for her. She swallowed her doubts regarding Bestram. He must have gone around, she told herself, though she doubted very much that it was true.

After a long time, she turned a blind corner where the passageway widened and she was able to walk upright at last, her knees and spine creaking a little as she rose to her full height. Kira was small in stature, probably the smallest person of any who used these burrows, but the northwest entrance tunnel still felt claustrophobic to her. She had often wondered how some of the larger men managed to tolerate the press of rock all around them-to say nothing of the darkness. She was nearly to her cell's main hideout now, the place where they lived, ate, slept, bathed, and plotted together. Kira had always thought of it as a warren or a den; it was rough and sometimes depressing, but it was home. For now, anyway.

"Shakaar!" She called out to the leader of her cell as she came into the primary chamber of the Shakaar cell's camp. "Has Bestram checked in?"

Mobara was the only member of the cell in the primary chamber, working on a piece of equipment at a table in the main tunnel, near where the cell's comm system was usually kept. Lupaza and Furel were back in Dahkur, where they had been visiting some friends, and nobody had heard from them in days; it was part of the reason Kira had wanted to go back into Dahkur with Bestram, to ensure that they were all right. Mobara put down his tools and began to relieve Kira of the equipment she carried, stopping to examine a tricorder. "Shakaar told you not to go out, Nerys," Mobara said absently, turning the tricorder over in his hands, already laying out a plan for how he would put it to use.

"I know, but-"

Shakaar emerged from another of the tunnels, with Gantt just behind him. "Nerys-I told you not to go out!"

"I know, but-Bestram, have you heard from him?" She was too anxious about the missing young cell member to argue with Shakaar about going out.

Shakaar looked tired. "I haven't heard anything," he said, wiping his face with one of his rawboned hands. He had been awake for at least two days and nights, manning the long-range comm system, fielding the reports that were coming in from all over the planet. He looked to Mobara, who had been attending to the shortwave system. "Did you hear from him?"

"I didn't," Mobara said, and turned to Kira once more. "Do you think he could have been behind you?"

Kira shook her head. "No, I'm sure he wasn't. He took off in another direction. Three soldiers came after me, the rest followed him." She took a breath. "I think he was making for the ravine, so maybe he'll come in by the western route."

Shakaar nodded, but his expression was grave. The knots of tension in Kira's stomach tightened as she realized that if Bestram had taken the western route, he would have beaten her here by a healthy margin. He'd either taken cover somewhere else, or- Or he didn't. Kira took another breath, tried to think of something she could say or do to sound encouraging, but nothing came to mind.

"So they found you," Mobara said.

"Yes," Kira said. "But what were we going to do? We'll starve in here. We have to be able to get to the village for supplies-"

"We'll do that when it becomes absolutely necessary," Shakaar said firmly, "and after we've rigged a way to transmit false life signs, or some kind of a shielding device..."

"I'm working on one right now," Mobara said. "It should be ready within a week. If you and Bestram had just waited to speak to us about this..." His tone was uncharacteristically scolding.

Kira said nothing, feeling mildly defensive, but mostly afraid for Bestram. She'd feel responsible if he didn't come back, even if it was was his idea to go out in the first place. But why, then, had she been able to go out by herself earlier this week, with no sign of a Cardassian anywhere? When she'd told Bestram about it, he'd been eager to sneak out past Shakaar, believing the enemy patrols had been redeployed elsewhere. But he was wrong. The Cardassians had found them anyway. his idea to go out in the first place. But why, then, had she been able to go out by herself earlier this week, with no sign of a Cardassian anywhere? When she'd told Bestram about it, he'd been eager to sneak out past Shakaar, believing the enemy patrols had been redeployed elsewhere. But he was wrong. The Cardassians had found them anyway.

Gantt spoke up in a low voice. "We've gotten more bad news since you've been gone," the stoic medic informed her. "The comm chatter says Li Nalas has been killed." Stunned, Kira looked to Shakaar for confirmation.

"Is it true?" she asked him.

Shakaar's voice was solemn. "It's what they're saying on the comm-that his entire outfit was wiped out three days ago, somewhere in the outback."

This was the fifth report they'd gotten of a cell being taken out completely. The cells in Jalanda, Renday, and Elemspur were also said to be gone-not a single member left.

Shakaar continued. "There was a report...someone claims that Jaro Essa is confirming he heard it was a new Cardassian detection grid."

"Is that what's taking down the raiders?" Mobara wanted to know.

Again, Kira looked to Shakaar. She hadn't heard anything about raiders. He looked as surprised as she did.

"The Kohn-Ma cell have lost five of their aircraft," Mobara explained. "Five of their men. men. That's more than half their cell." That's more than half their cell."

"When did you hear that?" Kira asked with some urgency. She had become friendly with one of the Kohn-Ma cell members...

"I heard it an hour ago, from Tahna Los," Mobara said. "The rest of the Kohn-Ma are still in the city, and Tahna put in a call to me to see if we were still here."

"I heard reports of other raiders being shot down, as well," Shakaar said, his voice troubled. "But I didn't hear that Jaro Essa said anything about it.... I thought it might be another of their propaganda plants..."

"We shouldn't take any chances," Gantt said.

Shakaar nodded. "We won't be launching any of our own raiders anytime soon. At least, not before we know what happened with the Kohn-Ma's ships," Shakaar said.

"So what should we do?" Kira asked. It wasn't enough for her to sit here and listen to all the frantic gossip coming from the comm. She wanted to act-to get outside and confirm what was happening.

"We'll do nothing until we've gotten more information. First thing, we wait for Bestram. We give it the usual fifty-two hours before..." He trailed off.

"Before the search party?" Kira finished for him.

Shakaar shook his head. "Not this time," he said. "This time...I think this time will have to be different."

Kira swallowed hard and met Mobara's gaze, found fear there, too. She had the distinct sense that things were changing, big things.

"We can't just stay in these caves forever," Gantt pointed out. "If there's a system monitoring Bajoran movement, we'll all have to go back to the city, get fake papers-blend in, somehow..."

"Not me," Kira said firmly. "I'll stay here."

"I'd rather stay here, too," Mobara said. "I think I can figure out a way to temporarily mask our biosigns so that we can get from place to place, at least in the short term. With careful planning, we can still-"

"But how are we supposed to plan full-scale attacks with temporary masks?" Gantt argued. "If we're being targeted at this location, we've got to leave."

"We'll have plenty of time to figure that out later," Shakaar said. "For now, we gather information. We work on getting in touch with the rest of the cell, making sure everyone is all right."

Kira swallowed. "What about the Kohn-Ma?" she asked.

Shakaar shrugged. "They can do what they want," he said. "But if there are only four of them left, they might just feel as though it's over for them."

Kira felt her resolve harden. "No," she said. "They won't feel that way." Kira didn't know Tahna Los especially well, but she did know that he wouldn't give up, even if he was the only one left in his cell. She knew it because it was how she felt about the Shakaar.

Quark was less than thrilled that he'd had to give up such a large quantity of gold-press latinum to the pompous Cardassian who ran this place. It was a lucky thing he'd had that emergency stash at the bottom of one of the crates Gart had unceremoniously unloaded when he'd marooned Quark. Buried under a quarter-ton of rotting vegetables, the latinum had been safely shielded from his nosy shipmates. He remembered the way the prefect's eyes had widened when Quark had presented him with a full brick, despite his obvious revulsion to the smell coming from it. It pained Quark to leave it on the gul's desk, but he took comfort in knowing that he'd made a sale.

Quark grinned, thinking of the possibilities. He'd left home a lowly freighter cook, driven from the beautiful swamps of Ferenginar by a ridiculous accusation that was, sadly, true. But he'd been listening, from the beginning, from his very first day boiling the morning snail juice for Gart's idiot crew. Listening for that faint, come-hither breath of opportunity, seeking out the entrepreneurial brave-and now she had come panting after him like a two-strip dabo girl, and he had the lobes to take action.

He patted the vest pockets containing his remaining strips and slips, and settled down in a chair in his new quarters, his grin souring slightly. The Cardassian hadn't gotten all of it, but the loss had hurt. And yet, what other recourse did he have? Where else could he possibly go? Dukat obviously didn't want him here, but latinum bought welcome, he'd found. Even with Klingons, to some degree. It was too bad Dukat hadn't wanted the perishables, but Quark already had an idea or two.

He'd known about the occupation, of course. No self-respecting businessman would travel the starry seas without knowing who had the power where. In the B'hava'el system, the Cardassians carried the big stick. They'd run over some backward agri planet to "borrow" most of their resources, to boost a sagging economy at home-not a bad business plan, considering the payoff, though not so hot for the Bajorans. He'd seen plenty of Cardassians, but until his little tour of his new home this morning, he'd never seen a Bajoran before, not up close. In some of those pale faces he'd read crazed desperation, barely concealed; in others, utter, total defeat.

He'd been sent by a gaunt-faced "merchant" to his newly assigned lodgings, to find not much at the far end of a bleak, curving corridor-a bunk, a table, basic replicator, outdated computer console-but it was comfortable enough for someone who'd just been ejected from a tramp freighter. Quark was in no position to complain-he hadn't expected Risa.

He quickly set about contacting his family on Ferenginar to inform them that he was still alive, but of course his fool-headed mother was apparently too busy with some trivial female pursuit to answer a transmission from her beloved eldest son. He left her a message, and then one for his idiot brother Rom, and then he waited. There wasn't much he could do now, not until he'd arranged for his funds to be transferred. He didn't have a padd; he had virtually no assets besides his few crates of delectable odds and ends-milcake mix, mix, sargam sargam filets, caviar, pickled filets, caviar, pickled plomeek plomeek-and his brilliant business acumen. Which was awesome, of course, but it didn't pay the bills, not yet. There were his personal effects-at least Gart had tossed out Quark's bag along with the refrigerated, "poisoned" containers-but nothing he could consider much of an asset. At least not among Cardassians.

Except the disruptor, maybe. Quark looked over at his bag, considering. You never knew when you might need to defend yourself. Of course, on a place like this, a single disruptor pistol was brittle reassurance-especially since he had never actually fired the thing. In any case, he couldn't imagine a need for it. He had been blessed with the gift of gab.

The little console in front of him chimed to indicate that one of his messages was being returned, and Quark fumbled around a bit with the alien keyboard before he managed to access the image of his mother, her wizened face showing deep concern. Quark was disgusted to see that Ishka was wearing some piece of fabric swathed around her neck.

"Moogie!" he cried out, embarrassed. "Take that thing off!"

His mother looked down, and then plucked at the scarf. "Sorry, son. I was just trying it on. I forgot it was even there." "Sorry, son. I was just trying it on. I forgot it was even there."

"Ugh." There was nothing more terrible than seeing your own mother in clothing. It wasn't so bad when other women did it-it was suggestive, of course, but suggestive wasn't necessarily horrifying. Quark remembered when Gera had put on his jacket, once, after he'd taken it off-a bold gesture, one that should have been upsetting, but she'd looked oddly cute in it...He promptly buried the thought. The sub-nagus's tart of a sister was why he'd had to leave home in the first place.

Ishka got right to business. "Quark, what has gotten into you? A Cardassian station! Haven't I told you about those people? They have no interest in profit at all-they're almost as bad as the Klingons, but with less scruple! All they want to do is plunder, and then plunder some more. No head for business!" "Quark, what has gotten into you? A Cardassian station! Haven't I told you about those people? They have no interest in profit at all-they're almost as bad as the Klingons, but with less scruple! All they want to do is plunder, and then plunder some more. No head for business!"

"That's enough!" Quark shouted. His mother had such nerve, trying to tell him-the eldest male!-what to do. "All I need to hear from you is that you've made sure Rom has transferred all my accounts over to the Bank of Bolias."

"Son, I'm not so sure your brother can handle your request. Maybe it would be better if I just-"

"Rom has to do it," Quark said firmly. Of course his mother knew that Rom was an idiot, as stupid as any Klingon when it came to matters of money, but there was no one else. Cousin Gaila would have skimmed, and there were no other close male relatives to whom he could turn.

"For Exchequer's sake, Quark, it's a simple request. I don't approve of what you're doing, but if I can just put in the call to the bank for you-"

"Put in the call?" Quark said, a little sick at the thought of it. "Please tell me you're joking."

His mother pursed her lips beneath the hook of her nose. "Of course I am," "Of course I am," she finally said. she finally said. "I'll contact your brother right away. And don't worry, I'll see to it that he doesn't miss anything." "I'll contact your brother right away. And don't worry, I'll see to it that he doesn't miss anything."

"Good," Quark said. "I've got big plans for this station. I'm going to be rich in no time."

His mother continued to look fretful. "But...son...Cardassians? There's a war going on there, isn't there?" "But...son...Cardassians? There's a war going on there, isn't there?"

"Not exactly," Quark told her. "But even if there was, don't forget the Thirty-fourth Rule of Acquisition." War is good for business War is good for business. That'd shut her up.

"Don't forget the Thirty-fifth Rule, either," Ishka reminded him. "' Ishka reminded him. "'Peace is good for business.' Couldn't you come back to peaceful Ferenginar, carry out your plans close to home?" Couldn't you come back to peaceful Ferenginar, carry out your plans close to home?"

"Moogie, I've got cases and cases of unreplicated food, and I'm on a station full of starving Bajorans."

"Quark, don't get mixed up in the local politics! Aligning yourself with the Bajorans-"