“But…” Opaka protested, “the D’jarras have been reinterpreted many times, Your Eminence. The drivers eventually became pilots. The ceremonial healers became modern doctors. The—”

“What you are speaking of has been a gradual evolution of the roles within the D’jarras, not a reassignment of responsibilities for people who were born to perform specific tasks. I understand that many people have been forced to become idle under the current circumstances, but what I see is that those who reject their birthrights reject other teachings of the Prophets as well. They eventually begin to take up arms against the Cardassians. The Prophets do not condone violence. They never will. And neither will I.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Opaka murmured.

“I’m glad you understand,” the kai told her, and stood to leave. Opaka stood with him, gripping the back of a chair as they both stepped toward the door. But she could not let him go. She could not merely concede to him and pretend that she agreed, when she did not, and would not.

“Your Eminence, I do not condone the acts of the resistance, either,” she blurted out. “But I believe that this is a time for Bajoran unity. Instead, what I see are angry and fearful people who have too much time on their hands and continue to mistrust each other because of age-old rules that no longer apply to the world we are living in. This has made us ripe for Cardassian exploitation. Can’t you see? Before we are D’jarra,we are Bajoran, and we are all Their children. We must come together, must decide together what we wish for ourselves, for our ownchildren.”

Arin did not speak, only shook his head.

“Kai Arin, I confess I did not realize that you truly believed there was still wisdom in clinging to the D’jarras. I thought that perhaps you were using this as a means to distract our people from the misery they see all around them, to try and hold fast to some remnant of our original way of life. But now I see that you and I will have to agree to disagree.”

The kai’s expression was unhappy. “No. If you will not renounce your message, then I am afraid I cannot let you remain at the sanctuary. If you continue to preach it, your status as a vedek will be revoked. If you spread these words, Opaka Sulan, I will have no choice but to issue an Attainder.”

Opaka tightened her hands around the back of the chair. The thought of being sent away from the sanctuary stung her; the thought of leaving this house, this comfortable existence, and being forced to live like those in the camps frightened her terribly. Fasil had friends here, they both did. And to be Attainted, expelled from the community of faith…

“‘And by following D’jarra,the land shall know peace,’” he quoted, and gave her an encouraging smile. “I sincerely hope that you’ll stay with us, Vedek. Your presence would be sorely missed.”

The kai left her. She sat down again, her heart heavy with the fearful understanding that things were about to change. The kai was not an evil man, but he was mistaken. She could only be thankful that the cold weather was past, at least for now. If they had to travel, it would be in the summertime.

Natima followed a short distance behind Veja and her betrothed, deeply regretting her decision to accompany her friend to the new space station. Corat Damar was a typical Cardassian male, arrogant and self-important, and could not have made it more clear that he resented her presence here; she silently cursed Veja for not having the foresight to tell her beloved that she’d planned on bringing a friend along. She looked dejectedly around the station as he gave them their tour, finding it to be dark and rather imposing with its broad and heavy classical architecture. It was impressive, to be sure, but not really Natima’s style.

Hundreds of Bajorans had already been brought in to work in the ore processors, and Natima was curious to see what went on inside the units, though Damar was reluctant to bring the women anywhere near the Bajoran section of the station. “It could be dangerous,” he insisted.

“Veja and I are in dangerous situations all the time when we report on what happens on the surface,” Natima informed him.

Gil Damar appeared disturbed. “The Information Service should know better than to send two young, unescorted women into places of danger.”

“Oh, our superiors argue with me from time to time, but Veja and I can take care of ourselves.”

Veja nodded. “It’s true, Corat. You don’t need to worry about us.”

Damar looked sideways at Natima. “I’m not worried about her,” he replied.

Natima shot him a look of loathing, but he had already turned his back to her and was guiding Veja toward the operations center, apparently not interested in whether Natima was coming or not. Unsure where else she might go, she elected to follow them.

“So, why does Dukat allow these Bajoran merchants to sell their wares on the station?” Natima wanted to know. “Doesn’t that interfere with Cardassian attempts at commerce?”

Damar did not look at her when he spoke. “The prefect wants to make the Bajorans more self-sufficient.”

“Well,” Natima snorted, “he isn’t going to do it by allowing them to continue following their silly religion. I noticed there’s a religious shrine on the Bajoran side of the promenade. I can’t believe Dukat permits that sort of thing in a military installation.”

“He has his reasons for everything he does,” Damar told her.

“What do you know of his reasons?” Natima struggled to keep her tone even. Damar struck her as an ignorant toady, her very least favorite sort of person.

“I don’t need to know them. Gul Dukat is a brilliant leader, and people like us can’t be expected to understand the complexities of his plans.”

Natima found his response laughable, but she kept her amusement to herself for Veja’s sake. Her friend had already begun to look a little uncomfortable.

“So, what can we get to eat around here?” Natima asked brightly, changing the subject.

Damar shrugged. “There are replicators,” he said.

“What this place needs is a restaurant of some kind.”

Damar finally turned to face her, a look of distaste on his blandly handsome features.

“I’ll be sure to pass your suggestion on to the prefect,” he said, and turned away again, slipping his arm around Veja’s waist. Natima decided that she might wait out the rest of the tour by herself, and fell behind to watch the two lovers as they continued down the Promenade. She approached a Bajoran merchant’s shop to examine his strange wares, and wondered how badly the replicators here would foul up a cup of red leaf tea.

Miras had begun to wonder, in the last few weeks, if she shouldn’t reconsider her final project. The images she had received from Natima Lang had provided her with only a few ideas. There were many, many captures of Bajoran farmland, some of it in active production, some barren and dry, and some entirely overgrown with weeds. Miras was fascinated by the obvious fertility of the world, but the lack of accessible hard data was making her quest for further information an exercise in frustration.

Kalisi had been more successful in her pursuits, having found a cache of declassified military files regarding weapon efficacy, and had decided to continue her original idea to study the weaponry used on Bajor. But Miras still wasn’t sure if she should continue with her investigation into agriculture, for it had recently occurred to her that she would need at least one physical soil sample in order to make her project worthy of high mark. She wasn’t sure if she could acquire such a sample at this late date, for the topic deadline was beginning to loom, and she didn’t want to settle on a theme until she was certain she could gather all the necessary items.

Miras had been studying in her dormitory for most of an afternoon when she received a call from Professor Mendar. It surprised her not a little when she switched on the companel and discovered the image of her instructor staring back at her; it was unusual for a teacher to contact a student through a personal channel.