“Organic,” Ocett repeated. She looked to the transparent sphere and considered its contents—a small quantity of amber hued liquid with the consistency of dark kanar,shimmering subtly in the artificial lights. She could not tear her eyes away for a moment, trying to determine—did she just see a ripple? A slight movement? Or was it only the effect of the containment field? “Is it—?”

“It’s inconclusive. But some of the scans suggest that this substance could be—or maybe could have once been—some kind of life-form.”

Ocett was pleased, for it seemed that she’d chosen wisely. Evidently they’d come across something of interest, after all. No one would complain if it proved valuable.

“Continue your analysis,” she said, her tone cool. “We’ll turn the substance and your findings over to the science team stationed on Bajor after we return to base.”

“Yes, Dalin.”

Smiling to herself as she made her way back to the bridge, Ocett was gratified to finally hear a touch of genuine respect in the gil’s quick reply.

OCCUPATION YEAR NINETEEN 2346 (Terran Calendar)

1

They stood at the apex of the Janitza mountain range in the northernmost sector of the continent, the humid, cold air heavy with the scents of pine and nyawood trees. ThirdTier Gil Corat Damar turned to take in the verdant abundance all around, then turned again, his expression a mix of hunger and awe. The new prefect of Bajor stood behind the junior officer, watching, remembering the first time he’d seen Bajor for himself. He’d been a much younger man then, blinking around himself in wonder.

From their vantage point, the valleys far below were patched over with ovals of colorful farmland, fading into wild tangles of jungle and jagged forests. The shadows of moving clouds cast a traveling pallor along the hilly meadows, disappearing where the densely woven carpet of trees appeared almost black.

Dukat could plainly see Damar’s thoughts as he took in the scenery; in his most lavish dreams, Damar could not have imagined a world like this. It was so far a cry from the cracked and sandy plains of their homeworld, with its hot, erose mountains of obsidian jutting from the barren land. Cardassian soil was good for little more than harvesting rocks, or fashioning into clay for making brittle pots. To see this bold illustration of color, of green and blue and rich red dirt, was quite literally breathtaking.

“So—tell me what you think of Bajor,” Dukat said.

Damar hesitated, unable to look away from the lush panorama. Dukat was pleased with the hesitation, a sign of careful consideration, perhaps a weighing of words to find those that would most impress the gil’s commander. Dukat had taken a special interest in Damar, was grooming him to be his own personal assistant, and knew that Damar understood the honor of being so singled out. In truth, pickings had been lean; today’s Cardassian soldier, while certainly still the best trained in the quadrant, left something to be desired in an intellectual capacity. Corat Damar, fresh from officer training, stood out because he thought further ahead than his next meal, his next kanar,his next sexual conquest. Dukat enjoyed seeing a sharp mind at work, and, in truth, there was no satisfaction in being admired by a fool. He wanted his personal aides smart enough to appreciate his maneuverings.

And theydo deserve appreciation,Dukat thought, smiling. I’m here, aren’t I?

“How can these people…” Damar began, then shook his head.

Dukat understood. “It seems hard to imagine that the Bajorans could have just squandered all this natural wealth for so long a time.”

“I…suppose they were content with their lot in life as it was, and perhaps they—”

Dukat chuckled. “I believe the word you mean to use is complacent,Gil Damar.” He gestured with an open hand. “The Bajorans have only the most rudimentary understanding of what you and I would call progress. The abundance of their world has made them lazy and superstitious. They can scarcely grasp scientific explanations for natural phenomena, preferring to give credit to their ‘prophets’ for anything they don’t understand.”

Damar was silent. He’d know nothing of Bajoran religion, of course, a low officer from the homeworld, but he’d learn. Most of the ground troops and station guards never bothered, but if he was as bright as Dukat believed, he’d pick it up.

“Of course, as prefect, I do not intend to disrespect their beliefs,” Dukat said. “As backward as their religion may seem, I believe it is in the Union’s best interests to allow the Bajorans to continue to worship as they did before the annexation. Some of my predecessors didn’t share my view, but I feel that certain concessions must be made to the Bajorans if we are to successfully mold them into dutiful Cardassian subjects. As it is, they have no appreciation for us, because they fail to see all the good we’ve done for them. They choose to focus only on the inevitable episodes of petty discord that come with any cultural modification. They’re like children, clinging to outmoded comforts, afraid to move forward. I intend to change that.”

Damar’s expression was appropriately deferential. “You’re going to revolutionize relations with the Bajorans, sir.”

Dukat smiled paternally and placed a hand on Damar’s shoulder before a brief, high-pitched tone sounded. Comm from the bridge.

Dukat pressed his comcuff. “What is it?”

“We’re approaching the station, sir.”

“I’ll be right there. Computer, end this program.”

The panoramic views that surrounded them skittered and vanished, revealing a dark chamber outfitted on all sides with imaging diodes. Dukat enjoyed watching Damar struggle to maintain an expression of indifference to the abrupt change. Holodeck privileges were usually reserved for upper-echelon officers.

“Shall we?” Dukat asked, gesturing toward the door, and the young man fell in at his side. Together, they walked toward the central main corridor of the Galor-class vessel. Soldiers stopped to salute as the two men headed for the bridge, the gul nodding pleasantly in turn. Each and every one of them would be under his direct command.

Returned, in triumph,he thought, holding his head ever higher. This was a great day for him. He had been partly responsible for securing Bajor’s allegiance to the Union, but politics had kept him from his rightful place as overseer to the annexation. His “punishment” for alleged missteps, a protracted stint as warden of the Letau prison facility, had turned out to be a prime opportunity; it had given him a chance to display his acumen as a leader, while removing him from the treacherous power struggles taking place in Central Command. He’d had time to cultivate alliances, to subtly discredit his detractors, to work his way to a position that would allow for this exultant return. Now he was prefect of Bajor; he was back to command the fortress station that rose in the Bajoran sky each night, to make his name synonymous with Cardassian superiority. He was where he belonged.

“Sir, I…Thank you, sir, for the opportunity,” Damar said as they neared the bridge. “For the simulation.”

Dukat smiled. “It’s a small thing, to be sure, but I suppose when I was a third-tier gil—of course, we didn’t have anything like current holosuite technology in those days.”

Damar nodded. “Perhaps when I’m able to take some leave, I’ll be able to go to the surface and see the real thing.”

“You may be able to do that, Gil Damar, although I would advise you not to underestimate the responsibilities of military personnel on the station. And—if I’m not mistaken—your betrothed will be on the surface, will she not?”

Damar’s face flushed. His affianced was with the Information Service, if Dukat recalled correctly. Vela, Veja, something like that.