To make matters worse, she and Veja were being sent to Terok Nor tomorrow for yet another long and boring press conference. Every time Natima went to Terok Nor with Veja—there had been four trips since their first—she was made to feel like a superfluous rudder on a ship. Veja would go off with Gil Damar, to whom she still had not been formally enjoined—they were waiting for Damar’s promotion to come through—and Natima was left by herself while she waited for the transport to take her back to the surface.

She rose from her bed and answered the transmission with reluctance, but then brightened a bit when she saw that it was her young friend, the scientist Miras Vara. Miras had consulted with Natima a number of times in the past two years regarding various issues related to the agricultural situation on Bajor, since Natima had originally helped her with her student thesis project—one that had earned her the very highest marks, in the end.

“Hello, Miras,” Natima said cheerfully. “It’s good to see a friendly face from home.”

“Thank you, Natima. It’s good to see you, too. I was wondering if you have a moment…”

“Of course.”

Miras seemed unusually hesitant. “I have some questions for you that I fear you might find…odd.”

“Odd? You know nothing surprises me anymore, Miras. Not after some of the things I’ve witnessed here.”

“I know. It’s just that…I learned some things recently. Regarding Bajor. And…I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Learned them…how?”

“I…Natima, I can’t say. Can you understand that? You’ve had to protect sources before, haven’t you?”

Natima nodded wordlessly, puzzled and intrigued.

“Do you know anything of…the death of a Bajoran religious official? I believe he is called the kai.”

Natima was taken aback. Matters of Bajoran religion were certainly not typical fodder for Cardassian discussion. It was possible that Miras could have learned the term “kai” from some source within the science ministry, but Natima was sure that nobody in the Cardassian Union would have reported the death of the current one. Dukat saw to it that Cardassians generally remained ignorant of his lenience regarding Bajoran religious practices. “How did you come upon this information?”

“I told you, I can’t say. I’m so sorry, Natima, but I just can’t.”

Natima could not be sure if she should confirm or deny the story. It seemed irrelevant in the greater scheme of things, but it was so strange that Miras should even know about it. “What more have you heard about this?” Natima asked her carefully.

Miras again appeared reluctant to speak. “There is someone named Gar Osen. He…I believe he may have been present when the kai died. He may have been the one who found the body, or perhaps he is someone close to the kai. I only wish to confirm that this information is true. Or simply that such a person exists. That is all I need to know, Natima. Have you heard of him?”

In fact, Natima did know who Gar Osen was, only because she had learned that he was campaigning to become the new kai. Again, she was puzzled that Miras would know anything about it at all. Natima herself did much of the final edits on what information the service passed along to Cardassian civilians, and she was positive that such specific details about Bajoran religious officials would never have been reported. The very fact that Miras knew about something so obscure set off alarms. What else was being leaked to Cardassia Prime?

“Miras, I will see what I can find out for you,” Natima said, hoping that her friend would not recognize that she was stalling. “If you don’t mind waiting for a day or two…”

“No, not at all, Natima. Take as much time as you need. You have my deepest appreciation for agreeing to help me with this.”

“Think nothing of it,” Natima assured her. “In the meantime, I think it’s best if you keep this information to yourself.”

“I’ve told no one of consequence.”

Natima wondered what Miras’s estimation of consequence was, and she ended the transmission. Her thoughts raced as she sat back in her chair. How should she approach this situation? Miras was her friend, and she didn’t want to get her in trouble. Natima was certain that the younger woman perhaps didn’t understand how dire an offense it could be for her to be spreading around classified information. For although the specific information that Miras had referred to was not classified, the greater connotations of that information certainly were. If citizens on Cardassia Prime realized how much religious freedom Dukat permitted the Bajorans, there would be a great deal of public dissent, and Dukat surely knew it.

Personally, she disagreed with the prefect’s policies—as new citizens of the Union, the Bajorans should be putting aside their antiquated superstitions, should be searching for ways to adjust to a more Cardassian mindset. Instead, they spent their time fighting against the inevitable, making life miserable for the good people who’d traveled to this inhospitable world to help the natives—thanks in no small part to Dukat’s leniencies. But it was her job to see that the news from Bajor supported the Union’s image of infallibility, not a task she took lightly. Her job was her life.

She told herself she’d think about it, but knew already that she’d warn Miras away from the information again and then leave it alone. She could not afford to jeopardize her own career, even for a friend. Whatever Miras decided to do, that was her business.

7

Lenaris made preparations to land the raider along a wooded plateau just beneath the highest peak of the Berain mountains. He was relieved to set down after their long, silent night—the light was strong enough in the sky now to make them an obvious target. He and Taryl had headed out without taking significant precautions that their journey was along a routine flight path—there simply hadn’t been time.

“I don’t think we should take the raider down into the valley,” Lenaris said. “We’ve taken enough of a risk, crossing territory that’s mostly deserted—but I used to fly in this area regularly, and the security grids are pretty tight just over Berain City. I had the pleasure of being stopped more than once in this region.”

“Okay,” Taryl said. She wasn’t familiar with the areas around Relliketh, and wouldn’t have been in a mood to argue, anyway.

“It’s about half a day’s walk from here,” he told her. “We’d better take all the water we brought. I can’t be sure that we’ll come to any other sources along the way.” Taryl nodded, tying several gourds of water around one shoulder. He tossed some dried alvafruits into his pack, and the two began their journey down the narrow ledges and pathways that wound through the trees and along the side of the mountain.

Taryl walked closely behind him, occasionally touching his shoulder to steady herself on the uneven terrain. Lenaris pushed branches aside, pointed out exposed roots. It had rained recently, and the air was clean and sweet. The smell brought back many memories.

“So,” she said casually, after a while. “Are you ever going to tell me about why Tiven and Halpas are so mad at you?”

Lenaris sighed. “It’s a long story,” he said.

“Seems to me we’ve got nothing but time.” She touched his shoulder again, and this time he stopped walking and turned to face her.

“Yes, I’ll tell you,” he said, deciding that it might do him good to speak of it to someone at last.

Taryl nodded, and they resumed their hike.

“I joined the resistance with my best friend,” he began. “Our families had been close since before we were born. His mother took it especially hard when we decided to go off and fight. He was an only child, you see, his father killed when he was a babe.