“Oh,” Taryl said, her smile disappearing. Lenaris quickly stood, helping her back into her seat. She sat down hard, her expression fixed, unseeing, as more tears coursed down her face.

“Taryl,” he said softly. “It’s okay…it will be all right…but—we have to go, Taryl. We can’t stay here.”

It took her a few moments before she seemed to hear him. “You’re right,” she said faintly, wiping her eyes and doing her best to pull herself together, though it was clearly an effort. “We have to go. Let’s tell the others about this story. Maybe they won’t feel quite so eager to just forget about the cell once they hear it.”

Lenaris nodded, for he was hoping much the same thing. News that the Cardassians had actually taken significant losses from the attack did not make up for Lac’s death, or that of the others—nothing would. But it was still a victory, and this article would make it a symbolic one. Hopefully, it could at least inspire what was left of the Ornathia cell into continuing to fight.

Lenaris watched her as she gathered a few things, and the two left the village behind them. He felt a combination of raw, palpable emotions as they left, not knowing where they would go, not knowing how they would get there. But as she turned to smile weakly at him, as if to convince him that she would eventually be all right, he knew it didn’t matter, not now—for he would be going there with Taryl.

Dukat’s back was to the door when Damar entered his office, and the sight of the turned chair made the gil’s heart sink. He knew that Dukat was disappointed in him.

“You asked to see me, sir?” Damar finally spoke, beginning to wonder if the prefect even knew he had entered the room.

Dukat’s chair turned around very slowly, and Damar winced internally at his expression. His head was tipped down, his mouth pulled tight. But he did not look angry, exactly. No, he looked…sad. And Damar realized that he had done more damage to the relationship than he had thought.

“Hello, Gil Damar,” Dukat said. “How is your betrothed?”

Damar felt a tremendous crushing weight at the words, and he wondered if Dukat was deliberately trying to hurt him. “Our enjoinment…has been canceled,” he said tightly. The burden of what he had just said was a miserable one, and he struggled to keep his composure.

“Ah,” Dukat said. “So. You felt it necessary to work out the details of the transaction in person, on the planet.”

“Yes,” Damar said. “I wanted to be there when she woke up. I did not want her to learn the news from anyone else.” As he said it, he felt a small surge of confidence, at least for his relationship with Dukat, for it had not been an unreasonable motive, and he felt sure that Dukat would recognize it as such.

“Indeed,” Dukat said. “Personal matters can be so…complicated.” He spread his hands. “It’s a pity it had to occur when there was so much chaos going on here at the station. I suppose I hadn’t realized just how much I’d come to rely on you.”

Damar bowed his head and murmured an acknowledgment to the compliment.

“Unfortunately, it seems my superiors have other plans for you, Gil Damar. They are reassigning a number of my personnel to the border conflict. It seems there’s been something of an outcry within the hierarchy, from a story posted by that woman you saved, the other one. I am afraid you have been selected.”

“But—” Damar protested. “If it’s all the same to you…I prefer to remain on Terok Nor. Even on the surface, if I’m needed there. Please understand, Gul Dukat, it was only the most desperate of circumstances that—”

“I assure you, Gil Damar, this was not my decision. I would prefer to have you remain here as well. But the changes are made. You will be leaving the station within the next three days.”

“Yes, sir,” Damar said miserably. He knew that Dukat had the power to override the transfer but had deliberately chosen not to, and he could not deny that it stung. Aside from the personal affront, he did not want to go to the border colonies. That he had ever been so foolish to think that diplomacy could solve the problems on Bajor! He wanted, he neededto stay here, to fight the insurgents. To kill them, if need be, for the expression that had been on Veja’s face when he had told her what had been done to her. To us. He knew that the memory would haunt him, that he would never forget it. Not if he lived to be two hundred.

Cold and dead inside, he bowed again to the prefect and turned to leave.

“And…Damar?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you for your service here. I shall…miss your companionship.”

A sudden great sorrow blossomed in the emptiness, that he would likely never see Dukat again. “And I shall miss yours,” he said, and meant it.

He turned and left the room as quickly as he could, struggling to hide his expression from anyone he might encounter in ops. He needed to go about gathering up his things. And there would be just a little time left to say good-bye to Veja, probably forever.

“Miss Lang, you realize I could put out an immediate order for your arrest. Your actions translate to no less than treason!”

Natima felt sure that Dalak was exaggerating, as he was wont to do. Though of course she was in trouble with Central Command, the offending report had been removed from the comnet before anyone on Cardassia Prime probably even saw it. The story had remained on the Bajoran net for significantly longer, but that didn’t matter much—everyone here, Cardassian and Bajoran, already knew the truth anyway. For the most part.

“What would possess you to even write such a thing, let alone fail to censor it? This is so unlike you, Miss Lang. I am practically speechless.”

How Natima wished the latter part was true! “You have my deepest apologies, Mister Dalak. I suppose I am just not myself after the ordeal I was put through over the weekend. I honestly can’t tell you what came over me. I was feeling so much anguish over Veja’s condition, and the stress of being in that tunnel—”

“Of course, Miss Lang, I do sympathize.”Dalak softened his tone somewhat. “Perhaps it was unreasonable of me to put you to your deadlines without giving you sufficient time to recover.”

“I would never suggest—”

“No, no, Miss Lang, I insist. You must take an extra day for yourself.”

“An extra day. You are too kind, Mister Dalak. But what I really want to request from you is a new assignment. After all that I have seen and done on this world, I am eager to leave it.”

Dalak’s moon face managed to look impatient and surprised, at once. “A new assignment! Miss Lang, you and Veja begged for the positions on Bajor. You may have forgotten, but I was very, very reluctant to assign females to such a dangerous place.”

“That’s right, you were. And now I believe I have had my fill of what Bajor has to offer. It seems you may have been right, Mister Dalak.” It galled her to say it, but she was really and truly through with Bajor. The temporary madness that had urged her to write that story, to imperil her career—worse, perhaps, to make herself known to those in power as some sort of dissident…She would cheerfully go back to reporting on petty crimes and the latest military promotions. She could live for a thousand years without ever seeing another speck of red Bajoran dirt and be perfectly content.

“Fine, Miss Lang. I will see what I can do. But I have to warn you, I can’t promise that you won’t ever be sent back to Bajor after this. I need people with experience there. You were the best censor I ever had—before this slipup.”

“Thank you, Mister Dalak.” Natima didn’t believe his threat for a minute. She’d made him look bad; he would never send her back here. No, she had seen the last of this place—that much was certain. And she couldn’t be happier about it.

“Glinn Sa’kat,” Astraea said timidly, as she labored to keep up with the quick cadence of the man’s footfalls, “where are we going?”