But today, he must not be thinking of Naprem and the little one; he must do what he could to make things right with Meru. For if what Basso was saying had any truth to it, she might have taken it into her head to do him harm. He was only too aware of the Bajoran propensity toward revenge—numerous attempts on his very life were ample proof. He considered a handful of Bajorans to be among the people closest to him, but he could not forget that they were a naturally mistrustful, jealous race. No matter how much he loved Meru, no matter what he did to placate her, he could never be entirely sure that she would not someday turn on him. And he feared that the day might have come.

He entered her quarters without knocking, as he always did, for she knew to always be prepared for him, at every moment. It was one of the things he loved about her, that most often she was able to drop whatever she had been doing to come to him. Of course, there were those times when Dukat had been forced to exercise patience with her; she was only humanoid—only Bajoran,after all. She wasremarkably cool-headed for a Bajoran, but she was still prone to occasional bouts of sulkiness. Dukat didn’t always care for the effort of maintaining her, but she wasn’t generally overly needy. He hoped that this latest rash of irritable behavior would pass, as the others had passed—usually easy enough to smooth over with a gift, or sometimes just a little extra time to herself—though lately, perhaps she’d had a bit too much of the latter. Dukat knew he’d better come up with a promise of a vacation of some sort, just the two of them, even if he couldn’t immediately deliver it. He was a busy man.

“Hello, Skrain,” she said, the same breathless way she always said it. Dukat had once found it to be interminably exciting, but it had lost much of its appeal these days. There was a part of him that now considered his relationship with Meru to be a bit superficial—even tawdry, compared to what he shared with Naprem. Naprem, so beautiful as she nursed their child, a nimbus of sunlight highlighting her hair, her cheeks…the backdrop of the elegant old estate he had chosen for her and the child, isolated, surrounded by carefully tended gardens and trickling fountains…The purity of the atmosphere did little to recommend those indistinguishable dalliances with Meru here on the station, in her artificially lit quarters, surrounded by the dozens of paintings she was always churning out—wooden-faced old priests from millennia ago. Dukat was sick of the sight of them.

He took her by the hands. “Meru. It has come to my attention that you’ve not been happy lately. I apologize that my business has taken me away so frequently. I propose that you and I plan a retreat for the near future—the two of us, for a week, perhaps. Anywhere you would like to go in the B’hava’el system—or farther, if you want. I can think of numerous places we’ve not seen yet.”

Meru was quiet, appearing to be struggling with her response. “It’s very kind of you, Skrain. You know how I’ve enjoyed the traveling we’ve done in the past. But I feel…that your mind, your heart, they lie elsewhere these days. I…I know about the child, Skrain, and I understand. And I was hoping that perhaps it would help you to understand my position, as well.”

Dukat’s breathing became tight. He did not want to lie to her, but he did not care to discuss Naprem, either. “Meru, whatever it is that has you so upset, I assure you it has no bearing on my feelings for you. Please, let’s discuss happier topics. What can I provide you with that will ease you from this pall?”

Meru shook her head, appearing frustrated, and Dukat squeezed her hands. He began to speak again, but she cut him off in a rush of words. “Let me go,” she said, her voice strangled. She began to cry. “I want to go home, Skrain, can’t you understand that? I want to see my family again—my husband!” Her face crumpled and stretched unpleasantly, and Dukat let her hands slip away from his.

“I…see,” he said faintly. He felt an unfamiliar writhing inside. He could not quite place the emotion he was experiencing. It was a combination of things, things he was not sure he could identify. Anger? Sadness? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, it was perhaps the most unpleasant sensation he could ever remember, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he had flung out his arm and knocked over Meru’s easel, its contents of paint and canvas splattering and crashing to the floor. Meru let out a sharp cry.

“Skrain! Please—can’t you see? I love you, but—”

“But it’s not enough!” he roared. “It’s not enough, all I’ve done for you, for your family—you would still choose your cowardly vole of a husband over a man like me, is that it?” He lunged for her, and he felt the back of his hand make contact with the hard surface of one of her well-sculpted cheekbones.

“No!”

Dukat abruptly stopped. Meru hid behind her hands, shoulders hunched in fear. A livid mark spread quickly across her face. Dukat turned slightly to see his reflection in the mirror above her dressing table, and he did not like what he saw—a panting man, his slick hair flung loose around his ears, an expression of dirty, dying rage still spread across his face. He straightened up, caught his breath, and smoothed his hair back, though Meru still crouched and sobbed.

Dukat did not care to think of himself as an abuser of women. He spoke coolly. “I have to go now, my dear,” he said. “I will send Basso to see if you need anything, as always. Perhaps we will continue this conversation later, when we’ve both had time to clear our heads.”

Meru continued to whimper and cry piteously as he left the room, and the sound of it made him sick to his very core. He was immensely bothered by the awareness that he could not erase the scene he had just created. He could pretend it had not transpired, but he knew that every time he laid eyes on Meru, it would return to him in all its shameful detail. Once out in the hallway, he quickly pressed his comcuff. “Dukat to Basso. Please meet me in my office immediately.”

He did not like what he was going to have to do, but he could see no other reasonable alternative. As prefect, he was forced to make difficult decisions every day; some took their toll on his conscience, to be sure, but he never let that dissuade him from his duty.

Laren sat back on her haunches to regard the tent she and Bram had just finished assembling. It wasn’t much, but it would do. Keeve had warned them that the nights this time of year could be quite windy, making it inadvisable to try and sleep out in the open—the lack of substantial tree canopy exacerbated the blowing dust, a condition that apparently caused respiratory problems for a number of the residents here.

“Why would they choose to stay on such a world if they have access to warp vessels?” Ro grumbled. “This place is worse than the worst parts of Jo’kala.”

“Valo II wasn’t always like this,” Bram reminded her.

“But it’s like this now,” Laren pointed out.

Bram sighed. “They aren’t welcome anywhere else,” he said, tugging on a rope to test its strength. “Bajorans are outcasts on many other worlds, considered burdensome refugees. This place may not look like much to you or me, but at least they can call it their own.”

He squinted toward the place where the “town” was located, and Laren thought he looked sad. She wondered, fleetingly, how old Bram was. What kinds of things had he seen as a young man, when he was her age, or younger, before the Cardassians came to Bajor? She had never really considered it before. She started to ask him, when a traveling speck caught her attention. Someone was headed toward their camp, and she thought it might be Bis. Laren started to tell Bram, who had ducked inside the tent, but then decided that she’d prefer to speak to Bis alone. She began to walk out toward him, to meet him before Bram would have a chance to notice that he was coming.