Doctor Yopal’s presentation on the sensor and tracking systems had been brief and not overly technical, as he’d recommended, and had been well received. Too long a presentation, and the guls and legates attending might start to regret the trip, which would have been entirely counterproductive. Another scientist spoke more specifically on the systems’ impressive attendant weaponry, and Dukat had been positively gleeful, watching the grim, irritable faces of his detractors as they were forced to recognize his success. But the nondescript fumbling Bajoran who’d introduced himself last had stolen the show. Or rather, his shape-shifter had.

Dukat had displayed the same polite interest as everyone else, but he had no doubt that they were all just as astounded as he. The Bajoran had gone on about density and mass and theoretical subspace phasing, but all attention had been on the “man” that stood next to him, tall and lean and of strangely unmolded face. The being had shifted through a number of different forms, becoming a whole series of animals, a chair, a table, a pair of boots; at the Bajoran’s urging it had done tricks with its skin and flesh, stunning and amusing the rapt audience.

Afterward, several of Dukat’s departing guests had asked what he planned to do with the creature. He had managed some ambiguous answer, wondering that himself. The research had shown Odo to be impervious to any common injury, and capable of fantastic physical strength. There had to be some military application, something that would advance Cardassian interests—and therefore his own rank and reputation, a most agreeable corollary.

He leaned forward in his office chair, tapped in the code for the institute. A moment later, the director’s face flickered onto his screen.

“Gul Dukat,”she said. She looked pleased to see him.

“Doctor Yopal,” he said. “I wanted to commend you once more on your management of the institute’s presentation.”

The scientist hesitated, then frowned in seeming irritation. “Do you not remember telling me already?”

She was flirting. Dukat sighed inwardly. Sree Yopal was attractive, he supposed, but he would never meet a Cardassian female as lovely as his Athra, at home and patiently waiting for him. To have an indiscretion with another Cardassian woman…he found the thought distasteful.

“Although I was surprised you let the Bajoran present Odo,” he said, entirely ignoring her less-than-subtle advance. The message would be clear. “Surely, you’ve turned the project over to a team of our own…?”

Her face smoothed, became a mask. “Actually, the shape-shifter has left the institute.”

“What? What do you mean? Who authorized a transfer?”

“No one, Gul. Odo left of its own volition.”

“And you just let it go?”

Yopal cleared her throat. “Short of placing the entire institute under a high-density containment field, there was no way to keep the shape-shifter, if it did not wish to stay.”

Dukat had to consciously relax his neck and jaw to speak. “Where did it go?”

“I do not know. Perhaps Doctor Mora—”

“You will have him forward all research regarding the shape-shifter to me immediately.”

“Yes, sir,”she replied.

“And…Doctor Yopal, I have good news for you.”

“Oh?”She cocked her head.

“Yes, Doctor. Your assignment on Bajor has come to an end. You may return to Cardassia Prime.”

The woman’s smile vanished. “Prefect,”she said faintly, “you are…too kind. But I—”

“No need to thank me,” he said, fully aware that thanking him was the last thing on her mind. He knew her type all too well. She was driven and committed, and leaving Bajor was anything but a reward to her, especially so abruptly. She would be unlikely to enjoy as much prestige in a Cardassian facility. But losing the shape-shifter was not a mistake that Dukat could let go unpunished. He cut the transmission off, already thinking ahead. What had the Bajoran doctor said?

“Odo has expressed great interest in learning more about his species…”

Where might such a creature go? Who would it talk to, if it sought information about other worlds? A Bajoran farmer, raised by generations of Bajoran farmers?

It will come here, Dukat thought, suddenly certain of it…though Dukat would do what he could to ensure the visit, to see to it that Odo understood where its best chances lay.

He put a call in to the base nearest the institute, waited while a surprised garresh went to find his commander. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the creature, considering its appearance. He’d have it monitored at a discreet distance, and once he was sure of its whereabouts, he could decide how best to draw it in, bring it to Terok Nor. Then he could take all the time he needed, to decide how Odo might best serve the Union. It—

He,he reminded himself. It identifies itself as “he.”

Dukat smiled. A sentient creature that could turn himself into a book on a shelf, an insect on the wall…Perhaps hemight serve best as one of Dukat’s team.

“…which was how I ended up spending half my residency on the station at Hetrith,” Doctor Moset said. “That’s when I really shifted my focus. The creature died, eventually, but I kept it alive long enough to learn everything about it. By the time I went home, I was ready to apply for my second doctorate. And after all that work, they put me here. Even Hetrith had better facilities, and it was a frontier station.”

He leaned against the biobed that Kalisi was calibrating, his long arms folded, his tone light in spite of his words. She’d found Crell Moset to be a man who took most things lightly, his most common expression one of amused detachment. They were alone in the contagion ward, the beds empty, the day staff excused. In the weeks since Kalisi had come to work at his hospital, Moset had taken to seeking her out sometimes in the late afternoon, talking a bit about himself as she went about whatever menial work she’d been assigned. Complaining about his lot in life, which was so much better than hers, she occasionally felt like throttling him.

After a few days to consider her options, she’d decided to encourage the doctor. For a relatively young, unmarried woman it was not the wisest choice, she knew, to become involved with a superior. But for such a woman with few prospects, in her personal life or her career, there were worse mistakes.

Likenot becoming involved with one, she thought, tapping at the open control panel on the bed’s back. Second time in a month she’d had to reset the circulatory diagnostics. The equipment wasn’t the best, but at least it was hishospital, his research facility. She was just someone qualified enough to fix it.

“I mean, how many times have you had to reset these things?” Moset asked, his thin line of a mouth curving slightly.

“You seem to do just fine with what you’ve been given,” she snapped, a sneer in her voice.

He studied her a moment, perhaps making his own final decision on the matter. He had a fine, high brow and extremely thin lips. Not a bad-looking man, although his hair was an atypical brown, rather than black. He was tall, which she liked. She didn’t know his personal situation, but doubted it was relevant. He’d been working up to something since the day she’d arrived.

“That’s right, Doctor Reyar, I do,” he said, meeting her gaze directly. “I’ve done important research in my time here.”

Kalisi went back to her work. She felt the heat in her voice, felt its warmth. It felt good, to say what she wanted to say. To know what effect her irritation would have. She was an attractive woman, she knew, well-educated and fine of feature.

“How nice for you,” she said, not looking away from the bed panel.

A beat later, and his hand was on her shoulder. His fingers were long and tapered, his hand warm through her tunic. It was so cold here, always so cold…