“What could be wrong with being content?”

Russol laughed, a rueful sound. “Cardassians live for the pursuit of the next phase in every undertaking of their lives. It’s never good enough to be merely content. Cardassians…scarcely know the meaning of the word, in fact.” He looked at Odo. “So, you have another subject to interview for your investigation?”

“Yes,” Odo said. He wondered at Russol’s behavior, the words he had spoken. The man seemed not to agree with his own characterization of his people, but then, Odo supposed he was not all that well-practiced at reading people’s intentions. One of the many reasons he feared he was ill-suited for the position in security.

Russol left him alone, and Odo continued his clumsy navigation of the computer system, looking for a file on a particular Bajoran. He found it after a few false starts: Kira Nerys.

Odo studied the image of the sullen-looking redheaded woman, and he revisited a nagging suspicion that had troubled him when he had interviewed her in person. She was familiar to him, but he couldn’t place where he had seen her. In one of the villages? He was sure that wasn’t it. He read her file, finding her to be loosely affiliated with the resistance movement, but her activity within the resistance was limited, and she had not been accused of any serious crimes. Of course, Odo suspected that Dukat could have her arrested simply for being associated with the movement, but he sensed that such action would have been arbitrary on Dukat’s part. The thought of Dukat’s nature brought him a resurgence of discomfort. The work of helping solve disputes, he believed, was good work; why would Dukat have asked him to stay, if he did not wish Odo to do his job well?

He studied her picture until the image seemed indistinct, blurry. He had looked at it too long, and now she didn’t look familiar anymore. He shut down the program, trying to picture her as he’d seen her on the station today, when she’d given him her unlikely alibi. He could not shake the feeling that he knew her from somewhere. Perhaps it would come to him when he spoke with her again.

Kalisi Reyar returned to her quarters after a tiresome day, chilled and out of sorts, to see a message waiting on her companel—a transmission from Cardassia Prime. She hadn’t had a call from home since…since she wasn’t sure when. Her family had initially been proud that she’d left home to design Bajor’s detection grid, but that had been when they’d all thought she would be away a few years, at most. Her father, in particular, had made clear his sorrow that his second-oldest daughter had not already returned home triumphant, to give him grandchildren and settle into a high office at the science ministry. Their last contact had been months before, an obligatory birthday message.

Kalisi took off her coat—she’d spent most of the afternoon outside in a cold and misty drizzle, trying to adjust the hospital’s security feed—and told her computer to run the message as she sat to take off her boots.

A Cardassian woman she didn’t recognize came up, smiling politely. She was well-dressed and spoke in a cool, clear voice.

“Doctor Reyar. My name is Tera Glees. I represent the University of Culat, on Cardassia Prime. As you may or may not have heard, we are expanding our campus to include a research department specifically designed to assist Cardassian colonies and annexations. We’re in need of a professional to round out our weapons division, and are inquiring as to whether or not you’d be interested in taking a position with us. I’ve attached a file outlining a job description, with links to salary, housing, campus maps. I believe you’ll find it comprehensive, but please feel free to contact me at any time with any questions you may have. I look forward to taking your call, and we thank you for your consideration.”

Her eyes wide, one boot still in hand, Kalisi stared at the screen as the woman blipped off. She dropped the boot to the floor, stepped to her desk, and opened the rider, scanning the bullet points with disbelief. The pay and benefits were excellent, the opportunities suddenly limitless.

Weapons research.At Culat, which had produced some of the best and brightest minds in the Union. She could be done with Crell Moset and his brilliant, soulless eyes, done with menial mechanics and medical scanner debugging, done with the cold. She could go home.

She wanted to tell someone, needed to hear it out loud, but she had no friends at Moset’s hospital. In a daze, she put in a call to her father. When his face appeared on her screen, stern and wary and so well loved, she felt like weeping.

“I’ve been offered a position at Culat,” she said, before he could say anything.

“What? At the university?”

“Yes. They’re opening a new research department and want me for their weapons team.”

Her father smiled, then, and her heart warmed. She hadn’t seen that smile in some time.

“The university at Culat is most prestigious,”he said. “You’ve accepted?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I’ve only just received the transmission.”

“Then why are you talking to me?”he asked, still smiling. “Call them back, accept the position. You’ll be home, dearest. You’ll finally be able to start working on that family you keep promising us.”

Is it going to hurt?

No, it won’t hurt a bit. I promise.

Kalisi stared at her father, hearing the little Bajoran girl’s voice as clearly as if she was in the room. Seeing her frightened face, seeing her smile once she realized that the inoculation was over, that there had been no pain.

It didn’t hurt.

“Kalisi?”Her father frowned. “Youare going to accept, of course.”

“I—of course,” she said, but her excitement, her reliefat the offer was gone. “I have a few things to finish here first…”

“What things? I thought you were working in a medical facility now. Surely they don’t need your expertise on weapons systems to treat sick aliens.”

Kalisi wasn’t sure how to answer him. How was she to tell him that she’d begun to feel haunted by the spirits of a million unborn children? Alienchildren? She had always been his practical girl, his brilliant, focused one. How was she to admit that after all these long, cold years, struggling to make her name— theirname—she was losing her focus?

She changed the topic, recalling something she’d been meaning to ask him about for some time now. “Do you remember when I asked you a few years back…if you could confirm that a man named Dost Abor was in any way affiliated with the Obsidian Order?”

Her father frowned for a moment, trying to recall the prior conversation, and then he nodded. “Yes, indeed, I confirmed that he is an operative. He’s stationed at an offworld listening post. But what makes you ask about Dost Abor?”

“Kali?”

Kalisi turned in her seat, saw Crell Moset standing in her doorway. He’d apparently taken it upon himself to surprise her.

“Ah—” She turned back to the screen, smiling apologetically. “Father, my supervisor needs my attention. Perhaps we could speak more of this later?”

Her father had spent most of his professional career acting the diplomat. He needed no further prompting.

“Yes, another time. Be well, dearest.”

The screen went blank, and Kalisi turned to face Moset. She did her best not to let her irritation show, it would only lead to sex…although his attempt to be playful by sneaking into her room suggested that it was already a forgone conclusion.

“That was your father?” the doctor asked. “Who is Dost Abor?”

Kalisi stood, smiling. “I did not hear you come in, Crell.”

“Old boyfriend, perhaps?”

“Nothing like that,” she said. “I’ve just come in. Have you eaten? We could—”