She walked past several shops, including that of the slain chemist and his wife, and a fairly clean eatery that was primarily patronized by some of the upper-echelon Bajorans who lived here. People who had just received their wages might come here to waste a week’s pay on a single meal, but the clientele was mostly composed of Bajoran merchants, overseers, and probably criminals. Just beyond it was a humbler establishment, a bare room that served weak teas and soups on acceptance of Cardassian-issued ration cards. It was here that Kira was to meet with the constable again. She would have preferred to avoid this encounter, but she had little hope of evading him on this self-contained facility, and to ignore his summons was to invite further attention to herself. It was best to find out what he wanted.

She supposed she should have been afraid that Odo was going to arrest her, but she also supposed he would have done it less ceremoniously than by sending someone to find her and ask if she would meet him at this location. Why not just burst into ore processing with a phaser? No, Kira felt somewhat confident that this meeting concerned something else, though what it was, she could not say.

She spotted him, sitting erect at a table, looking around the room in an unnatural, abrupt manner. He had no food in front of him, which made her feel inexplicably nervous, as though he did not expect this interview to last long. “Don’t you want anything to eat?” she asked him, taking the seat opposite him.

“No,” he said. “I only want to ask you something.”

“I’ve told you all I know about Vaatrik,” she said. “What more do you want with me?”

“My investigation into the chemist’s death is over,” Odo told her, and she felt herself tense further at the welcome news. Was this about the resistance, then? She had admitted her involvement with them, though she had done it to keep his attention from Vaatrik’s death. She believed he would not turn her in, though she was not sure why.

“Go on.”

He blinked. “Were you ever…at the Bajoran Institute of Science?”

Kira was immediately puzzled. “Excuse me?” She scoured her mind for the reference—she had heard of it, of course, but then…

“The Bajoran Institute of Science. Have you ever been there?”

Kira did not know how to answer. She had confirmed to the alien that she was in the resistance movement, so it shouldn’t condemn her any further if she admitted that she had been there once. Many years ago, the Shakaar cell had broken into the facility. They had used the institute’s transporter for the mission to Gallitep. But how could this alien know anything of that incident? She felt fear creep in; perhaps he wasabout to arrest her.

“Never mind,” the alien said, and stood to go. He nodded politely at her, a kind of stiff bow, and took his leave.

Kira stared after him, not sure what to make of his question. The heavyset Bajoran who operated the eatery approached her, then. He was corpulent, obviously in league with the Cardassians to be so overfed; Kira hated him immediately.

“Only patrons sit here,” he said.

Kira scowled, annoyed at the slight. “What about him?” she asked, tossing her head in the constable’s direction as he went out the door.

The man snorted. “He works for the spoonheads! He can do what he wants.”

Kira stood to go. “So can I,” she said menacingly, staring the man down for a moment, but then recognized the foolish bravado for what it was—fear, masquerading as defiance. She turned from him sharply, heading for the exit. It appeared she’d gotten away with killing one collaborator. Better not to press her luck.

Dukat saw Gil Trakad through the crowd, such as it was, and sighed. There was only a small turnout for Merchant’s Day, a quarterly event on the station in which free samples of food and drink were passed out to the Cardassian populace, but there were enough people around that it was no place to discuss business. And from the eager expression on Trakad’s wide face, it could only be business.

Trakad spotted him and hurried across the Promenade. Dukat started walking as soon as Trakad reached him, steering them toward a quieter spot. They stopped near the entry to Quark’s—the Ferengi bartender did not participate in Merchant’s Days—and Trakad started speaking in a low, quick voice.

“I’ve got information,” he said. “I’ve been monitoring the private channels for transmissions of interest, and—”

“Keep your voice down,” Dukat said, glancing around them. There was no one close, but he disliked having confidential discussions in public. One never knew who might be listening.

Trakad spoke in a stage whisper. “Dalin Russol sent a message to a point outside Cardassian space. To coordinates that are listed as a possible Federation contact.”

Dukat cocked an eye ridge. “Really? When was this?”

“Yesterday, at precisely 2200 hours.”

“What was the message?”

Trakad shook his head. “Encoded. But no code is unbreakable.”

“Indeed not,” Dukat said, starting to smile. In spite of an exemplary record, Dalin Gaten Russol had remained something of an enigma since he’d come to Terok Nor. No matter the conversation, he kept himself removed from it, spouting clichés of patriotism in answer to any direct question. Dukat had half thought him another plant from the Order—they were always dropping their agents clumsily on his station—but perhaps Russol was something else entirely.

“Make an isolinear recording of the transmission and bring it to my office immediately,” Dukat said. He’d had no small experience with code breaking. He would decipher it himself.

“Immediately, Prefect.” He turned his smile to Trakad. “Depending on what the dalin had to say, perhaps we can revisit the idea of upgrading your quarters.”

Trakad bowed as he backed away. “Thank you, sir.”

Dukat waited a moment before turning and heading back to operations, reprioritizing the rest of his day as he walked, smiling faintly at the passing familiar faces. He had too much to do; his walk to the Promenade for lunch had been his only break in what felt like days. There was the famine in Hedrikspool Province to manage, thanks to a katterpodweevil infestation that wasn’t discovered until days before harvest. The surface commander summit was coming up, and he was expected to attend, to dispel rumors that a withdrawal was imminent. There were still the daily reports to get to, and a depressingly low weekly ore output to bury in the numbers…

As he stepped into the turbolift, turning to face the door, he saw Dalin Russol walk out of the security office, his head high, his shoulders back. A man with a purpose. He quickly disappeared from sight, but Dukat smiled again as the door slid closed, deciding he’d get to that recording sooner rather than later.

Kalisi considered her options carefully before acting, enjoying the feel of her mind at work again—looking for the best angle, the most propitious path. For the first time since leaving the science institute, she felt like herself, or the self she was before she came to Bajor. Like a woman willing to do whatever was necessary to achieve her goals.

When she felt comfortable with her plan—as comfortable as she could feel, considering the risks she meant to take—she contacted the university representative, double-checking the time difference to be sure she could reach her directly.

Tera Glees was again impeccably dressed, her tastes simple and expensive. Kalisi smiled politely.

“Ms. Glees, I’m so pleased to meet you.”

The woman smiled in turn. “Doctor Reyar, thank you for returning my contact. Have you had a chance to consider our offer?”

“I have,” Kalisi said. “I would like very much to work at the University of Culat. However, I’m currently invested in a project I can’t afford to walk away from at this time. Might I inquire if you mean to keep the position open much longer?”