“The collected works of Maran Bry,” Esad said, pretending to read it from the label on his isolinear rod.

“Bry’s work is not for everyone,” Thrax said. He tried his best to sound natural, but his voice hardly sounded like his own.

“Is it for you?” Esad asked him. The wiry man, though he had a reputation for his cautiousness, maintained his cool composure in the face of Thrax’s readily apparent nervousness.

Thrax recited the lines of one of Maran Bry’s more controversial poems that had been agreed as code to proceed with the exchange. His voice wavered, though he had chosen the verse himself. If he delivered the words incorrectly, would Esad carry through with the exchange? The older man was well known for his strict insistence on careful adherence to procedure, down to every last detail. Even though he knew Thrax’s face by sight, he did not trust that the Order wouldn’t place a surgically altered plant in his place—if their interest in the Oralian Way warranted such a measure.

“The cold hands of a foreign morning/press themselves within my breast/isolating me from the comfort of my world’s motherhood.”

Esad handed him the rod. “You would appreciate this better than I,” he said, and turned to go.

Thrax removed the rod that he had inserted in his padd and replaced it with the one Esad had just given him. He read for a moment, and then removed the rod, placing it back on the shelf for Esad to retrieve later. He pocketed his padd and walked as quickly as his legs could take him without actually running. He needed to get to Astraea right away.

Kalisi Reyar sat and waited, and waited…and waited.

After her conversation with her father, things had happened quickly. She’d been contacted by Dost Abor almost immediately, an extremely polite message suggesting that she pack her things and expect transport within the week. She was ready within hours of the transmission. There was little to pack, no mementos she wished to keep; Bajor had been a long, embarrassing discomfort, beginning to end, and she’d felt only relief at the thought of leaving.

Even if it was to come here again, she thought, looking around at the small, cold room where she’d first met with Dost Abor, on his dark, hidden world. It was as unpleasant as she remembered, but it was also her last stop before home. She could stand it a little longer—although it had been hours since she’d given the agent her information, hours of fidgeting and second-guessing, of looking over her padd with virtually no interest, and she was starting to wonder what was taking so very long. Starting to worry a little.

What if the story didn’t check out? She’d given him the information about the identity change, Miras to Astraea, and detailed what Moset had told her about the ancient religion holding meetings in Cardassia City. In the Torr sector, he’d said. Surely, they had enough to find Miras Vara by now. Kalisi felt a dull pang of guilt. Miras had been a sweet girl, but no great mind.

She had been sitting alone for the better part of the day when Dost Abor finally walked in. Kalisi stood up, eager to be finished, to be escorted back to the ship.

“May I go now?”

Abor smiled. “Not quite yet, I’m afraid.”

He gestured for her to sit again. Kalisi did so, feeling the worry bloom anew. “Didn’t—you weren’t able to confirm my information?”

“We were,” Abor said. “Your information may well have been good a few days ago. But unfortunately, our agent found nothing but a shop that sells replicator parts, where we had anticipated finding a hideout for Oralians. Perhaps someone warned this Astraea that we were coming. Perhaps your information was not correct in the first place.”

Kalisi didn’t know what to say. She felt that she should apologize, somehow, but that was ridiculous. It wasn’t her fault that Miras had run. It should have been a quick, simple affair to find her and bring her in. If the Order couldn’t manage even that, then how was Kalisi to blame?

“Because we were unable to benefit from this information,” Abor continued, “I’m afraid we can’t help you with your problem.”

Kalisi wanted to protest, but understood the way things worked within the Order. “Of course,” she said, feeling a kind of numbness settle over her.

Crell Moset, alive and well and waiting at the university. Waiting for the documentation of his vaccine work…and for me.What happened when she didn’t contact him? When he found out that his sterilization formula had been destroyed? Would he bother to go back to Bajor, to re-create his death vaccine, and she’d have risked everything for no gain? She couldn’t go into hiding, she had family to consider…But there’d be no position at Culat, no future at all once he reported her sabotage, and that she couldn’t bear.

I’ll kill him myself, she thought, but knew she didn’t have the nerve. The will, yes, but she was no killer…unless…If she could pretend to care for him a while longer, perhaps he would be willing to listen to her explanation…

At the thought of being with him again, she decided she’d rather have him dead. Her father would help her, he had other friends—

“I understand, you know,” Dost Abor said, drawing her back to the chill room.

“Understand?”

“That you felt you had no choice.”

Kalisi blinked, felt her cheeks darken. How could he know about her relationship to Crell Moset? Or was he referring to the destruction of Moset’s work? “What do you mean?”

“Now, Doctor Reyar—may I call you Kalisi? Kalisi, you strike me as a woman with a conscience. It’s understandable, that’s all I meant to say. I believe that someone warned Astraea.”

She started to shake her head, understanding and disbelief creeping through her veins. “No,” she said.

“Perhaps you saw an opening, a way to finally recover your career, after your sad showing as a weapons designer,” he said, his sympathy exaggerated. “You remembered an old friend, thought that gaining from her inevitable capture was no great evil. All for the good of the Union, after all. Why you’d want your lover killed is beyond me, but perhaps you’ve taken another.”

Abor smiled, his teeth shining in the dim light. “Or perhaps he wasn’t satisfying. In any case, you made your choice. And then you thought twice about your decision.”

“No,”she said again, shaking her head more violently. “No. I want to speak to my father, right now.”

“Now, Kalisi,” Abor said, his voice soothing. “In spite of certain methods we’re sometimes forced to employ, the Order is, at core, a gentle organization. Our interests are the same as yours—we seek to acquire knowledge that will benefit the Cardassian people.”

He raised his hands, gestured vaguely at the room. “This facility acts as an information filter, as a research center, sometimes even a laboratory. We have several just like it seeded throughout the galaxy, places we can gather data without fear of harassment by Central Command. For the agent who chooses to utilize the resources here, there is no end to what can be accomplished.”

She said nothing. She was a citizen of the Union, she had done nothing wrong—

—negligence, sabotage—

—and surely her fear was an overreaction. She’d been frightened last time, too, and it had been for naught. Even as she told herself these things, however, she remembered that she wasn’t a stupid person, nor did she believe in self-deceit. Not in matters where someone else held such immediate power over her.

“The Order does not appreciate having its time wasted,” Abor said, his voice as cold as she knew it would be. “Nor do we care to have our agents put in potentially dangerous situations, because our informant is unable to decide whether or not she wishes to help us.” He drew a breath, and then his voice became carelessly cordial again. “I’ve been at this facility for far too long, I suppose,” he told her. “It’s hard…to see what is perceived as a way out of an unpleasant situation, only to learn that your credibility has just been compromised, perhaps beyond repair.”