“No, of course not,” Thrax said, gratefully accepting the object from his friend. The bundle was heavier than it looked.

“I was able to confirm one truth about this item which you may find helpful,” Esad told him. “These objects had designations among the Bajorans—each was said to be for a specific purpose. I do not know what designation the others in the Order’s collection bear, but I know at least that this one was known as the Orb of Wisdom.”

“The Orb of Wisdom,” Thrax repeated. “I believe Astraea will be pleased.”

Esad seemed uncomfortable with something, and he regarded Thrax. “Have you told her that you intended to retrieve this item for her?”

“Not exactly,” Thrax confessed. “A very long time ago, I may have implied that I would try, but…”

Esad’s lips thinned. “If I may give you some advice, Thrax…”

“Certainly. Your advice is always welcome.”

“That object…should not remain on Cardassia Prime.”

Thrax involuntarily clutched the object tighter. It had been his intention that the Orb would be a gift for the followers of Oralius—for Astraea.

“But…the Guide should have the Orb, Kutel. It was the Orb that brought her back to us, that returned Astraea to Oralius once again. Don’t you suppose it was meant to be here, where she is?”

“The object belongs to the Bajorans,” Esad pointed out.

“But there is no way that you or I could possibly return this to Bajor,” Thrax argued. “I believe that Oralius meant for us to have it.”

Esad was silent for a moment. “I fear that it will put Astraea in danger,” he said.

“Then why did you agree to retrieve it?” Thrax protested. “I don’t understand, Kutel.”

“I don’t either,” the other man admitted. “When I originally came into possession of the Orb, I thought you were right—I thought that those who walked the Way should have it. But then…then I…I touched it, and I was…”

“You…opened it?” Thrax was stunned. Astraea had told him that nobody else had been able to open the case, nobody but her.

“No,” Esad said. “I didn’t open it. It happened when I placed my hand on the case. It didn’t happen immediately. I lifted the item, and then…it seemed…as though I was beginning to…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed. “I was overcome,” he said finally. “With the feeling that it should be taken from Cardassia Prime, right away.”

Thrax continued to clutch the Orb case to his chest, looking at the sheepish face of his friend. He did not want to listen to what Esad was saying, but he felt a strange, reluctant pull…

“The Orb is for the Oralians,” he told Esad firmly, and turned to carry the heavy case into the shrine. Esad murmured a good-bye as Thrax let himself inside the ground floor front, a small, darkened shop that sold replicator parts. It was surprising to Thrax that a man as normally businesslike as Kutel Esad would so quickly succumb to mystical ideas regarding the Orb. Although Thrax believed very strongly in the power that the item possessed, he had been under the impression that Esad was much more skeptical of it himself. Esad was a practical man. Overly cautious, perhaps.

Thrax carried the item down the back stairs of the shop, into the office where Astraea met with individual followers. He set the item on her table and began to tug at the wrappings that Esad had hastily swaddled around the case. As the item was revealed to him, his breath hitched in his chest. Its appearance was appropriately impressive, and he wondered where it had come from. Had the ancient Bajorans fashioned this splendid case for the precious relic that resided inside?

The object belongs to the Bajorans.

Ignoring the voice in his head, he put his hand gingerly on the case and waited to be overcome, as Esad had described himself. But the case was cold, and Thrax felt nothing. He smiled to himself, in part with relief to have been released from the worry that Esad had planted in his mind. He pictured how pleased Astraea would be when she learned that his efforts had finally produced this happy result, and then he left the shrine, reassuring himself once again that it was the safest place for the item, at least for now.

It was dark and still in this part of the city. Kira Nerys checked her scanner as she approached the improvised holding facility, and it quickly confirmed what she already suspected: there was a Bajoran life sign behind those walls, but it was fading fast. Tahna would not hold out much longer.

Kira had come here following a tip given to her by Tahna’s nephew, who lived in Dahkur. Tahna had returned to his family’s home for a quick visit over two weeks ago, but when he had not returned to the Kohn-Ma cell’s hideout, Biran put word out to his family to inquire after him. His family insisted that they didn’t know where he was, but Kira was unconvinced, and contacted them again, asking if there was anything they recalled about the route he had taken that might help him to be found. After a great deal of coaxing and questioning, Tahna’s teenage nephew finally confessed to Kira that the Cardassians had taken Tahna from his uncle’s house in the middle of the night. The soldiers had threatened the rest of the family, telling them they were lucky they weren’t all being taken—and that if they told anyone what had happened to Tahna, it was likely they would be.

Kira knew that Tahna’s abduction wasn’t some random security sweep, nor were the soldiers likely to take a single man from a Bajoran home if they were merely looking for workers. Tahna had been targeted specifically, most likely in connection with the resistance. He was being questioned somewhere, which meant that he was certainly still alive—and Kira knew she had to save him, not only to preserve his life, but to preserve all of their lives. Tahna was strong-willed, but he couldn’t hold out against Cardassian torture without eventually spilling secrets of the Shakaar and Kohn-Ma cells’ whereabouts. Nobody could.

Shakaar had managed to gather enough intelligence to suggest that Tahna would have been taken here, a makeshift interrogation center in a crumbling, abandoned section of Dahkur City, where they were questioned and decontaminated before being taken to their final destinations—usually prison camps, or in some cases, public execution. Kira could only hope that if it had been the latter, Shakaar would have heard something about it. There had been no reports of Cardassian executions since Tahna’s disappearance.

Kira was supposed to be staking out this place. She was deliberately chosen for most long-range reconnaissance because it had been determined that she was just small enough not to trip the Cardassian detection grid—she didn’t need a shielding device to go out, though she carried one, just the same. The others had planned on coming tomorrow, after Kira devised a plan of action for the most effective means of attack. But as she read the life sign on her handheld scanner, she knew that Tahna probably could not wait until tomorrow. She had already anticipated this possibility. Shakaar had firmly instructed her not to try anything on her own, but Kira didn’t see that she had a choice.

The facility had only a single guard, the Cardassians’ assumption that the detection grids would keep out unwelcome intruders acting as its own security device. Kira wasted little time in strategizing the best way to take out the guard without arousing the attention of anyone inside. She waited, squatting on the deteriorating cobblestone street between two sagging buildings where she could not be seen. Picking up a piece of the broken road in her hands, she threw the chunk of stone somewhere off to her left. The soldier reacted immediately, drawing his phaser and looking to the place where the stone had landed.

Kira drew back into the shadows, listening carefully to the sound of the sentry’s approaching footsteps, and then she sprang out noiselessly, praying that she would cast no shadows. But the soldier did not turn around when she approached. He bent down, examining the ground with his palm torch. “Voles,” he mumbled to himself. Kira took a wide step forward, just before he rose to his feet. He scarcely even made a sound when she leapt upon him, twisting his neck with all her might. A crack, a thud, his palmlight clattering on the uneven ground, and it was over.