“This is Jaro Essa of Kendra Valley,”a voice finally acknowledged. “Who calls?”

“Jaro, it’s Keeve Falor. I am trying to reach Kalem Apren, but I don’t have the specific channel.”

“Keeve! I will bring Kalem here! He will be glad to hear your voice!”

The line went silent but for a smattering of interference and a faint wavering suggestion of another conversation coming in on a similar channel. Keeve waited patiently until someone else spoke, someone out of breath.

“This is Kalem Apren,”a crackling voice finally dispatched from Keeve’s aged system. “Falor, is that you?”

“It is me, Apren.”

“I am pleased to hear that you are still among the living! Tell me, how are things on Valo II?”

“Difficult,” Keeve said grimly, unaccustomed to the idea of friendly small talk—but then, Apren did always have a talent for being a bit glib, a talent that was helpful in his political career. “I have contacted you, Apren, because of a recent incident in which I was put in touch with a Federation captain.”

“The Federation!”Apren exclaimed. “Was this a fruitful encounter for us?”

“I would like to hope so,” Keeve replied, but he knew he did not sound optimistic—for he wasn’t. “You must know that I am not especially hopeful where they are concerned…however, I did feel that this encounter was relevant enough to pass the word on to you. The captain with whom I spoke was able to get a firsthand look at the colony here. He had a better idea, I think, of what we are dealing with than Jas Holza has ever given him—”

“This is very relevant!”Apren replied with enthusiasm. “Things have changed now, Falor. Surely the Federation can see that our current Bajoran government is nothing but an ineffective figurehead. They must have enough sense to deduce what has happened here.”

“They spoke of diplomacy,” Keeve said, “But we both know where that will lead us—into more of the same. You know how the Federation operates. I suppose I wish it were otherwise, but ultimately, I am skeptical.”

“You always were,”Apren replied. The static was getting markedly worse. “The Fed…ration…id they leave you…means…contact…them?”

“Only through Jas Holza, but he is reluctant to jeopardize his own standing with the Federation,” Keeve replied.

“Any…ther way to reach…m?”

Keeve considered. “I could relay a message to the border colonies, which will eventually find its way to the Federation,” Keeve said. “But…I am not sure what we could say to them to make them change their strategy to a proactive one. I imagine they intend to simply discuss it among themselves before choosing to do nothing—just as they did fifty years ago.”

“There was protocol that…required to follow,”Apren said.

“Federation protocol is exactly the reason we cannot rely on them,” Keeve said.

“What…bout J…olza. He once sp…e…bout…pons.”

“Your signal is getting weaker, Apren. Could you repeat that?”

“I can’t…you’re…could…”

“Too much interference,” Keeve said, though it was futile.

“…if…contact…Nechayev…”

Frustrated, Keeve disconnected the comm, deciding to wait until later to place another call. But he’d said all that needed to be said on the subject, and he doubted anything would come of it. It might someday prove beneficial to be on the Federation’s radar, but then, it had been fifty years since the Federation was here last, and they had done nothing to help Bajor in all that time. Keeve himself had kept in touch with a few Federation people, who had tried to learn something of the Cardassians in the Valo system. The reconnaissance had eventually gone awry, thanks to a single blunder on the part of a teenager named Ro Laren, and Keeve had lost touch with those people. He shook his head, remembering the past version of Ro Laren, the little girl who had single-handedly managed to sever his ties to the Federation. Strange, that it had been Ro to connect them once more, just these few days ago. In his wildest dreams, he would not have imagined that she would have gone on to join the Federation, and yet, there she had been, wearing the uniform of Starfleet.

It was thanks to Ro that her Captain Picard had managed to come through in an ugly situation with a resistance fighter named Orta, an accomplishment that had surprised Keeve not a little. Keeve had thought he’d seen the last of that girl just before she’d run away—and there was a part of him that wished he hadseen the last of her. In all his life, he had never met a more volatile teenager than she had been. If she was going to be the person to represent Bajor to the larger galaxy, Keeve had serious reservations that anything useful could come of it. No, he decided, as he left the old hangar, it would be unproductive to invest any hope in this situation. He had not given up hope entirely—but he hadgiven up hope in any possibility of rescue from the United Federation of Planets.

Gran Tolo walked along the Bajoran side of the Promenade, keeping his eyes out for anyone who might pose a threat. There were the Cardassians, of course, but there were also the more insidious enemies: Bajoran pickpockets and collaborating snitches, and, of course, the shape-shifting chief of security. Today, though, it was the shape-shifter that Gran sought, for he’d received a message from a resistance cell that insisted the so-called constable could help them.

Gran stopped in front of a shop that sold used clothing and rags, trying to look inconspicuous while he waited for the shape-shifter. He picked up a lone shoe from a rack of mismatched odds and ends in front of the little store, pretending to inspect it though he had no need for a single shoe, and even if he had, he couldn’t have afforded it—very few Bajorans could have. This shop was almost certainly a front for something else, but whether the Cardassians endorsed it or not, Gran didn’t know. It was difficult to trust anyone in this place.

He dropped the shoe as it began to shimmer in his hand, and he took a step back, realizing that he’d just been examining the chief of security.

“Hello.” The shape-shifter addressed him in a slightly condescending manner. Gran swallowed.

“I’m Gran Tolo,” he said uncertainly. The shape-shifter’s expression suggested that Gran was about to make a terrible mistake.

“How very nice to meet you,” the shape-shifter said with a trace of irritation. “I’m a very busy man, Mr. Gran, and I’d appreciate it if you’d inform me as to why you’ve asked to see me.”

Gran dropped his voice, so nervous he couldn’t remember exactly what he was supposed to say. “I’m bringing you a message from the resistance movement on the surface.”

Odo looked more annoyed. “I have no interest in the goings-on of the resistance movement,” he said sharply. “My job is to maintain order, not foster chaos. Is it possible you have me confused with someone else, Mr. Gran?”

Gran shook his head, though he feared that very possibility. He was beginning to panic, still unsure of what it was he was supposed to say. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that I was told you might sometimes help… certainBajorans.”

“I could arrest you right now for that implication,” Odo said, and as he spoke, his hand extended, became a tentacle that wrapped itself around Gran’s wrists. Gran pulled, but he found the restraint to be impervious to his own strength.

“Kira Nerys!” Gran blurted, remembering at last. “That’s the name I’m supposed to tell you! She said you—”

Odo hesitated for a brief moment, and then the tentacle unwound itself from Gran’s hands, melting back into an arm. The shape-shifter spoke. “I will speak to Kira,” he said, “but I will not speak to you.”

“I can give you a communication code,” Gran said, not sure if it was yet prudent to feel relief. “She’s expecting your call.”