“If that’s true, then why did you help me before? Why not just arrest me?”

“Because,” he said, not immediately sure how to follow it up. “I…suppose I regarded you as an individual, in need of help. It wasn’t your cause that provoked my sympathy, it was just…it was just…”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Odo said. He really didn’t know. It was true that he had helped her once, and it was therefore true that he had helped the Bajoran resistance movement once, too. But he’d been much less experienced then. He had been reacting to his immediate circumstances without thinking through the consequences.

“You’re lying,”the woman said. “You knew the Cardassians were wrong then, and you know it now.”

“Do I?” Odo said, trying to sound threatening, but it fell flat.

“Yes, you do. You’re not one of them, Odo. You’re one of us.”

“What does being one of ‘them’ entail, exactly?”

“It entails being…evil. Being a thief. A lazy, bullying thief. You’re not like that.”

Odo had the distinct sense that she was trying to manipulate him with this kind of talk, but the trouble was, it was working. “No,” he finally said. “I’m not like that.”

“Then you’ll help us?”

Odo nodded, though he knew she could not see it; the nod was more for himself than it was for her. “Yes,” he said.

“Good,”she said, accepting his acquiescence without ceremony. “Your role is twofold, but most of it will not be in any way out of character for you. The primary thing we need for you to do is to distract Dukat. Do you think you can do that?”

Odo almost laughed. In fact, it was often all he could do to get rid of Dukat, when the man sought company. “I think I can,” he told her.

After the transmission had ended, Odo second-guessed the security of the line. Nobody had been listening, as far as he could tell, but he knew that if someone meant to overhear, there wasn’t much he could do. He suspected that Dukat didn’t really trust him, despite the man’s repeated attempts to strike up confidential chats. Now that Odo had so few allies on the station—Russol was long gone, and Odo had made few friends on the Bajoran side—he had to constantly watch his back. Fortunately, for a shape-shifter, watching one’s back was an easy affair.

Why washe helping this Bajoran woman? Was it simply because he was intrigued by her, the first Bajoran woman he had ever encountered, so long ago at the institute, or did it go deeper than that? He supposed he had never really been able to sympathize with Dukat’s perspective, had never agreed with the Cardassian occupation in general, especially not since he had finally begun to understand the many facets of it. And yet, he had continued on at this station, with his job in security, sometimes staying true to his own code of ethics, and occasionally submitting to Dukat’s version of things just in order to maintain simplicity and stay beneath the radar of the Cardassians here. Odo didn’t want to leave Terok Nor—it came down to that. For he still hoped he would someday learn news of his own people, and he supposed this was the best place in the B’hava’el system to do that.

But now he risked it all—and why? He did not believe that it was strictly out of loyalty to whatever imagined relationship he had with Kira Nerys. No, it went deeper than that, he supposed. While he had often told himself that it had nothing to do with him, he had pretended often enough that he did not notice the disparity between Bajoran and Cardassian. Maybe now it was time to do something about it.

Cardassia City was atypically bleak and overcast. In the old times, it was said that portions of what was now the Western Hemisphere had been dotted all over with thick, lush forests, heavy with rainfall. But an atmospheric calamity of uncertain origin had let to centuries of drought, and the forests had all been shortsightedly cut down. The soil beneath the fertile canopy had, after a single generation of unsustainable farming, withdrawn from deep, silty black topsoil to the parched sands that were so well-known beyond the periphery of the cities. Desert now, where it had once been rain forest.

If only my ancestors had known better,Kutel Esad thought to himself. The dense, verdant forests that had once existed on Cardassia Prime were all but forgotten. Historians and archaeologists had an inkling of what the old landscape had looked like, and of course, the Oralians knew—because it was described in the Recitations. But most modern Cardassians were entirely unaware of the paradise their planet had once been.

Esad walked for a long time, making his way through the city’s orderly sectors, navigating the tangled streets until he came to a particular residential neighborhood. Esad had been to this part of town only a few times; most of his business was conducted in the center of the city, and he lived in the area where the Paldar Sector met Tarlak, near the headquarters of the Obsidian Order.

Here in Coranum Sector, with its old, stately, and grand houses, Esad found the residence he was looking for, climbed the many steps to the front entrance, and knocked politely. He was greeted almost immediately by a servant of the Reyar family.

“I have business with Yannik Reyar,” he said, and the servant, a young man, stepped aside with a deferential bow. Of course the family’s staff would all have an idea of what sort of “business” was conducted by Yannik Reyar, though it would have been unheard of for an agent to actually make a showing at his own residence. Still, Esad had no doubt the servants gossiped among themselves about any unknown visitors. Little did they know that an agent of the Obsidian Order worked among them—in fact, Reyar himself did not even know it.

Esad was greeted in the foyer by Reyar after a short time. He was a tall man with carefully trimmed hair and expensive clothes. His job came with a great deal of risk, and for that, he was well paid. He scrutinized Esad with a quizzical look. Reyar and Esad had never met, at least not in person, and no doubt Yannik was trying to place him from the scattered communiqués that had been delivered from the office of Enabran Tain in decades past.

“Do I…know you?” Reyar finally asked.

“Sir, I am here as a friend, to give you information regarding your daughter.”

Reyar’s face darkened. “My daughter,” he said softly. “Perhaps you had better come with me.” He gestured down the hall to a darkened, windowless chamber, surrounded on all sides by stacks of isolinear rods and old-fashioned books. Esad surmised this was Reyar’s personal office.

Reyar closed the door behind him, and Esad sat down, wasting no time in getting to the point. “Mr. Reyar, I know you have been looking for your daughter for some time, after she failed to make her scheduled appearance at the University of Culat…”

“It was Dost Abor,” the man said, without hesitation. “No matter what lengths the Order has gone to to cover it up, I know it was Abor.” He struggled to keep a handle on his obvious rage. “You are going to tell me that it was her lover, whoever he was, but I am no fool, sir. I know it was—”

“I am here to confirm your suspicions,” Esad said. “Indeed, Dost Abor is responsible for your daughter’s death.”

“Her…death…” Reyar said, sinking deeper into his chair. For a terrible moment, the man could not speak, and as the shock wore away from his face, he fought tears, fought them valiantly and in vain. Esad expected this reaction, but he had not prepared himself for it. He looked away, giving the man a moment to compose himself again.

“So,” Reyar said, choking on his words, “you have come to betray your colleague. Do you do this for revenge? Has the man done something to you, Mr….” he stopped, realizing that Esad had not introduced himself.

“No,” Esad said. “In all honesty, Mr. Reyar, I come to do what I believe is right. I acted as adjutant to Enabran Tain for many years, and I was often forced to do things that compromised my own values—for what I perceived to be good reasons. But the ultimate fate of your daughter is something with which I cannot come to peaceful terms. I felt that perhaps…in at least letting you know of her true fate…”