“I am their spokesperson,”Kubus interrupted, clearly perturbed at the implication that it was otherwise.

“Kubus, this is no time for your posturing! You just said yourself the Bajorans would rather have you murdered than listen to a word you say. I need to know, in your estimation, who I can contact, whose voice might make a difference among the rebels.”

“The Kai, of course,”Kubus said, still sulking. “But now that Prylar Bek is…gone…I couldn’t tell you how to reach her.”

“Not a religious leader,” Dukat said. “Someone with political clout, someone—”

“Don’t think for a moment that the kai does not have political clout!”Kubus said.

“Shall I ask one of the other members of the cabinet?” Dukat asked, with false patience. “Perhaps Kan Nion, or Somah Trac?” The secretary’s dislike of some of his Bajoran colleagues was amusingly pronounced, and Dukat often brought up his political rivals’ names in order to get results from the taciturn Kubus.

“I suppose if you’re looking for a secular voice…there is always Kalem Apren, of the Kendra Valley. Many are still quite loyal to him, or so I’m told. In fact, if youwere to ask Kan Nion, he would undoubtedly tell you the same thing.”

“Get me in touch with Kalem Apren immediately, then.”

“But, Dukat! I can’t risk going to the surface! I told you, if I so much as—”

“He can’t be reached by comm?”

“I…don’t know.”

“There is no need for you to speak to him yourself,” Dukat said impatiently. “Simply patch him through to me.”

Kubus was still hesitant, and Dukat changed his tone.

“Get me in contact with this man—I don’t care how—and I will see to it that you are relocated to Cardassia Prime, where you will be protected.”

“A Bajoran, on Cardassia Prime? Do you honestly think I would be any safer there than—”

“Yes,” Dukat said. “Think of it, Kubus. You would be a celebrity—an example to the Cardassian people’s cause!” Dukat felt quite pleased with the image as he saw it; for if Kubus was controlled carefully enough, Dukat was sure that he could do much on his homeworld to promote Cardassia’s position here. Dukat’sposition here.

But there was another reason the idea appealed to him: Kell had never cared for the secretary, and there was a pleasantly perverse symmetry to Kubus’s exile to Prime. After all, Kell had forced Dukat to take in that fallen operative from the Order, who had turned out to be the very man the prefect held responsible for the death of his father, long ago. And while Dukat was powerless to exact revenge, he thought it was only fitting to burden Central Command with the responsibility for protecting a Bajoran national who symbolized the benefits of continuing the annexation.

On the screen, Kubus hesitated. “Yes,”he finally said. “I’ll find a way to contact him.”

Dukat’s door chimed just as he said it, and he absently pressed the panel to admit his visitor. One of the officers from Ops appeared in the door, and Dukat gestured him inside as he ended the call with Kubus.

“More reports of sabotage on the surface, sir. A worker revolt at a mill in Rakantha Province—sixteen Cardassian guards killed. The facility is burning as we speak—”

Dukat let his head sink for a nearly imperceptible beat before snapping to attention again, to redeploy troops to the region—but his forces were simply spread too thin. Should he even bother to contact Central Command about this? Should he wait for the Bajorans to forget about the so-called massacre, for the unrest to die back down to manageable levels? But Dukat did not believe that they would “forget.” For an instant, he was taken back, to the first time he had ever come to Bajor. A Bajoran man from his memory reminded him; permanent grudges, he’d said. They were like Dukat himself, that way. Maybe it was something Dukat had started to forget, in recent years. Maybe he’d forgotten it when he’d ordered the execution of the resistance cell in Kendra, so excited was he at the opportunity to get at the son of the kai…

He stopped to consider the possibility that the execution of that cell could have been as grave an error as he had ever made. It had only fueled the resistance, where Dukat had expected to deter them. It was all he could do now to contain the aftermath. But if it had been a mistake, it did no good to acknowledge it as such. No good except perhaps to learn from it, to use the lesson in a future he hoped he could secure for himself.

Vaughn had been stationed on Starbase 621 for a few months now, analyzing starship movement along the Tzenkethi border, but he had maintained his Cardassian contact sporadically over the past few years. Tonight, the man had contacted him with urgency in his voice, and now Vaughn interrupted him somewhat against his better judgment, to ask him a question that had been plaguing him for a very long time.

“Gul Russol,” he said carefully, hoping against hope that he would not accidentally offend the man. He had upheld the relationship with Russol for over two years, but had never quite been able to figure out his motives. “I don’t understand why you would choose to share this information with me. Why are you—”

“I told you, Commander. I oppose my world’s current government. Besides the never-ending violence, the annexation of Bajor is a symptom of the disease that has infected our entire social consciousness. My world will eventually be forced to withdraw from Bajor, and when it happens, we will experience an economic depression, among other things. Cardassia has become too dependent upon Bajor and worlds like it. We will never pursue research into self-sustaining resources unless we are forced to do so. I believe that our economy will have a better chance to rebound if we withdraw sooner rather than later. Additionally—”

“So, you have no particular sympathy for the Bajoran people?”

“No,”Russol said flatly. “The Bajorans are a violent and uncivilized people. I prefer to maintain my distance from them.”

Vaughn suppressed a frown—he’d met few Cardassians who weren’t dramatically xenophobic. It was a wonder this Russol had even deigned to speak to a human. But this admission seemed to at last confirm for Vaughn that the man was genuine in his pleas for help; if he had claimed to empathize with the Bajorans, Vaughn would have had much more difficulty swallowing the man’s story. “I see,” he said. “Go on.”

“The announcements my government plans to make on Bajor are absolutely false,”Russol told him. “They are a ruse, meant to distract the Bajorans from survey teams, who are working even as we speak to determine what is left of Bajor’s resources, and how best to efficiently extract them. My government wishes to bleed Bajor dry of all useful elements, and then abruptly leave. This would be devastating to the long-term economic situation of my world—my people are in denial regarding the current state of Bajoran exports.”

“To say nothing of what it will do to Bajor,” Vaughn said glibly.

Russol ignored the comment. “Once the Bajorans realize they are being lied to—and they will realize it, no matter how shortsighted and foolish they may be—the violence on that world will only increase. But my government will refuse to abandon it, despite how bad it gets. It has become a matter of pride for them. And there will be terrible repercussions for the Union.”

“What exactly is it that you would have the Federation do about it?” Vaughn asked.

The man on the other end of the line was clearly troubled. “I don’t know the full extent of your…Prime Directive…your rules and charters,”he admitted. “But I imagine there are at least two feasible options. The first is for Starfleet to remove the Cardassian presence from Bajor…by force.”He stopped speaking, looking glum. “That option could be quick, but it would certainly be bloody. As I see it, however, it could also have much larger consequences. My people are not likely to back down from the insult, and the conflict could easily lead to full-scale war between our two governments.”