Jas had never spoken to a Cardassian before, only seen them in holos or still images. He found he couldn’t look away from the strange knotty lines of musculature around their necks and eyes. “I am he. I understand that I owe you gratitude for your recovery of my property and my employees. On behalf of Korto District and Bajor, I thank you. The families of the men lost aboard the Eledaappreciate your gesture.”

The Cardassian inclined his head. “I am Gul Kell, commander of the starship Kornaire.This is Rhan Ico, of our science ministry, and Hadlo, a cleric of the Oralian Way. We represent a diplomatic initiative from our ruling body, the Detapa Council.” Did he detect a slight air of disdain when Kell indicated the cleric? Jas filed that thought away for later consideration; at his leisure, he would go back over the recording of this conversation and sift it for subtle meaning. “We are returning your dead,” continued Kell, “and with that act of compassion we wish to make formal contact with your world and your government.”

“Then Bajor will welcome you,” Jas answered, speaking quickly to cut off any reply that Verin would have made. Nowwas the moment; now was the chance to put himself in the middle of this before the First Minister forced him back on to the sidelines. “Iwill welcome you. I govern the city of Korto, on the northern continent of Bajor, from a seat of great honor known as the Naghai Keep. If you will agree to it, Gul Kell, I would gladly invite you and your party to accept my hospitality as a small measure of thanks for what you have done.” He heard the sharp intake of breath from Verin’s side of the screen, but did not spare the old man a look.

The Cardassian commander nodded. “That is acceptable. We will reach Bajor orbit in two of your rotations.” The alien gave a curt nod. “Until then. Kornaireout.”

The feed from the other ship blinked out and suddenly Verin’s face was filling half the screen again. “Did I not make myself clear, Jas?” demanded the First Minister. “Your rank does not give you the right to set interplanetary policy for our world!”

“Forgive me, sir,” Jas returned. “I did only what any man would—I offered gratitude to someone who had earned it—”

Verin’s angry snort cut him off. “This matter goes far beyond your understanding! Don’t try to build up your importance by blind opportunism!”

“My eyes are fully open,” Jas retorted. He glanced at the Militia officer. “Colonel, I would ask that you have the aliens transport whatever remains of the Eledaand her crew to your vessel. Traffic Control will want to conduct a thorough investigation into the cause of the ship’s loss.”

Li nodded. “I concur, Minister. I’ll see to it. In the meantime, we’ll take the Kornaireon a slow, roundabout route in to the homeworld. That’ll give us plenty of time to scan her and prepare our orbital posture. Just in case.” He straightened in his chair. “Li out.”

Now the screen showed only Verin’s face. “You should have let me handle this, Holza,” said the old man. “You don’t have experience with aliens. I don’t think for one moment that you understand what you’ve let yourself in for.”

“You underestimate me, Kolek. You always have.” Jas reached for the communicator control on the surface of his desk. “Think of this as a chance to learn how wrong you are about me.” He tapped the keypad and the screen went dark.

Immediately, all the tension he had been holding in check flooded out of him, and Jas’s face flushed with color. Moderating the tremor in his hands, he snapped his fingers at Lonnic. “Fire’s sake, I need a drink. Give me a glass of that Alvanian brandy.” Tomo did as he asked, and he tossed back the contents of the tumbler with a single flick of the wrist. The smooth heat of the alcohol washed through him, smothering the churn of emotions. He eyed his assistant’s distant expression. “Tomo? Don’t drift off on me. This is important. I need you focused.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, with a wooden nod. “It’s just…I hadn’t expected…”

Jas helped himself to a refill and took his time with the second glass. “Neither did I. But then the hallmark of an intelligent man is the way in which he deals with the unexpected.” He studied the glass. “I think I dealt with that to our advantage.”

She nodded again. “It’s strange,” she began. “The one in charge, Kell. He introduced the one in the robes as a cleric.” Lonnic’s hand strayed to her face and touched the silver and gold links that hung from her right earlobe. “I’ve never heard of Cardassians having a religion before. I always thought they were…godless.”

Jas turned to the open window, and a slow smile emerged on his lips. “It would seem otherwise. I wonder what else we’ll learn about them?”

3

From the outside, the precinct house had the look of blunt, no-nonsense architecture. Compared to the other buildings in this quarter of Korto, the majority of which were built from dark woods and sand-colored stone, the precinct hunched low to the ground and peered out toward the highway like an angry face of rough granite. Prylar Gar Osen walked slowly toward it. It made him think of a pit wrestler, squat and unpleasant, while the rest of the buildings around it were stately and elegant. In fact, the police compound was the newest construction, the original—and in Gar’s opinion, far more graceful one—having been torn down and replaced when Jas Holza succeeded his father as minister of the district.

The priest crossed up the shallow steps and into the entrance hall. There were a few people spread out at the petitioning kiosks, but not enough to form a line. Gar threw a nod at the blond woman at the duty desk, and she beckoned him through the security gate. She bobbed her head as he passed; he felt a twinge of guilt at not remembering her name, and he should have, because she was a regular at the temple. He covered his mild embarrassment by producing the padd he’d been given by Vedek Cotor. “I’m looking for someone,” he began, offering her the device. “He was taken into custody this morning at the port.”

“Hey, Myda,” said a voice from behind him. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after this guy.”

Myda. That was her name.She flashed Gar a smile and walked away. He turned and there was Darrah Mace, that usual crooked half-grin on his face. “Brother Darrah,” he began in a mock-stern tone. “Have you deserted the Prophets? It’s been so long since I saw you at services, I thought you might have been struck down by some ruffian.”

Darrah cocked his head guiltily. “Sorry, Osen. I’ve been busy. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been visiting the precinct shrine.” He jerked a thumb at an alcove just inside the doorway where a small prayer banner was visible and candles burned slowly. “In this job, I need all the protection I can get, spiritual or otherwise.”

Gar nodded, sensing the air of weariness in his friend’s tone. “Have you thought about taking some time off?”

Darrah shot him an odd look. “Have you been talking to Karys and Syjin?”

The priest’s thin eyebrows shot up. “Syjin’s back on Bajor? I didn’t know. Perhaps I’d better send a comm to the shrine, tell them to put an extra lock on the gate.”

The constable frowned. “That’s hardly very charitable of you, Prylar. I’m sure he’d never steal anything from a holy place. He does have some standards.”

Gar smirked, following Darrah through the open space of the precinct’s squad room. “True. Is he well?”

The other man mimicked a set of scales with his hands. “So-so. He nearly had the paste beaten out of him this morning down at the port. Some jilted husband went off the rails, and—”

“Oh dear,” Gar’s hand went to his ear. “The husband. A stocky fellow, a Mi’tino?”