Proka kept talking, missing the undercurrent of tension in his superior’s words. “You know, we used to have a betting pool running at the precinct about how long your marriage would last. What with her being Ih’vallaand you being Ke’lora,I mean.” He took a draught of cider.

“Really?” Darrah replied, ice forming on the word. The watchman didn’t appear to notice; it baffled Darrah how a man who brought such attention to detail as a police officer was so oblivious to his unintentional rudeness in social situations.

“Yeah,” Proka went on, “I mean, we all know it’s been rocky for you.”

“You all know?” Darrah repeated, shooting a glare at Lonnic, who maintained a passive expression.

Proka nodded to himself. “Women of that caliber are very high-maintenance,” he said sagely. “They expect a man to improve his lot in life. Otherwise, they can walk right out the door—”

“Thank you, Watchman.”Darrah ground out the words, putting acid emphasis on Proka’s rank. “Perhaps you ought to consider a career as a counselor instead of a law officer?” He reached over and took Proka’s glass from his hand.

“Break’s over. Take a walk.”

And finally, realization of what he’d been saying caught up with the man, and Proka smiled weakly. “Uh. Yes, boss.” He got up and left.

Grimacing, Darrah glared into the depths of his own drink. “How can that man still be walking around with his foot stuck in his mouth?”

“You know,” said Lonnic, after a long moment, “he does have a point.”

“Oh, not you as well?” Darrah growled. “Does everyone have an opinion on my marriage?”

“I’m just saying…” she began, gathering her things together to leave. “People from the Ih’vallacaste are always flighty. It might help if you took a little time off from the precinct. Remind Karys why it was she married you.”

“I will,” he told her, without looking up. “Once this situation is put to bed, I will. Once the Cardassians have gone home.”

Dukat stood and watched as the Kornaire’s space-to-surface cutter returned to the exact spot inside the Naghai Keep where it had arrived, dropping to the ground in a gust of exhaust. He considered it for a moment, smiling thinly at the Cardassian precision of the gesture. The inner cordon of the castle was bare now, the temporary pavilion that had been erected for their arrival now gone. He understood from Pa’Dar that there would be no official farewell ceremony beyond a couple of handshakes from some of the local ministers and the granting of some Bajoran gifts.

Dukat’s smile faded. Not for the first time, he found himself questioning the entire purpose of the mission. He would never have ventured to voice those thoughts within earshot of other members of the Kornairecrew, even though he knew most of them—up to and including Gul Kell—felt much the same way. We should have come here with a flotilla of warships and then offered them our friendship. One hand outstretched, the other with a gun in it.There were plenty of “client systems” inside the Cardassian Union who had been induced to make agreements with Central Command in just such a fashion—Celtris, Rondac, and Ingav, among others—and Bajor would have made a fine addition to them.

But Cardassia cannot afford to waste valuable combat vessels on a diplomatic mission when they are needed at the frontier. Our warships are thin on the ground.How many times had he heard that? Too many officers, too few ships. That explanation had been passed to him by Kell, by other senior officers, when he pressed for a command of his own, for a long overdue promotion. I hear the words but I do not believe them.There were ships out there all right, but they were being granted to men and women whose elevation through the ranks owed more to politics and nepotism than to their individual merit. Kell’s own daughter lacked the experience and skill of Dukat, and yet she was in command of a fighter squadron in the disputed regions. Kell himself owed his position to a parent in the Legate congress.

After the feast, Dukat’s thoughts about Bajor had crystallized. He was convinced now that the planet could—it should—come under Cardassian aegis. All it would take would be a few vessels and the willingness to understand these aliens. After only a few days, he felt a new awareness forming in him. The Bajorans were wayward, insular children, with dogmatic habits and a limited perspective on the greater universe around them. What they required was clear: the guiding hand of a stern parent to turn them toward a more productive life. All the luxuries they squander, heedless of how other worlds suffer. If Cardassia had such riches, my people…myfamily would be safe and secure. These aliens need our supervision.

But he was in no position to make that happen. Perhaps, if he were in command of the Kornaire,Dukat could change the course of this operation; but with a man as stolid and unimaginative as Kell at the helm, the mission would end before it could truly begin.

His hand went to his wrist pocket, to the holograph rod. At least it means I will be home soon. Back to Athra and my son.If he could do nothing on Bajor to help his world, perhaps back on his world he could do something to help his wife and child.

The shuttle’s hatch hissed open and released one of the noncommissioned gils assigned to the craft’s duty crew; but from behind the junior rating came Kotan Pa’Dar, his face darkened with effort. The scientist’s eyes locked on Dukat and he came running to him, puffing. “Skrain! I’m glad I found you!”

Dukat frowned at the other man’s near-frantic manner. “Kotan, what are you doing?” The scientist had transported to the ship hours ago. “You’re supposed to be up there.”

“I had to speak to you!” Pa’Dar said between panting gasps. “I didn’t want…to go through channels. I knew Kell would…would never let me contact you for a personal reason, so I had the glinn take me on the cutter.”

Dukat waved a hand at the scientist as if he were dismissing a nagging insect. “Explain yourself. What personal reasons?”

Pa’Dar looked him in the eyes, and the officer saw pity in the other man’s gaze. “I knew it,” Pa’Dar said quietly. “I knew Kell would keep it from you. He infuriates me.”

“Watch what you say!” Dukat barked. Despite the fact that he agreed with Pa’Dar, it was wrong to allow a civilian to openly denigrate a member of the military. “I ordered you to explain yourself!”

Pa’Dar swallowed hard and made an effort to calm himself. He drew Dukat to one side, into the lee of the parked shuttle. “There’s word from Cardassia Prime. I heard Professor Ico speaking with Kell. There has been rioting, the Oralians have come into conflict with the military.” He grabbed Dukat’s arm. “There’s fighting on the roads outside Lakat, Skrain! The city has been cut off!”

“Athra.” The name fell from his lips. With a sudden burst of motion, Dukat pushed away from the scientist and strode into the shuttle.

The glinn at the flight controls looked up with a start as Dukat dropped into the command chair next to hers. “Dalin? Is there a problem?”

“I want communications,” he snapped. “Give me a direct feed via the Kornaire’s subspace array, immediately!”

The glinn blanched at his tone. “Sir, that will require an authorization code.”

He bent forward and punched a set of numbers into a control console. “There! Get it done. I want a real-time link to Cardassia Prime, now!”

The pilot hesitated as the console emitted a negative chime. “Dalin, that code…It is not cleared for direct comm protocols. Only Gul Kell can authorize that.”

Dukat teetered on the verge of shouting at the glinn; but he knew she was right, and if Kell knew about the reports from home and he hadn’t bothered to bring them to Dukat’s attention, he wasn’t likely to simply let his first officer place a priority message. Dukat’s face burned with fury, at the Oralians, at Kell, at himself for acting in such an emotional manner.