“I can help you.” Dukat’s head snapped around to see Bennek standing next to Pa’Dar in the cutter’s entry bay.

Anger propelled Dukat out of the cockpit and to the young cleric, their faces only a hand’s span apart. “You’ll help me?” he rumbled. “After your people put the lives of my wife and child in danger, you will help me?” Dukat’s words became a snarl.

“I know nothing about that,” Bennek replied. “I have a communications code that was provided to the Oralian Way by the Detapa Council. It will only open a channel via the civilian network, but you are welcome to use it.” He nodded at the control console. “Will you permit me?”

His fists contracting into tight hammers, Dukat could only nod stiffly. He watched the priest fold back his hood and bend over the panel, fingers sweeping over the keypad. The glinn examined the display and her eyes widened. “Dalin, the connection is being made. I have a tie-in with the Kornaire’s hyperchannel array.”

Bennek looked back at him. “Who do you wish to speak to?”

There was a pressure in his chest as Dukat formed the words of his reply. “Contact the Ministry of Justice. The office of military legality. I will speak to Procal Dukat…my father.”

7

“S krain?”

The old man’s voice was thick with sleep, and Dukat realized abruptly that the time difference between Korto and the capital on Cardassia meant it had to be before dawn. He deflected a stab of irritation, for an instant taking a step back and examining his actions. Dukat was allowing himself to behave emotionally when the best course would be to remain detached and clearheaded. His fingers drew together and he fought to moderate his anxiety. “Father,” he began, “I’m sorry I woke you.” He threw a look over his shoulder and saw that the hatch behind him was shut. The pilot, Pa’Dar, and Bennek had left without speaking, respecting his privacy.

On the tiny cockpit monitor, Archon Procal Dukat settled himself on the chair before the desk in his office where the comm screen sat. Thickset and firm of face, he still maintained the look of a street fighter about him even as the passing years robbed him of his robustness. Skrain, wiry and athletic in build, took after his mother more than the man on the other end of the line, but only in his physical aspect. Inwardly, Procal and his son shared much more in terms of their manner and personality. It was one of the reasons why they disagreed so often, why they had disagreed the last time they had spoken; but both of them understood that this was a matter of greater import than their differences. Unspoken, the two men automatically put their quarrels aside.

The elder Dukat adjusted the robe about his shoulders and threw a glance toward the shadowed bedroom door across the room. He kept his voice low but intense. “You received the message, then?”

Skrain’s brow furrowed in confusion. “From you? No.”

His father chuckled without humor. “Of course not. Why should I have expected any different? Central Command told me you were on a mission of utmost sensitivity. Communications of a military nature only.”

Skrain shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re speaking now.” He leaned closer to the small screen. “Tell me what is going on. My wife…”

Procal frowned, matching his son’s expression. “Skrain, this channel is likely being monitored.”

“Athra and my son,” Skrain continued, keeping his voice level. “Tell me.”

The old man’s eyes met his. “As soon as I heard about the Oralians and the rioting, I did what I could to reach the Medical Campus at Lakat…”

“What?” The word burst from Skrain’s lips. “Is she hurt?”

His father held up a hand to halt him. “The week you left, Athra and my grandson took ill. It’s an infection from tainted water. Many people have been affected.”He sighed. “I made sure they were placed where they would get good care.”

“Thank you.” Dukat replied numbly. His face tingled with a rush of blood. At once he felt a churn of emotions: anger and worry, shock and humiliation. All he wanted in that instant was to be home, at Athra’s side.

“Skrain,”the archon continued, “listen to me. The Detapa Council has issued a statement about concerns over insurgent attacks. The Oralians are in an uproar here. The military have sent in peacekeeper divisions to calm the unrest outside Lakat and the other cities in the southern territories. Nothing is getting in or out, including supplies.”

“How will they get the medicine they need?” Skrain snapped. “I have to—”

“Skrain.”His father said his name with such quiet force that it stopped Dukat in his tracks. “What can you do? Unless you’re planning on stealing Kell’s starship and flying it home, what can you do?”The old man shook his head. “This is what it means to serve Cardassia, son. This is a harsh lesson, but you cannot shrink from it.”His voice shifted, taking on the authoritarian tone Dukat remembered from his childhood. “Do your duty. I’ll do what I can to help Athra and the boy.”He reached for the disconnect key.

“Procal,” said Dukat. “His name is Procal.”

The old man halted and nodded to him, then cut the link.

For long moments, Dukat sat there in the acceleration chair and looked at his hands, the gray fingers tightening into fists, releasing, tightening again. He felt helpless and he despised the reaction, a hard loathing coiling inside his chest, pressing against his ribs. He wanted to shout, to break something, but the turmoil had no point of escape. He glared out of the canopy of the cutter at the walls of the Bajoran castle beyond, and a sudden flare of hate shot through him—for Kell, for the Oralians, for the aliens, for this damnable mission.

Burning in his directionless fury, he almost shattered the control panel when the ship-to-ship communicator chimed, announcing an incoming signal. “What is it?” he snarled at the intrusion.

Kell’s indolent voice answered him. “Another officer might consider that tone to be insubordinate, Dalin. However, I’m willing to overlook it, given your personal considerations at the moment.”

Dukat’s teeth set on edge, recalling his father’s earlier comment. Of course Kell had been listening to us. I would have expected nothing less.

The gul continued. “I’ve been in contact with Fleet Jagul Hekit. He concurs with my appraisal of the situation here. The Bajorans are intransigent and there are matters of greater import closer to home that require our attention. We’re to complete our secondary intelligence-gathering scans of Bajor and disengage.”

Dukat hid a sneer. The Kornairehad been in-system for barely a solar week, and already Kell had colluded with his old mentor Hekit to have the mission cut short. The gul’s open loathing of anything that smacked of “diplomacy” colored his every decision. Dukat immediately fathomed Kell’s train of thought; forced into taking the mission to Bajor, he had done only the least required of him to consider it completed so that he might move on to something that would gather more credit for the avaricious officer. Kell craved high rank and made no secret of the fact that he wanted to be prefect of his own planet. In his mind, the gul had doubtless decided the Bajor delegation was a worthless assignment even before they had left Cardassia Prime.

Kell must have seen something of his thoughts on his face. “Come, Dukat, I’d expect you to be pleased. My orders are to go to high warp once we break Bajor orbit and return to base. I thought you’d relish the chance to get home.”

“Yes,” Dukat replied, even as he knew that something did not ring true. “And there is more, sir?”