She was going to say more, but Jas pushed past her and approached Keeve. Lonnic saw something in her employer’s eyes that she couldn’t read.

“Falor,” began the minister.

The other man hesitated. “Holza.” His voice was cool and unwelcoming.

Jas struggled to find the right words. “I want you to understand my position in this—”

Keeve held up a hand to silence him. “I respect your clan and what you’ve done for your district, Holza, and because of that I’m willing to stand in the same room as you. But if you’re coming to me now in hopes that I’ll go back on what I said in there, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“It isn’t that,” Jas replied, frowning.

Keeve continued. “I know there are some ministers who will put on a show in the forum and then speak differently when they’re behind closed doors. I’m not one of them.” He leaned in. “Kubus and Lale are weakening Bajor, and if you’re not opposing them, you’re aiding them.” The minister turned to walk away.

“We can have this alliance and still keep our independence,” insisted Jas.

Keeve spoke again without looking back. “I’m certain you believe that.”

Darrah felt compelled to break the moment of awkward silence and gestured with his hand. “Minister? Your flyer’s this way, if you’d follow me.”

Jas nodded distractedly, “Yes, Darrah. Of course.”

Darrah couldn’t help but notice Kubus Oak’s level stare as they walked back across the atrium. The inspector kept a watchful eye, scanning the room for anything that might be a threat, just as his orders stated. From behind, he caught the fringes of a hushed conversation between his friend and the minister.

“There’s a part of me that cannot disagree with Falor,” Jas was saying. “I feel responsible, Tomo. I helped open the gates to the Cardassians.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Lonnic returned.

“Did I?” Darrah heard the morose note in the man’s voice. “Today I wonder.”

The inspector looked again, his gaze once more finding Kubus. He was smiling and talking quietly with Ranjen Arin; of the kai there was no sign. There was a voice in the back of Darrah’s thoughts, the old, automatic deference his D’jarraimposed upon him, something telling him to concentrate on matters that were in his purview and not these issues that soared far above his rank. Except, he couldn’t let it go. Perhaps Jas was right, perhaps it was his responsibility; but then a look at Kubus Oak told Darrah that this situation would have come to be even without the support of Jas Holza. A man like Kubus was not one to have his agenda brushed aside. He frowned as they walked onto the flyer pads. “Sir? Back to the keep?”

Jas shook his head. “No. I need some time to think. The coastal villa, Inspector. Take me to my retreat.”

9

After several days in the cargo compartments of the Lhemor,there were still instances when Bennek felt overwhelmed by the stale odor of chemical sealants and old rust. The freighter creaked and groaned like a man with diseased lungs; last night, after vespers, with gallows humor Pasir had opined that the corrosion was all that held the decrepit starship together. This was the fourth journey the Lhemorhad made from Cardassia Prime to Bajor, and Bennek was quietly amazed that it had survived even one.

“Oralius protects,” he said aloud, and he hoped she would continue to do so. He worked his way down the narrow companionway from the storage spaces to what passed for the crew decks. The cleric hardly ever saw the freighter’s small complement of staff. Civilians all, they spent most of their time at their duty stations and ventured into the rear compartments only if there was a problem. They had been paid reasonable wages for their service aboard the vessel, but the Way’s limited reach in Cardassian society meant that the people the church could employ tended to be either members of the congregation or those who did not care where their leks came from. Bennek was convinced that the Lhemor’s captain remained in a state of permanent inebriation; certainly, he had never encountered the man without him stinking of kanar.

While the cargo compartments had been converted into rough dormitories for the faithful, there were a couple of other spaces used by the priests. Bennek let the door to one of these areas judder open in front of him and entered. It was a bare room with a simple computer console and a screen. A blinking glyph showed him that a subspace signal was being decoded, although Bennek held out little hope that the third-generation encryption software built into the communication suite would provide a challenge to the scrutiny of any Obsidian Order monitors. The cleric sat and glanced out of the room’s only viewport, an oval window set in the grimy hull. Outside, stars turned to rainbow streaks of warp light swept past; and there just off the flank of the Lhemor,maintaining the same perfect separation and implied threat as it had throughout the flight, was the frigate Kashai.The warship was a continual reminder of the Central Command’s presence, provided as an “escort” for the pilgrim transport but as much an overseer as it was a protector. No Oralian ship was allowed to venture into space without such a companion, and not for the first time Bennek wondered what work those ships did as they shadowed the pilgrimages.

All too often he had seen things that he was unable to explain away. Groups of men and women from churches of the Way he had never visited, who disappeared from the pilgrim groups the moment they reached Bajor. Cargo modules sealed tight, with no identification, that were there when they left Cardassia and gone when they returned. Bennek had spoken of these things several times to Hadlo, but on each occasion the senior cleric had replied with nebulous admonishments and poor justifications.

With a solemn bell tone, the screen illuminated and the old man’s face peered out at him. A haze of interference made Hadlo’s expression seem blurry, but there was more to it than that. The cleric was more sallow than normal, and the shadows collecting around his brow ridges were deeper. Only his eyes seemed alive; they were animated and fierce. “Bennek,”he said abruptly, “you seem disturbed. Have you been called away from something?”

Bennek shook his head. “No, Master. The pilgrims are well, they are taking part in a reading from the Hebitian Records. Pasir is leading the group in my absence.”

“Who? Pasir?”Hadlo blinked. “Don’t recall the name.”

Bennek frowned. Hadlo had personally assigned the younger priest to his group only a few months earlier, after the government had closed Pasir’s temple outside Tellel on some minor technicality. The man had proven to be a deft minister, and his knowledge of the Recitations was excellent.

The old man waved a hand at the screen. “You need to be watchful, Bennek. There have been more incidents since you left Cardassia Prime. Things are worsening.”

“What do you mean? More arrests?” The grim truth was, despite the assurances that Danig Kell had made to Hadlo five years ago, the Detapa Council and the Central Command had done little to scale back their persecution of the Oralian Way. At best, things were as bad now as they had been then; at worst, entire congregations in the outlying provinces were disappearing. More than ever, theirs was an embattled faith.

Hadlo’s voice dropped to a breathy whisper. “We can trust no man, my friend. Only Oralius can show us the way, and her face is forever hidden from us! Clouded, do you see? I alone am blessed in that I can see this for the truth it is. The serpents, Bennek! Beware of the serpents in the ruins, the ashen wilds…”