Bennek’s heart sank. He had put off leaving the old cleric alone for months and months, refusing Hadlo’s orders to go to Bajor and take a direct hand in the running of the enclaves. His fear for his mentor’s grasp on reality was very real, but it had been a long time since Hadlo had spoken of his experience at the Kendra Shrine, and Bennek had hoped he would not hear of it again. The messianic qualities of Hadlo’s “visions” frightened him, and he was afraid that reason might desert his friend and teacher. Bennek had boarded the Lhemorbecause Hadlo had promised to join him on the next starship. As the old man whispered on, he realized that assurance had been forgotten as well.

“The touch of the Prophet’s Tear showed much to me. I see it unfolding. There is talk of rising up against the oppressors.”He ground out the words. “A holy war.”

Bennek’s blood ran cold. “That would be a mistake,” he said, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm. “To do so would give our enemies the reason they crave to destroy us. If one Oralian raises his hand in anger, they would cut us down like animals…” His throat tightened and his gaze strayed to the window, to the threatening shape of the warship pacing them. “We must endure, Hadlo. We must exercise caution!”

The old man rubbed at his face. “Listen. With each passing day it becomes clearer to me that our birthworld is the place of ashes. It is not safe for us here anymore. Bajor…”He looked away. “Bajor may be the only sanctuary for our faith.”

“Hadlo, I—” The screen went dark, and Bennek was startled into silence. For a moment he nursed a pang of fear, worried that something might have happened at the other end of the line, but then slowly he understood that the cleric had simply severed the link, having said what he wanted to say.

“Bennek?” He jumped at the sudden voice and turned in his chair to see Pasir at the half-open hatch. The young priest’s narrow face had the same perpetual cast of eager interest it had shown on the day they had first met. “Pardon me. The door was open…I concluded the Recitation and I came looking for you.”

“It’s all right,” Bennek replied, licking dry lips. “You just startled me, that is all.” He hadn’t heard the cleric’s approach, even though the metal decks of the Lhemorseemed to squeak everywhere one laid a foot.

He looked at the console. “You were speaking with Hadlo?” When Bennek nodded, he continued. “A very great man. He has done so much for the Way. He has given so much of himself to it.” His expression shifted toward concern. “Is there news from Cardassia Prime? Is something wrong?”

Bennek sank deeper into the threadbare seat and sighed. “Pasir, my brother, we all face great trials. You yourself are a victim of the government’s continued attempts to ‘encourage’ us to leave the social order.”

The other man nodded. “Indeed. That is partly why I wanted so much to come to Bajor. The chance of a spiritual refuge holds great promise for me, for all of us.”

“Perhaps,” Bennek replied, “but we must resist isolation, on our homeworld and in the enclaves. I am afraid that our kindred do not see the whole mural, only the smallest part of the painting…”

“What do you mean?”

“The Detapa Council divides the branches of our faith and misinforms us, keeps us from coming together so that we might oppose them. At home we are blinded to the threats that surround us, and on Bajor those of our people in the enclaves think themselves safe.” He shook his head.

“I know they are not.”

“But haven’t the Bajoran clergy accepted our friendship? Don’t their people know that we are travelers on twin paths?”

“I’m not speaking of Bajor or the Bajorans.” Bennek’s voice took on a gloomy tone. “I wonder, how many of our pilgrims are agents of the Obsidian Order? How much of our mission is for them and not for Oralius?”

Pasir laughed. “Spies? You know the hearts and minds of every one of our people aboard this ship! Look at me, Bennek! Could I be a spy? Could any of us give up the Way for something so tawdry?” He placed a friendly hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Our unity makes us strong. Without it, we have nothing.”

Bennek saw the light of enthusiasm in the young man’s eyes and it lifted his spirits. “You’re right. Thank you for the clarity of your insight, Pasir. I imagine we will both need that when we reach Bajor.”

He got a smile in return. “I must confess, I am greatly looking forward to meeting our Bajoran counterparts. I’ve read much about their Prophets and their Celestial Temple. It will be fascinating to meet with one of their priests.” Pasir paused. “You spoke to me of the prylar Gar Osen. I should like to meet him.”

“He is a ranjen now,” Bennek corrected. “He has been granted a higher honorific, in connection to his work as a theologist and friend to the Way.” He gave a nod. “He’s a lot like you. He has a passion for his faith that shines on all that he does.”

Pasir’s smile deepened. “Then, with Oralius’s grace, once this venerable old craft reaches Bajor, I hope to make his acquaintance.”

Bennek shot a look at the ceiling as the deck above gave a mournful creak. “With Oralius’s grace,” he repeated.

Dukat peered into the discreet console on the arm of his chair, studying the image there. The display on the hooded console was arranged in such a manner that only the ship’s commanding officer could see it; it allowed Dukat to slave any station on the Kashai’s bridge to his immediate oversight, and if required, he could belay any order a crew member executed with the stroke of a keypad. At the moment he was looking through the frigate’s targeting matrix, the screen showing the status of the disruptor grids, a lazy aiming halo drifting up and down the hull of the freighter moving in the warship’s shadow. A single disruptor salvo could end them; they would be cast to the void and none would know theLhemor ’s fate.Dukat’s finger drummed on the edge of the console. He needed only to move it slightly to blow the ship apart and rid Cardassia of a few more Oralians. He let his mind wander, imagining the ramifications of such a deed. Would he be punished? Hardly. Perhaps there would be some cursory investigation, but nothing of consequence. If anything, he would be guilty of acting on his own initiative instead of waiting to be ordered to destroy the zealots. That might be bad enough,he mused. Central Command does not like men who think too much for themselves.

From the corner of his eye he saw the door slide open, and he turned in his seat to see Kotan Pa’Dar cross warily toward him, stepping around the control podiums of the frigate’s compact two-tier command deck. The civilian didn’t enjoy being in the presence of so many military men. He walked with the air of a weak child in a room full of idle thugs. “Dal Dukat,” said the scientist. “I did as you requested.” He waved a padd. “The analysis is most interesting.”

Dukat took the padd and saw Pa’Dar glance at the dal’s monitor. The civilian’s eyebrows rose as he realized what it displayed. He shot the commander a look of sudden alarm.

“Call it a thought experiment, Kotan,” he said languidly.

“How many bolts would it take to blast that scow from space?”

His amusement deepened as the other man hesitated, unsure if Dukat was asking him a question or just making an idle threat. “I would think that would be a rash course of action,” Pa’Dar said finally. “We are not the Klingons. What you posit is more in line with their crudity of behavior, Dal.”

“Quite so.” Dukat had made it clear that Pa’Dar wasn’t to call him by his first name in front of his crew, and he was pleased the civilian kept to his orders. “It is only a drill for my weapons officer, nothing more.” He grinned slightly, enjoying Pa’Dar’s discomfort. “I wouldn’t want for there to be a malfunction in the disruptors…a misfire, perhaps.” Dismissing the matter, he went back to the padd and paged through it. Dukat found himself thinking of Kell, his former commander. Now promoted to the rank of jagul and enjoying a posting at the Union embassy on Bajor, he recalled the man’s irritation at their mission into this sector five years earlier. Although his dislike for Kell hadn’t waned, Dukat did in a way understand him a little better. Commanding his own starship, albeit a small craft, gave Dukat fresh insight. The tyranny of boredom that came from uneventful missions such as this one would try any officer’s patience, and that, he imagined, was why Danig Kell had taken such care in making life hard for Skrain Dukat. Small cruelties passed the time.