The inspector crossed his line of sight, in conversation with two of his watchmen, talking urgently and glancing at his chronometer. Security was another reason why the reception was taking place on Cemba Station. In Ashalla, Hathon, and Jalanda, there had been demonstrations calling for greater restrictions on the movement of the aliens, and some had concluded with hostility. Darrah Mace and his men were here to make sure that didn’t happen today. Darrah was all business now, and he was a different man from the person who had sat with Gar in the marketside temple the night before, angry and sad, trying to find a way to make his marriage work. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of concern on the man’s face; Darrah was in his element here, in perfect charge of things. Gar understood why Darrah gave so much of himself to his work: At least there he can feel like he has control over his life.He remembered the worry, the real fear, in his friend’s eyes when he spoke of Karys’s comment about going offworld. Osen had soothed him by pointing out that Mace’s wife had a history of idle threats, but then again she was touching on something that Gar had been seeing more often of late. There was a small but concerted movement by some Bajorans across the planet to leave it. Ships making the voyage to Prophet’s Landing and Valo were taking more emigrants along with their cargo. There were plenty of people whose issues with the government’s choices over the alliance had spurred them to leave. He sighed, thinking of the kai’s words outside the Kendra Shrine. This path that Bajor is on, it should be toward unity, not division.He wished she were here now.

The party from the clergy were talking quietly among themselves, and Vedek Arin was nodding at questions from the cluster of novices that had joined him from Kendra. Arin caught Gar’s eye and gave him a perfunctory smile. The ranjen had hoped that Kai Meressa would have joined them for this small outing, but Arin had closed that matter the moment he arrived. The kai was indisposed.That was the small lie they were using to save face. According to Arin, Meressa’s illness was making it progressively harder for her to leave her chambers at the retreat in Calash. The temperate weather and clear air there had helped her somewhat, but more and more Arin was assuming the role of her day-to-day proxy. Gar resolved to take a skimmer out to the retreat the first opportunity he got.

“There,” said Tima, a young novice with blond hair and bright green eyes. She pointed out at the void. “There’s the ship.”

Gar saw the Lhemoras it came around the curve of the window, the long, corrugated shape of the freighter turning to settle against the docking arm. There was a resonant thud of metal against metal as it locked on to Cemba Station, and he saw glowing red lights turn white around the airlock tunnel. The priest saw a second vessel drift past, eschewing the open docks. It had the same manta-wing profile as the other Cardassian military ships, and it moved up and away to a steady distance from the commerce platform. Gar couldn’t escape the implication that the Lhemor’s escort was watching it like a desert hawk.

After a few minutes, with a whine of hydraulics the hatch at the end of the airlock tunnel dropped into the deck and revealed the Oralians. Gar scanned their faces, seeing a mixture of wary enthusiasm and, in some, slight disappointment. Vedek Arin came forward, and Gar moved with him as the figure at the head of the pilgrim party rolled back his hood, revealing the cleric Bennek. Gar was struck by how much the Cardassian’s face had darkened with deep lines that gathered at the corners of his eyes. A smile crossed the alien’s expression and he bowed.

“Vedek Arin, Ranjen Gar. In the name of the Oralian Way, I greet you and extend once more the thanks of our congregation for allowing us to visit your world.” His smile faltered a little. “The kai is not present?”

Arin shook his head. “She is indisposed, cleric, but she sends her most profuse apologies and warmest greetings.”

“The Fates protect her, then.”

Gar nodded. “Welcome back to Bajor, Bennek. I hope our honored friend Hadlo is well?”

There was a momentary flicker of emotion in the Oralian’s eyes, and Gar wondered what it could signify. “Hadlo remains on Cardassia Prime, engaged in matters of the Way,” he explained, “but he hopes to visit you again in the near future.”

“Just so,” noted Arin. “You know Gar, of course. Let me introduce you to some of our newer novitiates who will be joining us today.” The vedek ran through the learners, and Gar caught an unmistakable flush of emotion in Tima’s expression when Bennek shook her by the hand. The girl was clearly spellbound by the aliens.

Nearby, Darrah cleared his throat and indicated the corridor beyond the reception area. “Gentlemen? A shuttle has been fueled and is ready to take you down to the planet. If you’ll follow Constable Proka, he’ll show you the way.”

“Of course,” allowed Arin. As the vedek launched into a conversation with the Cardassian cleric, Gar watched the rest of the Oralian party disembark. There were more of them than he had expected, and he wondered if the shuttle might have to make two trips to the surface and back to take them all.

One of the males detached himself from the group and came across, a broad grin threatening to break out on his face. “Pardon me, but are you the ranjen Gar Osen of Korto?”

“I am.” Gar was surprised to be recognized by an alien.

“And you are?”

The Cardassian’s grin unfolded and he shook Osen’s hand, palm to forearm in the old fashion. “Pasir Letin, Ranjen! I’m excited to meet you. I hope we will be able to discuss some matters of theology.” He was walking quite swiftly, and the Bajoran had to quicken his pace to stay in step with him. “I was most fascinated by your monograph on Trakor’s Prophecies.”

Gar blinked in surprise, momentarily wrong-footed by the other man’s enthusiastic manner. “You read that? How did you—”

Pasir kept speaking. “There’s been a strong exchange of information among our faiths in recent years. I was particularly struck by some of the similarities between Trakor’s divination on the matter of the Pah-wraiths and Oralius’s words of rebuke in the Hebitian Records.”

The group was approaching the hangar bays, and as he walked, Gar formulated a reply. He was going to ask the Oralian a question, but the opportunity was snatched away as the deck of Cemba Station lurched beneath his feet, pivoting forward, the gravity controls struggling to compensate. There was a brilliant white flash of light from behind them, and the priest felt a wash of searing heat across his back and the bare skin of his neck.

The next sound he heard was the explosion, the screaming roar of broken air and burning backdraft.

The tingle of the transporter died away, and Dukat took his first breath of Bajoran air in five years. He stepped off the reception dais set in the corner of the Union embassy’s atrium and crossed the chamber, his boots clicking on the dun-colored stone floor. Passing under a huge Galor Banner, he glanced toward the entrance doors below and saw the honeyed glow of sunlight through the windows set in them. Inside there was nothing but the soft chime of computers at the monitor stations, but out beyond the windows there were figures moving and shifting. Dukat imagined that if the building were not soundproofed, he would have heard shouts and disorder. He scowled. It was one more black mark against Jagul Danig Kell, and he filed it away.

Dukat noticed troopers with stunner rifles loitering near the doors, and with them a group of nondescript civilians in the uniforms of medical specialists. They appeared to be waiting for something. For a moment, the dal considered approaching one of the soldiers and demanding an explanation from him, but then he dismissed the thought. There were other, more pressing issues to deal with, and he wanted to get them out of the way as soon as possible. The quicker I speak with Kell, the quicker I can be done and return to my ship.