“This is too much,” she told him. “After the explosion and then I thought you were gone, but you were safe and…” Karys choked off a sob. “And now Jarel. It’s made me realize something, Mace. Something I’ve been hiding from, denying to myself.”

“Tell me.”

She pushed away from him. “I’m afraid,Mace! I’m afraid all the time now, for myself, for the children, for my family, for you…I see those aliens everywhere I go, and if not them then people who are angry about them being here, or angry with the government and the Watch…I don’t know this place anymore!” Fresh tears crossed her cheeks. “I think we should go.”

“Go? You mean, leave Korto?”

“I mean leave Bajor!”she shot back.

He was incredulous. “Karys, how can you say that? This is our world. This is our home.”

She went to the exterior window and snapped open the blinds. Mace saw the people outside the precinct, tired and angry faces lit by lamps. “But for how much longer?” Karys’s question hung in the air, and Mace found he had no answer for her.

12

The light winds across the plains ruffled the white domes of the enclave’s pavilions, the smartplastic pergolas snapping and clicking against their duranium supports. The Bajorans would have considered the day to be hot, with a close and unfocused heat radiating down from a sky shrouded in thin cloud, but by Cardassian standards it was cool and temperate. Pasir crossed through the open alleys between the prefabricated buildings, his head down, with the hood of his robes up and his hands lost inside the folds of the sleeves.

The majority of the thermoconcrete blockhouses were outwardly identical, with only various two-digit reference numbers laser-burned into the lintels to differentiate one from another. Any locals who passed through this part of the enclave would be struck by the bland similarity and walk on. They would have had to stay for several hours to notice that certain groups of Cardassians never ventured inside certain buildings. It had been made clear to the Oralians with discreet but steady menace that any blockhouse with a code number above three was off-limits to them; and there were lots of three buildings and four buildings, even a larger five and a six under construction beneath another of the massive sunshades. And then there were the devices attached to the dome-tents that looked like thermal regulators but were actually something quite different. The surfaces of the pavilions were clever constructions, a sandwich of energy-conductive layers that, if correctly programmed, could give the impression of heat sources and metallic objects moving beneath it—or make the same appear invisible. Even the most naïve of the Oralians knew that the Bajoran Space Guard had surveillance satellites observing every enclave on the planet.

Pasir smiled a greeting at a couple of pilgrims passing in the other direction, and he came to the open space in the dead center of the enclave compound. There was a small fountain there, and it drew the attention of every Cardassian who passed it; the sight of water being used for something so frivolous as a decoration was fascinating to them. A natural spring was a closely guarded resource on a world like Cardassia Prime, where even the energy cost to replicate something as simple as potable water was rationed by the government inspectorate. Here, on Bajor, water was disposable.

Of course, the construction of the fountain was not something that had happened by chance; the Union had the practice of architectural psychology down to a fine art. Just as the capital cities of Cardassia had looming watch-towers and intimidating statuary to reinforce the state’s symbolic power over the individual, so the fountain had been built here to reinforce certain emotions in the minds of those who lived in the enclave. Pasir sat on the lip of it and cupped a hand in the clear water, taking a sip.

“Excuse me.” It was a woman’s voice. “How long is it until sunset?”

The priest glanced up and found a somber-faced female backlit by the afternoon sky. “Oh, please forgive me. I’m afraid I left my chronometer in the refectory.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “It is difficult to reckon the hours here, don’t you find?”

“Quite.” He returned her nod. His next words were in the same light tone of voice. “You have something for me.”

Rhan Ico shook her head, matching the flat, conversational speech level. “Not at the moment. But we’re going to move soon. I’m in the last stages of preparing the process for your insertion. It’s not your first experience of this?”

Pasir’s narrow face remained fixed in a pleasant smile. “I’m sure you’ve read enough about me to know the depth of my experience. I’m quite ready.”

She nodded. “I understand it can be painful.” When he didn’t answer, she spoke again. “Congratulations are in order, by the way. Your work aboard the Lhemor…The effect has been exactly as we hoped. Better, even.”

He looked away, watching for any observers. The gesture seemed casual. “I admit that I was forced to improvise in the aftermath. Fortunately, I was not placed in a position where I had to compromise my legend.” Pasir smiled briefly. “I underestimated the resourcefulness of Bennek and the Bajoran law enforcer.” He spread his hands. “Oralius protects,as they say.”

Ico gave him a level stare. “Or so they hope.” She sighed. “I’ve grown weary of hearing their dogma every day, but Kell has ensured that I remain posted here instead of at the embassy in Dahkur.”

“He suspects?”

“Of course. He’s not a fool. But he knows little.” She gestured around. “This is his small way of attempting to spite me.”

“Ah.” Pasir’s head bobbed. “A petty man, then. But you have made good use of your posting on Bajor. The intelligence you’ve accumulated is quite compelling.” He paused, thinking. “But Dukat…He appears to be a serious concern.”

“Leave Dukat to me,” said Ico. “He’s young and ambitious, and a staunch patriot. Despite his loathing for us, I think I can use that to make him work to our agenda.”

The priest took another sip of water. “Tread carefully, Rhan. He is the random factor here.”

“I know.”

“Should I be aware of anything else?”

She frowned slightly. “One of my subordinates—from my legend, you understand?—a man named Pa’Dar. He’s exhibiting some rather independent behavior, sniffing around in areas outside his responsibility.”

Pasir made an affirmative noise. “Removal, then?”

Ico shook her head. “No, that would be too problematic at this stage. Pa’Dar’s family is well connected with the Detapa Council. His death would raise too many questions. Just be aware.”

“I always am,” said the priest. He paused and glanced down at his hands. “Regarding the…insertion. I’m concerned there may not be enough time for a full—”

She shook her head. “We are working on an accelerated timetable in that area, yes. But everything is in hand. As I told you, the moment is being prepared for. In the interim, we’ll begin some of the less visible corrections.”

“As you wish.” The hollow sound of a gong rang through the clearing, and Pasir got to his feet.

“What is that?” asked the woman.

“The call to vespers,” he explained. “I’m assisting Bennek in the recitation tonight, and I must prepare. He wants to make some sort of speech at the funeral service tomorrow.”

Ico’s lip curled. “Thank you for reminding me. I must find a convincing reason not to attend. I do find theological rituals so offensive.”

“Ah, pity them, Rhan.” Pasir’s tone was lightly mocking. “The Oralians have so little left now. They’re almost extinct.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “When the time comes, we will have to work harder to expunge the Bajoran faith. It will not be so easy with the aliens.”