“Don’t,” said Dukat, barely a breath above a whisper.

“You’ll wake the Bajoran.”

Despite the blood-warm heat inside the enclave blockhouse, Bennek’s skin prickled with a sudden chill. “What…Why are you in my quarters?” He hissed back, shooting Tima a furtive glance. He felt sick; how long had Dukat been there? Hours? Had he seen them together?

As if he intuited Bennek’s train of thought, Dukat’s next words had a smile in them. “She’s quite attractive, for an alien. As time passes, I’m finding it easier to understand the allure of their women. Tell me, cleric, should I try it for myself?”

“You won’t touch her,” Bennek husked, teeth bared.

“No?” There was a soft clink and the shadow moved, helping itself to some of the kanarleft in a decanter on the table. “Hm. A fair vintage, if somewhat functional.”

Bennek eased himself to the edge of the bed. He glanced at the inert lamp, wondering if it would serve him as a weapon if the soldier tried to attack him.

Dukat drained the glass and set it down. “While you have slept, Bennek, while you have dallied here with your masks and scrolls, things have altered. I’m here to tell you about the change in order.”

“Change?”

A nod. “Oh, indeed. I’m afraid that Hadlo has gone to join Oralius. He and all the dissidents who fled Cardassia rather than cooperate with the authorities.”

The priest felt an odd flutter in his chest. “He’s dead…”

“They all are. Your church, such as it is, no longer exists beyond the surface of this planet. All that remains of the Oralian Way is now on Bajor, and you are their leader.” He paused. “Take a moment, Bennek. I understand this is a lot to process all at once.”

The bedsheets bunched in his hands, and Tima murmured again, turning away from him. “You did this.”

“Does that matter? All that is important now is your responsibility. To your faith, to your followers, to the pretty sleeping Bajoran, to your own life. If you want any of those things to last to the dawn, then you must understand that.”

“You’re lying,” Bennek whispered.

Dukat leaned forward, and Bennek caught a glitter of light from the man’s dark eyes. “Don’t be foolish. I’ve never lied to you, Bennek. I have no need to.”

The priest took a shuddering breath. Dukat was telling the truth, it was there in every word he said. Bennek tried to take it all in and gasped. If it’s true…If we are all that is left of the Way, then what must I do?He recalled Hadlo’s words in the library, his exhortation to protect the faith at any cost. Finally he looked again at the shadowy figure. “What do you want of me?”

Dukat smiled in the dimness. “The preservation of what you hold balances on that most Cardassian of traits, Bennek. Obedience.” He got up slowly. “You have the ear of poor Kai Meressa. Convince her that the defense pact will benefit Bajor. Ensure she does not try to sway the Vedek Assembly toward a veto.”

“And if I cannot?”

“Then it will not go well for the last children of Oralius.” He turned his back on the assignation and walked quietly toward the door.

“I have your word?” Bennek hissed, and got a nod in return. “But where are you going?”

Dukat hesitated. “Home,” he explained. “Central Command has seen fit to reward me with a promotion for my service to the Union.” He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze like iron. “But don’t worry, priest. This planet interests me. I’ll be back.”

ONE MONTH AGO

2328 (Terran Calendar)

18

“The power that moves through me animates my life,” said the Cardassian woman, her hands spread to the dull sky. “It animates the mask of Oralius, to speak her words with my voice—”

The burly, balding man at the base of the bantaca’s steps shouted at the top of his lungs. “Take your voice somewhere else!” A growl of approval came from the crowd of Bajorans standing with him. “Go back to your shantytown! The Prophets don’t want you here, spoonhead!”

“This is going to ignite,” said Proka, from the side of his mouth. “You want me to defuse it?”

Darrah ran a hand through his hair and frowned. “No. If we cap this here today, they’ll just blow off steam somewhere else, maybe when we’re not around. Let it play out.” The chief inspector kept close to the parked police flyers, his eyes ranging over the handful of Watch officers that had been assigned to keep order across the City Oval. Not enough,he told himself. There’s never enough of us.

“At least we don’t have to stand side by side with Cardie troopers,” Proka hissed, picking up on his commander’s thoughts. “I’m so sick of that ‘Cardassian citizen, Cardassian jurisdiction’ crap.”

Darrah nodded and said nothing. What am I doing here?He asked himself. He had a small but clean office back in the precinct that he hardly used; instead he was out on the street, ghosting the foot patrols and the airborne units like he did every day. His men liked to say that Darrah Mace was “hands-on,” but there was more to it than that. He was driven. “Can’t stem the tide from behind a desk,” he said aloud.

“Boss?” said Proka.

Darrah indicated the bald man. “We got anything on mouthy over there?”

The senior constable nodded, reading from a padd. “Couple of alert flags, suspected involvement with the Circle. Nothing we can prove, though. Cardassians pulled him for allegedly making trouble out at the enclave, but nothing came of it. I think that’s where he might have lost the finger.”

He looked and saw that, indeed, the bald Bajoran had no index finger on his right hand. “Huh. No wonder he’s pissed at them.”

“That’s why he’s here with his friends. Cardassians don’t give a damn about the Oralians, which makes them a soft target.”

“And to the Circle, a Cardassian is a Cardassian is a Cardassian.” The activist group, under its more grandiose title of Alliance for Global Unity, had grown from a minor impediment to a thorn in the Militia’s side over the last five years—a matter not helped by the fact that many Militia officers quietly sympathized with the militant isolationists.

There were maybe a dozen of the Oralians at the foot of the spire, holding one of their interminable recitations. Darrah scanned their faces, noticing that there were a couple of Bajorans among the Cardassians, swaddled in the pastel-colored robes. He still found it strange to imagine that a Bajoran could find any meaning in an alien religion, but the choice wasn’t for anyone else to make for them, despite what the Circle’s propaganda leaflets said.

The woman was trying to go on. “Oralius is the Way of love,” she was saying. “Her path parallels that of your Prophets, can you not see that?”

It was the opening the bald man wanted. “I’ll tell you what I see, offworlder! I see you masked fools here in my city, trying to take us from the side of the Prophets!” The crowd grumbled in agreement. “It’s your kind who are turning Bajor into a ghetto!” He waved his hand toward the mountains. “Who was it that made me lose my job at the ore works, when they came and bought out the mines to strip them bare? Cardassians! Who is raping our lands, paying off the greedy with your damned technology? Cardassians!” The man stepped forward, shooting a look at the police presence, clearly gauging his chances. “We have to listen to the newsfeeds telling us that our Cardassian friends are keeping the Tzenkethi at bay from that snake’s nest of yours on Derna, but what is really going on? Our ministers are selling out our world to Cardassia and tightening the noose around our necks!”