“It is!” Tima yelled, her anger breaking out. “They want to starve us to death! They hate the Way!”

Darrah held up his hands to silence her. “Calm down. Throwing accusations around without any proof will do none of us any good.” He sighed. “One thing at a time. How are you going to feed your people?”

The cleric sagged, as if the weight of the question was too much for him. “I…do not know. I will find a way.” He sighed. “We have so many here now. Almost all of the pilgrim groups remaining on Bajor have come to this place, so that we have safety in our numbers.”

Darrah nodded. After the Oralians were evicted from the Cardassian enclaves, shantytowns like this one had sprung up all across the planet; but many of them had been suddenly abandoned, or fallen victim to mysterious fires. He studied Bennek and found himself wondering exactly how many followers of the Way were left.

“How are you going to keep us safe?” Tima demanded.

“Or do we have to take the law into our own hands?”

“Let’s not start down that road,” said Proka sharply.

“We’ll investigate this.”

“Like you did the last time, or the time before that?” she said bitterly. “Have you ever been able to find a culprit? Or is it that you don’t want to?”

“Tima, that’s enough!” Bennek broke in. “These are honorable men, and they’re doing the best they can.”

“But it’s not enough,” Darrah admitted. “She’s right, Bennek. No witnesses, no leads, no suspects. And with the unrest in the city, I can’t afford to leave men out here to guard you.” He frowned. “I’m sorry. I wish I could give you guarantees, but these are dark times and people are angry, they’re frustrated.”

Proka nodded grimly. “They’re lashing out at anything and everything.”

“Everything?” Bennek leaned back, resting on his uninjured leg. “Why, then, does it seem that it’s only the children of Oralius who are being attacked?” He shook his head. “Have any temples of the Prophets been set alight? Have any priests of your faith been murdered, Chief Inspector? Can you tell me what I must do to stop it?” He gestured toward Tima. “Is she correct? Must we shed blood ourselves?”

Darrah gave him a hard look and responded with his own questions. “Is that what you want to do, Bennek? Have you been making plans to do those very things?”

The cleric jerked as if he had been struck. “Of course not! The Way is a religion of peace…” He faltered for a moment, as if remembering something. “Peace,” he repeated. “Violence is anathema to Oralius.”

“There are rumors that you think differently now,” said Darrah, earning him a sharp look from Proka. “I’ll tell you this, even if some think I’m tipping our hand to do it. On the streets, there’s talk that desperation is driving you toward a holy war. A religious coup, with Oralius unseating the Prophets here in Korto District.”

Shock paled the Cardassian’s gray face. “That is insanity! That we would strike at those who have given us succor when our own world turned us out…. The very idea sickens me!” He wobbled as he stepped forward. “Look around! Do you see the hungry men and women, the children and the lost ones, come to huddle together?”

Darrah found his eyes drawn to the hooded Oralians all around them, all silent and afraid.

“Can you see a holy army here?” cried Bennek. “We barely hold on to life, Darrah Mace! We have no strength to take it from others!” He sagged back, the outburst having drained him. The cleric’s injuries had clearly hurt him more than he had been willing to admit.

Darrah glanced at Proka, fighting off the despair that threatened to settle on him. “Let’s go. There’s nothing else we can do here.”

Dukat paged through the padd, musing as his crew worked quietly at their bridge stations. The report displayed the current deployments and flight operations status for every Cardassian ship in the Bajor Sector, and it made for interesting reading. Getting the information out of Kell had been difficult, and now he had it in his hands, he saw why. The jagul had been remiss, allowing too many ships to be placed too far out from the primary objective, which was Bajor herself. A tighter noose is required,he told himself, making notes on redeployment orders. He halted, halfway through. Of course, whatever orders I give, Kell can countermand on a whim. It would be like him to do that, just to spite me.Dukat sighed. What games are being played at Central Command that allow that fool to remain at his post here?He knew the answer; like so much of Cardassia’s infrastructure, the military was rife with nepotism and partiality, and the Kell name held much sway. Ten years. Ten years he has been here and still the flow of commerce from Bajor is a trickle. Still people on the homeworld are going hungry.A hard edge of memory cut into him as he thought of Athra, and of the son he had never seen. Never again,he vowed. Never again—

“Gul?” Dal Tunol turned from her station. “Signal from the orbital picket. There’s a ship moving out of the authorized transit corridors, refusing to answer hails. I’m getting no read from its transponder.”

Dukat raised an eyebrow. “Some criminal attempting to circumvent the customs net,” he offered. “Can’t these Bajorans keep control of their own airspace?”

“There’s a Militia vessel in the area,” said his first officer.

“We can let them deal with it.”

He put down the padd. “No. Let’s show the locals how to do the job properly.” Dukat stood up. “Put us under power, Tunol. We’ll consider it a drill.” And I need a distraction to amuse me.

“Complying,” she replied.

The decks hummed slightly as the cruiser’s impulse engines came online, and on the main viewscreen Dukat saw the view shift as Bajor’s surface dropped away. “Tactical. What’s the target?”

“A bulk freighter,” came the reply from the gunnery station. “Configuration matches a Xepolite class six transport.”

Tunol snorted. “I thought all those ships had been withdrawn from service. Hardly a fitting challenge for a Galor-class cruiser.”

“No accurate sensor read on internal structure or life signs,” said the gunner. “They have a detection mask in place.”

Dukat watched the scanners and saw the energy distribution peaking. “That appears to be a power surge. Our friend here thinks he can run.”

Tunol placed her finger to a communicator bead in her ear. “Gul, the Bajorans are signaling. They want us to stand down from the pursuit.”

“I’m sure they do.” Dukat nodded at the gunner. “Put a shot across the Xepolite’s bow.” Over the keening of a disruptor blast, he turned to Tunol. “I suppose we should follow the letter of the law and warn them.”

She nodded and opened a channel. “Xepolite freighter, this is the Cardassian Union warship Vandir.Cut power and stand to, or the next shots won’t miss.”

Dukat smiled approvingly. “Very succinct, Dal.”

“Vessel is slowing,” said the gunnery officer, with a hint of disappointment.

“Target his engines,” continued the gul. “Burn them off.”

“Sir, he is complying,” began Tunol.

“That’s correct,” said Dukat, “but Xepolites are a changeable sort. Let’s make sure he doesn’t have second thoughts.”

On the screen, disruptor bolts ripped into the freighter’s warp pylons and cleanly severed the engine nacelles.

“I’m tired of drifting here in orbit while Kell ignores us.” Dukat dropped the padd on his chair, his concerns forgotten for the moment. “I’m going to lead the boarding party. You have the ship, Dal.”

They waited for the two-bell tram and climbed up to the top deck as it clattered through the streets of Korto. Jones did as Nechayev told her, taking the vacant seat at the front, while Nechayev placed herself farther down and to the right. She had a good view there; she could keep the rookie in sight and still observe the rest of the passengers without making it obvious. Not that there were a lot of them. At this time of day, the tram was only a third full, and mostly with the elderly going out to temple.