“Keeve Falor—”

“Is an exile on Valo II. His word’s not enough. I need indisputable proof to show my superiors before we can even thinkabout becoming involved.”

Jekko was silent for a moment. “You want proof? I’ll take you to the enclave outside the city and you can see it for yourself.”

Glinn Orloc stepped out of the cramped cabin and offered the tricorder to his commanding officer. “There is an anomaly, sir.”

Dukat glanced at the technician from the Vandir’s scientific division still working at the corners of the room with a sensor wand. “Explain.”

“A very faint trace of a cellular masking agent on one of the bunks.”

“Purpose?”

“The compound can camouflage the DNA profile of the user. It’s enough to fool a cursory scan. I’ve heard the Obsidian Order uses such things to insert spies in alien populations after they’ve been physically altered to resemble natives.”

“Which suggests there are two women down on the planet who only appearto be Bajoran,” said the gul.

Orloc nodded. “It would seem so.”

20

Darrah Mace crossed the atrium inside the entrance to the Naghai Keep and saw the group of priests entering one of the halls, the mutter of their conversation and the snapping of their wooden sandals echoing around him. A familiar face caught his eye and without thinking he called out a name. “Osen!”

Vedek Gar and his party halted, turning to face him. Darrah regretted the outburst immediately; the clerics gave him withering looks and he was reminded of his childhood, of the times when he was called to account at the temple school for a youthful imprudence. There was a moment when he thought Gar would just ignore him, but then a smile snapped on across the other man’s face and he crossed to the middle of the stone floor. “Mace,” he said with a nod. “Are you well? We haven’t spoken in so long.”

He nodded. “Yeah…” Suddenly he wasn’t sure what to say.

“Things have been so difficult recently,” Gar continued. “There’s so much to do.” He glanced at the other monks. “A lot of concerns.”

“I’m sure, uh, Vedek.” The title seemed strange when he tried to connect it to his old friend; but then, these days Gar was not the person he used to be. The passionate, witty cleric had changed, like so many things, in the wake of the attacks. Darrah had tried many times to place where the shift in their friendship had occurred, and it all came back to the night of the storm. Osen’s face, lit with panic.He searched the expression of the man in front of him and couldn’t see any remnant of that moment. Darrah had never spoken a word of Gar’s wild accusations that night, and Gar had never mentioned it again. Is that why our friendship has faded? Because I’m a reminder of that?

As much as Darrah didn’t want to admit it, the distance between the two old friends had become a chasm yawning between them. Darrah wished he’d said nothing, just let Gar walk on past and not notice him. Once upon a time they had been so easy in each other’s company, but now they were like strangers.

“I understand you were called to the Oralian encampment?” The vedek studied him. “Is Bennek well? I’m bringing him and some of his followers to the keep for a prayer meeting tonight.”

“There was some vandalism,” explained Darrah. “Ever since the Oralians were ejected by their fellow Cardassians, they’ve become targets for everyone who resents the Union presence.”

Gar shook his head. “How terrible. I hope there were no fatalities.”

“None.” Darrah licked his lips, finding it hard to keep a focus on the moment. He tried to change tack. “Vedek… Osen.”He sighed. “Perhaps we should meet, talk. Just you and me, like we used to?” The priest started to speak, but Darrah talked over him. “I haven’t been to temple in a long time, not since Karys left.” It was hard for him to admit it, and he felt the color rising in his cheeks. “I’m thinking I could use a little guidance.”

Gar patted him on the arm. “You should see a prylar,” he replied with a static smile.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids.” He felt cold, redundant. “You’re my priest and my friend, Osen.”

“But not anymore, Mace.” His fingers touched the ornamental metal ring fastening his robes across his chest that designated his ranking in the clergy. “My position means my time has turned to other, larger matters these days. I can’t minister to just one man. Bajor’s course is troubled, and it is important for me and the Vedek Assembly to keep a close hand on the helm.” He flashed the smile again.

“You understand that, don’t you? We all have our duties, our sacrifices to make.” Gar was moving away from him.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

“When you took your vows, I told you that the worst thing about the priesthood was the politics of the clergy.” Darrah threw the words after him. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

Gar looked back. “I don’t recall.” He seemed almost condescending.

“You said that part didn’t matter. That individual faith was the most important thing.”

Gar made an amused noise. “Well. Times and attitudes change, Mace.” He bowed slightly. “Be well.”

The cluster of clerics entered the hall and the door closed, leaving Darrah alone in the sudden silence of the atrium.

Nothing could survive in the Tasak system. A few balls of rock, their atmospheres long since ripped away, and a couple of sterile gas giants orbited around the roiling red mass of the temperamental flare star, keeping their distance. Tasak was a wildly unpredictable solar formation, sometimes going for months without a grumble, other times spitting out promontories of gaseous plasma and frequencies of hard radiation roaring across the interstellar wave-bands. Any form of life that had the temerity to evolve on one of Tasak’s satellites was mercilessly bombarded by punishing storms of energy; and any ships that passed too near without resilient shields would find their crews poisoned. All the highly trafficked spacelanes in the Bajor sector gave Tasak a wide berth, but in spite of its lethality—in fact, becauseof it—the system had become an unofficial waypoint for ships engaged in less than legal endeavors.

Syjin had his courier concealed in the shadow of a shepherd moon orbiting Tasak VII, having taken great care to make sure the mass of the nickel-iron rock was between him and the star. He was working carefully at the warp field modulation controls, editing the engine output to make it fluctuate far beyond the programmed safety limits.

Like hiding a lit match in a bonfire.It was a tricky business, but if executed correctly, he would be able to make the ship’s ion trail vanish into the mess of radiation that blanketed the local area. It would then be a simple matter of setting off once again, safe in the knowledge that anyone tracking him would lose his trace and never be able to pick it up again. He’d be free and clear to head for Ajir and his rendezvous. The Bajoran pilot had done this several times in the past, but it never failed to rattle his nerves. The cockpit space of the little transport ship smelled sweaty from Syjin’s perspiration; it was hard to do the job with one eye on the warp matrix display and another on the sensors, watching for the first blush of hard gammas from a sudden radiation surge.

He was on the verge of completion when the scanner beeped, startling him so much he swore a gutter curse. Syjin glared at the screen. “What now?” he said aloud.

On the monitor there was a return from something close to Tasak VII. Not a radiation surge. A starship.It was moving quickly, under power. The configuration wasn’t one he recognized instantly. The pilot’s heart rate jumped. If it was Tzenkethi or Cardassian, if he was caught here by one of them, there would be nothing to stop him from being atomized and his remains would never be found. Another gruesome benefit of Tasak’s seething pool of radiation.