He began the restart sequence for the engines as a second beep sounded, this time from the communications system. Syjin blinked and gingerly answered the hail. “Uh. Hello?”

A clipped voice responded over a static-laced channel. “Unidentified vessel, this is the Federation starshipGettysburg. We have detected energy fluctuations in your warp core. Are you experiencing difficulties? We stand ready to assist you, should you require it.”

“Starfleet?” Syjin gaped. “What are you doing out here?” He asked the question without thinking.

The concise, tight diction sounded like a Vulcan’s. “We are engaged on a mapping mission. Do you require assistance?”

A grin split Syjin’s features. A Federation starship, this deep into the Bajor sector, plotting stars? Syjin’s career had taught him how to both present and detect falsehoods, and he knew a poor one when he heard it. It wasn’t unknown for Starfleet to have vessels out in the deeps, conducting other so-called “mapping missions” and taking note of Cardassian ship movements. The ongoing cold war between the Union and the Federation was well known to every commercial pilot in the sector. He muted the communicator and thought aloud. “What are they reallydoing here? Huh. Do I actually want to know?”

“Unidentified vessel, please state your designation and planet of origin.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’m going to be doing that.” It was embarrassing, in a darkly comic sort of way. Syjin wasn’t supposed to be here, but then, neither was the Gettysburg.The pilot toggled the channel open again. “We’re fine,” he said, “we’re all fine here…” He trailed off, feeling awkward. “How are you?”

There was a pause. “We are also…fine.”

The warp matrix modifications were complete, and Syjin slipped into his acceleration couch and brought the engines to power. “Great,” he replied. “Well, uh, good-bye, then!” Before anything else could happen he let his ship drop away from the shepherd moon and pushed it to warp three. In twelve hours he’d be at Ajir, where Grek and his new cargo would be waiting for him.

On the scanner the Gettysburgreceded into the clutter of Tasak’s radiation backwash. “If you didn’t see me, I didn’t see you,” he declared.

In his chambers, Jas Holza listened to the law officer deliver his report with only half an ear. Darrah Mace was a capable man, if a little too dogged for his own good. He was reliable. The minister studied him and wondered if that had been where he had made his mistakes. I don’t have enough reliable men. Or perhaps it is becauseI am not a reliable man.Jas reached for the glass of springwine and drained it in a gulp. The drink burned warmly in his gullet, but the taste faded fast. He was losing his appreciation for this particular vintage.

“You’ve no leads on the matter of the Oralians, then?” Jas asked, breaking into the middle of Darrah’s statement.

“Nothing at all?”

The chief inspector shook his head. “They have no security out there, Minister. If I had a few more men…Perhaps if you could request that the Militia send some officers to me on assignment from one of the other districts…”

Jas sniffed. “Work with what you have, Darrah. Coldri and his staff have adopted a bunker mentality in recent months. They won’t be relaxing that anytime soon.”

The lawman chewed his lip, and Jas imagined what he might be thinking. No surprise there, considering the way that the Militia is continually being marginalized.Only a few days ago, Jas had been informed in minutes from the Chamber of Ministers that Kubus Oak had accepted Cardassian military escorts for his Bajoran cargo vessels, instead of the more usual Militia-crewed ships. And then there were the accusations in the media that Jaro Essa had been involved in the creation of a plan for a military coup; Jaro was protesting his innocence, and no concrete evidence had been uncovered as yet, but the claim trailed him in everything he did. Coldri had already distanced himself from the ambitious young officer, and several newsfeeds—those that Kubus seemed to have an indirect investment in—were stirring up public disenchantment. Rumor had it that Jaro was going to join Keeve Falor and the thousands of others who had gone into voluntary exile offplanet. A fate I may soon share myself.

He looked up and realized that he hadn’t been listening. “Pardon me, Inspector, my attention wandered. Please repeat yourself.” Jas poured another generous glass of springwine.

“I said, sir, that the incidents of civil unrest within the city limits are being dealt with, but the situation isn’t improving.”

Jas waved a hand at him. “You want stricter powers for arrest and sentencing? Very well. You have them. Do what is required. I want my city held firm.” He sipped from the glass. “That is the least I must have…”

“Minister, with all due respect, locking people up and harsher policing won’t solve this problem. The people need to know that they are being heard.” Darrah stepped closer to Jas’s desk. “The situation is fragile. People are falling into the old D’jarradivisions. The high-caste citizens are afraid, the low-castes think they’re being sold out. Perhaps, if you could make a statement, sir, something visible.”

“No, I must concentrate on the important matters.” Jas shook his head. “Lonnic was always so much better at navigating these kinds of problems for me,” he added as an afterthought.

Darrah frowned. “Minister, what’s more important than your city?”

The lawman’s tone made him bristle. “I don’t presume to expect a Ke’lorato understand the issues that occupy my days!” Anger came from nowhere, hot and potent. “Do you think that if I had the power to do more, I would not? I am at my limits!” Just as quickly, the rage abated. “I’m empty. I have nothing with which to fight.”

“Sir—” began Darrah.

Jas indicated the door with his glass, ignoring him.

“Thank you for your report, Chief Inspector. Your input is appreciated, but I’m afraid I must cut this short. I have a meeting in Ashalla tonight. I have…I have to prepare.”

He drained the glass, hardly noticing the man leave. Jas’s sullen mood took full hold. Another crisis meeting in the Chamber of Ministers,he mused, another crisis to go with this crisis and that crisis, over and over. Our freedoms cut away, another piece of meat flensed from the carcass of the governing edicts of the Republics…

Jas examined the glass, seeing himself like the empty vessel, filling with dread as easily as he filled it with wine. His hands trembled a little. Kubus Oak would be waiting for him in Ashalla, as he had been every other time; and on this occasion, just as before, the man would take another piece of him. With the Cardassian influence he had behind him strengthened, the influence Kubus had for so long kept concealed, the minister from Qui’al was consolidating his power base. Talk abounded among the junior politicians that Lale would not seek reelection after his second term concluded and that it would be Kubus in the First Minister’s place. Jas tried to recall the time when he had wanted that role for himself, but now it seemed like some childish fancy. The Jas clan’s small power was waning as Kubus bought out its holdings, diminishing Jas’s authority with each passing month. How did I come to this?

“Soon there will be nothing left but these old walls.” He rocked back in his chair and spoke to the keep itself. “This alone is ceded to me by my birthright, with no question of its being taken from me.” In the old times, in the era of the First Republic, Kubus would have led an army to the gates of the keep and battered them down, then murdered Holza and his family and made himself city-lord. Thousands of years later, things were so much more civilized. “Today,” Jas grumbled, “today he will cut me with paper and strangle me with lines of influence. Bleed my money. Kill me without killing me.”