With that, Dax turned his attention back to the resolution.

“Why not simply cede the planet to the Cardassians?”

That got Dax’s attention just from the sheer ludicrousness of it. “I beg your pardon?”

“Let’s look at this objectively for a moment. The Cardassians are the ones who charted and discovered the planet, they’re the ones who found the Ch’gran remains. The Klingons only found out about it because they were spying on the Cardassians. What possible reason do you have to even give the Klingons a chance at this?”

Dax set the text of the resolution down. Garrett had suggested the same thing, of course, but what sounded reasonable coming from the commander’s mouth sounded totally idiotic from the lieutenant’s. “Because if we don’t, there will be a war. Just because two parties are unableto fight a war, as you put it, doesn’t mean they won’t make an attempt at it. It’s all well and good to say, ‘let’s look at this objectively,’ but the Klingons can’t do that. This relic is sacredto them. Believe me, Vaughn, this is the only alternative to a war that will, in all likelihood, tear this quadrant to pieces.” Having nothing more to say, he picked up the padd and started reading again.

“Perhaps you’re right, Mr. Ambassador,” Vaughn said in a tight voice. “But I’ve been in Starfleet long enough to know that I have a good instinct for this sort of thing, and that instinct is telling me that this cannot come to a good end.”

Seeing nothing to be gained by replying to Vaughn’s arrogance, Dax simply continued reading until the lieutenant finally took the hint and walked away.

After the door to the lounge closed behind the younger man, Dax looked up. I need to find out who sent that imbecile on this mission. Perhaps Sarek will be able to find out.

Chapter 12

Cardassia Prime

When Zarin’s party returned to Cardassia Prime, “Talen Kallar” was dismissed and allowed to go home. Home was a sparsely furnished apartment barely two hundred square meters in area that was nevertheless able to hold all of Corbin Entek’s worldly possessions. Entek had never been one for sentiment—one of many personality traits that made him ideal for the Order—and so he had nothing that could be considered a personal item that wasn’t directly related to personal hygiene and/or sustenance.

Now he simply had to wait until the Order summoned him. He passed the time by giving a final proofread to his report—which would be hand-delivered once the summons came. Such sensitive intelligence could not be transmitted.

Shortly after he finished reading the report over a third time, his comm unit beeped and a voice read out a coded message. Entek’s keen mind decoded it instantly—and then he blinked his wide brown eyes in surprise. He had expected to be sent to the business office that served as an Order front, where he always met with his supervisor. Instead, he had been told to report directly to Order headquarters.

Briefly, Entek worried that someone might see “Kallar” entering that edifice, thus blowing his cover, but the Order would not have summoned him there if they thought that would be a problem. That meant either that the cover was no longer a concern, or his being seen wasn’t one. Besides,he thought, Kallar is a lowly intern, not worthy of being noticed. I suspect I could walk right by Zarin or Olett on the street and they would not even know who I was.

It only took thirty minutes to traverse the distance from his apartment complex to Order headquarters via mass transit—his orders included no mention of permission to use transporters, which were generally reserved for high-level operatives, or agents actually in the field. Entek took advantage of the opportunity to study his fellow Cardassians, all moving about their lives blissfully unaware that they were under scrutiny. Well, truthfully, they probably knew they were under some kind of scrutiny at all times. Monitors in the train car provided a steady stream of governmental decrees—propaganda, truly—to remind the masses of the great nation they lived under. Entek had always been of two minds about the practice. On the one hand, it was good to reinforce doctrine to the citizenry. On the other hand, familiarity could breed contempt. The very omnipresence of the propaganda lessened its effect, as it became part of the background, something that was seen and heard, but not really observed or listened to.

Still, that was Central Command’s decision. Like most of Central Command’s decisions, it was questionable. Such as, for example, breaking our agreement with the Federation and hiding ships in the Betreka Nebula.

When the train arrived at the downtown stop proximate to Order headquarters, Entek disembarked and walked up the stairs. The streets were crowded with pedestrians of all ages at this late afternoon hour—parents with their children, who were just let out of school, workers leaving their offices to return home to their families, merchants selling their wares.

One woman stood at a cart, selling biscuits and assorted libations. Entek noted that she palmed something into the bag of one customer before handing it to him, and she and the customer exchanged what Entek viewed as a significant look. He committed their physical descriptions to memory and made a mental note to report them to the Order. If they were engaged in seditious acts, the Order needed to deal with it. If, on the other hand, they were engaged in legitimate covert business, they needed to be more discreet. True, Entek was trained to notice such things, but the merchant was still too obvious, as far as Entek was concerned.

Entek turned a corner into a dead-end street. Almost the minute he made the turn, the ambient noise level decreased and the number of people on the street dwindled. The fifty-story gray edifice at the end of the cul-de-sac was not one that many Cardassians went to willingly. Entek knew that this was not truly the Order’s stronghold, simply where they kept several administrative offices; it was the Order’s sole public face, necessary to give the citizenry a point of reference. Still, Entek had never actually set foot in this building before.

He approached the reception desk, the padd containing his full account of the Betreka Nebula incident in a duffel bag he carried over his shoulder.

“I was instructed to report,” he said simply.

The woman at the reception desk barely looked up from her computer. She pointed to the retinal scanner. Entek dutifully leaned into it, allowing the amber light to scan his eyes. Moments later, it verified his identity and ran that through the computer, searching for a match in the day’s appointments.

“You’re to report to Room 2552,” the receptionist said a moment later.

“Thank you,” Entek said. “I also wish to report a possible act of sedition.”

The receptionist activated a recording device, and Entek gave every detail he could about the biscuit vendor and her customer.

Then, content that he had done his duty to Cardassia, he proceeded to a turbolift and instructed it to take him to the twenty-fifth floor.

The office in question was in the center of the building, on the middle floor. Entek realized that this put it in probably the most secure above-ground part of the structure: its epicenter.