Deep in the bottommost level of the Valo VI Facility, Dost Abor had taken a moment away from the monotony of his post to answer a call from another of his colleagues in the Order, a man named Kutel Esad. Abor had been acquainted with this man since before his recruitment into the Order, when the two were both in their culmination year at school, but Kutel’s needle-sharp face had changed very little in all those years. It had often been said that Kutel was old before his time, both in appearance and in outlook, and now, in late middle age, he had finally grown into his cautious nature.

“Hello, Dost,”his old friend greeted him. “You indicated in your communiqué that there was some item of business you wanted conveyed to Tain?”

“Indeed, Kutel,” Abor said smoothly. “In reviewing transmissions sent from the Ministry of Science at approximately the time of the object’s disappearance—”

“The object?”

Abor hesitated with some impatience. He had forgotten, of course, that Esad would not know what he was talking about without a bit more explanation. “The Orb, I mean. The object I recovered from the ministry’s storeroom.”

The item in question had been stolen from the Order sometime during the upheaval that followed the assassination of Tain’s predecessor, and had landed in the hands of the Ministry of Science on Cardassia Prime. There it had lain, almost forgotten, except for a single report of a disturbing reaction experienced by a young scientist, many years past. The item had not been seen since, not until Dost Abor ordered a thorough search for it, which had yielded results earlier in the month.

Esad nodded now as he remembered. “Yes, the Bajoran artifact. Tain had it refiled within the Order’s collection, but we have never been able to glean anything of value from any of the so-called Orbs. I must tell you that he was puzzled why you went to so much trouble to locate this particular object.”

“The item itself is of no interest to us,” Abor told his friend. “It is who last handled it that might be of some relevance.”

Esad did not answer, only rearranged his features to convey dubious expectation.

Abor went on. “I have quite a lot of time to review old transmissions, messages that have been encrypted, intercepted, and then filed away to be decoded at another time. The last time I was stationed here, I happened upon an old one, sent approximately twelve years ago, that had originated at the Ministry of Science with a researcher named Kalisi Reyar. Her father is Yannik Reyar. Do you know him?”

The tight line of Esad’s mouth pinched together. “He is Enabran Tain’s military go-between,”he said briskly.

“Correct,” Abor replied. “Yannik Reyar received a transmission from his daughter regarding a matter that she felt concerned the Order. One of our tracers flagged a few terms it felt warranted our attention, but the second check found nothing of immediate interest in the transmission and filed it away to be reviewed at another time. I was the one tasked with reviewing that message to determine its relevance, and I learned something that I found to be a bit curious.”

“And what might that be?”Esad’s tone indicated that he was indulging his old friend.

“It seems that his daughter was the person who gave authorization for our object to be removed from the science ministry’s storeroom, the last time it was taken out—before it became classified and then misplaced.”

Esad nodded, but his expression still held no interest.

“That last encounter with the object coincided with an outcropping of rumor surrounding the Oralians.”

Esad made a face now, expressing his disgust regarding the followers of the so-called Oralian Way. The ancient faith had supposedly experienced a resurgence in the past decade or so, a surprise to many who had previously accepted that the followers had all been killed in the settlements on Bajor, where they had been relocated prior to the annexation of that world. Modern Cardassians were not sad to see them go, for their religion was an impediment to progress, a throwback to a time of foolish superstition and a cumbersome theocratic government. Recent reports indicating that groups of Oralians had begun to meet in secret was puzzling and perplexing to Central Command. Many believed that these groups were simply comprised of young, rebellious people, experimenting with forbidden nostalgia that they did not actually understand.

“Enabran Tain is fairly certain that the rumors surrounding the Oralian Way are just that—rumors,”Esad said.

“They may be only rumors, but even if they are—the inception of those rumors coincided with the disappearance of that Orb.”

Esad nodded slowly. “Have you reviewed the files regarding the Ministry of Science’s records on the object?”

“Yes. The last scientist to handle the object was a woman named Miras Vara. I believe she was the one who misfiled it in the first place.”

“The ministry claimed that it was misfiled accidentally. They are not known for their efficiency, as anyone can attest—”

Abor interrupted the other agent. “Miras Vara disappeared at the same time as the object. She did not misfile it by accident, Kutel. She took pains to hide it. Now, why do you suppose she would have done that?”

“I have no idea,”the other agent replied. “But if you have a theory, I suggest you enlighten me, because I am sure that Tain would love to hear it.”

Abor hesitated, deciding how much he wanted to elaborate. “She is affiliated with the Oralians,” he said. “I am sure of it.”

Esad chortled lightly. “Your certainty will not go far with Tain. But if you can prove it, Dost, then I suspect Tain might have reason to congratulate you.”

“I don’t want congratulations,” Abor said. “I want to be back in the field, where I belong.”

Esad smiled. “Well. I will let Tain know of your, ah, suspicions, and we’ll see what he has to say.”

Abor returned his smile with cordiality. “I will look forward to his reply.”

2

Thrax watched a string of the little orange-hued people as they unloaded the shipping containers from the open maw of their ship’s hull, making fairly efficient work of it, but Terok Nor’s security chief was wary of them nonetheless. Under his gaze, one of the creatures broke away from the others and strode across the cargo bay toward him.

“I am DaiMon Gart,” said the oily little man, indistinguishable from the rest of his crew.

“DaiMon,” Thrax acknowledged curtly, wondering if he might have met this particular Ferengi before—their names were as similar as their ugly faces and their loudly patterned outfits. Thrax manufactured a thin smile. “It’s a pleasure to do business with you, sir.”

“Oh, no, the pleasure is entirely mine,” Gart said eagerly. “In fact, I wonder if your commander might be interested in working out a trade agreement with my little venture. I noted that you Cardassians have been doing business with the Lissepians for quite some time…but did you also know that the Lissepians have been secretly tacking on a surcharge for their refueling costs? They are also notorious for overcharging their clients for unstable cargo. We Ferengi have no qualms about taking on virtually anything you want transported—even through Federation space, if necessary—and I do mean anything.”

“Ferengi have few qualms, I’ve found,” Thrax said mildly, though he was certain that Dukat would have no interest in striking up a “bargain” with Gart, or any other Ferengi. They were an intensely avaricious people—annoyingly so, in fact, with a reputation for deceit.

A noisy scuffle caught his attention, interrupting the flow of shipping containers through the short brigade of Gart’s crew.

“Tell your men to resolve their disputes somewhere other than on my station,” Thrax said sharply.