Vaughn laughed. “When you put it that way, I suppose I can’t disagree. I take it you already have someone in mind for the job?”

Ro reached out and keyed another file on the padd in Vaughn’s hand. The commander started to read, and then noted the time. “Let’s continue this discussion on the Brahmaputra.I need to head back to the station before Girani sends out search teams. Unless you need to stay on Bajor?”

Ro shook her head. “My business here is done for now. I’ll be checking to see if there are any new leads into the Hedrikspool massacre when I get back to DS9.”

They stood up together, and then Vaughn looked at her. “You probably haven’t heard this from enough people in Starfleet, Ro, but I want you to know…I for one am glad you put the uniform back on.”

“Thank you, sir. But…why?”

“Because I know what really happened on Garon II.” The commander tapped his combadge. “Vaughn to Brahmaputra.Two to beam up.”

Rena

“…raka-ja, ut shala moala…ema bo roo-kana-uramak,”Rena chanted. In the small confined space—little more than an empty closet—the smoke from the duranjalamp irritated her eyes, but she forced her attention on the benediction to the Prophets to protect her grandfather and guide him on his journey to the Temple gates. “Ralanon Topa propeh va nara ehsuk shala-kan vunek—”

A gentle rap at the door broke her concentration. She shifted out of her cross-legged meditation posture onto her knees and blew out the oil lamp before inviting her visitor to enter.

Unsurprisingly, Fed peered around the corner of the door. “Supper’s ready,” he said.

Rena followed him through a maze of open-beamed hallways to a dark-paneled storage room. From the three-meter-high shelving units pushed back against the rear wall, she surmised that it had formerly been a wine storage area. Their hosts, an elderly couple they’d met earlier, had cobbled together a makeshift kitchen with hot plates warming what smelled like hasperat.Ceramic jugs fitted with spigots provided water or wine. From the raucous laughter, Rena assumed the barge crew had resumed their imbibing from where they’d left off at the rest-and-sip. The group had staked out a corner of the room, sprawled out on the floor, and was playing shafa.Noticing that their hosts weren’t to be found, Rena imagined they had retired for the night. With this group for company, I can’t blame them.

The hasperatwas stale. It was served with a sauce that was obviously meant to mask the fact that the flatbread holding it together was about three days past its fitness for consumption. She tried not to let her revulsion show, but Fed hadn’t missed the abrupt clenching of her jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Fed said quietly, reaching for her plate. “I thought most Bajorans like hasperat—”

Rena touched his arm, halting him. “It’s the bread,” she whispered. “It’s way past the point when it should be used this way.”

“Wow. I didn’t even notice.”

“Most people wouldn’t. But my family has run a bakery in Mylea for generations. A lot of things, I don’t know. Bread, I know.” Rena made quick work of finishing her hasperat,then washed it down with a large mug of cold, crisp water. Attending to her needs, Fed hovered nearby. She’d told him repeatedly that he could join his friends, but he insisted on staying with her. Though she found his behavior slightly odd, she didn’t attempt to dissuade him. During their walk of several tessijens from the rest-and-sip to the winery, she had found him to be an amiable traveling companion.

Conversation had been spare. She had learned that he, too, had been an only child until just recently, when his father’s second wife had given birth, and that he’d lived in the Bajoran sector since his early teens. She deduced, based on the timing, that he must have arrived with the first Starfleet contingent that assumed control of the space station, and Fed confirmed it. They had both lost parents in wartime: Both her mother and father had been arrested and tortured by the Cardassian occupiers of Mylea; his mother had died in a space battle far from Bajor. He offered tantalizing glimpses into his past. His archeological “experience” came from working at B’hala. B’hala!She’d plied him with questions about the Ohalu texts, but he subtly deflected her inquiries. He had answers—she knew it—but she didn’t pry. Long stretches of road had been traversed without words passing between them, and Rena liked that. She’d grown accustomed to the tempo of his steady footfalls, though she had to take a step and a half for each step of his. Having a companion had helped the time pass quickly.

When they’d arrived at the winery, they’d all been assigned rooms in the wine-production facility, not currently in use as the summer fruit crops had not yet ripened. Fed had even obtained a blanket and bedroll for her before the others poached them all. Touched by his kindness, Rena had thanked him profusely, for the first time during the long day feeling relaxed and hopeful that the worst was behind her.

Until the present moment.

Rena was filling her water mug when she became aware of hot breath, sour with wine and hasperat,on her neck. “Little missy want to come over and join us for a game or two?”

Squeezing between the buffet table and the riverman, she politely declined. “I’m not much for shafa.”

“We don’t have to play shafa,”he persisted, trudging along behind her, hovering too close for Rena to feel comfortable.

Turning on her heel, she looked him square in the eye. She considered, briefly, whether or not she should play a round of shafain the hope that it would placate her tagalong; he didn’t have a malicious air about him. But from appearances, they had more than enough players, including a few women who worked as servers in the rest-and-sip. Rena wouldn’t be missed. “No, thank you. Perhaps another time,” she said, smiling congenially.

“Look at her!” one of the crewman shouted, pointing. “She smiled at you, Ganty. She likes you.” This pronouncement sent the group into gales of cackling laughter.

“Get back to the game, Ganty,” Fed said, materializing by Rena’s side. Placing a hand on Ganty’s shoulder, he leaned over and whispered loud enough for Rena to hear, “I think Volvin is cheating. You’d better check your icons.”

“That reptile!” Ganty proclaimed, and tottered off.

She exhaled slowly, releasing tension that she didn’t know she had. Whatever remaining appetite Rena had was overtaken by exhaustion. Noticing this, Fed suggested she call it a night. No new word had come from the provincial rangers. There would be no traveling before dawn at the earliest. She received his suggestion gratefully—as she did his companionship when he walked her back to her closet room. At her door, she paused, studying the unusual man who’d been keeping her company. Besides his obvious good looks and genial manner, Fed carried himself with an earnest seriousness she didn’t often find in her peers. Who are you,she thought, and realized she didn’t yet know his name.

“So,” he said.

“So.” Rena took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, and said, “We probably should exchange names. I’m Rena.”

“I’m Jacob.”

“Jay-cub,” she said, trying to reproduce the “uh” sound the way he said it instead of as an “oh” sound the way she was inclined to do. “Thanks for…for being my steward for the day.”