Addressing Asarem’s back, Kira persisted with her argument. “We may have been thrown out of our homes, seen horrible starvation and disease, but our shrines are still standing and after thinking the Celestial Temple was lost to us forever, the Prophets brought us the Emissary and we became stronger. The prophecies tell us that we will be stronger yet. For all the horrors inflicted on us by the Cardassians, half our population wasn’t executed and millions of our children haven’t died since with flesh melting off their bodies due to radiation sickness. We didn’t emerge from the Occupation drowning in our own dead.” Kira jumped directly into Minister Asarem’s path, blocking her from moving any farther. “Where is your compassion, Minister?”

Cold fury burning, Asarem’s voice shook. “With the generations of dead and brutalized Bajorans who committed no crime save being born Bajoran. The Cardassians allied with the Dominion. They brought destruction on themselves. Now get out of my way before I call First Minister Shakaar and inform him that we need to reconsider your position as commander of this station.”

For a long moment, Kira stood rooted to the spot, staring defiantly at Asarem, daring her to make good on her threats before finally stepping aside and allowing her to pass. She watched Asarem disappear down the corridor. I hope the air is pure enough for you there on the moral high ground, Minister.

How dare Asarem talk to her like she had some vastly enlightened understanding of collaboration and innocent Bajorans dying that Kira didn’t have! She knew. She had lived it; the Occupation had set the stage—had framed her decisions—for her entire life. But at some point, Kira had to stop defining her life by her losses and if that meant accepting friendship with Cardassia, then she damn well would! Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, mouthing a prayer for peace, hoping consolation would come from faith. As much as duty pressed on her mind, Kira knew she had to sort out all the confusing threads unraveling in her mind.

Did I just leap to the defense of the Cardassians? Prophets help me, what am I doing?

First order of business upon retiring to her quarters was changing into civilian clothes, but the usually comfortable, well-worn fabric irritated her skin; the sleeves and neck felt tight and confining, like she’d accidentally put on another’s clothes. She gave up on eating when her replicated hasperat tasted like spicy sawdust. Her mind dulled whenever she attempted any routine task; she found herself in a stupor, wondering what it was she had started but now couldn’t recall. The staticlike quiet pressed on her.

Opening the cupboard that housed the few small remains of her religious life—a few candles, incense, an icon—she removed her earring from a shelf and draped it over her palm, feeling the cold metal links, the weight of the silver. She encapsulated the earring in her fist, gripping it until she felt its edges digging into her skin. One by one, as if in a trance, she lit the candles.

With hands outstretched and eyes closed, Kira prayed.

She interspersed recitations of every prayer she’d memorized since childhood with blunt, almost impatient pleas for the clarity that had thus far eluded her. Time drizzled away—maybe hours—and Kira remained standing. She would stand until she dropped or until her prayers were answered.

At last, her hands fell to her sides and she knew what was required. She considered her earring with longing one last time before she reverently replaced it on the shelf, blowing out the candles and locking the cabinet door.

Gul Macet scrolled through one of several intelligence files he’d brought with him from Cardassia. While he hadn’t always approved of Central Command’s tactics, he wasn’t above sifting their refuse if it aided Cardassia’s cause. A good strategist never discounted information on the basis of how it was collected or who had done the collecting.

Before him on the table, Kira Nerys’ official Singha Internment Camp record lay open, accompanied by the annual ID holos taken until she left the camp to join the resistance. He thumbed through the screens, finding nothing new—nor did he expect to. I thought we had her this afternoon,he thought, recalling the conflict playing across her face. He knew she’d been in the capitol city the night of the attacks. Something haunted in her eyes told Macet he shared that in common with the young Bajoran.

The door chimed. Expecting that Natima had returned to take him up on his offer of a late meal, he ordered the computer to admit his guest. We’ll have to make a plan for tomorrow—Asarem will make us fight for the privilege to return to the table.“Natima, did you have any luck contacting Sirsy?” he asked without looking up from Kira’s file.

Silence.

Usually, Natima’s gown swished as she walked; he hadn’t yet heard footsteps. Perhaps young Vlar has brought me dinner. He twisted away from his studies to see what awaited him.

“Gul Macet,” Kira Nerys began, “I wondered if you might be interested in taking a walk?”

15

“She did it!” Bowers exclaimed. “The worm is transmitting. It’ll only take me a minute to search their system and see if I can find the codes to claim that matter load.”

“Timer set,” Julian said. “We have three minutes before the Cheka system security starts their sweep of the computer. Ensign Tenmei’s lock shows green.” With a transporter lock on Prynn, Bashir tracked her location from the sciences station. She hadn’t moved for ten minutes, but her vitals remained normal, other than indicating agitation.

“Status of Chief Chao?” Vaughn asked.

Bashir rechecked his display and reported, “Also in position.”

Now comes the fun part,Vaughn thought. Waiting.He paced the Defiant’s bridge slowly, keeping his head clear, focusing on the next step in their plan. “We can’t get overconfident, Sam. Breaking into the Cheka system isn’t enough. If we can’t locate the codes, we’ll be right back where we started without the materials Nog needs for the defense system.” And there was the little matter of making sure Prynn had enough time to escape the suite before security linked the computer penetration with her presence. She had been insistent about avoiding a beam-out while she was with Fazzle, wanting to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention. Once she attached the “worm” to the terminal, she’d initiate her exit strategy.

Hunched over tactical, Sam attacked the incoming data with the determination of a grint hound on the tail of a razorback. He tapped through screen after screen, filtering data, running language decryption algorithms and using the Defiant’s computing power to run a separate search, narrowing the amount of information he had to plow through.

“Two minutes,” Julian announced. “So when’s part ‘b’ of our plan supposed to play out?”

Vaughn checked the time, “Shortly. Where are we at, Sam?”

“The computer is searching the Cheka’s trade records”—he paused, grinning—“hey, this is interesting. You think an up-to-date map of where the Cheka weapons are deployed in this sector would be helpful?”

“The codes wouldn’t be as critical, then,” Julian said. “Simplify our lives considerably.”

“Only data for this sector, I’m afraid,” Sam said. “We’d still need the femtobot defense, but it would buy us time to test and deploy it.”

“Download it,” Vaughn ordered. “And any other strategic or military information that might help us navigate our way out of here.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam continued hunting through the data.

Vaughn rested a hand on the back of Sam’s chair and watched. He struggled to believe that such a politically powerful species could manage with such crudely constructed databases. But that’s what happens, I suppose, when you’re too lazy to innovate or organize for yourself.