Gil Damar busied himself triple-checking the conference room’s comm feeds, to accommodate the individuals who would be “attending” the meeting via link. Among those would be Legate Danig Kell of Central Command, Dukat’s immediate superior. Damar knew that this meeting represented a great deal to Dukat; it was his first chance, as Bajor’s prefect, to actively demonstrate for these officials the direction he wished to take Bajoran relations. It was important that Damar and the other officers in charge of the preparations take care not to overlook anything.

As the visiting officials began to arrive, Damar stepped aside to let them pass, bowing or saluting each man as he took his seat around the heavy table. Four provincial overseers were attending in person from the surface, as well as six of the more influential base commanders; for most, this was their first visit to Terok Nor. Seven more officials would be present via link, and recordings of the meeting would be viewed by a score of other important men.

Damar lingered in the corner as Dukat had instructed him, waiting to be summoned by any of the attendees for a glass of rokassa juice or, for some of the coarser attendees, kanar. Damar himself couldn’t stand the syrupy stuff, never having developed a taste for it, though he’d been known to take a glass in good company for diplomacy’s sake.

As the attendees settled in, the comm links activated, Dukat stood up at the head of the oblong table and spread his hands. “My friends and colleagues,” he pronounced, drawing out each word in his distinctive, slow dialect. “How pleased I am to be greeting you here today. I believe that this meeting, the first of many on this fine new station, will be noted for future generations as a historical event. For we will be discussing a new chapter in the history of Cardassian subject worlds. Specifically, a chapter describing the future of the richest and most successful annexation the Union has ever known.”

Damar noted an undercurrent of mumbling skepticism, and he quickly made his way around the table to fill the dignitaries’ empty glasses.

“Thank you for that introduction, Gul Dukat.” Legate Kell—whose countenance filled the largest viewscreen among several dominating the wall at the foot of the table—remained stoic as he assumed his place as the meeting’s chair. “We all know that the Bajoran annexation has not been without difficulty. The Bajorans have resisted our attempts to bring them to the level of Cardassian technological achievement. They have responded to our help with violence and destruction, frightening away civilian settlers and creating expensive setbacks for Cardassia. Yet, despite that, the Cardassian Union has enjoyed an era of prosperity and comfort due in no small part to the resources we have extracted from the Bajoran system.”

Dukat, now seated, nodded sagely. “And with better management of the terrorist threat, our prosperity will only increase.”

Kell smiled pleasantly. “Indeed, Dukat, I am aware of your political platform.”

Dukat smiled back, undaunted. “With your permission, Legate, I am eager to present to everyone the station’s first productivity report.”

“By all means, Gul Dukat.”

Dukat’s long neck stretched very taut as he stood up straight, his bearing regal. “I am very pleased to report that according to preliminary estimates, the output from Terok Nor’s ore processing units will translate to one hundred new ships in the fleet every three service quartiles.”

Dukat waited as the room broke out in scattered applause. “I might add that those are very conservative estimates. But there’s no use getting ahead of ourselves. I think it would be prudent to ask for a contingent of twenty legions to be sent to Bajor every two service quartiles, until the insurgency is entirely extinguished.”

Kell made an indignant sound. “Twenty?”

“Indeed, Legate. As the output increases—which I believe it will in the space of a year—we’ll want to be certain that the Bajoran perception of our commitment to them remains unshaken.”

“Gul Dukat, I must remind you that a very large contingent of fresh troops has been sent to Bajor within the last month, with more scheduled to arrive soon as part of your new strategy to impose defeat upon the resisting Bajorans. And what I haven’t heard from you is the numbers regarding resistance casualties, which I’m told have not decreased in any significant measure.”

Dukat’s smile tightened. “Perhaps you weren’t aware, Legate, that the bulk of those troops sent to Bajor were redeployed to the colonies along our border with the Federation before it could even be determined that my strategy was effective…”

“I am very aware of it. We are fighting a war on many fronts, Gul.”

“Of course. And yet none of those fronts holds as much importance for the future of the Cardassian Union as does Bajor. If we falter in any way, we send a message to the terrorists that they are winning.”

“If what you say is true, then your effective leadership becomes even more crucial,” Kell said. “I have the utmost faith that you will successfully suppress the resistance with what you have been given.”

“Legate Kell, if I may say something,” interjected Gul Darhe’el, at the table’s corner. One of the regional administrators on the planet’s surface, Darhe’el had for the last ten years overseen the mining operation at Gallitep, one of Bajor’s richest minerological sites.

“Certainly.” Kell nodded.

“It does us no good to downplay the Bajoran threat,” Darhe’el said. “It may seem as though containment is a simple affair, but in fact the resistance has proven to be surprisingly resourceful, and their numbers are only increasing. This suggests to me, as it does to many, that all Bajorans have rebellion in their hearts, and to award them any freedom is an invitation to further attack.” Darhe’el looked pointedly at Dukat when he spoke the last bit.

“I must respectfully disagree,” Dukat replied, his jaw clenching only slightly. “My colleague has presented a very common misconception. In fact, the Bajorans are quite easily made compliant, as just a little leniency seems to go a very long way with them. While it is true that I plan to conduct most of my business from Terok Nor, I have been a student of this planet since first contact, and I will be forging personal relationships with individual Bajorans in order to foster an atmosphere of trust between our two peoples. I am certain that a gentle hand is necessary for maximum output.”

Kotan Pa’Dar, the former scientist who now served as the civilian exarch at the Tozhat settlement, broke in. “I must agree with Gul Dukat, for a change,” Pa’Dar said coolly, and Dukat acknowledged him with a curt nod.

“Only time will tell which strategy is most effective,” Legate Kell said. “It makes no difference to me how the threat is contained, only that it is. Gul Dukat has been appointed prefect of Bajor, and will manage the annexation as he sees fit—with the resources presently at his disposal.”

Damar saw the glint in the prefect’s eyes as Kell spoke, though he didn’t know what it meant. He knew that the two men had a history, and that Dukat did not hold Kell in high esteem, but the legate seemed to be supporting Dukat, and continued to do so throughout the surprisingly brief meeting. Dukat touched on a few other topics and wrapped everything up a short time later, announcing to those who were physically present that anyone who was interested was welcome to gather in the reception room for refreshments.

Damar deactivated the feed before he set about gathering the discarded glasses. Dukat had lingered behind to speak to one of the legates who had traveled from Cardassia VI, and as the legate retired to his quarters, Damar caught the gul’s eye.

“I think the meeting went well,” Damar said hopefully.

Dukat smiled, looking tired. “It went as well as could be expected, considering those fools from the civilian government were invited. So many of them have succumbed to weakness, and I know that at least a few have spread their biases around regarding the situation here. I have no doubt that Kell was unable to see them for the cowards that they are.”

Damar was puzzled. The only “civilian” who’d spoken up had been Pa’Dar. “But…Pa’Dar…he agreed with you. It was Gul Darhe’el who said…”

“Yes, on the surface it would appear that Pa’Dar is aligned with me, and Darhe’el is not. But it is much more complicated than that, I’m afraid. It is always important to know who your friends are, who your enemies are, and what their ulterior motives may be for agreeing or disagreeing.”

Damar felt awed in the presence of such a complicated man. “I am sure that Kell appreciates which men are sincere.”

Dukat laughed. “Are you, Damar? I don’t know where Kell stands at this point, although he at least pretends to have some faith in my abilities.” The gul’s expression narrowed. “As well he’d better. For although it’s clear that very few can understand my strategies, I will be successful, whether Kell is willing to acknowledge it or not. You can make no mistake about that.”

“I know you will be,” Damar replied earnestly.

Dukat’s expression grew more relaxed. “Will I see you in the reception room, Damar?”

“Oh.” Damar was taken aback. “I thought it was reserved for attending officers.”

“I don’t see why we can’t bend the rules a little, considering that I’m the one who makes them.”

Damar was pleased, but in truth he preferred not to attend. Earlier today he had seen Basso Tromac with a group of scrawny and bedraggled Bajoran women, a group that he later saw being herded into the conference room after they had been cleaned up and dressed in tawdry gowns. He quickly deduced that they were meant to attend the reception, and the thought of mingling with the Bajoran females made him uncomfortable on several levels. “I am honored that you would extend the invitation to me, Gul, but I’m unusually exhausted this evening.”

“Of course. No doubt you’re eager to get to your quarters so you can place a communication to your beloved on the surface.”

Damar smiled, thinking of Veja. “If you could see her, you would agree that I can’t be blamed for my impatience.”

“I don’t doubt it, Damar. Still, it might do you well to come and socialize with the officers. You could learn a thing or two.”

Damar spoke with unbridled honesty. “The only officer I wish to learn from is standing here with me right now.”

It was not prudent to travel by foot for a few days after Lenaris’s arrival at the settlement outside Tilar, for the spring rains had made it too wet to be practical. But when a dry day finally arrived, Lenaris joined Lac and Taryl as they picked their way through tessipates upon tessipates of unproductive land, some barren, some choked with noxious weeds. Without irrigation, these fields would doubtless wither into a dry tinderbox in the late summer, and Lac confirmed that wildfires were common.

Lenaris stopped along the way to pick wild alva fruits, which grew in abundance along the old hedgerows that had once marked the boundaries between farms. Lenaris had learned that dried alvas were a mainstay of the Ornathia diet, since they were plentiful and provided enough nutrition to ward off many serious infections. Lenaris popped the fruits in his mouth, savoring the burst of fresh flavor that was severely diminished once the fruits had been dried for preservation.

Lac had insisted that they walk. Though he was confident that the Cardassians could not trace the balon signature of his raider, he did not want to take any chances that the derelict warp vessel would be discovered, and so it was that the three had set out on foot to have a look at the craft.

“This was all productive farmland when I was a boy,” Lac said, gesturing to the knee-high weeds that surrounded them. “We had the most reliable irrigation system on all of Bajor. It was built millennia ago, but it never needed to be restructured. The network of ditches, conduits, and underground canals was incredibly elaborate. I was always warned as a child not to go into the tunnels. They had never been mapped, so it was near-certain that you would get lost—if you didn’t drown first.”

“So, what happened to the waterways?” Lenaris asked him, though of course he already knew. It was the same story everywhere on Bajor.

“The Cardassians,” Taryl answered simply. Lenaris nodded.

Lac continued where Taryl had left off. “They dug up the main canals and diverted all the water to a point about thirty kellipates inland, for a mining operation that they abandoned less than five years later.”

“What a waste,” Lenaris said.

“Yes, it’s their way. They’re a very irresponsible people.”

Lenaris laughed at the understatement.

Taryl broke in. “But really, we’re fortunate that they stripped out the minerals they wanted so quickly. When they deserted that mine, they left us to go back to farming as we had before. But with the irrigation systems the way they are now, most of us have to rely on the elements for watering our crops. The Cardassians have their own system for delivering irrigation to the vineyards, but it’s not sustainable. Some of us started trying to restore the canals, but most of us feel that fighting the Cardassians takes precedence over a convenient way to water the crops.”

Lac grimaced. “The older generation, as I’m sure you can imagine, doesn’t particularly agree with us. Which is why we don’t spend a lot of time at our parents’ farm anymore.”

“The mining operation is near the village,” Taryl explained, gesturing back to where they had come. “We followed the water, basically. Its most abundant flow is back where we built our houses.”

“Does Seefa know where you are?” Lac asked his sister, and Taryl shook her head.

“He doesn’t need to know where I am at every minute of the day,” she said crisply. “So, Holem, do you know where this Tiven Cohr is, or not?”

Lenaris didn’t care to discuss Tiven Cohr, but he wanted Taryl to think him agreeable. “I think so,” he ventured. “I know a few people who could possibly have spoken to him recently. People from my old cell.”

“What happened to your cell, anyway?”

Lenaris frowned. Much as he wanted to engage Taryl in meaningful conversation, he did not want to explain how the cell had broken up. “Just went our separate ways,” he said vaguely.

“Yeah, but—why? If the rumors are true, you had some very skilled people working together. Why would you throw all that away?”

“I don’t think he wants to get into it,” Taryl’s brother said quietly, and Lenaris looked to his friend—for he had come to think of Lac as a friend—with gratitude.

“Is that it?” Lenaris said, pointing to some low foothills that were coming into view.

“Yeah,” Lac confirmed. “She’s right at the base of the smallest of those hills. They’re riddled with kelbonite—the Cardassians’ scanning equipment doesn’t work well here. It’s how she’s avoided their attention all this time.”

No one spoke as they came upon the massive ship, mostly buried in dirt and dense foliage. It was well camouflaged. Lenaris could see from the outline that it had been a mid-sized carrier. Someone, presumably Lac, had excavated part of one wing and a section of cockpit that permitted access to the interior. Ground birds had nested in the gentle fall of rock covering the ship, spiders had spun their webs across the dark, jagged entrance holes; the vessel had a desolate feel, dead and abandoned.

“You’ve gone inside?” Lenaris asked, his heart thumping.

Lac nodded. “A couple of times,” he said. “It’s a little spooky in there…but I didn’t find any bodies—at least, not yet. I think whoever was inside must have bailed out before she came down—I couldn’t find any escape pods.”

Lenaris started to clamber up the incline that led to the exposed cockpit, Lac right at his heels, but Taryl hung behind.

“What is it?” Lenaris asked.

Taryl frowned and looked at her brother.

“You don’t have to come in, Taryl,” Lac said, sounding uncertain. “I mean—maybe you shouldn’t have even come along, if—”

“No,” Taryl said. “I want to come in. I just…”

“What?” Lenaris repeated, trying not to let his impatience show.

“It’s just…I promised Seefa I wouldn’t.”

Lenaris looked to Lac for explanation, since Taryl didn’t seem to want to elaborate.

“Seefa thinks—and some of our cousins as well—they think it’s a bad idea to fool around with this ship. Besides thinking it’s a lost cause, they’re afraid the Cardies are going to find her. Once they’ve seen that she’s been boarded recently, it’s going to lead them straight back to the settlement.”

Lenaris scratched his head. “Well, but…you’re just farmers. You wouldn’t pose any threat to them, just trying to find salvage out here to make your lives a little easier. They’re not going to expect you to be trying to…to fix the thing, right?”

Taryl’s mouth twisted. “Lac and I agree with you,” she said. “But Seefa and some of the others are worried that the Cardies will find out that we’ve been using balon to power our impulse and sub-impulse vessels—ships that we aren’t authorized to be flying in the first place.”

“How would they—?”

“We’ve been shunting balon to the surface at a point near where the mining facility was abandoned—just a stone’s throw from here, in a skimmer. If the Cardies were to find our laboratory, the place where we fuel our raiders—they probably wouldn’t continue to underestimate our abilities so much.”

Holem frowned. He could see the logic well enough, but he couldn’t bear to simply ignore the warp vessel here, just waiting to be fully excavated and repaired. With a warp ship, they could finally regain access to Prophet’s Landing, or Valo II, or any of the other pre-occupation Bajoran settlements. They could conduct a serious assault on occupying forces if they could network with other Bajorans outside the system. Maybe they could even organize an offworld attack.

That would surely make waves among the spoonheads, Lenaris thought, with a helpless grin. He avoided the persistent voice that told him he just wanted to have a crack at flying a warp vessel. This was for the resistance. For his people, his world.

“She’s been here this long without being detected,” Lenaris said. “I say the benefits outweigh the risks. Let’s just have a look inside. If the damage isn’t too bad, maybe we won’t even need Tiven Cohr. I know a couple of things about simple flyer repair—if we just put our heads together…”

Lac didn’t need any persuading, but Taryl lingered behind for another minute before she finally succumbed to what she really wanted to do, anyway, and followed them inside the ship.

Vedek Opaka had set about on this day to tidy and sweep the dust from her stone cottage. Fasil had offered to help, but she sent him off to be with his friends, to enjoy the weather. Summer had finally come to the valley, which meant both good news and bad for the Bajorans who called it home. More and more people went without proper food and shelter with each passing year, and summer was a time for respite from the elements and the inevitably lean colder months. But the hot weather also meant more Cardassian activity on the surface. Opaka knew that many of the local resistance fighters chose to spend the summertime in hiding, plotting their next moves for the winter, when the Cardassian troops would again be at their weakest.

She’d learned as much from some of the people she’d been meeting. Opaka had taken the warming weather as her cue to begin meeting with the scattered groups of people in the valley who did not attend services: the elderly who could not travel far from their camps, the more cynical and despondent Bajorans who believed the Prophets had abandoned them, and of course the restless young people who had begun to live like nomads—many of whom fought in the resistance. These were the people, Opaka had decided, who most needed to hear the message. She’d begun to travel regularly to the camps on the outskirts of the village on days when her duties were light, speaking to whoever would listen. She didn’t preach so much as try to make connections, to remind people that the Prophets were real and that Bajor had a future, and she had been pleased with the mostly positive reception.

She had changed the bedding, dusted and swept the result out the cottage’s front door. She propped the door open and went to wrangle the wood-and-glass panel that covered the tall window near the roof, to air the cottage out. As she turned from the window, she started a bit when she saw the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun.

“Kai Arin,” she said, bowing deeply. “You honor me with your presence. Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you, Vedek Opaka.”

“Please, sit.” Sulan gestured to one of the turned-leg chairs at the wooden table in the center of the room.

Kai Arin sat and immediately began to make small talk, something Opaka had come to expect from the kai when he wished to calm himself. Obviously, he had something to tell her.

“You know…did I ever tell you…this house, many centuries ago…Kai Dava used to live in it. Did you know that?”

Opaka shook her head. “No, I didn’t, Your Eminence. I suppose I knew that someone lived here…I mean, someone besides the porli fowl.”

“It’s true, or at least, so I’m told. In fact, it is rumored that before the old shrine was built, he kept the relics here, in this very house.”

“You mean, a Tear was kept here?”

The kai looked away. “It’s only a rumor, of course.”

Kai Arin’s faraway look spoke volumes. Eighteen years ago, he had tried to save the Orb of Truth, when the Kendra Shrine was destroyed. He had tried to save it, but he had almost died doing so. He had never spoken of it, but Opaka knew he carried guilt, remorse for choosing to save his own life over making every attempt to save the Orb. The Orbs—the Tears of the Prophets—represented a fundamental aspect of Bajoran spiritual life, the ability to connect directly with the Prophets. No one judged Arin for what he had done—no one but Arin himself. He was a spiritual man, and felt keenly the responsibilities of his service.

She quickly changed the subject. “There was a fire here, I was told, long ago…”

Arin spoke quickly. “Yes, it burned the roof off, and the dwelling sat vacant for some time. It was later converted into a springhouse, or something of that nature. It was a toolshed when I first came here, and then, as you say, it was a coop for the fowl, with a batos pen on the other side. Funny, nobody seems to keep batos around here anymore.”

“I suppose nobody can afford to feed them,” Opaka said.

“Things are certainly different now.”

Opaka nodded, recognizing that he was coming to his point.

“Vedek Opaka, I’m told you have begun to preach outside the sanctuary.”

She breathed deeply, nodded.

“I commend you for wanting to bring your message to those who cannot or will not attend services, although that’s usually left to monks in other orders besides yours.”

“Yes, I understand, Your Eminence. I…was only following my heart. I believe this is what the Prophets wish of me.”

“Perhaps you are meant to preach outside of the sanctuary, Opaka, but I don’t believe that you are meant to spread dangerous ideas to people already impressionable in their unhappiness.”

Opaka had nothing to say. She had known that it would eventually come to this, but not so quickly. She had not yet prepared a response.

“Vedek Opaka, it is our obligation to spread the words of the Prophets. And those words include the message of Bajoran tradition. It is not our place to reinterpret the Prophets’ words to serve our own personal beliefs.”

“But…” Opaka protested, “the D’jarras have been reinterpreted many times, Your Eminence. The drivers eventually became pilots. The ceremonial healers became modern doctors. The—”

“What you are speaking of has been a gradual evolution of the roles within the D’jarras, not a reassignment of responsibilities for people who were born to perform specific tasks. I understand that many people have been forced to become idle under the current circumstances, but what I see is that those who reject their birthrights reject other teachings of the Prophets as well. They eventually begin to take up arms against the Cardassians. The Prophets do not condone violence. They never will. And neither will I.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Opaka murmured.

“I’m glad you understand,” the kai told her, and stood to leave. Opaka stood with him, gripping the back of a chair as they both stepped toward the door. But she could not let him go. She could not merely concede to him and pretend that she agreed, when she did not, and would not.

“Your Eminence, I do not condone the acts of the resistance, either,” she blurted out. “But I believe that this is a time for Bajoran unity. Instead, what I see are angry and fearful people who have too much time on their hands and continue to mistrust each other because of age-old rules that no longer apply to the world we are living in. This has made us ripe for Cardassian exploitation. Can’t you see? Before we are D’jarra, we are Bajoran, and we are all Their children. We must come together, must decide together what we wish for ourselves, for our own children.”

Arin did not speak, only shook his head.

“Kai Arin, I confess I did not realize that you truly believed there was still wisdom in clinging to the D’jarras. I thought that perhaps you were using this as a means to distract our people from the misery they see all around them, to try and hold fast to some remnant of our original way of life. But now I see that you and I will have to agree to disagree.”

The kai’s expression was unhappy. “No. If you will not renounce your message, then I am afraid I cannot let you remain at the sanctuary. If you continue to preach it, your status as a vedek will be revoked. If you spread these words, Opaka Sulan, I will have no choice but to issue an Attainder.”

Opaka tightened her hands around the back of the chair. The thought of being sent away from the sanctuary stung her; the thought of leaving this house, this comfortable existence, and being forced to live like those in the camps frightened her terribly. Fasil had friends here, they both did. And to be Attainted, expelled from the community of faith…

“‘And by following D’jarra, the land shall know peace,’” he quoted, and gave her an encouraging smile. “I sincerely hope that you’ll stay with us, Vedek. Your presence would be sorely missed.”

The kai left her. She sat down again, her heart heavy with the fearful understanding that things were about to change. The kai was not an evil man, but he was mistaken. She could only be thankful that the cold weather was past, at least for now. If they had to travel, it would be in the summertime.

Natima followed a short distance behind Veja and her betrothed, deeply regretting her decision to accompany her friend to the new space station. Corat Damar was a typical Cardassian male, arrogant and self-important, and could not have made it more clear that he resented her presence here; she silently cursed Veja for not having the foresight to tell her beloved that she’d planned on bringing a friend along. She looked dejectedly around the station as he gave them their tour, finding it to be dark and rather imposing with its broad and heavy classical architecture. It was impressive, to be sure, but not really Natima’s style.

Hundreds of Bajorans had already been brought in to work in the ore processors, and Natima was curious to see what went on inside the units, though Damar was reluctant to bring the women anywhere near the Bajoran section of the station. “It could be dangerous,” he insisted.

“Veja and I are in dangerous situations all the time when we report on what happens on the surface,” Natima informed him.

Gil Damar appeared disturbed. “The Information Service should know better than to send two young, unescorted women into places of danger.”

“Oh, our superiors argue with me from time to time, but Veja and I can take care of ourselves.”

Veja nodded. “It’s true, Corat. You don’t need to worry about us.”

Damar looked sideways at Natima. “I’m not worried about her,” he replied.

Natima shot him a look of loathing, but he had already turned his back to her and was guiding Veja toward the operations center, apparently not interested in whether Natima was coming or not. Unsure where else she might go, she elected to follow them.

“So, why does Dukat allow these Bajoran merchants to sell their wares on the station?” Natima wanted to know. “Doesn’t that interfere with Cardassian attempts at commerce?”

Damar did not look at her when he spoke. “The prefect wants to make the Bajorans more self-sufficient.”

“Well,” Natima snorted, “he isn’t going to do it by allowing them to continue following their silly religion. I noticed there’s a religious shrine on the Bajoran side of the promenade. I can’t believe Dukat permits that sort of thing in a military installation.”

“He has his reasons for everything he does,” Damar told her.

“What do you know of his reasons?” Natima struggled to keep her tone even. Damar struck her as an ignorant toady, her very least favorite sort of person.

“I don’t need to know them. Gul Dukat is a brilliant leader, and people like us can’t be expected to understand the complexities of his plans.”

Natima found his response laughable, but she kept her amusement to herself for Veja’s sake. Her friend had already begun to look a little uncomfortable.

“So, what can we get to eat around here?” Natima asked brightly, changing the subject.

Damar shrugged. “There are replicators,” he said.

“What this place needs is a restaurant of some kind.”

Damar finally turned to face her, a look of distaste on his blandly handsome features.

“I’ll be sure to pass your suggestion on to the prefect,” he said, and turned away again, slipping his arm around Veja’s waist. Natima decided that she might wait out the rest of the tour by herself, and fell behind to watch the two lovers as they continued down the Promenade. She approached a Bajoran merchant’s shop to examine his strange wares, and wondered how badly the replicators here would foul up a cup of red leaf tea.

Miras had begun to wonder, in the last few weeks, if she shouldn’t reconsider her final project. The images she had received from Natima Lang had provided her with only a few ideas. There were many, many captures of Bajoran farmland, some of it in active production, some barren and dry, and some entirely overgrown with weeds. Miras was fascinated by the obvious fertility of the world, but the lack of accessible hard data was making her quest for further information an exercise in frustration.

Kalisi had been more successful in her pursuits, having found a cache of declassified military files regarding weapon efficacy, and had decided to continue her original idea to study the weaponry used on Bajor. But Miras still wasn’t sure if she should continue with her investigation into agriculture, for it had recently occurred to her that she would need at least one physical soil sample in order to make her project worthy of high mark. She wasn’t sure if she could acquire such a sample at this late date, for the topic deadline was beginning to loom, and she didn’t want to settle on a theme until she was certain she could gather all the necessary items.

Miras had been studying in her dormitory for most of an afternoon when she received a call from Professor Mendar. It surprised her not a little when she switched on the companel and discovered the image of her instructor staring back at her; it was unusual for a teacher to contact a student through a personal channel.

“Miss Vara, I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all, Professor. I’m delighted to hear from you.”

“Miss Vara, I think you will be further delighted when you hear what I have to tell you. I know you’ve been hoping to acquire a soil sample from Bajor, and I’ve thought of a means by which you might be able to do that without having to wait for a transport to bring one back from the planet.”

“Really?” Miras was instantly hopeful.

“Yes. I just remembered, the Ministry of Science came into possession of a Bajoran artifact some years back. The artifact itself may not interest you much, but what I remember most about it is that when we opened the shipping crate, we were appalled at how filthy the container was. The artifact was caked with dirt. Of course, we cleaned it up when we made the initial inventory report, but I’m confident there is enough left in that container for you to get a viable soil sample.”

“Oh, Professor, what a good idea! Thank you so much!”

“Our window of time is quite short, however. I’ve arranged to have the artifact sent up to a laboratory for a few hours. Can you meet me on campus at the east facility within the hour?”

“Yes, Professor Mendar, I’ll be right there.” Miras switched the comm over to contact Kalisi, who was slow to answer, her eyes bleary.

“Wake up!” she teased her friend. “Professor Mendar found a way for me to get a soil sample. She’s sending a Bajoran artifact over to the lab right now, and I’m going to brush the soil off it for analysis.”

“What kind of artifact?” Kalisi, who had undoubtedly been dozing over a textbook, rubbed her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Miras told her. “But if you want to see it, you should come along.”

Kalisi shrugged. “I guess I could use a break,” she said. “I’ll meet you outside the transport in five minutes.”

Miras and Kalisi arrived at the east facility in time to see Professor Mendar speaking with someone who apparently worked in the ministry’s storage facility. She was affixing her thumbprint to an inventory padd when she saw the girls approaching, and her usually saturnine features turned to a pleasant smile. “Hello, Miss Vara, Miss Reyar. The container will be transported up to the main laboratory on floor two.” She offered the padd to Miras. “If you put your thumbscan here, you will be able to open the shipping container.” Miras did as she was told.

Kalisi was excited. “Where did it come from? How did the ministry come to have it?”

Professor Mendar bent forward as if she were telling a secret, an uncharacteristically girlish expression suddenly coming over her face. “I was told that the ministry acquired it at an auction of repossessed goods,” she confided, “but there was a rumor—and of course, it’s only a rumor—that the item was on loan from none other than the Obsidian Order.” She stood back and waited for the girls’ reaction.

“The Obsidian Order!” Kalisi exclaimed. “That can’t be. They don’t loan out their inventory.” She said these things with an authoritative air, and Miras wondered how her friend even came to have an opinion on the matter. Miras had an inkling that Kalisi’s father was involved in some confidential faction of the government, but so were a lot of people.

“As I said,” Professor Mendar replied, “it’s only a rumor. I had understood that the Order underwent some sort of political upheaval over a decade ago, and certain…priorities changed. The ministry acquired the object not long afterward.”

Kalisi said nothing more until the professor had excused herself, leaving them to find the laboratory on their own. “She’s talking about Enabran Tain,” she finally told Miras in confidential tones. “When he took over the Order, a lot of things changed.”

Miras could only nod, wondering if her friend really knew what she was talking about. It was interesting in the context of the object they were about to look at, but Miras had never been one to concern herself with the potboiler gossip that often surrounded the Order.

Miras and Kalisi took the lift to the upper level and found the main lab. The cylindrical shipping container, sitting atop a stainless metal work surface, was quite a bit larger than what Miras had expected. It was as wide as the breadth of a man’s shoulders, and half as tall as Miras herself. She put her thumbscan on the shipping container’s security panel, and peered inside as the side of the container flipped open. It was indeed full of dirt—reddish Bajoran soil that was as fine as ash. Miras quickly set about capturing several samples in a vial, and calibrated a handheld scanner to break down the soil’s composition.

“Let’s see the artifact,” Kalisi suggested as Miras tapped out the results. Absently, Miras stepped back so her friend could look inside the container.

“I can’t really see it,” Kalisi complained. “Let’s take it out and have a better look.”

Miras balked. “It’s enormous,” she pointed out, though it wasn’t so much big as cumbersome.

“Come on, aren’t you interested in history?”

“What does a Bajoran artifact have to do with history?”

Kalisi laughed. “We aren’t the only civilization in the universe, you know. Here, help me. I like looking at old things.”

Miras helped her friend heft the artifact from the container, and the two managed to remove a four-sided object with exotic designs incised on each section. There were numerous polished stones set into the panels, hidden beneath the dirt.

Kalisi ran her fingers over the raised design on one panel, and then inspected the ruddy dust left behind on her pale fingertips. “The dirt isn’t really embedded in it. This must not have been buried. Maybe it was windy when they put it in the container.” She brushed her hands together. “Is there a database with ancient Bajoran characters in it?”

Miras shrugged. “I’m sure this thing has already been catalogued and examined,” she said. “If you look in the university database, they’re sure to have some information on it.”

Kalisi was already tapping away at her padd, connecting to the university mainframe. “I don’t see anything here,” she said. “Maybe they just inventoried it and then never scanned it. How long ago did Professor Mendar say it had come in?”

“Over a decade, I thought she said.”

Kalisi continued to run her fingers over the surfaces of the object. “Hmm. Look at this corner. It looks to me like it’s meant to open up. Maybe this is really just a case for something.” She knocked on it with a closed fist, and it answered with a dull clang. “I think it’s hollow!”

Miras was doubtful. “I don’t see how this thing could open,” she muttered, and slipped her finger along the edge. She was a bit surprised to find something like a seam there. The object was not comprised of a single piece of…whatever it was made of—wood, apparently, though there was no indication of how it was held together. Miras tried to insert her fingers in the crack, and Kalisi joined in, prying at the edges, but it would not budge.

“Maybe you’re right,” Kalisi said, and glanced up at the clock. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten all day. I’m going to find a replicator.”

“I’m not hungry,” Miras told her. “I think I’m going to scan this thing and see if I can’t find out anything about these characters.”

“So! You’re interested in history after all!” Kalisi walked away on a note of triumph.

Miras smiled after her. “Linguistics, actually,” she called, as Kalisi left the room. Miras used her own padd to record the object’s written characters. She flipped on a nearby viewscreen while she downloaded the scan to the computer’s database. The machine made a barely audible whirring sound as the processors worked to recognize the writing, but nothing came up. Miras turned once again to the artifact, touched the corner where Kalisi had been so sure that she felt a seam. She ran her fingers down the side. This time there was a clicking noise, and the crack on the corner of the object widened noticeably.

Miras was overcome with an unexplained sense of dread, but as she put her hand on the object, it gave way to an even more unprecedented feeling of calm. She found that she did not want to take her hands away from the object, which felt warm where she was certain that it had been cool before. It did not occur to her to be curious about the change, which was curious in itself, but she felt so tranquil, she did not mind. She sighed out loud, and then gently pushed open the edges of the object with her hands.

The artifact was indeed a case, as Kalisi had imagined, and inside was a very unusually shaped piece of stone, an oblong rock with a slender middle that widened at the top and bottom. The color was nothing like the Bajoran soil, which had been a reddish brown. This rock was a blue-gray color, a little more like common Cardassian rocks, but still alien in texture.

Excited at this new development, she quickly changed the sensor setting and scanned the piece of stone to add to the soil sample database. She punched in a code on the computer to compare the readouts to the dirt she had already examined. What she saw bemused her profoundly, for there was nothing even remotely like it in any of the other recorded data regarding Bajoran soil and geologic formations. The database showed this rock to be a complete anomaly.

Miras stared at the piece of stone for a moment, full of questions that she knew could not be answered. She put out her hand to touch it, and for a moment she seemed to drift away from where she stood, forgetting herself…but she was jolted from her temporary daze when a comm voice piped into the room. It was Professor Mendar.

“Miss Vara, are you there? We have to return the object to the storeroom now, or sign it out for an additional period. Is it ready for transport?”

Miras reluctantly closed the case. “In a moment, Professor.” She wished Kalisi were here to help her put it back in the container. She wondered if she was supposed to have removed the item at all. She couldn’t remember what the professor had said about it, and she struggled for a moment to hoist the object back into the cylindrical container. She clicked it closed and brushed the leftover dirt from her hands. Dirt that should serve to make her project a success, she remembered. She gathered up the vial with her soil sample, the reason she had come.

“It’s ready to go, Professor Mendar.”

Miras watched as the container was transported back into the cavernous storage facility, and as it shimmered into nothingness, she recalled that mysterious sense of calm she had experienced when she had touched the artifact. She wondered what, exactly, she had just been looking at.