Night Of The Wolves Part 2

Arin was not the most popular kai in Bajor's long and storied religious history; in fact, many Bajorans had refused to accept him when he took the position a few years after the formal occupation by the Carda.s.sians, believing him to have been elected falsely under the alien regime. The church had been affected by numerous schisms at that time, and many Bajorans had simply abandoned formal religious services altogether, though most still believed in the Prophets. Arin often chose to address these concerns in his sermons, but his thinning congregation seemed only to grow thinner as time went by.

Opaka wanted to believe that there was true conviction behind the kai's words; she had long felt that those who accused the kai of being a puppet for the Carda.s.sians were simply weak of faith. Her personal thoughts on the matter had always been that the kai spoke from his own heart, that he genuinely believed in advocacy for the D'jarra D'jarras. And yet, as time went by, Sulan could see more and more evidence that the D'jarra D'jarras were hurting Bajor more than they were helping it. In the written words of the ancient ones, she found more and more references to the idea that the D'jarra D'jarras were based solely on tradition rather than on actual prophecy. Yet she struggled, for she feared that she had simply fallen victim to the murmurings of the doubtful-although she considered herself a sensible person, not easily swayed by popular opinion. In many ways, she had never felt her faith tested so strongly as it was being tested now.

As the evening's final service concluded, Opaka bid good-bye to the Bajoran wors.h.i.+pers as they filed out of the sanctuary, and then gathered together the ceremonial items to be put away in the reliquary. She turned to acknowledge her fifteen-year-old son Fasil, who waited for her in the pews, amusing himself by whittling on a bit of kindling he had picked out of the firewood. Opaka was exhausted-she had stayed awake too late the night before, studying prophecy-and she looked forward to joining her son for dinner in their small cottage, but her persistent unease remained. She had considered speaking to the kai about her concerns, but something held her back. She did not want him to perceive her questions as an accusation in any way, and she knew she must think carefully about how to approach him.

Someone spoke behind her. "Vedek Opaka, you seem troubled."

She turned, still holding chimes and braziers. It was Gar Osen, an elder vedek who served as close counsel to the kai. She liked him well enough, though he had always seemed a bit reclusive to her. It was typical of him to ask after another's concerns, but rare for him to share his own feelings.

"Thank you, Vedek Gar. I suppose I was just considering..." She hesitated, but Gar's expression was so effectively compa.s.sionate that she decided to unburden herself of her thoughts. "In regard to the kai's sermon today, I...confess I often wonder at the efficacy of the D'jarra D'jarras in today's world. I don't mean to say that they should be abandoned, of course, but-" She paused, but Gar's expression hadn't changed, and she felt encouraged to continue.

"Perhaps the Prophets don't always mean for us to pa.s.sively wait for answers to fall to us," she said. "Perhaps the Prophets expect us to find conviction within ourselves when things become difficult, to call upon our own individual strengths and weaknesses, and...perhaps a redefinition of the D'jarra D'jarras is is in order, considering the circ.u.mstances. I say this only because it seems that so many of the castes have become irrelevant in this new climate, and they serve to divide us, at a time when unity is so...imperative..." in order, considering the circ.u.mstances. I say this only because it seems that so many of the castes have become irrelevant in this new climate, and they serve to divide us, at a time when unity is so...imperative..."

She trailed off, fearing that she had said too much. Gar's silence had finally unnerved her, and she waited for him to weigh in with an opinion of his own.

"Vedek Opaka, it seems you have given a lot of thought to this matter. Would you like it if I were to speak to the kai on your behalf?"

"Yes," she told him, flooded with hope and relief. "You understand-I only want to open a dialogue. Perhaps the kai has something to say that will help me to better understand his approach."

Vedek Gar nodded. "Perhaps he does, at that."

He took Opaka's left ear between his thumb and forefinger, and she closed her eyes as the energy of her pagh pagh was revealed to him. was revealed to him.

"Your pagh pagh reflects deep sincerity, Vedek Opaka." He bowed slightly, and left her. reflects deep sincerity, Vedek Opaka." He bowed slightly, and left her.

Opaka bowed in turn, and went to put away the ceremonial items, pleased that she'd spoken after all.

The man's name was Thill, Thill Revi, and he was as coa.r.s.e and unappealing as most Bajorans. Natima could have interviewed him for the story over her office's secure line, but there was also going to be a minor "summit" at the base where Thill was in protective custody, a conference of all the base commanders in the Rakantha province; the Information Service needed a representative there. Her supervisor hadn't wanted to send her-the military base and the small Carda.s.sian community it protected were near a heavily forested area in Rakantha, not a secure area in spite of the heavy concentration of soldiers there-but most of his male reporters were on a.s.signment, and she was one of his best filters, fast and clean. He'd a.s.signed her a recorder and a travel permit and told her not to linger.

As though I'm on vacation, she thought, looking into the narrow, damp face of Thill Revi as he studied her press badge. They sat in one of the base's small meeting rooms, thankfully heated but otherwise unpleasant, bare, and ill-lit. Her "escort," a base garresh, leaned against the far wall looking entirely bored. She was glad to be covering the conference; it would stream as a lead piece, worth the price of the last-minute travel, a cramped transport full of leering soldiers, a tight deadline...But another interview with one of she thought, looking into the narrow, damp face of Thill Revi as he studied her press badge. They sat in one of the base's small meeting rooms, thankfully heated but otherwise unpleasant, bare, and ill-lit. Her "escort," a base garresh, leaned against the far wall looking entirely bored. She was glad to be covering the conference; it would stream as a lead piece, worth the price of the last-minute travel, a cramped transport full of leering soldiers, a tight deadline...But another interview with one of them them took some of the s.h.i.+ne off. took some of the s.h.i.+ne off.

Thill handed back her hardcopy pa.s.s, his expression too alien to understand. Suspicion? Anger? The Bajoran had graying hair and thin lines around his nose and mouth. When he spoke, his voice was sharp and nasal.

"You say you want to know about Mesto?" Thill asked. "Write a story about it?"

Natima nodded, and spoke with a patience she didn't feel. "Produce it, actually. As I said when I contacted you last week. I'm doing a piece about the Bajoran approval of Union annexation, focusing on men and women-like yourself-who've accepted our presence here, and have chosen to help us, in spite of the risks from Bajoran insurgents."

Thill's narrow face grew narrower. "Well, I don't know about that," he said. "All I did was tell our town liaison about Mesto Drade. He told the commander here, and they arrested him."

Natima checked the recorder, adjusted the angle slightly. "He's your neighbor, is that correct?"

"Farm next to my outfit," Thill said. His tone was sullen. "Don't know that that makes him a neighbor."

"Tell me how you found out what Mesto was doing," Natima said. Usually such an open-ended invitation started them talking. Most of the Bajorans she'd interviewed were only too eager to explain themselves, to convince anyone who might listen that they weren't really like the others, the collaborators. collaborators.

Thill folded his arms. "You hear things. Drade, he thinks-he thought he was better than me. Farmer's no better than craftsman, though, no matter what anyone says. We're the same on the wheel."

D'jarras, she thought. The caste system. She stifled her distaste at the ignorance of his beliefs, reminding herself that he'd been raised into his cultural superst.i.tions; it wasn't his fault. "Mesto was hiding the parts of a nearly complete warp reactor in his barn, along with stockpiles of chemical explosives. Your decision to turn him in probably saved lives."

Thill looked sour. "Ruined mine, though, didn't it? It's not just the rebels, you know. None of them-my 'neighbors'-none of them ever treated me real good. My family D'jarra, Ke'lora, D'jarra, Ke'lora, is low on the wheel, see? I'm a tanner, come from a long line of tanners. It's a respectable position, you know, working the skins. 'And as the tradesman plies his wares, so the tanner sc.r.a.pes the hides, so the ranjen studies the Word.' That's a direct quote from the Book of Seasons, isn't it? But all those high-caste types, they don't want to shake hands with someone like me. Same with my da, an' his da before him. Good men, treated poor." is low on the wheel, see? I'm a tanner, come from a long line of tanners. It's a respectable position, you know, working the skins. 'And as the tradesman plies his wares, so the tanner sc.r.a.pes the hides, so the ranjen studies the Word.' That's a direct quote from the Book of Seasons, isn't it? But all those high-caste types, they don't want to shake hands with someone like me. Same with my da, an' his da before him. Good men, treated poor."

His expression darkened. "Since I told about Mesto, though, no one will even look look at me. I went to the market day after the soldiers came, and they wouldn't even sell me a drink of water. I should have expected as much. They say they believe the Word, but when Drade stopped farming, when he openly shunned his Fate, they all looked the other way. Someone had to stop him, that's all. " at me. I went to the market day after the soldiers came, and they wouldn't even sell me a drink of water. I should have expected as much. They say they believe the Word, but when Drade stopped farming, when he openly shunned his Fate, they all looked the other way. Someone had to stop him, that's all. "

His mouth pinched even tighter. "Never thought they'd do what they did to me, though."

Natima nodded along, trying to appear empathetic. It was a common story. Even after all this time, the Bajorans ostracized, hara.s.sed, even threatened "collaborators." Thill was at the military base because a week after he'd informed on Mesto, someone had tried to burn his house down, with him inside of it. He'd come to the base for protection. Usually informants weren't offered any kind of shelter, but the station commander had personally benefited from the seizure of the warp reactor and explosives; he'd granted Thill a temporary sanctuary.

Not that he deserves it, she thought. Thill hadn't been trying to help the Union, turning in a plotting terrorist; it was all some petty revenge, over hurt feelings and ridiculous cultural tenets. Still, she'd get nothing further from him by sharing her thoughts on the matter. she thought. Thill hadn't been trying to help the Union, turning in a plotting terrorist; it was all some petty revenge, over hurt feelings and ridiculous cultural tenets. Still, she'd get nothing further from him by sharing her thoughts on the matter.

"It's...commendable, that you chose to see Mesto Drade brought to justice," Natima said, glancing down at her notes. "His name has been on a list of people with possible ties to the terrorists for some time, but his priority status was low. As I said, your decision undoubtedly saved lives..."

She waited for him to pick up, to detail his story, but he only stared at her, his lined, hard face as still as stone. She resisted looking at her chrono, aware that the first meeting of the Rakantha base commanders would soon begin, if it hadn't already. It was being held in the base's main building, behind the barracks. Her feature on "helpful" Bajorans wasn't due for another week, but she'd be up late tonight, filtering footage from the conference. There would be material for the civilian net on Carda.s.sia, sound bites for the propaganda channels, other strings that would be sent to high-ranking members of Central Command; best she be there to record it.

Wrap this up, then. She'd get no help from Thill, but she had more than enough footage of Kubus Oak, droning on about brotherhood between the races. She'd cobble something together from the other interviews.

"Well. I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Thill..."

There was a sudden, heavy rumbling sound, stilling her words. Natima recognized the sound instantly; she'd spent long hours watching feeds of terrorist attacks. An instant later, they heard shouts, heard the keening whine of phaser fire. The garresh who'd taken her to meet Thill had snapped to attention, was talking low and fast into his comm. Natima and Thill both stood, the Bajoran's long face and darting gaze giving his fear away.

The conference. The base had been attacked, was perhaps still under attack. The explosion had come from behind the barracks, she was sure of it. Natima scooped up her recorder, turned to the door. She was too excited to be afraid, thinking of the footage she might be able to capture. The garresh stepped in front of her, physically blocking her way.

"We'll stay here until we get the all clear," he said sharply.

"I'm a reporter and qualified filter for the CIS," Natima said, meeting his tone. "And I'm aware of the risks. I could-"

"You could die, die, Miss," he said. "I'm a.s.signed to keep you from harm, and my orders stand. You're not going anywhere." Miss," he said. "I'm a.s.signed to keep you from harm, and my orders stand. You're not going anywhere."

"What if they come for me?" Thill said, his voice high, his eyes moving, moving.

The garresh sneered at him. "Then we'll let them have you, Bajoran."

Thill sat down again with a low moan of terror. Natima glared at the soldier, frustrated, aware that if she'd been a man, he would have let her go.

If I were a man, I wouldn't have an escort in the first place.

The garresh's face was set. Outside there were more shouts, but no further explosions, no more weapons fire. A hit-and-run, probably, like most of the terrorist attacks on Bajor. The rebels were cowards, they were fools with firepower, randomly attacking anyone and anything Carda.s.sian. Natima hoped that no one in the settlement had been injured. There were families there, wives and children of soldiers, civilian scientists...

They don't care who they hurt, she thought, sitting back down, and finally felt a whisper of fear for herself. In another few moments, she, too, would have been at the conference. she thought, sitting back down, and finally felt a whisper of fear for herself. In another few moments, she, too, would have been at the conference.

Thill had his head in his hands, was mumbling to himself, repeating something over and over. She leaned in, caught his plaintive whisper.

"I don't want to die, please the Prophets, please don't let me die, I'm sorry I did it, I'm sorry about what I did, please don't let me die..."

Natima leaned away from him, unable to hide her own sneer. Praying to G.o.ds that didn't exist, to absolve him for turning in a terrorist...so that he might be saved from another terrorist, one of his own kind. And outside, soldiers had surely been injured, perhaps killed. She'd tried to keep an open mind since coming to Bajor, but what a miserable, self-serving people she found them to be, never content, reckless and violent and primitive.

She held her recorder tightly, waiting to be told it was safe.

2.

Gil Damar watched Gul Dukat as the prefect surveyed the operations center from the upper ring that extended beyond the prefect's office, overlooking the soldiers at work. Damar thought the gul looked pleased, and he thought of the great responsibility that went into commanding such a large and impressive facility. Dukat caught Damar's eye then, and he ambled down the short staircase into the lower level, where Damar was filling out s.h.i.+ft-end reports.

"What do you think? Is your new a.s.signment to your liking, Gil?"

Damar nodded. "Yes, very much, sir. The station is...it's not what I expected."

Dukat smiled and gazed around appreciatively. "Yes, the Nor-cla.s.s is really quite breathtaking when you first see it in person. Seldom have elegance and power been fused together so effectively."

Damar worked quickly to finish up his reports, with the Gul standing nearby. It seemed to Damar that Dukat wanted to continue his conversation, and he wondered if it would be better to abandon his duties to speak to him, or to continue at his task. He could feel Dukat's gaze on him as he worked.

"Most of the shops already have leases pending," he offered, continuing to file. "I believe the Promenade businesses will be a striking success."

Dukat broke into a smile. "I'm pleased to hear you say that. I admit, I had my doubts about the Bajoran merchants' readiness to move their business to an orbital venue. But most seem to understand what a truly great opportunity this will be for Bajoran trade relations with other worlds. For those Bajorans smart enough to open businesses here, there is a lot of latinum to be made."

Dukat began to walk, and Damar hesitated at his station before the gul beckoned for him to follow. "Let's have a look around the Promenade, shall we?"

"I...Yes, sir."

The two left ops, heading for the station's center of commerce. It was a number of levels below operations, part of Terok Nor's upper core. As the lift began its descent, Gil Damar marveled at the construction techniques that had gone into a.s.sembling this station in such a short time. A third of the materials had come light-years to be a.s.sembled here, much of the components prefabricated elsewhere and systematically fastened into place.

The Promenade was a tri-level ring of commercial s.p.a.ces and observation decks, which also housed security and the station's infirmary. Several shopkeepers were already beginning to set up their wares to offer to the Carda.s.sian soldiers and to the vast numbers of Bajorans who would soon be coming to work at the ore processors.

"Just think, Damar. Soon this station will be full of happily working Bajorans."

Damar looked around, envisioning it. The Bajorans would be quartered in community housing near ore processing, given a place of their own, although there would be those who earned private quarters, in the station's inner habitat ring. Dukat had spoken of plans to turn one of the Promenade s.p.a.ces into a Bajoran shrine, to make them feel more welcome; it was a revolutionary idea, and a brilliant one. "It's a wonderful opportunity to show the Bajorans how they can profit by partnering with us."

He could see that his answer pleased the prefect. Dukat nodded firmly. "Yes, Damar, exactly! Someday we'll be providing work for all idle Bajorans, here and on the surface. We will eliminate the food ration centers, and help them to become self-sufficient instead of relying on Carda.s.sian charity. I commend the efforts of those who have conspired to provide welfare to our hosts, but I fear that the newer generations are learning only helplessness and a sense of ent.i.tlement from our repeated handouts. They have no grat.i.tude, as they have come to expect us to feed them."

An aide who had come up behind them quickly fell in step with the prefect.

"Gul Dukat," the garresh said. "Your Bajoran intermediary is here and is waiting to meet you."

Dukat turned to the aide, looking puzzled and a little annoyed. "My intermediary? Do you mean Kubus Oak? I've already spoken with that pest at least a dozen times today."

Damar barely succeeded in concealing his surprise at hearing Dukat's belittling of Secretary Kubus. The gil had met him earlier in the day, and Kubus had struck him as the sort of Bajoran who genuinely appreciated how his world could benefit from its a.s.sociation with Carda.s.sia. That enthusiasm, coupled with his lifelong political ac.u.men, made Kubus the ideal liaison between the prefect and the Bajoran government. Damar wondered what the man had done to earn Dukat's apparent disdain.

"Not Secretary Kubus, sir. It's Ba.s.so Tromac. He has been appointed to take care of any...personal errands you may need fulfilled here on the station or on the surface of Bajor...? You requested-"

Dukat nodded. "Ah, yes. Thank you. Have him wait outside my office. I'll be there shortly."

The aide left them, and Dukat continued to walk, his hands locked behind his back. "I want to trust the Bajorans," he confided to Damar, "but they make it so difficult. It won't be easy for me to invest any confidence in a Bajoran a.s.sistant."

Damar nodded, thinking he understood. "But it is best to have someone of this world as a go-between, to help prevent cultural misunderstandings," he suggested.

"Exactly! You're quite perceptive, Damar. And yet, I think it would be wise to put this Ba.s.so Tromac up to a little test of loyalty, wouldn't you say?"

Damar supposed that sounded reasonable, and he nodded. They walked a few minutes more, Dukat pointing out salient features of the station, explaining the concepts that had birthed his vision-a central core encircled by two rings, connected by several well-s.p.a.ced crossover bridges; as many as 7000 people would be able to live comfortably in the habitat ring. The outer docking ring supported the ma.s.sive pylons that housed ore-processing. The station was comfortable as well as functional, with a design aesthetic that spoke to the unique sensibilities of the modern Union. Terok Nor was truly a feat of Carda.s.sian engineering.

The two officers finally headed back for ops, Damar noting that Dukat was purposefully taking his time, making himself late for his meeting. The young gil lingered behind at his station when they reached the station's uppermost level. Standing outside the closed door of the prefect's office was a Bajoran man with a characteristically crinkled nose, the skin of his forehead so strangely pink and smooth, like the belly of a marga marga fish. A glinting adornment dangled from one of his ears. Damar attempted to keep his eyes on his work, but he could not help but regard the man with curiosity. He had seen only a very few Bajorans up close. He watched the exchange in the periphery of his vision. fish. A glinting adornment dangled from one of his ears. Damar attempted to keep his eyes on his work, but he could not help but regard the man with curiosity. He had seen only a very few Bajorans up close. He watched the exchange in the periphery of his vision.

"You must be Ba.s.so Tromac, my new personal aide," he heard Dukat say. The man answered only with an inclination of his head. Dukat conspicuously did not invite him into the office, which Damar thought odd, but imagined it was part of the test Dukat had been talking about. "There's something I would like you to take care of right away."

"How may I be of service, Prefect?" The Bajoran sounded compliant enough.

"Many of my officers here are far away from the comforts of home. They are lonely-for the companions.h.i.+p of women. I would like for you to go to the surface and return with some attractive Bajoran females, to ease their loneliness."

Damar was stunned, but he noted that the Bajoran man had not even blinked.

"I will see to it immediately, Prefect." Ba.s.so bowed as he made to leave.

Damar stole a glance at Dukat, and found that the gul was looking right at him. Embarra.s.sed, he trained his gaze back to his workstation where it belonged.

"Report to my office, Gil Damar."

Damar reluctantly ascended the steps, hoping that his expression did not reveal his discomfort.

Dukat ushered him into his office and gestured for Damar to sit. "You appear...unsettled, Damar. Was it the request I made of the Bajoran that upset you?"

"I apologize for eavesdropping, Gul, I did not mean to-"

"Think nothing of it, Gil. Only tell me what is troubling you."

Damar cleared his throat. "Well-sir, I know that it isn't unheard of for officers to sometimes...seek comfort when they are away from home. It isn't that, sir. It's just that...the Bajoran women...they are so different from us. It seems...unusual...unnatural, to think of..." to think of..."

Dukat's smile slipped away. "Gil. If you are going to serve on Terok Nor, you must come to terms with your own xenophobia. The Bajorans are different from us in many ways, of course. But those differences are primarily cultural. Biologically, we are actually more alike than we are different. As for what distinctions there are, we Carda.s.sians must learn to bridge those differences if our two peoples are ever going to come together."

"Yes, of course, Gul Dukat." Damar was embarra.s.sed. He knew that the gul had much to teach him, and he desperately hoped that he was wise enough to recognize the lessons as they came. He hoped he would never do anything foolish enough to cause him to fall from Dukat's favor.

After a single night spent in the settlement outside of Relliketh, Lac had persuaded Lenaris to accompany him several kellipate kellipates away, into the tangle of forest outside the town, not far from where Lenaris's old resistance cell had once hidden. First, they had scouted the area where Lenaris thought Tiven Cohr might still be living, but the area was long abandoned. Lenaris doubtfully suggested that Tiven might have gone farther into Relliketh, though he wasn't sure if Tiven even had family there. Still, Lac seemed undeterred, happy to pursue Lenaris's scanty leads.

Since meeting Lac, Lenaris had felt a stir he hadn't felt in some time. Something in the other man's demeanor reminded him of Lafe Darin, the man who had inspired him to join the resistance in the first place. Lenaris had been much younger, then-not much more than a kid-but he still clearly recalled that sense that he had had to fight back against the Carda.s.sians, no matter the cost. That he would rather die than settle into hungry and despondent defeat. It was a mindset he thought he'd lost after Darin had died. to fight back against the Carda.s.sians, no matter the cost. That he would rather die than settle into hungry and despondent defeat. It was a mindset he thought he'd lost after Darin had died.

It was getting dark as they approached the area where Lac said his flyer would be. Nightfall was the best time to travel beyond the Carda.s.sian-imposed boundaries; the alien soldiers did not take well to the chill brought on after sundown, and Bajorans could expect few encounters with them during the night.

After much inconsequential small talk on their careful journey, Lenaris decided to satisfy some of the more compelling questions he had for the farmer. "So, Lac," he said finally, taking a deep breath. "You never told me how you knew Tiven Cohr in the first place."

It was already too dark for Lenaris to see the other man's expression, but Lac paused before answering, as if deciding what to say.

"I didn't know him personally. A friend of mine met him a few times."

"In what capacity?" Lenaris pressed.

"The resistance."