Night Of The Wolves Part 3

Lenaris was a little surprised by the man's candor, but not his answer; he had a.s.sumed as much. He thought again of Lafe Darin. When Darin had died, Lenaris had sworn off further involvement with the resistance, but he was still far from having been beaten into a submissive subject of the Union...and he had often wondered what it would take to make him care again. Darin's death shouldn't have been a surprise. Anyone involved in the underground had to understand that the only guarantee in the movement was that people were going to die. Friends, brothers and sisters, husbands, wives, even children. Still, Holem had been unprepared for just how much his childhood friend's death had affected him.

"Tiven Cohr is in the Halpas cell," Lac said matter-of-factly. "At least, he was a year ago. I heard you were, as well."

Lenaris wasn't sure how to respond.

"It's all right, Holem. I'm fighting against them, too. At least, trying to. Some friends and relatives of mine are trying to sc.r.a.pe together a resistance cell. But Tiven Cohr-I just wanted to contact him regarding another matter."

Lenaris thought he knew. Tiven Cohr was an engineer whose reputation far preceded him. "The warp s.h.i.+p?"

"I heard that he was the best. He worked on warp vessels before the occupation, didn't he?"

Lenaris nodded. "Yes, he did," he said. "But it's like I told you-I haven't seen him in some time."

"Well, you're the first lead on him I've found in months," Lac said. "You know more than I do, and that's got to be worth something."

They curved past the stand of dead and dying trees, thin shadows in the darkness. Lac led them into the woods, taking a trail that Lenaris could barely see by the glow of Bajor's distant moons.

"It's right up here." Lac gestured to something beyond a tangle of brittle tree limbs. Holem could not quite make out what it was as they approached the small clearing; he could only see a dark, angular heap of something that appeared to be covered with old leaves.

Lac began to tug at a corner of a tarpaulin that had been tossed over the s.h.i.+p, woven with strips of canvas and covered over with foliage.

"I don't believe it," Lenaris marveled, as the little s.h.i.+p was revealed underneath the covering. It was an old Militia raider, the kind that had been fairly common twenty years ago...when there had still been been a Militia. a Militia.

Lac stepped inside the s.h.i.+p, ignoring the question. "Do you want to fly her, Holem?"

"Really?" he said eagerly. "You'd trust me to-"

"Sure," Lac said. "I'm not much of a pilot, myself. You're the Va'telo, Va'telo, after all." after all."

Lenaris stepped inside, looking at the name painted on the side of her hull. The Lupus, Lupus, named after the crafty animals that roamed Bajoran forests, sometimes picking off farmers' livestock. "Where did you get this thing?" he asked. named after the crafty animals that roamed Bajoran forests, sometimes picking off farmers' livestock. "Where did you get this thing?" he asked.

A smile played around the corner of Lac's mouth, and Lenaris had already determined that Lac was the sort of person who did not smile without significant provocation. He was obviously pleased with his s.h.i.+p, as every pilot was. "This one belonged to my grandfather," he explained. "We have others, mostly built from the cannibalized parts of other s.h.i.+ps, and even a few built from scratch. But this one is the template."

"But...you said you come from farmers. Was your grandfather...?"

"It was a hobby for him. He wasn't allowed a master's license, of course. He never made it out of the atmosphere. But he loved to fly, when he could, and he was quite good at it, too." He tapped the s.h.i.+p affectionately. "He managed to hide it from the Carda.s.sians when they started putting restrictions on possession and operation of flyers and s.p.a.cecraft. It wasn't that difficult-it didn't occur to them that a farmer would have an old Militia raider stored in his barn."

Lenaris hesitated. "How do you keep the Carda.s.sians from tracking your fuel emissions? For that matter, how are we going to stay under the security grids? Do you have some kind of...s.h.i.+elding device?"

Lac smiled again. "Nothing that sophisticated. I've studied some of the flight patterns of the delivery vessels that go back and forth across the channel, and I try to stick to their schedules. The Carda.s.sians don't pay much attention to back-and-forth travel around here. Anyway, if it ever came down to a chase, their flyers have proven to be pretty wobbly in the atmosphere. I think there's a good chance I could give them a run for their money-and an even better chance that you could."

Lenaris supposed this was a satisfactory answer, and he was flattered that Lac had already put so much faith in his abilities. He strapped into his seat, feeling a rush of real joy as he prepared to lift off. He adjusted the s.h.i.+p's thrusters to bring the craft straight upward, out of the trees, enjoying the familiar pull of gravity, the sensation of leaving it behind. He kept the vessel low, learning the console as he piloted them toward the peninsula. It wasn't until fifteen minutes later, when he was nearly to Tilar, that he remembered the other part of his question-the one that Lac hadn't answered.

"How do do you keep the spoonheads from tracing your fuel signature?" he asked. you keep the spoonheads from tracing your fuel signature?" he asked.

"Balon," Lac said, without missing a beat, and Lenaris's hands tightened on the flight yoke. He could feel the blood draining from his face.

"Balon!" he exclaimed. "You're joking!" Balon was a highly unstable fuel, out of use for over a century before the Carda.s.sians had come, due to an unfortunate tendency toward spontaneous combustion.

Lac waved a rea.s.suring hand. "Don't worry," he said. "Some friends of mine have figured out how to isolate the most unstable components of it, in its liquid form. We've been converting it to a safe fuel source for quite some time now. The Cardies don't bother to scan for it, since it's been out of use for such a long time."

Lenaris relaxed, but only slightly. He felt as though he'd just been told he was strapped to a "safe" bomb. And if Lac was overestimating his friends' expertise, then he could expect to walk with the Prophets somewhere around touchdown time-Lenaris hadn't landed a flyer of any sort in well over a year, and without knowing the terrain, he was likely to make a rough reunion with the ground.

Lac leaned forward to the s.h.i.+p's sensor display, an old-fas.h.i.+oned model with blinking, geometric glyphs showing the other craft in the region. A large, green triangle came into view, and Lac tapped it with his finger. "That's the landing point," he declared. "I programmed it in myself," he added proudly.

"I hope your friends know what they're doing...with the, uh..." Lenaris trailed off, not wanting to be insulting, but still-the balon mishaps of yesteryear were well remembered by anyone in the Va'telo Va'telo caste. caste.

"Don't worry, Holem. I've done this at least a hundred times, and I'm sure you're far better at it than I am."

Lenaris couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut when the raider came into gentle contact with the ground, a perfect landing if he'd ever made one. He opened his eyes slowly and let out a hard breath. "All in a night's work," he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. His hands still clenched the flight yoke.

Lac wasted no time in pus.h.i.+ng back the raider's glacis plate. "Well, come on then. I'll take you to the settlement, and then tomorrow we can have a look at the warp s.h.i.+p, weather permitting."

On rubbery legs, Lenaris followed the farmer, wondering for the hundredth time what he was getting himself into.

In the dark, he could see the uneven outlines of the buildings up ahead. Lac led him toward the center of a ramshackle town, and Lenaris got a clearer picture of where the farmer lived. The buildings were mostly comprised of sc.r.a.p, piled up on the foundations of crumbling houses from long ago. This was a town that had been destroyed by Carda.s.sians, he deduced, at least a decade ago, and then rebuilt with whatever pieces of debris the surviving Bajorans could find.

"We haven't always lived like this," Lac explained. "My family's farm is some distance from here. I resettled in this area with my cousins just about eight years ago. We've had a few more stragglers join us since then, adding more dwellings as we were able to come by building materials."

Lac's definition of "building materials" was loose. Uneven bits of stone were plastered into place with dry mud on some of the more substantial houses, but many were thrown together from old sheets of metal and smartplastic that were clearly salvaged from Carda.s.sian refuse.

Lac came upon one such improvised structure, bigger than most of the others, and pulled back the door, made of several thin tree branches stripped of bark and twigs and crookedly lashed together. "h.e.l.lo?" he spoke into the darkness, and after a moment, a half circle of light appeared underneath the crack of what must have been another door. The half circle widened as a door was thrown back, and out stepped the most beautiful woman Lenaris had ever seen, shaking sleep from her almond-shaped green eyes. She smoothed a thick, black curl behind her ear. "You're finally back," she said.

"Lenaris Holem, I'd like you to meet Ornathia Taryl," Lac said formally.

Lenaris extended his hand. "Your...wife?" he said.

Taryl laughed, a vibrant sound reminding Lenaris of a little bell his mother had once kept on a dais, back at his childhood home. "His sister," she corrected.

Lenaris hoped he didn't look as relieved as he felt as he clasped the woman's forearm. Her skin was smooth and warm.

"Taryl is the one who made the original breakthrough with the balon," Lac said, clearly proud of his sister.

"Really?" Lenaris said, incredulous. Research into stabilizing balon had eluded scientists for over a century. "I can't believe a farmer could just-"

Taryl's pretty face suddenly darkened. "Farming isn't just planting beans, Lenaris. It takes tremendous knowledge of soil chemistry, climatology, gene splicing and plant biology-"

"I'm...sorry," Lenaris said, mortified. "I meant it as a compliment."

Taryl did not look especially appeased, but she let it drop. "It wasn't just I who made the discovery," she said. "My fiance worked on it with me. He-"

"It was you who made the discovery," Lac said. "Don't be so modest."

Taryl shrugged. "So," she said, gesturing to Lenaris. "Are you going to tell me why you've woken me up to introduce me to him?"

"He's a pilot," Lac said. "And he knows Tiven Cohr."

Taryl's mouth twisted as she appeared to process the news. "The warp s.h.i.+p," she said softly.

"Don't tell Seefa," Lac said. "I know he thinks it's a lost cause. But I still think-"

"He's my lover, not my keeper," Taryl said lightly. "I won't tell him." She looked Lenaris up and down. "You really know where Tiven Cohr is, Mister Lenaris?"

"Call me Holem," he said. "And...I might be able to find him."

Taryl nodded toward her brother. "Lac has been trying to locate Tiven Cohr for almost two years. Word of mouth, coded messages sent through the comnet-all have been dead ends."

"Well," Lenaris said, "I'll certainly do my best to help." He tried to sound earnest, though he had come here without any real certainty that he could-or even wanted to-find Tiven. She turned and left them, and Lac escorted Holem to a room with a rough pallet where he could lie down. He thanked his host, and as he lay awake, he considered. He had only just met Taryl, and apparently she was engaged...But she still seemed enough of a reason to follow through on his promise. He wanted to impress her...And he thought that perhaps there was some flicker of dissent that still burned inside him, not entirely snuffed out by the overwhelming defeat he had faced when the Halpas cell had broken apart.

Natima Lang adjusted the volume on her communications screen, but it did little to correct for the subs.p.a.ce static invading her conversation. Transmissions between Bajor and Carda.s.sia Prime were often full of interference during the early months of the year, when the disturbances in the Denorios Belt wreaked havoc on the subs.p.a.ce relays.

"I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to repeat that last question," Natima told the young woman on the other end of the line.

"I was asking if you wouldn't mind sending along some of your latest notes-I mean, anything that you don't mind parting with..."

"Don't be silly, Miss Vara, of course I'll send you whatever I have. I admire you for having the astuteness to focus on Bajor. So many Carda.s.sians are unaware of what an important venture this is for our future. They see it as just some distant, faraway place, without really comprehending how beneficial this annexation has been for the Union."

The girl nodded, her expression sincere and attentive. Natima was pleased. It galled her that so few people took much of an interest in what was happening on Bajor. The improved quality of life on Carda.s.sia Prime was directly attributable to the Bajor mission. She wanted so much to impress upon her fellow Carda.s.sians Bajor's importance to the homeworld, so they would not take for granted the efforts of their government.

That will change, she thought, studying the grainy face on the screen. Miras Vara seemed bright and enthusiastic; a few more like her, and Bajor's import would be fixed in Carda.s.sia's consciousness. she thought, studying the grainy face on the screen. Miras Vara seemed bright and enthusiastic; a few more like her, and Bajor's import would be fixed in Carda.s.sia's consciousness.

"Thank you so much, Miss Lang. Like I said, I haven't narrowed down to an exact topic, but I'm hoping that looking through your notes might help to inspire me. Oh, and please, call me Miras."

"Well, I hope my notes will be helpful for you, Miras. And you may call me Natima. Now, I must warn you-the materials I will be sending you will include raw footage. These images must not be shared with anyone outside the Ministry of Science."

"I do understand. Although I'm curious-how did the Ministry of Science come to have the footage of those children in the Bajoran orphanage? Doesn't the Information Service consider images like that to be too provocative for public exposure?"

Natima's gaze flickered away from the viewscreen for a moment while she answered. "Yes, you're right-it is a very politically charged topic, that of the orphans. But because the images were being sent to an inst.i.tution of learning-"

"But-if you don't mind my asking-why capture those images in the first place?"

Natima coughed. "I suppose I felt that...those children...that Carda.s.sia might want to be made aware of some of the reasons we continue to send troops here. If you'll excuse me, Miras, I have an appointment I must be getting to. I hate to cut our transmission short, but..."

"I understand. Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with my project. I look forward to receiving your notes."

Natima tapped off the comm screen and sat back for a moment, closing her eyes. She did not hear her friend Veja Ketan enter her room, and was startled when Veja greeted her.

"Did I hear you say you had an appointment, Natima? I didn't know you'd scheduled anything for this weekend."

Natima stood from her chair. "I did say that, but I was really just trying to end the call. It hurts my eyes to look at the screen for so long."

"It wasn't a man, was it?" Veja's tone became playful, something that always annoyed Natima a little. Veja had romance on the brain since she'd learned that her fiance, a third-tier gil in the military, was to be stationed on Terok Nor. Natima had yet to meet Corat Damar, but Veja had taken a number of leave pa.s.ses since he'd come to Bajoran s.p.a.ce, the two of them meeting at the Carda.s.sian settlement in Hedrikspool. She was always prattling on now that Natima should be looking for a mate.

"Hardly."

Veja toyed with the long, glossy black plait that curled around her left shoulder. "I was just on the comm myself."

"Talking to Gil Damar, I'd wager."

Veja smiled, playing at being embarra.s.sed. "Yes, it was Corat. He invited me to go to Terok Nor, in just a few weeks! Can you imagine how exciting it will be to tour a brand-new state-of-the-art facility just as it begins to go into full operation?"

"Hm," Natima answered. "I suppose it would be interesting to have a look. I've been waiting for the service to send one of us up there to cover it, but I guess the military doesn't want any correspondents touring until it's better established."

Veja's face was dark with excitement. "Yes, well, now we have the chance!"

"What do you mean, we we?"

"Well, perhaps Corat will have a friend for you. There are hundreds of eligible military personnel on that station-"

"Veja, I keep telling you and telling you-"

"Yes, I know. You're not here to find a husband. But that's exactly why you probably will find one. Don't you see? That's how it always works."

Natima sighed. She didn't really feel like tagging along on a date with Veja and her betrothed. But she wanted to see the station. She brushed at a dirty spot on her white tunic while she considered. The crumbly, ubiquitous Bajoran dirt had already ruined so many of her favorite things. It was enough to make her want to dress all in drab browns, like many of the Bajorans she'd seen. She regarded the smear of dirt for a moment before nodding.

"Okay, I'll go with you. But don't try to fix me up with anyone, please. And we should come up with some sort of signal, if you and Damar want to go off alone."

"Oh, we won't need a signal. If we want to go off alone, you'll know it. Trust me."

Natima rolled her eyes, hoping the station would be worth it.

Vedek Opaka bowed to her son, who stood at her left, and then she bowed to the woman on her right. She recited from Taluno's Seventeenth Prophecy with the rest of the congregation, and then she closed her eyes, to silently thank the Prophets for another day.

Once a month, the vedeks were free to join the gathering of faithful like any other wors.h.i.+pers, their spiritual duties adjourned. Although Opaka loved serving the Prophets, she also looked forward to these days, especially for the opportunity to be with her son. Fasil usually stood with another family until services were concluded, waiting for his mother to complete her tasks so that they could go home to their small cottage, a short distance beyond the sanctuary, and prepare their daily meal.

She smiled at Fasil. He was a good boy, responsible, with a strong sense of right. She had truly been blessed. But he was growing so quickly...

Vedek Gar had stepped to the front, and she turned her attention to him. She was looking forward to his sermon. It was during services that Gar's quiet, enigmatic qualities were temporarily suspended, giving way to reveal a fiery and inspirational spirit.

"My brothers and sisters," he began. "It inspires me to see such a strong turnout on a day like today, when many of us would prefer to be outside, to enjoy the suns.h.i.+ne. I know that when the weather has been so unpredictable, many of us feel as though it has been an eternity since we have been warmed by the sun. I commend you for choosing to come to services, for remembering to honor Those whose light replenishes our spirits." He smiled broadly, but then his expression gave way to one of deep regret.

"Of course, it brings to mind an allegory. One with which I know you are all familiar. For there are some among us who, in these times of despair, begin to wonder if the warmth and comfort brought to them by the Prophets will ever return. And as they lose their faith, they begin to lose their way as well. And even when the Prophets are felt again, like the sun on an uncertain spring day, it is not to Them that those wayward travelers attribute their good fortune. Instead, they believe that it is only by their own initiative that fate begins to smile upon them. They forget where proper thanks are due."

The congregation responded with a collective affirmation.

"The Prophets ask so little of us. They ask for our faith, and nothing more. And if we have faith, we know that we must continue to walk in the paths laid out by our fathers and mothers."

Sulan recognized the last bit as a fragment of familiar prophecy. Let him who has tilled the soil till the soil, for the land and the people are one... Let him who has tilled the soil till the soil, for the land and the people are one...

It was a common theme, one that appeared numerous times in prophecy. The land and the people are one, The land and the people are one, the importance of the harvest, and the importance of those who facilitated it; each Bajoran a.s.signed to his or her role, an elaborate, ancient system meant to promote peaceful cooperation among all strata of society-no one role less important than another. Though some may have held more prestige, it was understood that without even one element of the the importance of the harvest, and the importance of those who facilitated it; each Bajoran a.s.signed to his or her role, an elaborate, ancient system meant to promote peaceful cooperation among all strata of society-no one role less important than another. Though some may have held more prestige, it was understood that without even one element of the D'jarra D'jarras, Bajor would cease to function. At least, before the Carda.s.sians came, that had been the way.

Gar began to recite the rest of the verse as it appeared in her mind. "...but the land will cry fallow without the efforts of the many. She who is a merchant, he who tends to the sick, she who guards the flocks, all must look to their own callings, and follow in the paths laid out by their fathers and mothers."

Opaka bowed her head and clasped her hands together, feeling humility swell in her breast. She knew that Gar had chosen this message deliberately. Though it was a favorite topic of Kai Arin's, Gar had never previously chosen to address the abandonment of the D'jarra D'jarras, not directly.

"My brothers and sisters," Gar continued. "It may seem a small thing, tradition, tradition, in the face of hards.h.i.+p, in the fluctuations of a hard spring. But we all know that those Bajorans who choose to partic.i.p.ate in acts of terrorism have begun to advocate for the dissolution of the in the face of hards.h.i.+p, in the fluctuations of a hard spring. But we all know that those Bajorans who choose to partic.i.p.ate in acts of terrorism have begun to advocate for the dissolution of the D'jarra D'jarras. I know there are those of you who have become impatient, waiting for the Carda.s.sians to restore our full privileges, to want to s.h.i.+rk your natural-born ident.i.ty and perhaps take up the mantle of some other profession in the meantime. But those lost privileges will never be restored if the Carda.s.sians cannot trust us. And if these uprisings of violence do not cease, I fear that this essential trust may never come to be. Only patience, and faith in the Prophets, will bring about the better world we so desire. The message of the resistance is tempting to those whose faith has faltered-fight, destroy, let our anger rule us. But make no mistake-the men and women who turn from the path that fate has a.s.signed them, who encourage others to do the same, will serve only to hurt us all. They build a wall between us and our Prophets, Who weave the Tapestry in which all our lives are threaded."

Opaka Sulan's humiliation was soundly complete. She pressed clasped hands against her face. Tears of shame threatened.