Night Of The Wolves Part 20

"A successful attack," Taryl added.

"It could help to fuel the resistance all over the planet!"

Taryl laughed again, wiping new tears away.

Lenaris kept reading past the point that Taryl had highlighted, and then he came to a part that he knew she was not going to react to quite so triumphantly. "Taryl," he said carefully. "Have you read this entire thing?"

She shook her head. "No, just the first part-it told me all I needed to know. I was looking for the article Harta was talking about, the one about Lac, and I found this."

"There's more to it," Lenaris said. "I think..." He pointed to the screen. She leaned over him to read it.

A Bajoran man apprehended two Carda.s.sian women in a drainage ditch outside the vineyards in Tilar province. The women, including this reporter, were safely recovered, but the Bajoran did not survive.

"Oh," Taryl said, her smile disappearing. Lenaris quickly stood, helping her back into her seat. She sat down hard, her expression fixed, unseeing, as more tears coursed down her face.

"Taryl," he said softly. "It's okay...it will be all right...but-we have to go, Taryl. We can't stay here."

It took her a few moments before she seemed to hear him. "You're right," she said faintly, wiping her eyes and doing her best to pull herself together, though it was clearly an effort. "We have to go. Let's tell the others about this story. Maybe they won't feel quite so eager to just forget about the cell once they hear it."

Lenaris nodded, for he was hoping much the same thing. News that the Carda.s.sians had actually taken significant losses from the attack did not make up for Lac's death, or that of the others-nothing would. But it was still a victory, and this article would make it a symbolic one. Hopefully, it could at least inspire what was left of the Ornathia cell into continuing to fight.

Lenaris watched her as she gathered a few things, and the two left the village behind them. He felt a combination of raw, palpable emotions as they left, not knowing where they would go, not knowing how they would get there. But as she turned to smile weakly at him, as if to convince him that she would eventually be all right, he knew it didn't matter, not now-for he would be going there with Taryl.

Dukat's back was to the door when Damar entered his office, and the sight of the turned chair made the gil's heart sink. He knew that Dukat was disappointed in him.

"You asked to see me, sir?" Damar finally spoke, beginning to wonder if the prefect even knew he had entered the room.

Dukat's chair turned around very slowly, and Damar winced internally at his expression. His head was tipped down, his mouth pulled tight. But he did not look angry, exactly. No, he looked...sad. And Damar realized that he had done more damage to the relations.h.i.+p than he had thought.

"h.e.l.lo, Gil Damar," Dukat said. "How is your betrothed?"

Damar felt a tremendous crus.h.i.+ng weight at the words, and he wondered if Dukat was deliberately trying to hurt him. "Our enjoinment...has been canceled," he said tightly. The burden of what he had just said was a miserable one, and he struggled to keep his composure.

"Ah," Dukat said. "So. You felt it necessary to work out the details of the transaction in person, on the planet."

"Yes," Damar said. "I wanted to be there when she woke up. I did not want her to learn the news from anyone else." As he said it, he felt a small surge of confidence, at least for his relations.h.i.+p with Dukat, for it had not been an unreasonable motive, and he felt sure that Dukat would recognize it as such.

"Indeed," Dukat said. "Personal matters can be so...complicated." He spread his hands. "It's a pity it had to occur when there was so much chaos going on here at the station. I suppose I hadn't realized just how much I'd come to rely on you."

Damar bowed his head and murmured an acknowledgment to the compliment.

"Unfortunately, it seems my superiors have other plans for you, Gil Damar. They are rea.s.signing a number of my personnel to the border conflict. It seems there's been something of an outcry within the hierarchy, from a story posted by that woman you saved, the other one. I am afraid you have been selected."

"But-" Damar protested. "If it's all the same to you...I prefer to remain on Terok Nor. Even on the surface, if I'm needed there. Please understand, Gul Dukat, it was only the most desperate of circ.u.mstances that-"

"I a.s.sure you, Gil Damar, this was not my decision. I would prefer to have you remain here as well. But the changes are made. You will be leaving the station within the next three days."

"Yes, sir," Damar said miserably. He knew that Dukat had the power to override the transfer but had deliberately chosen not to, and he could not deny that it stung. Aside from the personal affront, he did not want to go to the border colonies. That he had ever been so foolish to think that diplomacy could solve the problems on Bajor! He wanted, he needed needed to stay here, to fight the insurgents. To kill them, if need be, for the expression that had been on Veja's face when he had told her what had been done to her. to stay here, to fight the insurgents. To kill them, if need be, for the expression that had been on Veja's face when he had told her what had been done to her. To us To us. He knew that the memory would haunt him, that he would never forget it. Not if he lived to be two hundred.

Cold and dead inside, he bowed again to the prefect and turned to leave.

"And...Damar?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Thank you for your service here. I shall...miss your companions.h.i.+p."

A sudden great sorrow blossomed in the emptiness, that he would likely never see Dukat again. "And I shall miss yours," he said, and meant it.

He turned and left the room as quickly as he could, struggling to hide his expression from anyone he might encounter in ops. He needed to go about gathering up his things. And there would be just a little time left to say good-bye to Veja, probably forever.

"Miss Lang, you realize I could put out an immediate order for your arrest. Your actions translate to no less than treason!"

Natima felt sure that Dalak was exaggerating, as he was wont to do. Though of course she was in trouble with Central Command, the offending report had been removed from the comnet before anyone on Carda.s.sia Prime probably even saw it. The story had remained on the Bajoran net for significantly longer, but that didn't matter much-everyone here, Carda.s.sian and Bajoran, already knew the truth anyway. For the most part.

"What would possess you to even write such a thing, let alone fail to censor it? This is so unlike you, Miss Lang. I am practically speechless."

How Natima wished the latter part was true! "You have my deepest apologies, Mister Dalak. I suppose I am just not myself after the ordeal I was put through over the weekend. I honestly can't tell you what came over me. I was feeling so much anguish over Veja's condition, and the stress of being in that tunnel-"

"Of course, Miss Lang, I do sympathize." Dalak softened his tone somewhat. Dalak softened his tone somewhat. "Perhaps it was unreasonable of me to put you to your deadlines without giving you sufficient time to recover." "Perhaps it was unreasonable of me to put you to your deadlines without giving you sufficient time to recover."

"I would never suggest-"

"No, no, Miss Lang, I insist. You must take an extra day for yourself."

"An extra day. You are too kind, Mister Dalak. But what I really want to request from you is a new a.s.signment. After all that I have seen and done on this world, I am eager to leave it."

Dalak's moon face managed to look impatient and surprised, at once. "A new a.s.signment! Miss Lang, you and Veja begged for the positions on Bajor. You may have forgotten, but I was very, very reluctant to a.s.sign females to such a dangerous place." "A new a.s.signment! Miss Lang, you and Veja begged for the positions on Bajor. You may have forgotten, but I was very, very reluctant to a.s.sign females to such a dangerous place."

"That's right, you were. And now I believe I have had my fill of what Bajor has to offer. It seems you may have been right, Mister Dalak." It galled her to say it, but she was really and truly through with Bajor. The temporary madness that had urged her to write that story, to imperil her career-worse, perhaps, to make herself known to those in power as some sort of dissident...She would cheerfully go back to reporting on petty crimes and the latest military promotions. She could live for a thousand years without ever seeing another speck of red Bajoran dirt and be perfectly content.

"Fine, Miss Lang. I will see what I can do. But I have to warn you, I can't promise that you won't ever be sent back to Bajor after this. I need people with experience there. You were the best censor I ever had-before this slipup."

"Thank you, Mister Dalak." Natima didn't believe his threat for a minute. She'd made him look bad; he would never send her back here. No, she had seen the last of this place-that much was certain. And she couldn't be happier about it.

"Glinn Sa'kat," Astraea said timidly, as she labored to keep up with the quick cadence of the man's footfalls, "where are we going?"

They were walking toward the periphery of the city, through the warehouse district, back toward the Paldar sector, where Miras had once lived.

"You will find out when we get there," the soldier told her.

"Am I in trouble? I told you, my name is Miras Vara. I...misfiled an object at the Ministry of Science. I am a criminal, a fugitive. Aren't you going to arrest me?"

Sa'kat turned to her. "No," he said. "I will not be arresting you-Astraea."

She was confused. "But-we can't go back to Paldar. I'll be-Why am I not under arrest? I don't understand any of this!"

"No," Sa'kat said, "I imagine you don't. You probably knew little or nothing about Oralius when you began having your dreams, am I correct?"

"That's right," she said, and the mention of the name Oralius confirmed to her what she had begun to understand-that this man was somehow connected to her dreams, to the Hebitian woman, the mask and the book.

"It is not an accident that we have met."

His proclamation did nothing to clarify her confusion. "Are you...are you taking me to the book?"

"You'll find out when we get there," he said again, and she was surprised to see that he was smiling.

"Glinn Sa'kat," she said carefully, "are you an Oralian? Is that what this is about?"

He walked a little slower, seeming to consider. "You know, I suppose I never considered myself to be an Oralian. There are no more Oralians, not really."

They came upon an old sidewalk, out of the city's edge and back to where she could set her feet on syncrete again. The hard surface, while somewhat punis.h.i.+ng to the soles of her feet, was a relief to her ankles after walking in the unst.u.r.dy gravel and sand. They'd reached the dead industrial zone, haunted by shadows and hot, dry winds.

Sa'kat went on. "The last people to walk the Way disappeared many years ago. Central Command tried to round them up and exterminate them, s.h.i.+p them to Bajor and the surrounding colonies, where they were never heard from again. But they didn't get everyone. There were still a few left behind. They weren't killed, they simply...went underground. And then they stopped practicing altogether."

"And you-you were one of those?" It surprised her, since he appeared to be so young-not much older than she was, by her estimation, though it was not always easy to tell with soldiers. Something in their hardened expressions seemed to make them ageless.

Sa'kat shook his head. "No," he said. "I was not. But my parents were."

Ah. "The Way is not dead, only..."

"Only sleeping," he finished. "Waiting. Waiting for you." He began to walk quickly again, and she scrambled to keep up.

"But why me?" she protested. "As you say, I knew nothing of Oralius when I began to have those dreams, when I saw the woman by the creek. She showed me a mask! She said her name was Astraea-"

Sa'kat stopped walking. "You saw saw her?" her?"

"Yes. Who...who is she?"

"She is-or was-a guide, for Oralius."

Miras shook her head, still not understanding. "Oralius, who was he? Why did people follow him?"

"Not him," Sa'kat corrected her. "Oralius, though She has no corporeal form, is usually referred to in the feminine, at least in the sect favored by my parents."

"No corporeal form? Like a...a ghost?"

Sa'kat laughed. "A ghost, a spirit, if you like. She follows no linear time, and She does not inhabit a body, like you or I. She is always with us, but She needs a guide, a spiritual vessel, to channel Her. We have been without a guide for nearly a century. After the death of the last guide, it was written that Her Way would collapse, until the emergence of the next guide."

"The next guide," Miras repeated. She was beginning to understand now. She was beginning to understand that Sa'kat believed she she was that guide. Although she was not certain if she believed it herself. was that guide. Although she was not certain if she believed it herself.

"How can you be so sure that this is-"

"I can't be sure," he said, cutting her off. He resumed walking. "n.o.body can be sure of anything, can they? But there are those things that we believe strongly enough, that we would be willing to take serious risk for them. That is the definition of faith, Astraea."

"Faith," she echoed, quite without realizing that she had spoken it aloud.

They had pa.s.sed through the rusting dead zone and were beginning to come into the portion of the city that was inhabited. There were a few pedestrians milling around up ahead of them on the sidewalk, along with the occasional soldier, dressed identically to Sa'kat, patrolling the sector.

His voice dropped to a confidential tone. "I will tell you more of this when we arrive. You will be safe there. I have many contacts, in all facets of society, who will do whatever it takes to keep you from harm's reach."

Miras was overwhelmed. "And you will show me the book?"

"Yes," he said. "It is almost time to begin."

He smiled at her then, and she saw powerful feelings in his gaze: awe and fear, amus.e.m.e.nt, and a s.h.i.+ning brightness that she could not name.

"It is time for us to be reborn," he said, and for the first time since she'd dreamed of the Hebitian woman, since her life had effectively been hijacked by the Orb, she felt as if things might work out, after all.

OCCUPATION YEAR TWENTY-SIX.

2353 (Terran Calendar)

14.

Nerys was crying as she made her way to the shrine nearest to her father's house, and she wiped her eyes with shame. She was no longer a child, she was ten years old, and there was no excuse for tears-not even after what had happened. Some people had to endure worse, much worse. And anyway, why should she cry when the Carda.s.sians had let her go? She was safe, she could go back home to her father and her brothers-but that was just it, wasn't it? She was safe, but Petra Chan wasn't.

Nerys entered the shrine, looking hopefully for Prylar Istani. Her brothers and her uncle and cousins had all just dismissed her tears. They told her to stop behaving like this when really they should all just be grateful that they were together, while her father had been sympathetic but strangely distant. Nerys couldn't forget the look on Chan's face when the Carda.s.sians had taken her away. How could she ever forget such a thing? It positively haunted her, and though she'd always lived with the aliens' presence, had even encountered a few very unpleasant soldiers in her short life, the day that they had come to Dahkur and taken away a dozen teenage girls in the village was perhaps the most stark and terrifying event Nerys had ever witnessed.

Nerys did not encounter Prylar Istani right away; instead, she found Vedek Porta tending the shrine. She tried not to let disappointment show in her voice when she greeted him, for though she respected the old man, she certainly could not speak to him about what had happened-and how she felt about it.

"Nerys, I'd take it you're looking for Istani Reyla," Vedek Porta said knowingly.

"Oh..." Nerys began, not wis.h.i.+ng to be unkind, but the old priest merely inclined his head and went for the vestibule at the back of the shrine, where he soon emerged with Prylar Istani, dressed in her traditional orange robes. Vedek Porta left them alone, and Istani stretched out her arms.

"Nerys!" the kind-faced woman greeted her. "You've been crying. Come. Sit with me and tell me what troubles you."

Nerys sat gratefully on the bare floor facing the woman who had been a friend to the Kira family since before Nerys was born. Nerys felt as though she could confide almost anything to Istani, who always listened without judging-unlike her brothers-and with the feminine understanding that Nerys's father seemed unable to grasp.

"It's just...the other day, when the Carda.s.sians came..."

Istani's face darkened, and she squeezed Nerys's hand. "Yes, Nerys. It was a terrible day."

"But...why? What did they want with those girls?"

The prylar's voice was soft with hesitation, and Nerys had the impression that she was concealing something from her. "Perhaps...they wanted younger girls, so that they can begin training them for a particular job that is easier learned in one's youth..."

"I told them," Nerys sniffled, "when they came to the center of town and began to select girls from the crowd, I shouted that they should choose me instead of Petra Chan..." Nerys began almost to sob now, for she missed her friend, the teenage girl who'd been like a mentor and older sister, and Nerys feared terribly for her safety. "But...but...," she continued, "they said I was too young, and too scrawny...and Petra Chan isn't even that much older than me...and she's thinner than I am!"

"Nerys," Istani said, her voice soothing, "the Prophets will look after Petra Chan now, and you must thank Them for Their blessings. You and your family have always had plenty to eat, and you are together-"