Star Trek Deep Space 9 24 The Rebels Conquered

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Star Trek - DS9 - 024 - Conquered

PRELUDE

THIRTY YEARS AGO

"MY LORD, what may I bring you from our Prophets?" Sister Winn asked, as Gul Ragat and his

Cardassian friends and colleagues roared with laughter at her impishness.

"From your Prophets?" echoed another young Cardassian, a gul in the Cardassian land forces.

The boy--Akkat, Sister Winn remembered--wore a sneer that he obviously practiced before a mirror.

His voice held a nasal quality found to a lesser extent in most Cardassians--probably a species trait--but

grating to Bajoran ears nevertheless.

"Yes, Lord Akkat," said the priestess, bowing low to the boy who was only a little more than half her

age. "The Prophets offer peace and hope to all, even Cardassians." The council room was dim and cool,

with harsh dark-wood chairs surrounding a severe table.

Communications equipment, viewers, touch pads adorned the place settings, along with a chalice of

Kanar for each man.

There were four other Cardassian lords and overlords around the table, including Winn's own master,

Gul Ragat. They all laughed at her last statement, and Gul Dukat, master of Terok Nor and one of the

governors of Bajor Province, probably in line to succeed Legate Migar as prefect of all Bajor, nudged

the young colonel. "Are you going to allow a Bajoran priestess to speak to you that way?

Offering you leftover blessings from her gods-- after the Bajorans take what they want?" If Akkat was

haughty before, he was positively livid now. He leapt to his feet, knocking over the heavy

Cardassian-style chair. His facial ridges stood out stark and white... an ominous omen.

Sister Winn was used to such Cardassian outbursts, and she knew what she had to do. She had survived

most of her adult life under Cardassian occupation, and she was no fool. Winn fell to her knees, bowing

until her face was pressed against the floor. "Please, My Lord! I meant nothing by it.

I spoke in error, and I beg your indulgence." Akkat pushed his way around the table, teeth clenched; he

even shoved Gul Ragat out of his way in his rage--a bad move, as the gul, though just as young,

outranked him by quite a margin of social status. "Wretched beast! Get up off the floor and accept your

correction like a--like a Cardassian child would!" But the priestess's own master rose, now annoyed at

Akkat for pushing him. "Akkat!" he shouted, deliberately ignoring the lesser soul's title (a serious insult in

Cardassia). "Don't touch my servants! Take your hands away; if you want to damage property, damage

your own! I still have use for mine." Ignoring the warning, Akkat swung his open hand at Winn's face.

She did not try to shield herself from the blow; she was too canny froin years of experience. Instead, the

priestess twisted her head in time with the blow to minimize impact, then allowed herself to fall in the

same direction, exaggerating the force. Then she covered her face with her arm and again begged

forbearance.

Gul Akkat looked uncertainly at his colleagues, aware he had just struck a woman--a Bajoran woman, to

be sure, but even so. When Gul Dukat himself turned an angry gaze at the young gul and said, "A

Cardassian does not lose his temper around Bajorans," Akkat slunk back to his seat, his face flushed

with embarassment.

Still stretched out on the floor, Sister Winn felt several moments of triumph that she had finally goaded the

weakest Cardassian into humiliating himself. She had subtly taunted him for several minutes: nothing overt

enough to truly give him cause to strike her (in which case, the others would have ignored the incident),

but sufficient needling that he lost control at the most innocuous of statements. Then Winn felt a twinge of

her own conscience; she tried to tell herself that it was a "strategic" maneuver, trying to make the lords

and overlords lose confidence in one of their own. But that was a lie: it was a petty, vindictive act and not

in keeping with the teaching of the Prophets.

She rose to her knees, bowed again to Lord Akkat, and said, "I humbly beseech your pardon for the

disrespect I have shown." But she was not talking to the young pup ofa Cardassian; in Winn's heart, the

words were directed skyward, to those who heard even the quietest heartfelt prayer.

The rest of the meeting proceeded routinely.

There were no secrets discussed, and the lords took no precautions against any of the servants, including

Sister Winn, listening in. The matters were runof-the~mill administrative reports and the issuance of

standing orders that were already available over the subspace newsmitters anyway. It was more a formal

event, held so that four guls and the legate could set themselves aside as the administrative (and military)

leaders of the subcontinent.

In fact, it was quite an honor that Gul Ragat was even allowed to attend, as he excitedly told Winn during

a break, walking alone in Legate Migar's garden with only a "personal priestess" in attendance. "Winn,

you have no idea how extraordinary it is for a mere provincial subgovernor to be invited to Legate

Migar's for the monthly bulletintea!" "I know it is a very great honor for your lordship," said the priestess.

"A great honor, indeed." The young gul turned serious for a moment. "I'm afraid it's too great an honor,

Sister Winn." "Oh, surely not, My Lord!" "Relax, Winn. We're alone now." The boy turned an astute face

to the priestess, who felt the most absurd impulse to comfort the lad. "I'm not disparaging my family; my

lineage is if anything even grander than that of Legate Migar himself. and the old man knows it. But since

when does the provincial subgovernor of Shakarri and Belshakarri rate an invitation to the bulletin-tea?"

Winn thought for a moment; the child had a point, not that she particularly cared much about Cardassian

rules of protocol. "Perhaps they are grooming M'Lord for a promotion?" Gul Ragat grinned and

chuckled, shaking his head. "It's called a grant of honors, not a promotion! Silly girl. But I understood

what you meant, and I confess that I've been thinking the same thought myself... and damning myself for

being an ambitious man even for thinking it." Sister Winn said nothing. The garden was too tight, too

martial, as were most Cardassian artifacts. The trees were planted too close together, like soldiers in

ranks, and the paths were straight as Cardassian roads, intersecting with each other at precisely defined

angles that one could see for many steps ahead. Sister Winn preferred either the soothingly planned

garden of the Kai, which she had seen only once in person but had walked often in her dreams, or the

rambling, meandering footpaths of the woods outside her native village.

Gul Ragat stopped and sat upon a stone bench, watching the Fountain of Discipline: the spigots fired in

bursts like a weapon, launching a cylinder of water into the air, arching over the hexagonal plaza to land

squarely in a small catch-basin on the other side. Sister Winn did not, of course, sit beside the gul; it

would have surprised him and made him uncomfortable... though he would not have punished her for it.

He might also have taken the wrong idea. One night, he had somewhat drunkenly explored his options

with Sister Winn, but she made it clear (by "failing to understand" his advances) that she may be his

servant, but she was not his toy. She much preferred somewhat an air of formality, to ensure the two did

not get too close; Sister Winn had no illusions about their relationship, the conquered to the victor.

"Winn, I'm..." The gul trailed off; Sister Winn did not prompt him--it wasn't her place, and she hoped he

wouldn't decide to confide in her anyway.

"Winn," he said again, "I'm afraid." "Afraid, My Lord?" "Afraid of the added responsibility. Afraid of

what we're doingre" Gul Ragat froze in midsentence, looking around himself in an almost comical

paranoia. "Sister Winn, do the Prophets truly exist?" "I have spoken with them frequently, My Lord."

Ragat did not ask whether they answered her when she spoke.

"Winn, I'm--afraid for the soul of Cardassia, what this occupation is doing to us. I know Akkat; we go

way back." He g going to tell me what a good person he is, thought the priestess with amusement.

"Winn, Akkat is such a good man! I know you feel hurt and humiliated by what he did, striking you like

that for no reason. You're confused, and you're angry--furious at us! No, don't deny it; I know how you

Bajorans feel about this occupation.

And to tell the truth, I even understand it. There's no heavenly reason why Cardassians are any better or

superior to you people. I understand you completely." Sister Winn said nothing, not trusting her

selfcontrol. She decided it was politic to bow her head; she also put her sleeves together and savagely

gripped one hand in the other to prevent them moving of their own accord where they wanted to go. Oh,

Prophets of Bajor, please forgive and take from me my violent impulsest "But it's this damned military

thing," continued the young gul, little aware of the emotions he was stirring in the normally placid Sister

Winn. "It warps us, makes us the sort who--who strike an old woman because she reminds us of how

uncomfortable we feel, trying to civilize the Bajorans by force... trying to force our civilization upon the

Bajoran civilization, I should say." Winn seized upon the phrase "old woman," successfully translating her

homicidal feelings into mere indignation that a woman in her thirties would be called "old" by this young

aristocratic snot. She thanked the Prophets for their gift from the mouth of Gul Ragat.

"Oh, I'm blathering. Let's return; Legate Migar probably wants to start the meeting again, and I don't

want to be the last man back." He flashed her a boyish grin. "Could give him second thoughts about my

promotion, what?" PRESENT DAY Kai Winn awoke in her bed, thirty years after the dream that had

seemed so strong, so real. Am I that old, she asked herself, that I live in ancient memory instead of the

present? Tomorrow is an important day, and I must rest.

The Kai rolled over, and was, thank the Prophets, dreamless for the rest of the night.

CHAPTER 1

CAPTAIN BENJAMIN SISKO stood in room 77A of the All Prophets Council chambers on Bajor,

facing Kai Winn and surrounded by sixty-six vedeks and conciliators and priests and rotaries and even

an audience circumnavigating the viewing stage above the council floor. The crowd mobbed in from the

left, circled the viewing stage, and exited on the opposite side, where their prayer tokens were collected.

Major Kira Nerys stood next to the captain.

As they had arranged, Kira spoke first.

"Most Gracious Kai," said Kira, "the Federation offers an... assignment of Deep Space Nine on a

temporary basis, to Bajoran command." Kai Winn frowned in the virtual council chambers, smoothing

her plain frock. She pulled at one finger, carefully framing her reply in the most diplomatic terms possible.

Although it was Kira who had spoken, she addressed her reply to Captain Sisko. "If the station remains

under Federation control, Emissary, yet Shakar or some other member of the council becomes its

governor, doesn't that mean we have accepted the authority of the Federation over Bajor?" Damn her.

Sisko--the "Emissary of the Prophets"---was careful to keep his poker face, but the Kai had a point.

Tricky diplomacy was re.quired not to offend the Bajorans. "The United Federation of Planets most

certainly does not claim hegemony over Bajor, the councit~ or any vedek or political leader who might

assume temporary control of the stafford." Kai Wi~m shook her head; "more in sorrow than anger,"

quoted Sisko silently to himsetfi "Emissary," she sa~d, "if we control the station only subject to approval

of our actions by the Federation Council, then we are nothing but puppets of the Federation." She put her

hand over her mouth as if she had accidentally let slip an indiscretion.

Good acting job, thought Sisko glumly. Kai Winn never did artything by accident. "I beg your par~

don.... Perhaps it would be better to say we would be nothing but--political subsidiaries of the

Federation. Rather like a colony or a protectorate." Sisko took a deep breath. Winn had negotiated his

back right up against a wall: he was authorized by the Federation Council to offer one further step... then

that was it; if Kai Winn and the other vedeks didn't accept that offer, negotiations were at an end.

"The Federation is prepared to forgo the normal review process for turnovers of this sort in lieu of an

explicit timeline of events, culminating with a final evaluation." "You won't be looking over our shoulders?

Emissaw, how kind of you to make such an offer." "No reviews until the final evaluation, Kai," added

IGra, bobbing her head rapidly~ "But does the Emissary have the diplomatic authority to make such an

offer?" "I do," Sisko said. "And the Federation feels that with tensions between us and the Cardassians in

abeyance for the mortlent, this would be an excellent time for such an experimenW' "How pleasant to

carry on such productive negotiations." Kai Winn smiled broadly. She~ going to take it, thought Sisko.

And he was right: "I, too, am authorized by a vote of the leading vedeks of each party in the council to

agree to the Federation offer~on a temporary basis, of course, subject to our own evaluation of the

ongoing process." Fancy footwork on first base to confuse the pitcher, thought Sisko with a simile. But

the extra escape clause allowing Bajor to terminate the agreement early would not substantially alter the

final proposal; the captain was certain the Federation Council would approve. "Then we have agreement,

Kai Winn, Members of the Council. In nine days, you will send up a governor to assume control of Deep

Space Nine for a period of sixty days... which may be extended indefinitely, provided both parties

agree." The Kai's eyes flickered toward First Minister Shakar when Sisko mentioned "governor." An

excellent choice, thought the captain. Major Kira's only fear had been that Winn would try to take the

position herself. For obvious reasons having little to do with the future of Bajor, Kira was quite pleased

with the prospect of once again working under her old Resistance commander... and current romantic

interest.

Before the final ceremony could begin, they were interrupted by the a chime of a cornbadge. Sisko

tapped his combadge as discreetly as possible.

"Captain," Worf said, "My apologies for interrupting. But there is an urgent message for you from

Starfleet. You are needed on Deep Space Nine at once." "This had better be good," Sisko said to Worf

under his breath. He was not looking forward to the explanations and apologies he'd have to give the

council.

Back on the station, Kira was in no way pleased with the interruption from Starfleet. "Captain, couldn't

whatever this message is have waited until we finished the negotiations or at least--" "Let's see what

Starfleet wants, Major. If it wasn't worth it, we'll soon know," Sisko said. As he spoke, he read down

the text of the message on the padd that had been handed to him the moment he stepped into Ops.

"Sir, Kai Winn and the vedeks are going to be very upset. We walked right out on a meeting of the

Council of All Prophets.... That's likere" "Apparently a group of renegade Cardassians have invaded a

star system on the edge of the Federation," Sisko said bluntly. "I think even Kai Winn and the vedeks will

understand the urgency of the situation." Kira froze in midsentence as the implication sank through her

annoyance and humiliation and crash-landed on her comprehension circuits. If the Cardassians, any

Cardassians, were starting a major offensive, the Federation was in grave danger, indeed--as was Bajor,

needless to say. The Cardassians had never forgotten the embarrassment of Shakar and his compatriots

forcing them off the only planet they never quite managed to subdue.

"How close?" she asked.

"Not very close, Major," said Worf, hovering nearby--as usual when the subject is war, thought Kira.

"The Cardassians have invaded the system around Sierra-Bravo 112, the active half of the binary star

system that includes the neutron star Stirnis." The captain shook his head. "I was afraid of something like

this; that's why I fought like the devil against this turnover of DS9....At least right at this moment." "Oh?

And why is that?" She didn't mean it to sound quite so frosty; it was almost an autonomic reaction.

"I mean no slur against Bajor, Kira." "I'm only concerned," he continued, "about the timing. While

Starfleet is claiming that these Cardassians are renegades, disavowed by their central command, there

could well be more to this. At the moment, I think it's a terrible idea to remove the Federation presence

here." "Radiation readings," said Dax, stepping forward from her science station, "in the vicinity of

Sierra-Bravo 112 indicate a technological civilization on the second planet from the star, but the

Federation long-range survey ship didn't pick up any subspace transmissions or warp signatures." "Prime

Directive, Old Man?" asked Sisko.

"Yes, Benjamin, I'm sure the Prime Directive would apply." "Benjamin," continued Dax, "There are no

enemy ships anywhere near here and a quarter of the Klingon fleet is on standby in case anything nasty

comes out of the wormhole. Now is as good a time as any for the turnover--much as I hate to leave."

"Perhaps you're right," allowed Captain Sisko.

"But in any case it's not an option: gentlemen, we have been ordered by Admiral Baang to at least

investigate SB- 112.... Investigate, not necessarily to act upon what we see. That, at least, Starfleet

leaves to my discretion." KJra's blood leapt in response to the simple announcement--stop! It's just

another mission, it's nothing! But her pulse raced regardless. The admiral had downplayed the potential

for fighting, but Kira somehow knew the rumor would turn out to be true, and they would have no choice

but to intervene. And by the Prophets, I want to be on that job. She tr/ed to tell herself it was only to

avoid tedious duty during the turnover... or even (a dark thought) to avoid the inevitable deep, meaningful

discussion with Shakar about where they were headed--they, as in They.

But she was too honest to deny what she knew: she had killed Cardassians for so long--her whole adult

life and much of her youth--that she had become accustomed to blood. She fought the dreams every

waking moment and gave in to them at night... slinking once again through the black dark with disruptor

rifle in arms, approaching the Cardassian sentry as quiet as a meurik, and "taking him out" (such

euphemisms for perverse joy) with a k-bar knife.

Kira smiled, remembering grim and glorious days in the Shakaar resistance cell. "I can see where you're

going to need someone like me, Captain." To go to battle again--against Cardassian aggression-was

surely enough to overcome her conflicted desire to be with Shakar during his moment of triumph.

Besides, she thought, putting a pious spin, he'll be proud of my role in a mission like this.

It would mark the first time she went to war with Cardassian slavers on her own, without Shakar.

Sisko stopped, turning to gaze in seeming serenity upon the assembled senior crew, Kira in particular.

"And that is why I am disappointed to have to leave you behind, Major." "What?" She blinked, not

understanding.

"You are of course a very good choice for this type of job, but you are the only person who can smooth

the inevitably choppy waters of the turnover of Deep Space Nine to the Bajoran government." "But I--"

"Major Kira, when First Minister Shakar arrives-or whoever is sent by the council--I cannot give him an

executive officer who is a member of Starfleet; Kai Winn would never allow it. She's already as nervous

as a cat that this is a conspiracy to take away Bajor's independence. There are only two people on the

station she almost trusts... and one of us, Major, has to command the Defiant." Captain Sisko turned and

ascended to his imperial roost, leaving behind a Bajoran major with her mouth opening and closing

wordlessly. But... I shouM be in charge of the Cardassian operation!

Who else could Alas, when Kira turned for moral support to the rest of the Ops crew, they had all

returned to their ongoing task to ready the station for the turnover.

Kira blew a breath through her clenched teeth.

"Aye, sir," she said belatedly and angrily sat at her station. Don't be such a whiner, she berated herself;

perhaps it's a hidden blessing from the Prophets.

Leaving Kira as executive officer of the station not only provided stability, it would mean sixty days of

face-to-face contact in a relationship that already appeared to be drifting toward the shoals of neglect.

She smiled, wondering what it would be like to once again take orders from the most brilliant leader she

had ever known.

CHAPTER 2

Two DAYS flickered past in the wink of an eye, but not without terrible yet vague foreshadowings of

doom in Odo's imagination. The thought that he would probably be kept on by the Bajorans for a week

or two, to facilitate in the turnover, before ultimately being let go, didn't calm him; just the reverse: if he

couldn't stay on Deep Space Nine with Major Kira--and Kai Winn would never agree to any but a

security officer who was Bajoran in descent as well as in name--Odo would much rather leave with

Captain Sisko and these other people he had come to care for; far better a strange posting with my

friends.

Odo would not admit it to himself except in the darkest moments of contemplation in his bucket, but he

was frightened. Despite the physical appearance of a fully grown man, Odo was, in the long and short,

less than fifteen years old; insecurity seized him, just as it had eight years earlier, when the Cardassians

left and handed the station over to the unknown quantity of "The Federation." Odo felt as if he were

learning the basic shapes all over again: cube, tetrahedron, pyramid, cylinder.

There was terribly much to do... so many things that could only be taken care of by Odo himself--and

others requiring the personal attention of the captain or Dax or Worf--that departure on the Defiant to

investigate the reports of Cardassian boojums was delayed for two days.

When at last everyone who was anyone (except for Kira) boarded the ship and prepared to cast off,

leaving the rest of the packing-up and shipping-off to enlisted crew and sundry ensigns and "jaygees,"

Odo found himself staring out the window of the Defiant at the cold, silent station outside, as if it might be

the last time he would ever see it again. As well it might, he told himself. Now stop dithering and pull

yourself together. They would probably be returning, not to Deep Space Nine, but to another starbase

and a detailing officer for new assignments... unless, against all odds, the Bajorans decided they didn't

want the station after all, and they gave it back in sixty days. (If the Federation took it back, over

Bajoran wishes, Odo decided glumly, it would cause a quadrantwide diplomatic incident.) In the four

years Odo had known the captain, he had learned to read the man, and Sisko was, if anything, even

more agitated than the constable.

Captain Sisko paced on the bridge, something he never did, and he snarled at Dax when the lieutenant

commander tried to tell him what a great job he'd done as CO on the station. "You're already writing my

obituary," said the captain quietlyre not quietly enough. He sat in his command chair with a loud thump.

Dax took the drastic events with more equanimity, which didn't surprise Odo in the least; in all her

lifetimes, she must have been uprooted and sent to Outer Nowhere more times than she could count.

She probably no longer even felt nervous or lonely in new places. Or perhaps she~ just better at hiding

her feelings, he thought. But Dr. Bashir sat whitefaced and white-knuckled in the supernumerary jump

seat; Deep Space Nine, Odo knew, had been Bashir's very first posting after leaving Starfleet

Academy--his first and only Starfleet home. He was as nervous as a Ferengi on trial about what might lie

ahead--not on Sierra-Bravo, not for Deep Space Nine, but in his own life and career.

Worf and Chief O'Brien were stoical; but then, they had only recently arrived from some Starfleet ship,

and Worf would never show his nervousness anyway. The chief will at least bring his family along, the

constable realized.

Curiously enough, Odo decided he would even miss Quark. Well... perhaps a little; I'll miss the relentless

games and contests--games I always won. But Odo sighed, realizing he was only fooling himself; over

many years and too many near-death experiences to count, he had come to hold a grudging respect for

that one particular Ferengi.

And he suspected that Quark, who would be even more reluctant to admit it to himself, would miss Odo

every bit as much.

Commander Dax ran through the departure checklist: "Check balast.... Nay systems on-line and

operational.... Weapons and shields within operational capacities.... Level-three diagnostics nominal....

Doctor? Doctor Bashir? Defiant bridge to Doctor Bashir." The doctor jumped up with a strangled noise

and darted to the nearest console. "Infirmary--I mean, sickbay diagnostics nominal; no problems

detected." Odo listened to the pulse of departure, all the routine tasks that junior officers struggled over,

but which the senior crew now aboard could do in their sleep. The sounds were familiar, not quite as

comforting as reading the daily incident reports in his security office, but better than standing and staring

out the porthole.

"Dax," began the captain, "what have you found out about Sierra-Bravo 112 from the planetary

database?" "Hm? Oh, it's a six-planet system, but only 112- II is of any real interest. The inner planet is a

burned-out hulk of nickle-iron; the outer four are gas giants.

"112-II has a technological civilization at least capable of broad-spectrum EM transmission.

No warp signatures detected in the three sweeps on ultra-long-range scanners, but that was eighty years

ago. Spectroscopic analysis indicates it's extraordinarily rich in latinum, selenium, and trilithiumdisulphite."

Odo interrupted. "Which cannot be easily separated into dilithium, as I recall." "On the nose, Constable."

Dax continued.

"There are atmospheric traces of cyanide, so there's probably some cyanide compound in the local

life-forms." "Doctor Bashir," queried the captain, "should we have to beam down, can you protect the

away team from the level of cyanide in the atmosphere?

And can we eat the local food?" Odo watched the doctor poke at his console, transferring Dax's data

entry to his own station.

"Well, yes and no, sir: yes, a simple hypospray can counter the level of poison residue on the atmospheric

dust, but no, we surely cannot eat the local food." "Then it's com-rations all the way," said Sisko with a

smile.

There was a sudden and urgent pounding on the airlock door; everybody on the bridge jumped and

stared except for the captain. Sisko closed his eyes and let his head fall back on his command chair.

"Who is that rapping at my chamber door?" He did not sound pleased that his final departure from the

station had been marred by such an unseemly occurrence.

Worf looked back and forth, twice, between Sisko and the door; the infernal racket started up again,

sounding to Odo as if some persistent neighbor were beating on the airlock with a battering ram. Odo

moved to the airlock and cycled it open.

Standing before him was an aggrieved and very noisy Quark. "Don't tell me you simply forgot to let me in

on the departure time," whined the Ferengi.

"Forgot? Quark, I never forget anything. Let me assure you, the snub was quite deliberate." "Captain--I

appeal to you in the name of... of kindly benevolence. These people who are taking the station over are

absolutely impossible. They haven't the first idea of how a free market should work--believe me, I know.

I've tried to open a franchise on Bajor for the past--" "You mean," interrupted Constable Odo,

interpreting for the captain, "you've been trying to palm off your stolen merchandise, but the Bajorans are

too moral and ethical to deal in contraband." Odo crouched low to stare directly into Quark's eyes; he

was gratified to see the felonious Ferengi lose his train of thought.

But Quark quickly rallied. "Not in the least, Captain Sisko. I have legitimate business interests in the

sector you're headed toward.... " Odo was on a roll; Quark couldn't seem to open his mouth without

convicting himself. "Really, Quark? And just how do you know where we're headed? That information is

classified." The Ferengi managed to look innocently surprised. "Aren't you going to the binary pair of the

neutron star Stirnis? I heard through the grapevine--" "There is no grapevine, Quark; the information was

classified. And I suppose you're going to deny tapping into the station computers?" "Odo! That would be

illegal." Quark grinned, exposing a full, snaggly set of freshly sharpened teeth. "Captain, I just want to

come along with you. I can't stand all this... religion." He shuddered, glancing back over his shoulder.

Odo stretched both hands out and gripped the sides of the airlock door, expanding his arms into a nice

imitation of a thorny thicket. "Captain, I strongly advise against allowing this. unindicted co-conspirator to

accompany us." Dax wormed her way past an exasperated Worf and stood next to the constable. "Oh,

come now, Odo. Would you rather leave this unindicted coconspirator alone on the station to work his

magic while you're gone for at least two weeks?" Odo said nothing at first; then the full horror of the

lieutenant commander's point became clear to him. Quark, alone on the station, with nothing but Bajoran

religious figures to control him....Quark running amok.

"I believe Dax has you there, Constable," said the captain; he almost sounded as though he were

smirking. "The real question is, are you selfish enough to wish Quark on the rest of the station just so you,

personally, won't have to deal with him?" The blow slid home like the well-aimed thrust of a Klingon d'k

tahg. "No, I... I suppose I'm not," mumbled Odo, feeling thrice a fool, three times over. Glumly, he

retracted his thickets; after a moment spent in a glaring contest with Quark, Odo stepped aside and

allowed the Ferengi to enter.

"Thank you," said Quark, with a shirty sort of exaggerated politeness; he rolled his eyes as he passed the

constable. "Really, imagine trying to hog all that latinum for yourselves." It took a moment to sink in.

"Latinurn? Quark, how did you know about the latinum? You did break into the Federation planetary

database!

That's a class-two felony....Captain, I must insist--" "Odo, Odo, Odo," said Quark, shaking his head

sadly. "I'm shocked, shocked that you have never heard the Ferengi legends of, ah, the Grand Planet of

Latinum, fabled in Ferengi lore. Have you?" "No, Quark," said the constable, curling his lip, so close, he

could almost taste the charge... and the Ferengi was in danger of slithering away again.

"I've never heard of a 'Grand Planet of Latinum,' and neither have you! There is no such legend." The

Ferengi made a grand theatrical gesture.

"Why, every Ferengi knows it lies in, why, right there in Sierra-Bravo 112. When I heard where you

were going, I just knew I had to explore... for Ferenginar--for the Grand Nagus, not for myself." "Every

Ferengi?' demanded Odo, making himself bigger. "So if I were to ask, say, Nog--" "Ah, youth! Young

Ferengi are so poorly educated these days, and I'm afraid my ignorant nephew is even less assiduous

about it than most." Odo opened and closed his mouth, feeling as a starving solid must feel when food is

dangled, then snatched cruelly away. But once again, Quark had beaten the charge. The constable

snorted and turned away, frustrated.

"All aboard," sang out Chief O'Brien; it was evidently some obscure Federation reference, and Odo

didn't catch it. Snorting heavily, Worf poked at the door panel with a meaty forefinger, and the airlock

slid shut.

"Are we all done now?" inquired Captain Sisko, looking directly at the constable.

"I, uh, don't think there will be any more interruptions," muttered Odo, still struggling to find the flaw in

Quark's ridiculous fabrication. Great Planet of Latinum!

"Thank you. Cast off, Old Man; let's really wring out this beautiful piece of machinery. Who knows?

It may be our last time." With a wistful-sounding "aye, aye," Dax ran the final launch checklist, detached

the Defiant from her moorings, turned a sharp 130 degrees, and headed off toward the star system

known onty as Sierra-Bravo 112. Odo watched Quark as if the Ferengi might shoplift a warp coil.

The days crawled with exaggerated slowness for Major Kira Nerys as she nervously awaited Shakar's

arrival. She paced the long, crowded corridors in the habitat ring, sidestepping the hundreds of boxes

and antigray dollies, dancing around civilian and Starfleet movers, and occasionally studying some

transitioning resident's requisition without really seeing what she saw. She really had too much to do

herself to waste time wandering the rest of the station; every security code and classified program in Ops

had to be either changed to Bajoran standards or encrypted and hidden away, in case the "temporary"

turnover really did turn out to be temporary.

Secretly, in her heart, Kira suspected that was the most likely outcome. I guess I really don't think we're

quite ready yet, she thought, feeling strangely ambivalent where she ought to feel either patriotic pride in

Bajor's accomplishments or burning shame at the places where they fell short. But having sat through

more than her share of Bajoran council meetings and seen, firsthand, the astonishing acrimony over the

slightest miscommunication or dispute, she was sure the Federation had been wise to slip in the sixty-day

escape clause.

Am I just being an unpatriotic snob? What, Bajor's not "good enough" because we're not the wonderous,

omnipotent FEDERATION? The thought truly bothered her, as did what it implied about her lack of

confidence in Shakar, but there it was with all its humiliating consequences: I truly believe we're just not

ready and this whole turnover is going to be a fiasco.

What was worse, Kira was ninety percent certain that Kai Winn was setting Shakar up to fail; and the

Kai would use his so-called "failure" as a hammer to bludgeon him out of his post as First Minister.

"Beware, Shakar; Winn has always wanted exclusive power in the hands of the ve~ deks," spoke Kira

into a letter log she planned to send down to Shakar before he departed for the station.

But she knew it was to no avail; if Winn offered the governorship to Shakar, there was no way he could

refuse it without appearing weak and losing face. That, too, might cost him his ministerial rank.

Shakar would just have to take his chances; maybe, against all the odds, he could succeed so well that

the turnover would become permanent.

Kira finished the letter log and encrypted it using the special, one-way key code she and Shakar used.

(It was definitely the sort of undiplomatic missive one didn't want falling into the "wrong hands," especially

the Council of Vedeks.) Then she sent it with a request for receipt confirmation. The major waited for

fifteen minutes near the console, but there was no friendly double beep; evidently, Shakar was not

available to hear it right away.

Odo's office was immaculate, of course; he had not packed up anything, since there was still a

reasonable chance that the Bajorans would keep him on as internal security officer, or "constable." Kira

had made a persuasive case that Odo could enforce Bajoran social-religious law as easily as he could

Federation law... or for that matter, the harsh Cardassian legislative code of Terek Nor, though she still

wasn't quite sure he appreciated her efforts. Still, because it was a good time to do it--Captain Sisko

would need a full legal accounting for his final outprocessing report--Kira wanted to perform a complete

inventory of all cases handled, their dispositions, active and ongoing investigations, informant lists, and

profiles of "suspicious characters," as Odo termed them (by whatever arcane methods he used to arrive

at that determination). Odo would have done it himself, of course; it was just the sort of nitpicky thing

that Odo loved and the major detested. But he was away on the Defiant, and the task fell to her.

She started setting up the query criteria for the computer, similar to an engineering diagnostic scan but for

security office actions rather than computer responses. She yawned several times. and then blinked her

eyes, confused, feeling the warm, smooth press of Odo's desk against her cheek. It took Kira several

seconds to realize she had actually fallen asleep at her task, and more than an hour had passed.

Jumping up with a confused start, she stared wildly around; the computer beeped, and Kira realized that

was what had awakened her in the first place. "Attention Major Kira," said the smooth female voice,

"runabout from Bajor docking at Docking Bay Four, carrying the new governor of Deep Space Nine."

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StarTrek-DS9-024-ConqueredPRELUDETHIRTYYEARSAGO"MYLORD,whatmayIbringyoufromourProphets?"SisterWinnasked,asGulRagatandhisCardassianfriendsandcolleaguesroaredwithlaughteratherimpishness."FromyourProphets?"echoedanotheryoungCardassian,agulintheCardassianlandforces.Theboy--Akkat,SisterWinnremembered--wo...

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