Chapter 1

It was after midnight. The citizens and visitors in Cardassia City slept the sleep of physical and mental exhaustion. Above the city, a few stars gleamed feebly through the thick atmosphere. In the streets, security teams moved in pairs, both Cardassian and Federation, sanctioned by authority and by individual choice. The events of the past few days had been a reminder of just how unsettled things still were.

Two quiet figures slipped through the heavy shadows, moving across the paved stone that fronted the clinic until they reached the corner where rubble from the ongoing clean-up was stacked. One of the figures pulled out a small lantern and set it on the ground, its light focused on the mound. The small pool of light revealed two Cardassian children, a boy and a girl. Both wore dark, oversized jackets that wrapped around them like shrouds to keep out the night chill.

The boy scrabbled through the pile of debris, now doubled in size from what it had been only a few days before. At first there were a few clicks and rattles as he moved blocks of stone aside — then a cascade of sounds.

“I can’t find it. It’s not here. How come it’s not here?” Kehin muttered frantically, pausing in his search.

His companion stood primly to the side of the rubble, keeping watch as he had asked her to. “Maybe it was destroyed in the rain,” she whispered back. “It was old, and fragile.”

“But there should at least be pieces of it!” he said desperately.

“Then someone must have found it when they were stacking more stones,” Ibis replied reasonably. “You’ll have to ask at the clinic, maybe someone there saw it. Come on, Kehin, if it’s not here, let’s leave. I’m tired, and it’s dark, and if we’re caught here we might be in trouble.”

Foreboding in his voice, the boy whispered, “He won’t be happy....”

Mondrig paced. He hadn’t been able to sleep since the day after the storm — the day Legate Parn shattered his dreams and revealed the contempt that Mondrig was now sure he’d felt all along.

His expression sour, Mondrig paused long enough to pour himself a full glass of kanar. This was replicated, not real — further evidence of how far he’d fallen; only days ago, he’d been able to obtain a full case of real kanar of the finest vintage. Now he was drinking replicated beverages and eating replicated food, like any common citizen. He brooded, staring into the depths of the glass for a moment before draining half of the contents in a long gulp.

Parn’s men had cleaned out the cavern, taking every ancient treasure, along with what had been left of the kanar. More evidence of distrust and contempt. Another slap across the face that he was no longer worthy of even the most menial task for the Directorate. The only reason he’d been able to keep the replicator was that he’d hidden it, and convinced the soldiers that it had already been taken.

Mondrig drank the rest of the contents and slammed the glass hard onto the table. He was reaching for the bottle when he heard hesitant footsteps entering the cave.

“Who’s there?” he bellowed. No point in acting as though he were welcoming guests. Unless it might be her...? “Rekel?”

It wasn’t her. It was the boy — what was his name, Kehin, yes, that was it. The clever, agile one he had put to work searching for information and clues. The one who’d brought him word of the Federation relief team’s plan to shield the city from the storm.

The storm that had brought him to this. Mondrig scowled. “What do you want?” he barked.

“I ... have to tell you something....”

“What is it?” He poured another glassful of kanar.

Kehin drew his shoulders up timidly. “What you gave me.... The book....”

“What about it?” he snapped impatiently.

“It ... it’s gone.”

That brought him up short. “Gone—”

“I ... hid it, before the storm. After the storm, it was ... gone.”

“Gone....” The book had been a miraculous find, a historical treasure trove that he’d discovered in a vault in the university museum, a solitary volume that had likely been ignored for over a century by every professor and historian who’d taught or studied there, except the one. He glared at the boy. “You ... hid it ... and it’s gone? You lost it? You lost the history of Cardassia?”

“No, I didn’t lose it, I hid it, I really did,” Kehin explained with desperate speed. “I hid it in a dry hole in the pile of stones, and I covered it with a rock, no one saw me do it, no one knew where I put it, it was safe — but then the storm came, and after the dark rain ... it was gone. I searched for it, I searched all over! But ... I couldn’t find it, and I don’t know what happened to it or who could have taken it,” he finished meekly.

Mondrig’s fingers tightened on the glass. He took an involuntary step forward; Kehin flinched away.

“You lost the history, the key....” he all but shouted. His voice kept rising as his anger spilled over. “Do you have any idea how important that book was? What it meant — what it could have revealed?”

“I’ll keep looking—”

“The book was priceless! It can never be replaced! There may not be another copy anywhere! Its secrets could be the difference between the pinnacle and nothingness!” Mondrig raged, gesturing with the glass. Kanar splattered on the wall and floor as he stormed back and forth. “I should never have entrusted something so important to the entire future of Cardassia to such an incompetent, worthless child!”

Kehin’s head came up, humiliation and defiance mingled in his eyes. “I’ll find it, I’ll find who took it, I’ll get it back—”

The adult paused, glaring, his features set, but his jaw twitching. “You’d better!” His tone dropped. “You’d better find it.”

“I will—”

“Get out.”

The child scurried toward the entrance, shoulders hunched together as if he were trying to fend off blows.

“And don’t show yourself here again until you find it or can tell me who took it!”

The boy disappeared without another sound.

Mondrig stared at his now-empty glass for a long moment, his mouth curled in impotent anger. Then, unable to help himself, he flung the glass at the far wall. It shattered, the pieces tinkling like little bells as they fell to the stone floor. Muttering an oath, he left the shards where they lay, and headed out the entryway wearing a purposeful expression.

The elderly, graying Cardassian slowly made his way through the rubble-strewn street, keeping to the side of the avenue and leaning on his cane. He scanned the way ahead as he moved, occasionally glancing behind him and listening carefully to make sure no one was following him. Despite the increased security of the past few days, there were still looters on the streets at night, furtive loners who scavenged the ruins for anything of value. And worse than the looters were the small bands set loose by their would-be leaders, struggling with each other for control or trying to bully citizens into support or at least compliance.

“Kassel Limorin, I believe.”

The man jumped with a spryness that belied his age. “Who’s there?” he demanded, bringing up the cane like a weapon in front of him.

“Oh, you have nothing to fear from me.” A figure appeared from the shadows of an alley — Garak.

“I know you....” In the dim light, his features paled visibly.

The other smiled. “Of course you do. Come. We must speak.”

“Why would I want to speak to you?” Limorin demanded a little querulously.

“No reason, I’m sure. But that doesn’t change the fact that you are going to speak with me. You have information I need, and you are going to share it. Come. This way. Now. Quickly, before anyone sees us.”

He hesitated.

“I assure you,” the other said impatiently, “it will be worth your while. And I think, once you have heard what I have to say, that you will be very interested in learning even more.”

There was no real choice. Limorin followed.

The relief team staff meeting at the clinic had been tense. Exhaustion from the last few days showed on everyone’s faces, and the late morning heat didn’t help. Jake kept industriously scribbling notes as the leaders in each area delivered medical reports, supply updates, technical progress, and general clean-up from the dust storm and the rain that had saved the city. He also observed, as discreetly as possible, watching for what went unspoken.

He noted that Lieutenant Kato favored her left arm, and winced when she moved it too fast. The reminder of the recent riot and the manhandling she’d received seemed to shadow her usual good spirits. But she ignored her arm for the most part, focusing on finding the cause and cure for one of the more deadly of the diseases that had sprung up in the refugee camp.

Tejral had thawed somewhat; he was less distant and formal than he’d previously been when Bashir was around — not friendship, by any means, but the medic/planetary ecologist no longer seemed to be expecting the doctor to fall apart at any moment, or had at least decided he was no longer going to watch for it. Or maybe, Jake thought cynically, he was too tired to give anyone a cold shoulder.

Lausten was a bit restless — he had a writing stylus in one hand, and kept flipping it between his fingers whenever anyone else spoke.

The two men seemed to be working together pretty well on ecological restoration, although that hadn’t yet translated into an easy answer to the Dominion-seeded environmental disaster.

Dr. Ptacek seemed unusually quiet, her Andorian antennae following the conversations attentively, but not contributing much. After a little observation, Jake concluded it was introspection that kept her silent, not weariness, as he’d initially thought.

Blake had the belligerent air he usually affected when Bashir was present, and seemed to have kept his visible bruises as a mark of defiance, rather than having them quickly healed. He delivered his security report with crisp brevity, and contributed little else to the conversation.

As best Jake could tell, Hart was unhappy and hadn’t slept well. She wouldn’t even look at Bashir, or him, keeping her gaze on her PADD, even when she delivered information and answered questions in a flat monotone. Both of the mutineers still carried a grudge, but the young reporter suspected Julian had a more difficult time dealing with the way Hart expressed it.

Jake didn’t know the other senior relief team members as well, so confined his notes to what they said instead of his thoughts about what they might be thinking and feeling. He listened to reports on food distribution in outer areas, summaries of medical needs and treatment, ongoing decontamination efforts and impacts of the toxins deposited by the storm, updated assessments for rebuilding transportation, communication, and power grids, itemizations of technical and personnel requirements, revised projections for energy and equipment needs, strategies for averting the most likely future crises. Overall, the tone was guarded, weary, acknowledging the extent of the challenges still ahead.

After a while, the current statistics and future estimates ran together, and seemed to boil down to, they had come to a world in chaos, and the chaos continued. The recent storm, and its aftermath, had worn them down.

Dr. Bashir tried to interject a positive attitude, with an encouraging speech at the end, but Jake knew the man well enough to recognize the attempt at optimism was a fragile thing.

Jake also had the impression that Bashir was not pleased with Lausten’s slow progress on finding a way to deal with the planetary toxins, from the highest layers of the atmosphere, down to the soil and water around them. He could tell that Tejral and Lausten were equally frustrated, and as they walked out together, talking back and forth, he decided to ask them some questions about what their report meant, in terms an ordinary person could understand.

Even with his long legs, he almost had to jog to catch up with them as they exited the building. “Trey—”

Neither of the men appeared to have heard him call.

“Shane, I took those variables into account!” he heard Lausten mutter darkly. “Yes, it looks good in a cold equation. But I just don’t think—“

“We had the same problem on Betazed, and when we—”

“This ain’t Betazed!” the scientist interrupted in an unusual display of temper, running a hand through his short, light brown hair.

“It also isn’t a damn computer simulation!” the restoration ecologist shot back. “If we don’t get some kind of bioremediation process in place, and soon, we’re going to lose this planet!”

“We jump the gun and mess up, and we’ve lost this planet just as sure, and God only knows what kind of mess we could unleash! You studied Genesis! You want something like that happening on an inhabited planet like this?”

Tejral snorted disgust. “We’re not talking about the generation of an entire eco-system—“

Jake paused, blowing a quiet breath. It appeared the men’s mutual support in the meeting was not entirely genuine or complete. He hung back as the other two kept walking, staying in the shade at the side of the clinic. The breeze around the side of the building helped dry the sweat on his forehead and cool his neck.

A few seconds later, Dr. Ptacek and Commander Hart stepped out of the clinic door, turning in the other direction and shielding their eyes against the late morning sun. They were apparently talking animatedly and with some heat. He took several steps closer, smiling — Ptacek, at least, was a friend, although Hart still gave him reproachful looks, every now and then.

“She’s Cardassian! They were the enemy!” Hart hissed as the women passed him.

“She’s a child! An innocent child! They’re never the enemy! And who else does she have?” Dr. Ptacek demanded.

“That isn’t our concern! Look at it this way — we didn’t save her from slavers just to take her away ourselves! Besides, what would you do when we leave here and you’re back on ship duty? How would you handle her then, day to day, with all your other responsibilities? Just turn her loose on the ship, or lock her in your quarters?”

“You raised three children on a starship,” the Andorian retorted. “How did you do it?”

“I had a husband and friends and a ship childcare service!” Hart’s expression darkened bleakly. “Until the war. We all sent our children back home then. And I suspect a lot of Starfleet parents will be leaving their children with friends and relatives on their home worlds for a long time yet, even if Starfleet starts allowing families aboard active duty ships again! And they weren’t completely raised. My little Anne....” She swallowed and looked away.

Remembering Bashir’s admission of how he’d strong-armed Commander Hart into going on with the relief mission by invoking her children and appealing to her maternal emotions, Jake wasn’t about to walk in on that conversation either. Instead, he quickly about-faced and was about to go back into the clinic to see if the doctor had a few minutes. He nearly ran into Aya Kato.

“Hi, Aya!”

She looked up at him, flashing one of her quick enthusiastic grins. “Hi, Jake! I thought you were leaving.”

“In a couple of days,” he nodded, falling into step with her.

“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” Aya observed. “By the time you get around to visiting some of the other cities, the relief mission will be done!”

“I wish we could fix things that fast!”

“Me, too.” Her eyes lost some of their sparkle, and he guessed she was remembering the slow progress the biomedical research team was making.

“Well, I’m really going, and soon,” he continued with determination. “My editors have been asking me how soon I’ll have some reports ready for them about the outer areas, so I couldn’t put it off much longer if I wanted to. And I’m looking forward to it.”

“Have your editors said anything about your Cheiron IV report yet?”

“No,” he admitted, “but I’m hoping to hear before I leave.”

“I hope so too. It might help ... some of our team. Anyway, I’ll miss you when you’re gone, but I’m sure you’ll find it interesting. Hopefully not too rough.”

“Rough? How?”

Her glance flickered across the courtyard where the team had made their stand during the riot. “We don’t know how things are in some of the outer regions. Planetary patriotism and anger at the Federation might be even stronger, there.”

“I’ll be careful,” he assured her with bravado. There was a second’s pause. “I saw you holding your arm kinda careful, during the meeting. Is it still bothering you? I thought you got it treated.”

She shrugged self-consciously, with a quick flush of color almost as bright as her hair. “I guess I cut it short. There were people hurt worse than I was, and I wanted to get back to my work. I haven’t had time to let Julian or Ptacek look at it again. Maybe later.”

“Will you still be saying that a week from now?” Jake asked a little reprovingly.

She grinned impishly. “Will you still be around to hear me? Can’t talk to them now, though. Julian will be spending at least the next hour reviewing reports from the Barton and the Hippocrates and coordinating them with our own information. And Ptacek said something about looking for the children who’ve been hanging around the clinic — she wants to start some inoculations.”

Remembering what he’d overheard, he could guess which child in particular the doctor would be looking for. “Okay. So what are you going to do now? Back to the lab?”

“Yes. There’s some diagnostic equipment I’m finally getting around to unpacking, and I need to get it set up.”

He looked around quickly. “Vak’s not here to help?”

“We had a call from the city for help with some computers, and Vak jumped at the excuse to avoid the meeting.”

“No surprise.” Jake laughed. “Then I’ll help you, if you don’t mind the company.”

“I won’t mind at all,” she acquiesced with a grin. “Hopefully the air conditioning unit in the lab is working better than the unit in the clinic! Oh, that breeze feels good!”

Talking amicably and with the light wind cooling their skin, they headed for the lab.

Chapter Two