The moba trees were even more lush in the full afternoon sunlight. Kira carefully made her way through their low-hanging branches until she could see the side door where she’d overheard the admiral and the ones from the monastery, the night before.

She saw a small cluster of people standing at the door, in the bright sunshine. I was right, she thought, and carefully made her way close enough to hear.

“So you’re satisfied?” she heard the admiral say.

“Yes,” the other woman replied simply.

There were two women and a man, and, she was shocked to see, two children, maybe aged nine and five.

After an awkward moment, the admiral turned to the children, her posture stiff.

“Hello. My name is Nechayev ... Admiral ... Alynna Nechayev, my name is Alynna,” she quickly amended, looking at the two children. “And I know who you both are. You’re Trev and Tiella Lewis. I’ll be taking you to live with your uncle Cameron.”

The older child spoke solemnly, in some Earth accent that Kira couldn’t place. “We haven’t seen Uncle Cam in a long time. Since Mum and Da moved to Antorin III,” he said.

“I know.” She saw what could only be described as pain on the admiral’s face; she stooped to look the boy in the face. “Your uncle and aunt are very much looking forward to seeing you again. They’ve ... missed you.”

“Here are their things,” the Bajoran woman said, setting two small bags on the ground.

“That’s all they have?” Nechayev asked, frowning.

“We didn’t have much warning when we had to leave Antorin,” she replied flatly.

The younger child looked back, then ran and hugged the woman. “Good bye, Laren,” she piped up. “Thank you for taking care of us. Tell everybody we’ll miss ‘em. ‘Specially Nerys, ‘cuz Trev likes her. She’s his girlfriend.”

“She is not!”

“Is too!”

“All right!” Laren giggled at them. “I’ll tell them, all your friends. Good bye, Tiella. Good bye, Trev. Be safe. Be happy, both of you.”

“We will.” She nodded back, then took her brother’s hand. “Will you come and see us?”

Laren exchanged glances with the admiral. “Maybe. We’ll see what happens.”

“Okay.”

“Come,” the admiral said more softly. “We need to go, so we don’t hold up the Sutherland.”

Nechayev’s aide picked up the two suitcases.

The admiral hesitantly held out a hand to the little girl. With a trusting smile, the child took her hand, and the four of them walked away.

“I hope they’ll be happy,” the Bajoran murmured with a sigh. “They’ve lost so much, their home, their family, so many friends....”

The spell broke; Kira stepped out of the underbrush.

“What have they lost?” she asked bluntly. “Who are those children? And what do they have to do with Admiral Nechayev?”

The woman caught her breath with a quick gasp. Her hand moved for a weapon that wasn’t there, then slowly relaxed.

“You’re Kira Nerys,” she finally said.

“Yes.” Kira stepped closer, coming face to face with the other woman. They were almost of a height. The other woman had dark brown hair and smokey brown eyes; her face was thin, and she looked as though she had been very tired for a long time. “And you are? Besides ‘Laren’?””

The woman contemplated her for a long moment. “My name is Ro Laren. Those children—“ She gestured off in the direction they’d disappeared. Her tone was sad as she continued. “Are Trev and Tiella Lewis. Their parents were members of the Maquis — like me. Their uncle Cameron Lewis, we have been reassured by our contacts, is their only surviving relative, and he wants to take them in and give them a home with his own family. He’s married to Admiral Nechayev’s niece. So she is taking them there.”

Kira hadn’t really expected an answer. “Maquis...? But the Maquis were wiped out....”

Ro nodded, swallowing hard. “Essentially, yes. At Athos IV.”

“I remember. But then how did the children...?”

Ro looked around, then waved toward the still open door. “Kasidy trusts you. I’ll trust you too. Come in, and I’ll tell you what I can.”

Kira followed.

Ro kept talking as they left the sunshine for the cool shade of the ancient stone corridor. “On Antorin, we had enough warning that the Jem’Hadar were coming, to send the children to safety — here, on Bajor, while the surviving Maquis gathered at Athos and waited for rescue. This was the only place we could think of where we knew we could find safety for them, without risking betraying their parents. One of us had relatives at Yoljan. He told us Vedek Hatha would take us in. And he did. Without giving us away.”

“But you — you weren’t at Athos—?“

Her expression was wintery. “No, I wasn’t. I was a Starfleet officer before I joined the Maquis. I was a damned good pilot.” She paused briefly. “We knew we might have to run a Dominion gauntlet to get the children out of the Badlands, out of their reach. So we sent the best pilot we had. Me. I brought them here. I was planning to go to Athos to join them, to start bringing our people out of there. But before I could go back....” She closed her eyes, and Kira could sense her struggle to keep her emotions in check.

“The Jem’Hadar found them,” she finished softly. “Before you could get there, before we could get there.”

“Yes.” Ro kept staring forward. “And here we were, with the children, and their parents murdered. Hatha said he could raise them, the way his order was raising the survivors of the Burning. But we knew it would be better if they could be reunited with their surviving families in the Federation. We couldn’t do anything while the Dominion was here on Bajor, except continue to hide. But after they left, we began making contacts with the families, carefully, using the connections we already had.”

“Why not just ... let them all know? Tell the Federation, hand over the children, and let them handle it? I would think their families would be ... relieved to know the children had survived....”

“Their families have been. But as I said, I was Maquis. I suspect you know the admiral. You saw her reaction to me. She doesn’t like me, or what I stood for, or what I did. There are still Maquis sympathizers and supporters in Federation prisons.” Her expression hardened. “And I have no intention of becoming one of them.”

“I think that decision is a mistake.”

“It was our mistake to make.” Ro paused before a heavy door; it slid open.

“Laren, did it go—“

Kira froze in shock at seeing Kasidy sitting at the table. Kasidy gasped, her jaw dropping, the cup of tea in front of her spilling as she fell back, nearly tipping over her chair.

“She saw us by the door,” Ro said quietly. “You’ve always said you trusted her. I told her my story — better to be damned for the truth than for a lie.” She turned to Kira. “I’ll let you two talk.”

“Laren—“

The woman all but ran.

“You’re helping the Maquis?”

“You forget,” Kasidy reminded softly, “I went to prison for helping the Maquis. Did you think I could turn my back on their poor orphaned children?”

“No.” Kira looked at the floor, feeling uncomfortable, a little ashamed, she admitted to herself.

A long moment of silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I only found out about it myself a few weeks ago,” Kasidy admitted. “The monastery’s been doing this very quietly for over a year. Not so strange that you would ask why,” she added contemplatively, “I asked Trund the very same question when I found out what he and his people were doing, why he was doing this, why he hadn’t told ... others. He believes it is the will of the Prophets, and the right thing to do.”

A hundred thoughts ran through Kira’s head. Then:

“Would it help to be able to use the station?” she blurted.

“Yes,” Kasidy replied bluntly.

A beat.

“Ben wouldn’t have allowed that,” she continued more quietly.

“I’ve ... never been certain he made the right choice about that.”

“Questioning the Emissary’s decisions? Could he make a mistake like that?” Kasidy asked with gentle mockery.

“As you’ve reminded me so many times, he is a man — even if he is the Emissary,” Kira replied steadily. “And I think ... that under the current circumstances, he wouldn’t turn his back on children either.”

More silence.

Kasidy nodded. “I think you’re right. Thank you, Nerys.”

“Just let me know what I can do to help.”

“We will.” She smiled. “I suppose the first thing we can do is reassure Laren that you’re not going to turn her in.”

“What if the admiral does?”

Kasidy made a humorous face. “And admit she dealt with still-wanted rebels, outside of official channels, for her personal family benefit? I don’t think so....”

“General.”

Krim looked up at the Vulcan officer standing at the entrance to his office. “Yes ... Kaoron?” he remembered the officer’s name.

“We have received word from Bajor, sir. The vote is complete.”

“Already? I am surprised,” he replied tightly. “And the result?”

“The vedeks and the ministers have both chosen to leave the Wormhole open to all who wish to pass.”

Krim felt the tension ebb from his shoulders. “Thank you. Make sure our personnel are aware of the change in orders.”

Kaoron nodded and retreated.

The general studied the Emissary’s baseball for a moment. “You have won again,” he said softly, “and the Prophets have made clear their will.”

Then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, a slight smile curving his thin lips.

After speaking a while longer with Kasidy, Kira headed back to the government complex, feeling relieved to have resolved one mystery of the past few days.

Nechayev had come to Bajor under cover of a diplomatic mission, to bring home orphaned children for a relative. One of the people who’d been following Kasidy had been Ro Laren, following Vedek Hatha’s request that she help keep an eye on the Emissary’s wife. Ro had encountered another one of the people following Kasidy, who turned out to be Hatha’s brother Nerjin, who for some reason had fixed on Kasidy as needing his help. And as a side note, one of the children Ro had brought safely from Cardassian/Dominion space had been the son of a very close friend of Minister Azin, who, Kasidy assured her, could be counted on to pass along any information or provide any help needed in that direction.

She shook her head at the remarkable collection of coincidences that weren’t so coincidental.

Returning to the Assembly complex was like returning to reality. Per Colonel Rig’s order, the entire complex had been scanned for bombs or any other potentially dangerous devices; none had been found. None the less, security continued to monitor the complex even more closely than usual. The Sutherland had already left orbit, to convey the Bajoran decision back to Starfleet. Under the circumstances, no one had objected to the hasty departure. A number of the vedeks had also left, returning to their retreats or monasteries.

Kira encountered Rig coming out of Shakaar’s chambers.

“Any progress?” she asked.

The other woman shook her head. “Not really. I’m running additional background checks on the dead officers, to try and figure out which of them was working with Iscalla. The most recent definite location I’ve been able to determine for him was the planet Golana. No indication how he got here from there. I’m trying to determine the source of his weapon and equipment. He used a transporter, but I haven’t been able to find the equipment; maybe he had a surviving ally after all.”

“Do you still think it could be Vedek Foldan?”

“Yes,” she replied with absolute certainty, then sighed. “But I am looking into other possibilities. I’d be a fool not to. He wasn’t working alone, that much is certain. This was a conspiracy.” Rig studied her PADD for a second. “I have to get back to work. Whoever it was, I’ll find them.”

The determination in her voice convinced Kira.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do. And let me know your progress. They tried to kill Kasidy.”

They exchanged brief nods, then Rig left, and Kira entered Shakaar’s briefing room.

“Edon?”

Shakaar was leaning back in his chair, head back, eyes closed. She saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed. “Hello, Nerys.” He sounded exhausted.

She wasn’t surprised. The last seventy-eight hours would have drained the energy from a dozen men.

“I think you could use sleep more than supper,” she observed.

“Probably. Did you see Rig?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to repeat what she said. And I know she’ll keep at it until she finds answers. Sometimes she fixates on things that way....” He lifted his head and sat up straight. He slid a PADD across the desk in her direction. “Here’re your new orders. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed.”

“Alone?” she quipped, trying to get a smile.

It worked. “Unless you’d care to join me....”

“I’d probably fall asleep too.”

“What a pair we’ve become.” A beat. “We’ll talk in a few days, Nerys.”

“You’ll probably sleep that long.”

He smiled again, then leaned forward to rest his head on his crossed arms.

“Sleep well, Edon.” Kira quietly made her way out. She could hear him snoring lightly by the time she reached the door.

* * * *

Evening of that very long day had finally arrived. Vedek Foldan stood in her private sanctuary, preparing her daily ritual. Twenty-seven candles were lined up on a narrow shelf jutting from the wall. With silent ceremony, she set a twenty-eighth candle at the end, then began to light them, one by one, chanting in a sing-song voice. She moved before each candle in the long row, pausing long enough to mouth a quiet prayer.

They were of Bajor; they belonged to the Prophets; they had earned the honor.

Then she picked up the snuffer and, with equal ceremony, smothered the light of each candle, until the chamber lay in utter darkness.

The station commander’s office looked wrong from this side, looking at someone else — someone not Captain Sisko — sitting in the chair she’d occupied these past few months. But it would be corrected in a few minutes. She had the orders in hand that would confirm her right to reoccupy that chair.

“General,” she said diffidently, holding out the PADD

“Ahh, welcome back, Colonel. Have a seat,” Krim gestured. He casually accepted the PADD, but set it on the desk, not really looking at it.

“Yes, sir.” She sat down almost gingerly on the edge of the chair, wondering how he was going to react when he read the orders.

Krim picked up Sisko’s baseball, focusing on it. “I will be honest with you, Kira, I did not always agree with Captain Sisko when I met him, either as commander of this station or as the Emissary of the Prophets. But I always respected his opinions and his abilities.” He contemplated the ball for a few more seconds before continuing. “Sisko asked for your return, when Li Nalas was assigned here, and insisted on it, when Li was dead. Those were heavy boots to fill, but from all accounts, you filled them well, and the Emissary was pleased with you.”

“I was honored to serve Captain Sisko, as commander and as Emissary.”

“And honored to take over the station at his departure to the Prophets.”

“Yes.” What was the point of this? Was he ever going to look at the orders?

“And,” he continued, looking at her, “I’m sure you’re wondering why, considering my history, I was the one sent to replace you, when the first minister needed you.”

“I ... wouldn’t presume to question you, General.”

His lips twitched. “Frankly, that surprises me, from what I know of you. But whether you would question me or not, I think you’re entitled to an answer.”

“I would appreciate it,” she admitted.

“No one has ever questioned my loyalty to Bajor.” His focus returned to the baseball. “When the Circle tried to drive out the Federation, there were those of us who feared that Starfleet’s presence was just the beginning of another occupation. The rushed petition to join the Federation, before we’d even had a chance to re-establish ourselves as a people, made the provisional government seem like another set of collaborators, as bad as the occupation government.”

“And Minister Jaro did his best to encourage that view,” she couldn’t help muttering.

“True,” Krim admitted. “He was the wrong man to follow. Li’s support of Sisko, and his death at our own people’s hands, made many of us ... reconsider. And over the years, I have been able to see that the Federation is not like Cardassia, and that I made mistakes. But I paid for those mistakes — I resigned my commission, turned down a military pension, and retired to civilian life.”

“I remember,” Kira nodded, feeling some comment was appropriate. The murder of Li Nalas, one of the greatest heros of the Occupation, while protecting the Emissary, had shocked all Bajor and, in tandem with the revelation that the Cardassians had been the source of their weapons, been the complete downfall of the Circle. A number of military officers and civilian officials had been forced out after the coup attempt and Li’s death. Krim had been one of them. Unlike some, however, he had resigned before being asked or forced to, both sparing a public trial and salvaging his own reputation.

“Then, during the Dominion occupation of our system, I was approached by Minister Jolorn, secretly. Essentially, the Cardassians had returned, and he wanted our world to be ready to fight again, if we had to.”

Her eyes widened. “You reorganized the resistance?” she interjected incredulously. “We heard rumors on the station, but—!”

“We had to be ready,” he said quietly. “Shakaar and Jolorn were too prominent, too well known, and, we knew, under surveillance by the Dominion to ensure they continued to adhere to our pact of ‘friendship’ with them. A discredited former general, on the other hand....”

She smiled genuinely, and finished the statement. “A discredited former general, out of the public eye, whose loyalty to Bajor had never been seriously questioned, could quietly reorganize the old cells, while still protecting our leaders.”

“Fortunately, the Dominion was driven off. And I was ... rewarded for my work with reinstatement.” He smiled, with a sharp, satisfied expression. “Of course, I will deny the details if you repeat them. And I will note I did not act alone, but I cannot reveal other names.”

“Of course. I’m surprised Shakaar hasn’t been more open about ... contingency plans during that time — I know some of his critics have complained that he didn’t do anything against the Dominion.”

“His critics are fools,” Krim dismissed. “However, we do keep an eye on some of them. In any event, if we needed to revive the resistance, it would be seriously crippled if everyone immediately knew about its existence and who would be handling it, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” she acknowledged, still taking in everything he’d told her. Suddenly, it wasn’t going to be so easy, telling this man to give back her station.

He set down the ball, a little reluctantly, she thought, then stood up. “And now, Colonel, I believe this chair is yours. I have a meeting with several of the ministers tomorrow morning. I’ve already packed; my aide should have my personal effects aboard the courier ship.”

She blinked. “You knew this assignment was temporary?”

“Of course.”

“If I may ask, General,” Kira began impulsively, unable to stop herself, “if Shakaar and Jolorn only intended me to return to Bajor for the vote, why did they go to the trouble of formally recalling me and assigning a new commander to the station?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I am familiar with your reports from the last few months, Kira — your ... concerns about Lt. Commander Alden were quite evident, and the ministers were equally concerned. Frankly, Alden’s assignment here was seen as a clear insult to Bajor, and it was felt we couldn’t risk leaving control of the station in his hands, even for a few days — and we didn’t know how long the matter would take. Considering the current tensions between Bajor and the Federation, a new Bajoran commander might have been sent anyway, in your absence, no matter who your Starfleet executive officer might have been. As a ... reminder of who controls this station.”

“I see.”

“I will note Alden created no incidents in your absence, and performed his duties competently.”

“He’s been ... doing better lately,” she acknowledged.

“One should hope. However, Minister Jolorn indicated that if you wished a Bajoran executive officer to replace Alden, he would be happy to supply one. I’m sure that, with the vote allowing Federation vessels through the Wormhole, Starfleet’s objections would be muted.”

Feeling a rush of elation, Kira opened her mouth to accept — and then had a sudden sour flashback to Vedek Carn’s pressure to replace Constable Emyn. Religious and political appointees, answerable to their patrons instead of to her, perhaps with divided loyalties, assigned as a reward or with an eye toward long-term gain. There had often been friction between herself and Jolorn — an officer sent by him could have ambitions of his or her own. She had suspected several times that it was Sisko’s insistence and her history with Shakaar that had kept her on Deep Space Nine during the years of the Emissary’s command and the station’s growing importance. What was that expression the captain had used, better the devil you know?

She circled the desk to take her seat before answering, “Thank the minister for me. I will consider his offer.”

Krim tilted his head slightly. “I will inform him,” he replied evenly.

“No questions asked?” she had to say.

“I understand your need to consider the situation. There are many factors to be taken into account.” That told her very clearly that he did indeed understand the multitude of potential ramifications, both ways.

“Well,” he continued more briskly. “We both have a great many things to tend to. I hereby formally relinquish command of this station to you, Colonel Kira. It has been ... interesting, as I’m sure you’ll see in my log entries. Welcome back.”

“Thank you, General Krim. I formally accept command of this station. May you have a safe journey home, and may the Prophets walk beside you.”

He smiled and nodded, a quick, clipped gesture, then left without fanfare.

Kira settled back in her chair, shifting her weight a few times until it felt just right. Then she sighed deeply and turned to face the port.

Home again. It felt good.