Needing to burn off some energy from the mostly sedentary day, Kira took a walk along the habitat ring. She found herself in front of Ezri’s door, and paused for a second. She knocked.

For a long moment, there was no answer. Then she heard footsteps, and turned to see her friend approaching at a trot.

“Hi, Nerys! Are you looking for me?”

“Hi! Yes, I am.”

“You’re not looking for a springball opponent, are you?” Ezri made a face. “I’m still not recovered from the last game!”

Kira laughed. “No, actually, I just ... wanted to talk.”

“Come on in.”

They settled onto a couch in the main living chamber.

“So,” Ezri began, “how was the rest of your afternoon?”

“Just as busy as the rest of my day. How were your counseling appointments?”

“I think we’re making progress.” She gestured toward her replicator. “Still fasting? Or would you like something to drink?”

Kira waved it off. “Just water, today.”

Dax went to the replicator, returning a minute later.

“You’re having coffee at this time of day?”

“Considering how late my yesterday was, I’ve needed it today. And I doubt anything would be able to keep me awake for long tonight!” She breathed in the aroma, eyes blissfully closed. “Mmm. This is the blend Benjamin’s father serves at his restaurant. You should try it sometime — it’s the best....”

For a minute they sipped quietly, Ezri her coffee and Kira her water.

“I miss Captain Sisko,” Kira said impulsively. “I could talk to him about almost anything....” Her voice trailed away.

Ezri didn’t take it personally. “I know what you mean. I miss Benjamin too.” She contemplated the floor. “I always knew it was likely that I’d have to deal with him being gone — whether as Curzon, Jadzia, Ezri, or whoever. Just didn’t expect it would be ... so soon.” She smiled again, sympathetically. “I suppose I’m lucky, in that I had plenty of years of having Benjamin to talk to, and confide in, and get to know. You only had a few. But I know you shared a lot with him, and he with you, especially the last few years.”

“Yes,” Kira acknowledged softly. “I started out distrusting him for being Federation, then was shocked to learn he was our Emissary. He meant so much to Bajor. Spiritually. Politically. Finally, I realized he’d become my friend.”

“Kasidy still believes he’ll be back.”

“He will,” the Bajoran said with conviction.

For a moment neither said anything, each following their own memories.

“So,” the Trill brought them both back, “is whatever you wanted to talk about, that you’re especially missing Benjamin just now? Is it something you would only have shared with Benjamin, or is it something you’ll tell me, too?” she invited.

A pause.

“I.... Next week would have been my mother’s birthday,” Kira admitted.

Dax’s expression was sympathetic. “Difficult memories?”

“Yes.” Kira sighed.

“My ears may not be as good as Kaoron’s, but they’re still wide open and willing to hear whatever else is bothering you.”

She sighed again, trying to feel her way through her emotions.

“I told you ... I told Jadzia about my experience with the Orb of Time. Going back in time. After Dukat sent that message, on my mother’s birthday, two years ago.”

“I remember. You telling Jadzia, I mean. You couldn’t stand Bajoran lilacs after that. Told other people you’d gotten tired of them. We knew better, those of us you shared with.”

Kira stared into her cup, swirling the remaining water.

“My mother was a comfort woman,” she said sadly. “For most of my life, I saw comfort women as collaborators, willing to give themselves to the enemy for an easier life. I despised them. I was convinced I would never do anything like that, and I wouldn’t believe anyone I knew and loved could do anything like that. I was sure the women I knew and respected would work in the mines or the ore processing plants rather than share a Cardassian bed, that we’d all rather die fighting our enemies than making their lives more comfortable. But I found out that my mother did.”

There was a pause.

“She didn’t choose to go, she was taken. Once she was taken, she didn’t cooperate for herself, but for us — my father, my brothers, me. That’s what I keep trying to tell myself, anyway.”

Ezri nodded slowly. “The Cardassians gave your family more food, warm clothes, medicine, after she began living with ... a Cardassian. They ultimately let you go back to your family’s farm.” She tilted her head. “If she’d refused to cooperate, she’d have been put to work in the ore processing plant, the way you were. You know that. Your father, and your brothers, and you, in that time, would probably have died in the internment camp. Of hunger or sickness or the violence and brutality there. She didn’t really have much choice, knowing what would have happened to her family.”

“I know. Somehow, that doesn’t make it any easier, today.” She set down the cup. “She never saw any of us again. My father died, never seeing the woman he loved again. And he protected her memory for as long as he lived. He fought in the Resistance too. He hated collaborators as much as I did. It was a long time before I figured out there was a difference between people who chose to help the enemy for their own advancement or benefit, and those who ... who chose what they saw as the lesser of the evils before them.”

“Relationships with mothers can be complicated at the best of times.” A pause to sip. “From what I recall, I thought you’d worked through this, back then. Jadzia remembers. Is something bringing it back? Something more than the birthday coming up?”

Kira thought about sharing the details of the Orb vision. Ezri was a good friend. And as a counselor, maybe she could help put some sense to it. She knew she could count on the woman’s discretion and confidentiality.

But somehow, when she opened her mouth, all she said was, “Memories. Just memories.”

Quark was nervous. The last day had been wearying. He kept looking around, half-expecting the ominous Finnean to reappear in the bar. Quark hadn’t seen the man since the conversation with Morn, but he could always come back. He tried to shake off his dread. If he kept imagining the man jumping out at him, he’d never be able to focus on his evening’s customers and the profits to be gained from them.

Still, every time he stepped out from behind the bar, he found himself trying to peer behind girders, into the shadows, and under the tables, and he had to do a double-take to ensure the sanctuary of his bar remained inviolate when he retreated behind it again. He craned his ears to listen in on every conversation — just enough, he told himself, to ensure the words didn’t involve harm to him, and maybe enough to pick up interesting rumors that could later prove profitable. Either way, he made sure not to be caught.

“Hello, Uncle!”

“Yipes!” Startled, he nearly dropped the tray of empty mugs. He glared at Nog, clad in the disgraceful Starfleet uniform that no Ferengi should be caught dead wearing. “What are you doing here? After that brawl the other night....”

Nog took a stool anyway, grinning. “I thought Endar was the only one you banned from the bar.”

“He’s not joining you, is he?”

“No,” Nog shook his bald head. “He’s at Vic’s again.”

“You’re not joining him?”

“He said something about not being in the mood for company.”

Quark glared, making a face. Then he asked, “Well, since you’re here, you may as well make it worth taking up my valuable space. What’ll you have?”

“A root beer, please.”

“A root beer....” Quark muttered to himself as he fetched the drink and all but slammed it in front of his nephew. “Here. So how’s your ear?”

The young man self-consciously touched his lobe. “Feels like it was never torn. Dr. Monrow did a great job fixing it up.”

“Good for her—“ He flinched at a burst of noise from the far dabo table, anxiously staring that direction and listening intently to find out what was going on.

“Sounds like somebody won.”

“As if things weren’t bad enough,” he muttered balefully.

Nog took a long pull from his root beer, eying Quark inquisitively for a few seconds. “Are you expecting another brawl?”

Quark deliberately forced his gaze back to his nephew. “What are you talking about?”

“Uncle, you’re acting like you expect an FCA liquidator to pop up from under a table at any minute!” Nog sounded concerned.

“That’s not funny!” Quark retorted.

“Well, something’s making you nervous — and a visit from the FCA is about the most nerve-wracking thing I could imagine you imagining.”

“If you bothered to follow the Ferengi economic situation — and I don’t know why you don’t, considering your father’s a former Grand Nagus—“

“Grand Nagus in exile!” Nog corrected.

“All right! Grand Nagus in exile, if you prefer,” Quark amended sarcastically. “If you followed the situation at home, you’d know the FCA’s in chaos right now, between Rom’s political changes and the upheaval from Grak taking over. And with the Federation and Ferenginar at odds, there’s no way the FCA would send a liquidator here. At least not until things are more settled.”

“You’re sure that the FCA wouldn’t be more likely to send a liquidator here now, with Father having established the Ferengi government in exile on the station? To demonstrate their control over Ferengi citizens, even here? Even the ones supporting Father?”

Quark paused in pouring a drink, then muttered, “A liquidator, no. An eliminator, maybe.”

“That’s not funny.” Nog took another drink, continuing to study his uncle.

One of the waiters stopped to pick up a tray of synthales. Nog waited patiently, but as soon as the harried-looking waiter moved away, he gestured Quark back.

“Uncle, what is it? Maybe I can help.”

“Hah!” Quark leaned closer, determined not to be overheard. “Do you know the name Deril Rikkarin?”

Nog thought for a few seconds, then shook his head. “No. Should I? Who is he?”

Quark’s voice dropped even further. “He’s a Finnean. And he’s a member of the Orion Syndicate. Reputedly,” he added hastily. “Not that I’d have reason to know.”

“Why does that worry you, Uncle?” His expression turned reproving. “What did you get yourself tangled up in this time?”

“You’re starting to sound like Odo!” Quark shot back. “But it’s not me. He’s—“ He paused and quickly looked around. “I saw him in the bar yesterday.”

“Here? A member of the Orion Syndicate?” Nog hissed.

“Yes.” Quark rested back on his elbows, satisfied at having elicited a reaction. “So now do you understand why I’m a little ... unsettled?”

The lieutenant began looking around the bar. “Why didn’t you say something yesterday? We’ve got to report that to Security!”

“Are you joking? You know better than that,” Quark said darkly. “Or at least, you used to!”

“Uncle—“

“There are some things you just don’t mess with — and the Orion Syndicate is one of them!” He looked over his shoulder. “Leave them to Starfleet, Nog. It’s nothing we should be involved with.”

Nog bared his sharp, mismatched teeth. “Uncle, I am Starfleet! And with everything going on aboard the station just now—”

Quark leaned over the bar, pointing a finger practically into Nog’s mouth. “Don’t you dare do or say anything,” he hissed. “Whatever it is, it’s not worth your life, your father’s life, my life, or this bar! Besides,” he added, trying to calm down, “maybe it’s all innocent. Maybe he’s just visiting a friend. Or vacationing. Even lying, thieving, blackmailing, murdering criminals have friends and take vacations.”

Nog was skeptical. “At Quark’s bar?”

“And why not?” he persisted.

“But I’d bet my last strip of latinum against it!” the younger Ferengi scoffed.

That was going too far. “Never make fun of latinum!”

“Uncle, you don’t make the universe a better place by sitting back and doing nothing.” Nog finished the rest of his root beer in one long gulp, then set down the mug and left the bar.

Quark watched him go. “So who wants to make the universe a better place?” he muttered. “I just want to make my profit and stay alive to enjoy it. If that boy had any lobes, he’d do the same. Chief of engineering on a station run by Starfleet—”

The crash of half a dozen glasses shattering as they hit the floor sounded over the buzz of conversation. Quark yelped and dove for cover, only coming out when the chastened waiter came looking for a broom to clean up the mess.

The shrine was closed for the night. The only remaining light was the votive candles to either side, an old-fashioned touch of tradition. One young monk moved among the candles, caring for them during the night hours. In the back of the shrine, a single Bajoran security deputy stood night watch; out in the Promenade, there were others, an extra precaution because of the morning’s security incident.

Overhead, something scraped.

The monk looked up just as a ceiling panel fell. He managed one cry as the panel knocked him to the floor.

Before he could do more, phaser fire lanced from the dark hole in the ceiling, and youth and panel were nothing but soot.

A figure dropped, landing catlike on the smudged floor.

The deputy had already started forward, shouting an order to stop, drawing his weapon with one hand and reaching for his combadge with the other.

Before he could use either, the invader fired again.

And then the newcomer was alone in the shrine.