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Comra handed him a data clip. “An explosion. Looks like pretty typical resistance stuff-and this proves it.”

Damar glared at Comra, then took the data clip and activated it, at which point it played an audio file.

“This is the Kohn-Ma. We have destroyed this ore processor to remind the Cardassians that we will not stand for their remaining on our world. We-”

Angrily, Damar turned off the clip. He’d heard this tired rhetoric before.

Dukat approached the scene. “The resistance, I assume?”

“Yes.” Damar handed the clip to Comra and said, “Continue rescue operations, then get a forensic team in here. It’s past time the Kohn-Ma was ended.”

Nodding to both Damar and Dukat, Comra took his leave.

Staring at Dukat, Damar said, “Why do we continue to remain on this useless rock? Even without incidents like this, ore production has gone down every year for the past five years. Meanwhile, rebel attacks have grown worse, especially after you had their religious leader killed.”

Dukat let out a sigh. “Yes, killing Opaka Sulan did serve only to make her a martyr to their cause, didn’t it? Still, nothing to be done. This station is far too important to abandon now, Damar.”

With that, the prefect left the scene, leaving Damar to oversee rescue operations. A medical team had arrived, and started treating the wounded-the Cardassians first, obviously. The Bajorans could wait. As likely as not, the injured Bajorans were the ones who set off the explosion-or they knew who did. He made a mental note to interrogate them before they were treated-to use the promise of treatment as leverage for getting answers.

It probably wouldn’t work-it almost never did-but it was worth trying on the off chance that he’d find one person who couldn’t stand the pain. A chain needed only one weak link to break, after all.

2

No’Var Outpost Near the Romulan Border Klingon Empire

Lieutenant Krivaq, son of Gorv, simply could not win.

He had thought the posting to the No’Var Outpost would be the relief he’d been desperate for. The third son of Gorv, he had been spending far too much of his life of late mediating disputes between the first and second sons. His older brothers were constantly going to Krivaq whenever they argued about something, and they were always arguing about something. The disposition of the House of Gorv’s meager holdings. The proper way to prepare rokeg blood pie. Who would retain possession of their mother’s bat’leth. The right price to pay for fresh gagh. The proper way to install a new door on the front of the house. And on and on and on.

Then, at last, Krivaq was assigned to No’Var. It was on the Romulan border, too far for real-time communication from Qo’noS, which Krivaq had thought would be the end of his torment.

And it was. But a fresh torment had begun.

“There were three members of our House on Narendra III that fateful day,” Commander J’rak was saying as he paced the outpost’s nerve center. He and Krivaq were the only ones on duty, and Krivaq had only one more hour before he was off duty and could go to the mess hall. There was supposed to be fresh racht today. Krivaq loved racht.

But first he had to endure J’rak telling the Narendra III story. Again. Krivaq had been serving on No’Var for five months now, and he’d lost track of the number of times J’rak had felt the need to tell this damned tale.

“There was my grandfather, Kamril, after whom my House is still named. There was his cousin, Morgar, a doughty warrior who had won many battles against the Kreel. And of course, there was Morgar’s mate, Vaga, who could shoot a glob fly from half a qelI’qam away. They were assigned to Narendra III to defend the base and maintain its security.”

And yet, they couldn’t have been very good at it, since the base was destroyed. Krivaq was not suicidal enough to say that out loud, but he often thought it when J’rak started on the Narendra III story.

“Of course, they thought the base safe from the Romulans. After all, we’d heard nothing from them since the Tomed incident with the Federation.”

J’rak laughed heartily,