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“Sir,” Doveror said, “reports are coming in from all over the planet. This peculiar weather is not limited to the capital. The polar regions are registering temperatures several orders of magnitude hotter than usual. The ice up there is melting, and computer projections are calling for dangerous floods within a day or two. The tropical regions are suffering blistering heat with no humidity, the desert regions are getting massive rainfall—”

“I get the idea,” Eska muttered.

Then, to Eska’s relief, the image of Gul Evek came on the screen. Cardassian heads tended to be rather rectangular, but Evek’s countenance was downright boxy.

“What can I do for you, Eska?” Evek said distractedly, looking down at some readouts even as he spoke.

“We need to evacuate Nramia.”

Everyone whirled toward Eska at that. Eska couldn’t blame them, as he was as surprised as any of them at the words that had come out of his mouth, but it was the only sane course of action.

Evek looked up sharply at that. “Excuse me?”

“Something in orbit has wiped out our defenses and is causing deadly weather all over the planet.”

Smiling an unkind smile, Evek said, “You want us to evacuate because of the weather, Eska?”

The building chose that moment to shake again. “Another lightning strike, sir,” the glinn said.

“That was lightning?” Evek was frowning now.

“Yes, Evek, that was lightning. And we’re in a subbasement in the most structurally sound building on Nramia. Our polar ice caps are melting, our jungles are drying out, our deserts are flooding, and here in the capital, we’re being subjected to deadly hail and gale-force winds.”

“Don’t you have ships of your own?”

Eska rolled his eyes. Save me from spacefaring types. “Yes, of course we do. And at present, they’re all on the planet. With conditions as they are, none of them would be able to achieve orbit before being torn to pieces.”

The building shook again for good measure.

“I’m diverting the Sixth Order to Nramia now,” Evek said. “We’ll be in orbit within three hours.”

Eska grimaced. “I hope we live that long.”

“If you don’t, the Maquis will pay for your deaths, rest assured.”

“The Maquis?” It never occurred to Eska that the Maquis would be responsible—not because they weren’t philosophically capable of it, quite the opposite, in fact, but because they were a ragtag group of terrorists whose ships were held together with little more than stem bolts and happy thoughts. Nothing in any of the intelligence reports Eska had read indicated that they had any kind of weaponry that could do this. He said as much to Evek.

“Perhaps you’re right. But this fits their mode of operation, even if it is beyond what we know of their capabilities. Still, remember that there are far too many former Starfleet personnel in the Maquis, and they are distressingly resourceful.” With a bitter smile, Evek added, “Besides, whether they are responsible or not doesn’t mean we can’t blame them.”

“I’m thrilled for your ability to milk this for political gain, Evek,” Eska said through clenched teeth, “but I’m a bit more concerned about the people of Nramia.”

“I’ve done all I can for now. I will contact you when we arrive.”

With that, Evek’s face faded, replaced once again with the image of ever-more-panicky Cardassians in the street of Nramia’s capital.

“Sir,” Coram said, “the anomalous reading has disappeared. If it was a ship, I would guess that it has left orbit.”

“Let’s hope the weather improves, then.”

But it did not. By the time the Sixth Order—five Galor-class ships, including Evek’s command, the Vetar—arrived at Nramia, fully a quarter of the population were dead, most were injured to some degree or other, the capital was flooded under several meters of rainwater, and the polar ice caps had started to melt, with icebergs starting to roam in the oceans. Computer projections estimated that Nramia would be uninhabitable within a day.

As Eska was beamed up to the flagship of the Sixth Order, he thought, I really really hate rain.

Chapter Four

AS CAL HUDSON READ THE REPORT from the Maquis