Текст книги "Days of the Vipers"

Автор книги: James Swallow

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5

There was something about a library that instilled a sense of reverence in Gar Osen. Just as he would have on entering a temple of the Prophets, or one of the great halls in the monastery, his voice fell into soft, respectful tones. Before he accepted the calling of the Prophets, he had grown up in a house filled with books—his mother was a minor playwright—and Osen had understood from an early age that books were a doorway to other worlds, to the past or to schools of thought that were vastly different from his own. He had never lost the veneration that being in such surroundings brought upon him. It was second only to the satisfaction he felt in the temple, when he spoke with the Prophets.

Even now, late at night with the light of the floater-globes hovering in the galleries at their lowest setting, the chamber was still impressive. The Naghai Keep’s library was one of the finest private collections on Bajor, with works that the Jas clan had gathered from across the planet since the era of the First Republic. Gar had seen the deep vaults beneath the library proper where they now walked, where stasis field pods kept documents that were millennia old safe from the ravages of time. Admittedly, the keep’s current master, Jas Holza, did not have the same sense of respect for the library as his father had shown, but the minister was savvy enough to know that it was a treasure. Still, there had been times when Kai Meressa and Vedek Cotor had applied gentle pressure to ensure that the minister kept hold of certain works instead of selling them to collectors in other provinces.

At his side, the kai gestured upward to point out the three levels of the collection’s stacks. “It’s hard to imagine, but this library began in ancient times as a simple compilation of agricultural charts and works of botany.” Cotor was nodding in agreement, and behind them the two Cardassian clerics, Hadlo and Bennek, walked slowly, tipping back their heads to take in the scope of the place. “It houses works of all kinds, from fiction through to sciences, religious works, historical documents. An original copy of Shabren’s Prophecies resides here, and it is said that in this very room the treaty of the Nine Tribes was first drawn up, ushering in the age of the Third Republic…” Meressa drew her hands together. “Forgive me. History is a passion of mine.”

“A most impressive collection,” offered Hadlo. “You spoke of religious works here? Is that typical of your world, that they would be part of a clan’s personal holdings? Doesn’t your church keep important books itself?”

Cotor shook his head. “You misunderstand, Hadlo. The Naghai library is commodious, of that there is no doubt, but it is not primarily a store of holy works.” The vedek’s head bobbed in agreement with his own words. “The monastery at Kendra, some distance to the south, is Bajor’s greatest repository of devotional literature.”

Meressa smiled, her face lit with amusement. “Ah, I think the monks at Kiessa might take umbrage at that statement. They like to think that they lay claim to that status.” She halted at a hexagonal table in the middle of the chamber. Lined in wood and cut from local red stone, the broad desk presented a reading screen and an ornate crystal keyboard. “This device is a stand-alone database of all known writings, protected and preserved. As Minister Jas has often bragged, if you cannot find what you wish to read in its written incarnation, you will likely find it in a virtual one stored here.” She patted the table. “But, as Vedek Cotor notes, we believe it is important that we preserve as much of our written culture as we can in its original form.”

Bennek nodded. “The Oralian Way shares that sentiment, Your Eminence. If no substance of a faith remains, then it may become like smoke on the wind.”

Hadlo frowned briefly at the younger cleric’s words before continuing. “Forgive my companion if he speaks with more drama than is necessary. Esteemed Kai, I would very much like to hear more about the Kendra monastery, and of the tenets of your faith.” He paused. “During the meal, I heard the young prylar speaking of a pagh.You used that word during the ceremony for the lost in the courtyard…”

Meressa glanced at Gar. “Osen? Why don’t you explain the term to our visitors?”

Gar swallowed hard; he hadn’t been expecting to take a direct part in any of the discussions. “Of course, Eminence.” He cleared his throat and touched a hand to his ear, where his D’jarrasignet dangled. “The paghis the name we give to the elemental life force of all living things. It is the ephemeral energy of the soul, the source from which we draw our strength and our courage. Our will to live, if you like.”

“Your spirit, then,” said Bennek.

“Correct. In our faith, we conceive the paghas a flame, a candle that is set burning by the Prophets in the Celestial Temple at the moment of our birth. At times of great hardship that flame may burn low, it may even be snuffed out if death claims us unexpectedly. But we believe that through our faith in the Prophets, they sustain us, replenishing our paghthrough their love.” He touched his bare left ear. “The light of that energy blooms through our flesh here.”

“Fascinating,” said the Cardassian. He raised his hands to his face. “In the patterns of the Way, we see the blessings of Oralius in a similar fashion. Her eternal strength flows through us and keeps us strong. We don masks to symbolize our union with her, and the energies that animate us…like your pagh.”

Hadlo nodded sagely. “And like all things, it can turn to light or to darkness. It is the duty of the Oralian Way to show our people the road into the light.” Gar saw a new understanding bloom on the alien’s face. “Kai Meressa, it is our belief that Oralius plots a path for every one of us, for a greater fate than we may know. At this moment, I feel as if I am on the verge of a revelation!” The old man’s voice rose. “Yes. This journey here to Bajor, our meeting. It is her will.”

Cotor smiled. “Then perhaps too it is the will of the Prophets that we are here to greet you, Hadlo.”

The elder cleric’s eyes glittered. “This simple moment…five souls in a chamber steeped in history…My friends, dare we think on the import of such a thing?” He stepped forward and touched Meressa on the arm, and she returned the gesture. “We reach out and find kindred spirits among those not of our world. What does this tell us?”

Gar’s mouth went dry; it was difficult not to be caught up by the quiet potency of the Cardassian’s words. He understood at once how the old man had risen to such high office in his faith—there was a way about Hadlo, a sagacious, metered passion that made one want to listen to his words.

The kai showed the same enthusiasm. “It tells us that barriers of species and distance cannot deny the simple truths of existence.”

“Yes! Yes!” Hadlo’s face split in a grin. “My friends, we share the same path! We can learn so much from one another. The Way of Oralius, the road of your Prophets…What if they are intertwined?”

Gar glanced at Bennek. The younger Cardassian was muted, his face the mirror of Osen’s. It was hard to know what to make of the conversation unfolding before them. Both the priests were wary, and yet they were both daring to hope that Hadlo could be correct. To find aliens who shared a belief system that echoed their own—the theological implications were simply staggering.

Meressa nodded. “Hadlo, you must come to the monastery at Kendra. I will see to it, and there you shall put this question to the Prophets themselves.”

Shock unfolded on Vedek Cotor’s face. “Eminence! You are not suggesting that—”

She cut him off with a look, and Gar realized what she was about to suggest. He too wanted to protest, but words failed him. The prylar hesitated, trying to find a way to frame his objection, and found none.

“If your Way truly does parallel the path of the Prophets, then there is a manner in which we can be sure. At the monastery we hold in honor a most sacred artifact, one of many that the Celestial Temple has seen fit to grant us over the centuries.” At Hadlo’s quizzical look she indicated an image cut into a stained-glass window at the far end of the chamber. “A Tear of the Prophets. A sacred Orb sent by them to guide us in our lives.”

The Cardassians looked up to see the hourglass shape set amid an image that showed the Celestial Temple opening in the heavens and the Tear falling toward Bajor, toward the open hands of a man in the robes of a vedek. Gar felt a peculiar tingle in his chest at the thought of laying eyes on the real thing. The Tears were the physical manifestation of the Prophets, and to be in the presence of one was to touch the aura of gods.

“Eminence,” said Cotor, “you know as well as I that any encounter must be deliberated and ratified by the Vedek Assembly! With all due respect to Hadlo, I think they may be reluctant to allow an alien to enter the presence of the Orb of Truth!”

The kai glanced at him. “And will our visitors be content to remain for months while your fellow vedeks debate the matter over and over?” She shook her head. “No, Cotor. I exercise my right as Kai and I say this will happen.” The priestess spread her hands. “Hadlo is correct. Throughout the feast and through the night we have talked and seen the congruence between our faiths. I am not content to have it come to an end there, not when a chance to know the absolute truth is in our power.” She touched the old cleric’s arm. “I will see to this. Through the Tear, the Prophets will turn their gaze upon you and know you. The truth will be revealed.”

Hadlo returned the gesture. “Thank you…my sister.”

Bennek felt giddy and off balance. After the Bajorans left them in the keep’s sumptuous guest lodgings, he found he had to sit upon one of the wide loungers in the atrium between the chambers shared by the Oralians. Hadlo returned from speaking to the other members of their party and came to sit with him.

“Have…have you informed Gul Kell of the Kai’s invitation?” Bennek asked.

Hadlo shook his head. “I will speak to him tomorrow. I will notify him we will not be returning to the Kornaireon the shuttle.”

“This ‘orb’ the Bajorans spoke of…”

“Kell is faithless. He is a nonbeliever and he would not understand. I will simply tell him that the Bajorans have asked us to make a pilgrimage to the Kendra monastery, nothing more. That is not a lie.”

“It is not the whole truth, either,” Bennek insisted. “Master, I am uncertain about the swiftness with which this is progressing. Yes, I hoped, as we all did, that we might find some common ground with the Bajorans, but I hear you talk as if our faiths are like lost twins, and it…”

“It frightens you?” asked the old man softly.

“Yes.”

Hadlo nodded. “That is a natural reaction, my friend. Great moments of change always carry with them the fear of the unknown.” He gave Bennek’s shoulder a pat. “Have faith in Oralius. She watches over us. She has given us this chance for deliverance.”

The cleric’s words deepened Bennek’s confusion. “Deliverance from what?”

The old man’s voice fell into a hush. “Bennek, you know that I see you as my successor. You alone have the will and the strength of spirit to take the Way forward despite all the hardships we endure. In the face of the hatred and aversion from our fellow Cardassians, you have remained strong, true to Oralius even as those fools in the Detapa Council and the military have fought to expunge us.” He squeezed Bennek’s shoulder, taking on a fatherly tone. “I need your support.”

“You have it,” Bennek replied immediately. “Never feel you need to question that.”

Hadlo smiled. “I know. And for that, I will clear the mist from your eyes, my young friend. I will tell you what I have not said to the other clerics who came with us from the homeworld.” He looked around the chamber. “These Bajorans…They are a gift to us, a blessing from Oralius herself. She has seen that our faith is slowly being eroded from the Cardassian soul, and she knows that we are living on borrowed time.”

Bennek nodded ruefully. The purges and the arrests back home were getting worse as the months went by. More and more branches of the Oralian Way were being forcibly closed under the weakest of pretexts created by the Detapa Council or Central Command, laws were being enacted that made it difficult for church members to find employment or sustenance, and nothing the followers of the Way did had any impact. The future of their faith hung by a thread, and that was why they had been so desperate to take part in the Bajor mission, as a last attempt to show the legitimacy of their church as a valid part of Cardassian culture.

“Meressa spoke of truth,” continued Hadlo, “so let me do the same. The truth is, Central Command has been looking to the Bajor sector with ambition for some time, but they lack the diplomatic prowess to reach these people. But we, Bennek, we do not. We are the common link between Bajor and Cardassia, because we have our faith.”

“What are you saying?”

Hadlo smiled thinly. “You saw Kell and Ico as they attempted to pour honey in the ears of the First Minister and the others, and found only distrust. The Bajorans look at them and see aliens, soldiers! Their first reaction is to suspect them! But we are different!” He tapped his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his robes. “The Bajorans look at us and see kindred spirits. A sister faith. We have a bond that transcends everything else. While Kell’s clumsy overtures were rebuffed, the seeds of friendship we planted tonight fell on fertile ground! We will make ourselves requisite to any future alliance between Cardassia and Bajor, because that relationship will have to be built upon a foundation of faith.”

Despite the warmth of the chamber, Bennek’s skin prickled with a chill. He saw it just as Hadlo described. The Detapa Council and the Central Command needed the Oralians to facilitate this mission, and if that was so, then the Way had suddenly been granted leverage against those who would see it destroyed.

The old cleric saw the light of understanding in his expression. “We cannot preserve the other branches of our faith, but this chance that Oralius has granted us means we may protect our own ministry. We can ensure that the Way will survive. We can preserve it, stop Cardassia from turning into a secular, faithless wasteland!” His eyes flashed. “Do you understand the magnitude of this, Bennek? We may be the very last chance to save our credo from oblivion!”

Bennek was silent for a moment. “What about the Bajorans?” he asked finally. “What part will they play in this?”

Hadlo frowned. “This is about us, not them. What I told the kai was not a lie. I do believe that Oralius and the Prophets may be two facets of the same great truth.”

A bleak thought occurred to the young priest. “The men who perished aboard that ship, the Eleda.Was that really a misadventure?” He thought of the wreckage in the Kornaire’s cargo bay and of the words he had said over the bodies of the dead in the name of Oralius. “Were the dead only a pretext to bring us to Bajor?”

The cleric’s face darkened. “Bennek, listen to me and understand.” He leaned closer. “We are on the edge of annihilation. If we do not take steps now, the Oralian Way will be eradicated and Cardassia will be doomed to a future of hatred and destruction, a path that will lead only to ashes and blood. We must do whatever is necessary to preserve the Way.”

Bennek met the older man’s gaze. “Even if the price is our integrity…our souls?”

There was no doubt, no hesitation in Hadlo’s reply. “Yes. Is that so great a cost to keep the flame burning? What do two men mean when weighed against the future of our entire species?” He nodded to himself. “Oralius asks for a sacrifice, Bennek. We must not turn away from her.”

Bennek searched inside himself for a reply, finding nothing but an echoing hollow.

Lonnic halted Jas as he crossed the anteroom toward his chambers. “Sir,” she began, “you have a visitor. He refused to wait and let himself in.”

“Oh?” Jas said, with an arched eyebrow. He strode forward and pushed open the ornate door to his office and found Kubus Oak seated in one of the deep chairs across the room from his desk. The minister was puffing at a smoking pipe between his teeth.

“Holza, good morning.” Kubus waved the pipe in the air. “You don’t mind, do you? I like to take a draft as an eye-opener—”

“Actually, I do.” Jas went to his desk and opened a window, letting in the sunlight and the cool air. He gave Kubus a level stare, working to take back some authority in the confrontation. The other man had cheerfully set the moment against Jas, putting himself in the superior, relaxed position. That did not sit well.

“Ah. Forgive me.” Kubus used his thick thumb to douse the pungent hiunaleaf. “It’s an old habit.”

Jas rested against the edge of his desk. “I thought you were going to return to Ashalla with the First Minister.”

“It would seem not,” Kubus said languidly. “Verin told me to remain in Korto while the Cardassians are still here. As much as he hates to rely on me for anything, he thinks my presence will keep them at ease until they leave. I’m a known quantity to their kind.”

“Indeed?” Jas kept his manner neutral, but inwardly he was frowning. It was enough that the alien clerics had decided not to go back to their ship with Kell, and that in turn was complicated by the fact that the gul had ordered his executive and a couple of soldiers to remain “as an escort.” Jas had not been prepared for the contingency, and matters of maintaining security were foremost on his mind. Now, would he have to deal with Kubus Oak at the keep as well, the man constantly at his shoulder, second-guessing him? He still wasn’t sure where the other minister’s loyalties lay. To himself, and there alone, more than likely.Jas had yet to get the full measure of the man. Is he a potential ally, or is he a tool of Verin?The latter was the least likely, but then again the old man hadn’t made it to the office of First Minister without making some odd political alliances along the way.

“Last night was interesting,” said Kubus. “I thought it might benefit us both to examine the way it played out.”

“It was a diplomatic function, not a springball match,” Jas retorted, with rather more force than he intended to. He sighed. He had not slept well, spending the night mulling over every word and gesture he had made to the aliens. Verin’s narrow-minded manner had single-handedly derailed any chance at a pact.

“Diplomacy is as much a sport as springball. Only the stakes are higher.”

Jas tapped the intercom unit on his desk. “Tomo, get in here. And bring some dekatea.”

Kubus sniffed. “I thought we could discuss this alone.”

“Lonnic’s viewpoint is the sharpest I know,” Jas countered. “That’s what I employ her for.”

“As you wish.”

Jas wanted Lonnic in the room for support. His sleepless night had left him with worry gnawing at the pit of his stomach, the ghost of self-doubt clinging to him. Had he made a mistake bringing the Cardassians to Korto? Deep down, Jas knew he wasn’t the minister his father had been; perhaps this time his reach had exceeded his grasp.

Lonnic entered, followed by a servant who laid out a tray of steaming dekatea before leaving them to their conversation. Kubus inclined his head in greeting, and Lonnic returned the gesture. She had her padd in her hand, her fingers poised to string notes into the touch-sensitive surface of the electronic slate.

“I have to confess, I was a little surprised by your reaction at the reception, Holza.” Kubus helped himself to a generous cup of the tea. “Your response to the Cardassians was more conservative than I had expected. Gul Kell practically offered us a trade agreement, but you were less than enthusiastic.”

“I’m merely being cautious,” Jas replied, taking a cup for himself.

“Ah, caution, is that it? And yet you were not so unadventurous before, when you boldly offered to host the alien delegation here. I did enjoy that speech you gave at the Gratitude Festival.” Kubus smiled thinly. “Why the change of heart? Are you out of your depth, Holza? Have you decided to join Verin’s reactionaries?”

“‘The fool plants where he wishes,’” quoted Lonnic, “‘the wise man sees where the sun falls first.’”

Kubus snorted. “A country homily, how quaint. So Jas is the wise man, then? I’m pleased to hear it. I would hate to find myself in partnership with someone who lacked the wisdom to pursue opportunity.”

Jas raised an eyebrow. “We’re partners, Oak? When did that happen?”

“When the Cardassians came, my friend. You and I are in this together.” Kubus patted the chair. “Here, on this side of the river we sit with opportunity in our laps, and over there”—he gestured to the east, in the direction of the capital—“in Ashalla, there are old men of limited vision who will waste this chance if we let them. I want to make sure you know that, Holza.”

Lonnic sipped at her tea and watched the interplay between the two ministers, gauging the reactions and the thoughts behind her employer’s face. In the five years she had been Jas Holza’s adjutant, she had come to know the man well—even intimately, for a time, before he had succeeded his father into the hereditary office of minister for Korto—and she could read the emotions behind his politician’s façade. Undoubtedly there was merit in Kubus’s words, but like Darrah, Lonnic couldn’t shake an elemental dislike of the man. His manner was high-handed and superior; Kubus was rich and well traveled, spending more time at his holdings on the colonies than on Bajor itself, and he affected a smugly cosmopolitan attitude as if he were more worldly than those who did not venture offplanet. But then again, Jas had several political allies whom Lonnic found quite distasteful in person. Expedience often meant dealing with those one considered objectionable.

What made the matter worse was that Kubus was right: the Cardassians did represent a unique prospect for Bajor. But then again, so did the overtures from the representatives of the United Federation of Planets, and a dozen other smaller planetary governments. Just because the Cardassians had come to Bajor, right to their doorstep, was not a valid reason to welcome them with open arms. Perhaps it was xenophobic of her to think it, but there was something about the manner of the gray-faced aliens that made her feel uncomfortable to be in the same room with them. She sipped another mouthful of tea and listened.

“Let’s look at this from a pragmatic point of view,” Kubus was saying. “Suppose we open the gates to an alliance between Bajor and the Cardassian Union. The possibilities for trade alone are huge. Their technology could help our people advance in leaps and bounds.” He waggled his finger at Jas. “I saw the glint in your eyes when Kell spoke about faster warp drives and better starships. And think of what else they have that we don’t. Medicines, advanced energy sources, knowledge of the greater galaxy around us. Will Bajor thank us for turning down the chance to have those things?”

“And such trade, if it took place, would be facilitated through certain channels?” Jas asked. “The Kubus clan’s shipping line, for example?”

The other man nodded. “In association with the Jas clan’s concerns, of course. After all, if we are the men who bring this bounty to Bajor, is it not right that we take some reward from it?”

“You mean beyond improving the quality of life for our people?” Lonnic asked.

Kubus shot her a look. “I won’t deny that I see this as a way to better my own lot, and that of my clan. And you should do the same, Holza.” A note of reproach entered his voice. “After all, you have responsibilities to the district of Korto and your people. I think I would be correct in saying that your current circumstances could stand to be improved, yes?”

“What are you implying?” The mood in the room cooled rapidly.

“I’m not in the business of making implications, Minister,” continued Kubus. “I prefer to deal in facts.” He put down his cup and leaned forward intently. “Let us be honest, Holza. Your position in the Chamber of Ministers is not what it once was. Verin and his cronies have done what they can to take advantage of your recent misfortunes and diminish the stature of your office.”

Lonnic saw a nerve twitch in Jas’s jaw. It was an open secret that the First Minister was quietly scornful of Jas’s political prowess and saw him as a poor shadow of his father.

Kubus continued. “I know you nurse the hope to one day stand for election to Verin’s post, but for now that goal moves further away from you with each passing moment.” He paused, taking a breath. “But if you were to take a leading place in assembling an agreement with the Cardassians, the political capital you would gain would strengthen your position. You could rise to the front rank again.”

“My only interest is to do what is right for Bajor,” Jas replied carefully. “My rank, and Verin’s view of it, are secondary to that.”

“And how will you do that if you are insolvent and powerless, Holza? Remember, I know about your meeting in Batal. I know about the problems that you face.”

For the briefest of instants, Lonnic saw something like shock on the minister’s face before he shuttered it away, composing himself. She felt her blood run cold. Jas had yet to explain to her the reason for his sudden and secretive trip across the equator to the city of Batal. For several months now she had been aware that he was keeping something from her. At first she thought it might be an illicit assignation—it wouldn’t have been the first time Jas had taken an interest in another man’s wife—but the minister’s increasingly grim manner after each jaunt gave her cause for concern. Now she read a degree of the truth in Jas’s face, and it chilled her.

Kubus watched her and suppressed a smirk. “You haven’t even told your adjutant? Perhaps you were trying to protect her from any future consequences?”

“Sir,” Lonnic said, “what is he talking about?”

“I’m talking about Golana,” said Kubus. “The bold colonial endeavor funded by your clan, far from home and far from stable.”

Jas met her gaze. “There have been some serious issues at the colony, Tomo,” he explained. “The situation there has…deteriorated.”

Lonnic’s mouth went dry. The Golana settlement was a legacy of Jas’s parents, established nearly two decades earlier by the clan’s mining pioneers. Even then, it had been a gamble. It was a verdant, Bajor-analogous planet, ideal for an outpost site; but it was distant from the homeworld, well outside the span of closer colonies like Prophet’s Landing and Valo II. After the initial rush to colonize, it had been difficult to induce new homesteaders to make the long voyage; but she never dreamed that there were problems out there. “What happened?”

“The storm season last year was particularly harsh. A large percentage of the crops failed. There were deaths. Several of the families resident there broke their contracts and left. The population count is currently too low to maintain criticality.”

She nodded, understanding the pattern. Without a crucial number of people to keep the colony running, the Golana settlement would eventually collapse and be abandoned. All the millions of litas invested in the planet by the Jas clan would be wasted.

“I’ve been sending ships and supplies, trying to shore up the outpost.” Jas frowned. “It hasn’t gone well.”

“That’s the reason for the closed-link communications? That’s why you went to Batal?”

Jas eyed Kubus. “Yes. I was meeting with one of my scoutship captains. What they had to tell me was not encouraging.” The minister folded his arms and looked at the other man. “How did you learn of it?”

Kubus shrugged. “I have my methods. Rest assured that First Minister Verin knows nothing of the matter. Frankly, if something does not occur within sight of Ashalla, he has little interest in it.”

“What do you intend to do with this information?” Lonnic demanded.

“Nothing,” said the minister. “But I bring it up now to illustrate a point. If we had faster, better starships, Golana would be brought closer and this issue would not even be a concern. But as it stands, you run the risk of wasting your clan’s fortune on a colony you cannot hope to support.”

“And if I close the settlement down,” murmured Jas, “I give Verin another stick to beat me with.”

Kubus nodded. “All the more reason to make an alliance with the Cardassians. A single one of their freighters would solve all your problems.”

“Perhaps.”

Lonnic heard the turn in Jas’s voice and fixed him with a hard stare. “We should not be so quick to trust the aliens,” she broke in. “Yes, in the short term we may be able to reap the benefits, but what do we open ourselves up for in the days that follow? Cardassian starships moving freely through our space? New economic pressures placed on our worlds by the Union’s demands? Suppose, after a while, they decide they want to take from us instead of trading? Once we open these gates, we won’t be able to close them again.”

“The Cardassians would never have been allowed to enter our system if there was the slightest chance they were here on a military footing,” Kubus retorted. “Li, Jaro, and all the rest of the Militia, they would never permit it!” He grunted, shaking his head. “The fact is, the Cardassians simply don’t have the capacity to mount an invasion of Bajor! Why expend soldiers and matériel when they can follow a peaceful path? Cardassia Prime is too concerned with their own internal problems, and their naval forces are tied up in border skirmishes with that Talarian rabble.” He leaned forward. “Let’s not forget, theycame to us.We have the home advantage here, Holza. If we let the prospect for a pact pass Bajor by, then perhaps your gloomy adjutant here will be proven right, and they will come back with battle cruisers instead of priests!”

Jas was silent for a while, and Lonnic could see him weighing the arguments in his thoughts. “If we did advocate an agreement, Verin would never accept it. Even together, Kubus, you and I and what allies we have would not be enough to sway the Chamber of Ministers. Without another impetus to propel it, the First Minister will block any petition and we will be left looking foolish.”