Текст книги "Dawn of the Eagles "

Автор книги: Stephani Danelle Perry

Соавторы: Gene Rodenberry,Britta Dennison
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

24

Kalem was quick to answer the comm this time, as it awoke him from the early stages of sleep. The timing of the communication suggested a contact point from somewhere outside Kalem’s own time zone—but since few people from the Kendra Valley ever sought to contact him in this manner, Kalem could have assumed as much anyway. Holza,he thought hopefully, though he wasn’t sure he recognized the voice as Jas Holza’s.

“This is Kalem Apren. State your business.”

“Mister Kalem. I understand you are something of a spokesperson for your people. I have a proposition that I hope you will find interesting.”

“With whom am I speaking?” he asked, still confused from sleep.

“I represent the Cardassian Union.”

Kalem was taken aback, to say the least. A Cardassian representative was certainly the last person he would have expected to hear from—the last person he wanted to hear from. But his curiosity dictated that he listen. “Continue,” he said.

“As I stated, my sources have informed me that you have a great deal of influence over the people on your world,”the voice said silkily. “If this truly be the case, then my people hope that you will help us to convey a message to all of Bajor.”

“What message might that be?”

“That we intend to withdraw our interests from this planet—from this system. Can I count on you to relay this message?”

Kalem felt the discernible rush of blood in his ears, the amplification of his own heart. Had he really heard what he thought he’d heard?

“Yes,” he said, feeling all his hopes held hostage by the possibility that this was not really happening. “I…will convey the message…”

The voice continued. “But I think you will agree that an abrupt withdrawal could warrant disastrous results. Your people will need an interim government, someone trustworthy to steer Bajor through the difficult storms ahead. Bajor has very little of its own infrastructure intact, and one hopes that a new Bajoran cabinet could help to reestablish some of the basic necessities that will help keep the Bajoran populace from escalating into chaos.”

Kalem thought it sounded reasonable, but the initial burst of jubilance suddenly seemed further away. The voice continued, but Kalem was losing focus, only half-hearing the offers that were being made to him.

“…an election, of course. I look to you for advice regarding some suitable candidates for various positions…”

What is this?

“…we want to represent the will of the people, but I feel we can be reasonably certain that the status you currently enjoy will translate to your being involved in the next generation of Bajoran leaders—a new generation, you understand, a generation that is for Bajor only. My people are tired of the violence, Mister Kalem, and on my homeworld, the cries for withdrawal have become too loud for us to ignore. We recognize that the best course of action…”

Kalem scarcely realized it when the Cardassian had stopped speaking, and grappled with the distinct sense that he had just been asked a question. He spoke, not entirely sure what he was answering to—something about Terok Nor, an invitation? “Your offer…sounds generous…sir,” he began, looking for the words, and the strength, to continue. “But right now…I am very occupied with…my people…with—”

“Of course you are,”the disembodied voice said smoothly. “It is my understanding that Bajor still looks to you for advice and assistance. I have polled a great many of my Bajoran advisers and colleagues, and their responses led me directly to my decision to contact you first. Of course, if you don’t feel you are suitable for nomination, I understand that Jaro Essa is—”

“Jaro Essa will never accept any offers from you,” Kalem laughed. “While I suppose I should be…flattered…that my name has come up in discussion with your advisers, I must respectfully decline the opportunity. I cannot leave my people at this time. You see, I am far too busy consoling the families and friends of those who were killed in the massacre here in the Kendra Valley—”

“Massacre!”the voice replied, and something in his tone confirmed to Kalem that he was speaking to the prefect. This was Gul Dukat; he knew it. “Kubus Oak has assured me that the people executed in Kendra were part of a dangerous terrorist organization. Tell me, did Secretary Kubus misinform me? Because if that is the case, Mister Kalem, then I must point out that this is exactly why the current Bajoran government must—”

Kalem interrupted, feeling his gorge rise at the sound of Kubus Oak’s name coming from the mouth of a Cardassian. From Dukat. Was the prefect looking for a new puppet, then?

“There will be an election,” he said forcefully. “But the Cardassians will have no say in it. That election will occur after your people are gone, not before.” Kalem abruptly squashed his thumb against the disconnect button without waiting for the prefect’s reply. His breath was coming hard. He had another call waiting for him, and whoever it was, it had to be someone whose conversation would be preferable to Gul Dukat’s.

“This is Kalem Apren,” he said, struggling to keep the angry breathing from overcoming his words.

“Apren!”cried Keeve Falor’s voice, heavy with interference between Bajor and distant Valo II. “I have news that is of the utmost importance! I have just spoken to a Federation contact who received pertinent information for us. The Cardassians—they are going to try and negotiate with us—”

Apren was stunned. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I…I know, I spoke to Dukat…”

“Tell me you did not agree to any of his offers!”

“Of course I didn’t, Falor! You ought to know that I wouldn’t have!”

“Oh…oh, thank the Prophets. Yes, of course I knew, but…”

Apren explained where his thoughts had been throughout his entire exchange with Dukat. Now he knew his instincts had been correct. “If the Cardassians are negotiating, Falor, it can only mean one thing—they are genuinely on the defensive now. They are frightened.”

“You’re more right than you even know, old friend. You must tell the people on Bajor—they must not hold back now, no matter what happens. Now is the time to fight—and win.”

“But the resistance cell here in Kendra—they were all massacred by the Cardassians. Jaro Essa still has a few scattered contacts, but—”

“This message is not just for the resistance, Apren,”Keeve said. “Everyone must know of this. The Prophets have given us the opportunity we need, but we must show them that we are capable of defending our world ourselves—”

Kalem interrupted as the thought entered his mind. “Weapons, Falor.”

“Weapons?”

“We need weapons. Does Holza know of this new development?”

“Not yet, but I will—”

“You should have contacted him first, Falor!”

“I had to be sure that you wouldn’t agree to anything!”

“Falor, you should have known that I wouldn’t have. Tell Jas Holza about this immediately!”

“I will do my best to get word to him, but we can’t wait for him to come through, Apren! There must be no delays in communicating this message to the people of Bajor!”

“I understand,” Kalem answered, though he wasn’t sure he did. He wanted to know more about the Federation contact, about the sudden change in climate that would make a full-scale victory a tangible possibility; about the true nature of the offers that Dukat was trying to make. But from Keeve’s tone, it was clear that this was not the time to ask questions—this was the time to act.

“What is this place?” Tahna Los asked Biran as they crept closer to the low-lying building, several kellipates outside of Dahkur. It was old and poorly kept, with a deserted feel. “An armory?”

Kohn Biran shook his head. “I think we’ve managed to get all the armories around here. Between us, the Shakaar, and the Gertis cells, we’ve practically crippled the spoonheads in this region.”

“So, what is it?”

Biran looked stern. “Don’t tell anyone in the Shakaar cell. It’s an orphanage.”

“We’re bombing an orphanage?” Tahna didn’t mean for his voice to sound so incredulous, and he cleared his throat, glancing uncomfortably at Jouvirna. “I mean—”

“Baby vipers are still poisonous,” Biran said. “Remember what I said about the Shakaar. Especially the women.”

“Nerys probably wouldn’t have a problem with it,” Tahna said, though he wasn’t certain. “But Lupaza…”

“Don’t worry about them. We need to do this—to send a message.”

It had been six weeks since the announcements. They had heard the news repeated from the Krim cell in Rakantha, the Carean cell from Ba’atal, the Gertis cell, and many others that Tahna couldn’t even name. Jaro Essa was saying that this was the time to push harder than they had ever pushed, if they wanted to be free of the Cardassians. And they were pushing. Tahna knew that there was still heavy Cardassian presence in other parts of the world, but at least they had made headway here in Dahkur. The Kohn-Ma cell had only encountered a single Cardassian soldier tonight, angry and clearly frightened. Most of what they had encountered had been wreckage—bodies, shrapnel, burning ships and equipment. All lent an apocalyptic desolation to the once-beautiful landscape.

“So, we’re going to kill them,” Tahna said, laboring to avoid sounding grim as he studied the pathetic building.

Jouvirna shrugged. “We could blow them up, or we could take them hostage—use them as bargaining chips to get farther into the city, should we meet with a sizeable contingent of soldiers. But probably, the spoonheads wouldn’t respond to hostages—they don’t care about the orphans. We’re doing them a favor by killing them, if you ask me.”

Tahna wasn’t so sure—and anyway, he thought it might be useful to have some leverage in case of Cardassian encounter. He hadn’t forgotten the beatings he had suffered at the hands of his Cardassian captors, the horrible devices they had used in their efforts to coerce him to reveal the location of the rest of his cell. But the memory wasn’t enough to dissuade him from continuing to fight. If anything, it fueled him, especially now that he believed the end was so near. Yet, there seemed to be little glory in carrying through with this particular target.

Tahna kept his views to himself as they moved in. The building was only a hecapate away, but before they could come close enough to detonate their explosives, a white sheet of blinding fire rose up from beyond the gates of the facility. Tahna threw his body backward to avoid the fallout of shrapnel, and the blast of heat washed over them. But after a moment, he saw that they had been far enough away to avoid contact with any flying debris. He sheepishly rose.

“Someone beat us to it,” Jouvirna said, his voice tinged with awe.

“Someone else blew up the orphanage,” Tahna said, stating the obvious, finding some measure of relief in the revelation. This wasn’t the first time his cell had conspired to kill Cardassian children, or even the children of Bajoran collaborators. He found some reassurance in the discovery that other cells were capable of such an act.

Shouting had followed the explosion—shouts of Bajoran men, at least two of whom seemed to be headed in Tahna’s direction. A beat later, a middle-aged man stepped out of the smoke, approaching Tahna and the others.

“Ho there,” Tahna called. The man wore the garb of a farmer, dun-colored coveralls that were permanently grassy-green at the knees from kneeling for the harvest. As he came closer, Tahna saw that he was missing three teeth on the left side of his mouth, probably a result of poor nutrition. “What cell are you?”

“Cell?” The man called out. “None! We live in Petrita village, that way.” He gestured to the east as a second man joined him. “We have been planning to destroy this site for over a week. It’s the only place around here the spoonheads haven’t abandoned.”

“Are you sure?” Biran called out.

“Positive,” answered the second man. He wore a stained leather vest over his tunic. “We’ve been scoping out all the local Cardassian sites. The only place they had anyone left was here at the orphanage. But don’t worry, the children were all gone.”

“Gone?” Biran said. “But the Cardassians don’t claim the children of others…?”

“The young ones were taken in by Bajoran families,” he said. “They’re too little to know any different. If they’re lucky, they can just forget they were ever Cardassian.”

“The young ones?” Tahna asked. “So…who was left?”

“There were three teenage boys in there who fancied themselves heroes,” the farmer said. “They barricaded themselves inside and started taking potshots at us when we came near, though I couldn’t tell you where they got their weapons—probably stolen from dead bodies around here somewhere. We figured we’d have to bomb them out—and so we did.” He gestured back to the smoking rubble that had been the squat building as the other man raised his fist in victory.

Tahna felt strange as he considered the Cardassian teenagers. Abandoned here on an unfamiliar world, fighting for the very people who had left them behind. He briefly wished he hadn’t asked. It was easier just to look on the remains of a building and feel triumphant.

“Are you all right, mister?” One of the farmers directed his question toward Tahna, who realized that he must be wearing his uncertainty. He forced a laugh, just before the bulky comm unit he carried alerted him with a squawk.

“This is six-one-six calling kejal-three-two…”It was Kira, back at the caves.

“This is kejalthree-two, six-one-six, go ahead.”

“Kejal three-two, reports of attack ships sighted in the Musilla region, headed toward Dahkur Province, estimated arrival one half-hour. Best to take cover, over.”

Tahna’s heart sank. “Copy that,” he responded, looking to the others in his cell. Judging by their grave expressions, they had all heard it. The two farmers had heard it, as well, and did not hesitate to scurry back in the direction from which they had come.

“Helpful chaps,” Biran remarked sourly.

“More spoonheads,” Tahna lamented. “We had them all but wiped out in this province…”

“Forget it, Tahna, we’ve got to go,” Jouvirna said, gesturing to the others as he broke into a jog. “We’ve got just enough time to make it back to the tunnels.”

Tahna wasn’t so sure that they did have time, but he sprinted alongside the others, pushing himself into the state of dogged numbness that was usually required for long-distance running. The four men crashed through brush, ambled up hills and back down them again, weaving through trees and over creeks. Tahna had once known all these routes by heart, but they had grown dimmer since the grid had gone up, every outside errand or mission turning into a carefully formulated and executed plan. It had been exhilarating to think that the grid was down for good—though a new onslaught of Cardassians in the area might mean that these days of freedom were coming to an end.

They made it back to their hideout in record time. Crawling through the tunnels gave Tahna the opportunity to catch his breath, though his mouth tasted like metal from the ragged heaving of the smoky air. He coughed as he shimmied after the Kohn brothers, and the sound echoed eerily throughout the connected caverns and passageways.

Nerys was waiting for him in the larger passageway that connected the Shakaar and Kohn-Ma burrows. She followed them into their cavern, not wasting any time with what she had to say, a bright urgency in her voice. “Jaro Essa just issued a statement over the comm.”

Kohn Weir replied. “Jaro himself, or—?”

“It was Jaro,” Kira confirmed. “He says that someone from the Valo system is bringing a massive shipment of weapons into Dahkur tomorrow—modern phasers, raw materials for explosives, and—”

“Who is bringing it?” Jouvirna inquired.

“What difference does it make?” Kira exclaimed. “They’ve already smuggled a shipment to Kendra. Prophets willing, the pilot will be here tomorrow with even more. Jaro said they’ll be bringing shoulder-mounted missile launchers that can be fired from kellipatesaway, and long-range particle cannons for the raiders! We can take out heavy weapons emplacements, flyers, mechanized infantry units—all of it!”

The Kohn-Ma members looked at one another with skepticism and bewilderment.

“If what you say is true,” Biran finally spoke up, “then this is really going to be the end of it.”

“I know,” Kira said evenly, and suddenly, Tahna knew it, too. It was really going to be over.

LIBERATED BAJOR, YEAR ONE

2369 (Terran Calendar)

25

“Finally, I feel like the Prophets are listening,” Shakaar said, taking a sip from his mug of copalcider. “I’ve been writing the same thing on my renewal scrolls since I learned how to write, and this time—”

“You aren’t supposed to tell anyone what you write on your scroll,” Kira reminded him, as she leaned up against the bare trunk of a dead nyawood tree. The sky above them was striped with a deep-cast orange, the moons beginning to rise over the farthest mountain ranges. The air was thick with smoke from burning Cardassian wreckage—and from the traditional fires of the Gratitude Festival, currently being celebrated all over the planet. It could not have come at a more opportune time in the calendar.

Shakaar laughed and took another pull at his cider. “Could there be any question what I wrote on my scroll? What we all wrote?”

“It’s not my place to speculate what anyone else wrote,” Kira said primly, and took the mug from Shakaar’s hands to take a draught of her own.

Shakaar smiled at her, amusement shining in his eyes.

Both turned their heads to the sky as five more Cardassian troop carriers went up, bringing the day’s total up to somewhere in the low hundreds. All day long, the Shakaar cell had been watching the ships leave atmosphere. All were backlit by an eerie halo in the lower portion of the sky, a clinging, stinking haze of acrid chemical smoke—not from the bonfires and braziers that had begun to smolder just after the sun dipped in the horizon, but from the remains of Cardassian factories, mining camps, and military bases. Some of the larger facilities had been burning for weeks. The Cardassians had stopped trying to put them out more than a month past, retaliating instead with fires of their own—scorching and poisoning the fields of thousands of farmers, setting the forests ablaze, ensuring that although they were finally leaving, their presence would not soon be forgotten.

The resistance had pushed as hard as they could, just as Jaro Essa had advised, following the massacre in the Kendra Valley. At first, it had not seemed that would be enough—the soldiers just kept coming, and Bajoran casualties were heavy. The targets seemed too numerous and too distant to effectively remove by people on foot. But the tide had turned two weeks ago—no small thanks to the massive distribution of contraband weapons that had found its way to Bajor from the Valo system.

Kira squinted up into the darkening sky as the winking ship lights became too distant to see, and her face split into a wide smile. Her head felt light. Though she continually warned herself not to get her hopes up, she truly believed the occupation was coming to a close.

Shakaar shook his head, as if to illustrate his own wary disbelief, and then he smiled back at her.

“This seems as good a way to celebrate the Gratitude Festival as any,” Kira said.

“It’s a new year,” Shakaar murmured, taking the nearly empty mug away from her.

“A new era,” Kira said.

“ Peldor joi,Nerys,” Shakaar said.

“Peldor joi.”She repeated the traditional salutation of the Gratitude Festival. It seemed funny to her now, the old Bajoran words having become nearly meaningless in these past years. Her family had still celebrated the festival when she was a child, lighting a small metal brazier and burning the renewal scrolls along with an uncharacteristically large dinner. Many friends and neighbors would come to the Kira residence to take part in the feast, and there would even be some kind of small treat afterward, for the children. But in the years since she had joined the resistance, the festival had been almost forgotten—a nod to the Prophets, but the modest indulgences of Kira’s childhood seemed so far in the past as to have been imagined.

“I think they might really be leaving for good,” Shakaar observed, putting voice to the thing that all Bajorans had come to believe, but had mostly been afraid to say out loud.

“Time will tell,” Kira said carefully. “We need more cider.”

“And I need to write my scroll,” Shakaar said. “Shall we go back to camp?”

“I’ll be along,” Kira said, continuing to stare out at the sky, creeping over with dark. She turned for a moment to watch Shakaar amble back to the place where the cell had lit a bonfire of their own, swigging cider and gorging themselves on some makeshift approximation of hasperat. She admired him as he moved—she had always liked something about the way he moved—though of course there was nothing romantic about it; he was just a good-looking man, that was all. She turned away from him as the very notion of her old cell leader in amorous terms seized her, and she was overcome by a short burst of self-conscious laughter. Another carrier went up.

“Peldor joi,”she told it, gazing after the transport until she couldn’t see it anymore, and then turned to go back to camp; the hasperatwas calling.

“The civilian leaders’ decision was nearly unanimous,”Kell said. His face, almost filling the holoframe, was devoid of any expression.

Dukat cut him off with a barely suppressed snort.

“Have I amused you?”

Dukat shook his head, aware of the smile that refused to budge from his lips. There was nothing remotely amusing here, but if he stopped smiling, he was unsure of what would ultimately happen. His frustration rode so close to the surface of his bearings, he kept the reins tight as he carefully chose his words.

“I did all I could do.”

“Of course you did.”

“We took a few losses, naturally. Anything worth having can be expected to run into a few setbacks here and there.” He extended his hand, palm up, and then, not quite knowing what else to do with it, he clenched it into a fist. “Central Command must have agreed with the civilian government to consent to this decision.”

Kell opened his mouth as if to reply, but Dukat spoke over him; he did not care to hear the legate’s excuses for the weakening of Central Command. The military was hemorrhaging power, and it was partly the fault of officials like Kell who were foolish enough to submit in the first place. This turn of events had been set in motion a long time ago. “It is…disappointing that some of my colleagues cannot envision the long-term results of their actions.” His fist tightened. Someday, he would set things right—with the traitors in the civilian government, and with those in Central Command, as well. He knew exactly who was to blame for this, the loss of his legacy.

“The Cardassian people…have no faith in me,” he went on. “They never did. Central Command had none, either. And yet, if they would only review the records of my term here, they would see that the very few times I was able to make use of my own policies, the Union enjoyed measurable success here. But when I followed the dictates of Central Command”—his voice was rising—“I failed. I failed, because I allowed others to coerce me into ignoring my own instincts.”

Kell suddenly looked very tired. “There is little sense in speaking of it now,”he said, his tone flat. “This is not about you, Dukat. I am contacting you merely as a formality. I anticipate the Federation will send its Starfleet soon. I assume you already know what must be done.”

“This isabout me!” Dukat shouted. “Bajor is about me, don’t you understand that? If you weren’t so busy pandering to the fools in the Detapa Council—Central Command is but a shadow of its former self, can’t you see that, Kell? Because of weak men like you!”

Kell scoffed and shook his head at the outburst. “I understand how difficult it must be for you to confront your own failure,”he said with a barely suppressed sneer. “But there is still much for you to do, and little time to do it.”

“Yes…sir,” Dukat said, carefully dialing back his hostility. He could not afford to make a fool of himself any more than he had already done, and Kell still had the power to ruin him completely—if the loss of Bajor hadn’t already done it.

Dukat stood alone in his office for a few moments after the transmission ended. His arm had fallen to his side, but his hand was still closed into a hard fist. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers, examining his palm as if seeing it for the first time. He felt slightly dazed, but he knew he could not afford to succumb to his emotions; there was much to be done, as Kell had said, and he was the one expected to do it. There were no more Cardassians on the surface; at least, none who were authorized to be there. Now he must remove the rest of his men from Terok Nor.

He put in a call to Dalin Trakad, speaking as soon as the dull-faced officer stepped into his office. “Get all the Bajorans out of ore processing and get them to the surface immediately,” he commanded.

“Sir…how am I to arrange for the transport of so many people?”

“I don’t care,” Dukat snapped. “Put them in the cargo hold of a freighter for all I care, just get them out of here. Drop them at the closest transport hub on the surface and call it done. Get them out of here before they start rioting.”

“Some of them…already have, sir.”

“All the more reason to be swift in carrying out my instructions, Trakad.”

The dalin nodded. “Yes, sir. But…I don’t know if you’re aware that some of the soldiers…they have also started to destroy station property…”

“Have they,” Dukat mused. “Well, I advise you to keep out of their way, then. But I want you to personally ensure that all systems are permanently offline before we go. Leave nothing for the scavengers that will come after us. Purge all databases. Every system—replicators, weapons, ore-processing equipment, turbolifts—do your best to see that they are no longer functional by the time we leave. If all else fails, old-fashioned sabotage will suffice. Keep life support up, of course. For the time being.”

The dalin was surprised. “There is very little time, sir. It may not be possible to completely—”

Dukat ignored him. “Start arranging for the transfer of first-tier military officials; all higher-echelon officers will be transported back to Cardassia Prime immediately. The rest are to follow until evacuation is complete, but I want all our people gone within three days. Understood?”

“What about…what about the tailor, sir?”

“He can fend for himself,” Dukat snapped. Kell had made it clear enough that the disgraced operative was to be left alone; this might actually be the first time Dukat was happy to comply with the legate’s order. “Carry out my intructions,” he told Trakad.

“Yes, sir.”

Dukat turned to go, but his thoughts quickly turned to the shape-shifter. “Contact Odo for me, Trakad.”

Where Trakad had previously looked bewildered, now he looked fearful. “The…shape-shifter is…Nobody can find him. He seems to be…gone.”

“Gone?”

“He…hasn’t been seen since yesterday, and rumors have already sprouted that he fled…back to Bajor.”

Dukat felt a momentary weakness in his limbs. Odo might not have gone back to Bajor; he could very well still be here, but if he was not answering station calls…After everything else—the treachery of the Detapa Council, the long-term flagrant disregard for his authority by the ingrates on this horrid world—the notion of Odo’s disloyalty was very nearly the thing to send Dukat into a state of complete anomie.

He swept his gaze across the surfaces of his office—the eye-shaped window, framing starry blackness; the walls, his desk, the floor and ceiling. Every last fraction of it had been designed and created specifically for him, as the prefect of this world. But now—the thought of leaving Terok Nor whole and intact for Bajorans to infest like voles was repugnant to him. He doubted they would destroy it outright; without orbital facilities of their own, they might have need of such a place. Better to obliterate it himself than leave his seat of power for lo these many years to such as them.

But no, Dukat decided. Terok Nor would remain here, under the authority of whoever came along to claim the Bajoran prize for themselves, and it was looking more and more as though the Federation was going to be the unlikely victor in this comic tragedy.

Would the shape-shifter ally himself with the Bajorans? Dukat thought not; the man was a complete enigma in many ways, but the thing that defined him most was his status as an outsider. He could continue to search for his own kind…which meant that he would likely remain on the station, to fraternize with the democratic hypocrites of the Federation.

Dukat turned off the lights in his office. The Union had just made an enormous mistake, and Dukat had no intention of ever forgetting it. He was leaving, but this would not be the last he had seen of Bajor. His business here was far from finished. No, if he thought for an instant that he would never see Terok Nor again, he would have it destroyed with the Bajorans still aboard. But this was not over. Not nearly.

The people in the Valo system had been chattering about a possible withdrawal for a long time. Ever since the Federation ship that carried Ro Laren had come and gone, a great deal of gossip had circled around the colony world. When Jas Holza had finally agreed to purchase and deliver weapons to the people of Bajor, the residents of the Valo system had begun to speak of the coming withdrawal as fact, though Keeve had been afraid to really believe it. But as more reports poured in, and people arranged for transport back to Bajor, Keeve finally had to acknowledge to himself that it was not just a rumor, not a Cardassian trick—the occupation was over.

Those in Valo II’s overcrowded settlements were speculating about what the ultimate cause of the withdrawal had been, picking up pieces of gossip as they heard them, often second-hand, or even third-hand, from Valo III. Most wanted to believe that the death of the kai’s son had been the catalyst; that the massacre in the Kendra Valley was the final outrage to thrust the resistance—and the rest of Bajor—into the frame of mind they needed to be able to summon the strength for the final push. Jas Holza was already held in high regard on this planet for keeping the citizens of Valo II alive with very little motivation. Now he was a genuine hero, for coming through with the weapons that gave the resistance the edge in the end. Keeve knew, of course, that there was more to it than that. The Federation had played a role, and Keeve imagined there was some machination of Cardassian politics that must have facilitated this unlikely outcome. Still, he was not such a pragmatist that he would not let the people have their martyr and their hero; it did much to bolster them in the uncertainty of this time. For despite the intense joy of knowing that they could return home once again, there was also unease over the consideration of what they would find when they got there.