Prologue

Dawn spread a gray light over Cardassia City. Standing in front of the standard-issue field tent that currently served as his home on this war-shattered world, Dr. Julian Bashir studied the reports from the previous day and night. Statistics on the number of sick treated at every clinic around the planet and on the number of people fed at the various relief stations. Theories on the dozen-or-so epidemics sweeping the population that they now struggled to find the source and cure for. Updates on the efforts to revitalize the soil at half-a-dozen specially selected once-fertile agricultural sites. Meteorological reports on the continuing effects of the Dominion’s last strikes on the Cardassian atmosphere and weather.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Bashir decided to get some breakfast. He could decide which of the situations he needed more detailed information about, over a meal and a raktajino. Still carrying the summary report PADD, he headed for the main medical relief center and its replicator station.

He studied the landscape as he left the Federation tent city on his way to the clinic. The city was gray and broken, piles of rubble and rows of half-standing buildings interrupted by cracked, phaser-marred pavement. The air was gritty with dust driven by the endless wind, that was all but impossible to keep out of gear, clothing, hair, and lungs. There was a pall over the whole place. Blinking dust out of his eyes, he recalled Lausten’s concerns about the global weather patterns.

Was he making any difference here at all?

He had to make a difference. He couldn’t go home until he did—

Home. Bashir paused, realizing, not for the first time, that he was thinking of Deep Space Nine. A lifetime of evasions and relocations had ended there. He had friends there who knew who and what he was. He had finally made a sort of peace with his father on that station. And he had Ezri, more of a reason to call it home than anything else. The thought of her brought a quick, fond smile.

He considered the date. It had been nearly two months since he’d seen her, and that station. Two months. Bajor would be celebrating their Peldor festival today, he realized, and the station with it. It was the festival of gratitude and renewal, of hope and a new year. Cardassia could use some hope and renewal, he thought. For a few seconds, he let his mind drift to previous Peldor festivals.

“Doctor?”

It was the tone that inevitably said someone needed something. Bashir looked up. “What is it, Eske?”

“Doctor, we have a problem at the clinic.”

“What is it?”

“More missing supplies,” she replied.

“No chance they were misplaced, or sent out to one of the relief stations without being recorded?”

“We’ve checked,” she said apologetically, holding out a PADD.

He sighed and automatically confirmed the order for the additional supplies, glancing over the list of presumably stolen items — security remained a problem, no matter how many guards they posted — then handed it back to the blonde woman.

“Thank you, doctor.” She accepted the PADD and hurried back toward the clinic.

Bashir glanced around the open plaza, half-expecting someone else to come running up with another problem that could apparently only be solved with his expertise. No one else in the morning crowd appeared to be paying him much attention.

But there was someone behind him. He felt Garak’s sharp eyes on him before he heard him speak.

“Doctor.”

“Yes, Garak? What do you need?” He shaded his eyes against the sun and turned to his friend.

“Need? Oh, nothing, doctor.” The Cardassian continued to study him in that thorough fashion that could be so unnerving. “You look discouraged.”

“I feel discouraged,” he acknowledged. “It’s as though I’m not making any progress here.”

“You’re not making any progress?”

Bashir paused at the unusual inflection. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I assure you, doctor, your relief teams are making significant progress. It is, however, a rather immense undertaking. Rather more than one person can handle.”

“So I’m learning.”

“So why do you seem convinced it is something only you must be responsible for?”

“I don’t—“ He paused. He had to admit to himself, there were days it felt as though, if he didn’t take responsibility for things, they didn’t get done, at least not to the degree he wanted. It was unreasonable, he knew. Everybody on the relief team was doing his or her job, working themselves into exhaustion every day. But the restless personal desire to do more, to do it faster and more thoroughly, was hard to quell.

“You need a break,” Garak observed.

The doctor stifled a yawn. “What did you have in mind?”

“There’s an old festival, perhaps going back so far as Hebitian days, that’s been maintained through the centuries by small groups of our people, although I suspect very few of them still retain the original purpose and meaning. The festival will be celebrated tomorrow morning at dawn. I’d like to invite you to join me and attend it.”

“What kind of festival?”

Garak laughed, deep in his throat. “You needn’t sound so suspicious, doctor! I assure you, there will be no human sacrifice, nor ritual re-enactments of fertility or battle, nor will you be required to dance naked around any religious artifacts.”

Bashir couldn’t help laughing in turn. “You’ve certainly picked up some odd notions of other-world religions!”

“Nonsense. I’ve merely come to see how many beings observe the belief systems of others. But more importantly—“ The satisfaction in his voice was obvious. “—I’ve gotten you to laugh. Will you join me at the festival?”

“At dawn?”

“I know you’re awake then, when you’ve even slept — I see you at the clinic or the relief stations by that time on a daily basis,” the Cardassian reproved.

“Which tells me you’re awake by then, too!”

“Indeed.” The grin on Garak’s face broadened.

“There’s so much to do—“ Bashir began to object.

“Which you cannot do all by yourself. And how much good will you be to any of us if you work yourself into collapse? Besides, I believe we could both do with ... a distraction. You are, after all, the human who wanted to experience more of my people’s culture!”

“Well.... As long as you’re not dancing naked either. I’m not sure I could handle it at that time of day.”

This time, Garak’s laugh boomed across the plaza and echoed back from the half-walls of the ruined building opposite them. “Oh, my dear doctor, I’m beginning to think there’s nothing you can’t handle!”

Chapter 1