Mondrig's "Coterie of the Cardassian People," as he called it, met in the ruins of a theater in an abandoned part of the city. There were perhaps two dozen men and women, most in nondescript attire, already weary from long days of hard work of clearing debris and rebuilding. Some of them had brought meager amounts of supplies; others arrived empty-handed. Rekel was the only one among them who had not been born and raised in the servant castes; her natural self-assurance and bearing would have stood out even if she hadn't been wearing clothing partially of military origin.

All of those present, including Rekel, listened intently as Mondrig gave his rehearsed speech about how the Directorate and the Reunion Project were both letting down the average Cardassian.

"...And we were the ones who suffered!" he went on, his booming voice echoing off the walls. "Those who consider themselves the elite have always acted in their own best interests, while we have been the ones to pay the price!"

Various of the group nodded agreement while others shifted to get better views or to ease cramping muscles.

"Once, I thought the Directorate was different," Mondrig continued, his voice dropping and bitterness creeping in. "I thought the Dominion destruction had brought all Cardassians together, made us one people as we have never been before. I thought our arrogant military and bureaucratic leaders had seen that things must change, that they would recognize that they needed to set those divisions behind them, and make us all welcome in a new, stronger Cardassia." He raised a fist. "How wrong I was! They have not changed -- the ruling castes continue to treat us, the majority of Cardassians, the true strength of Cardassia, as tools to be used and discarded, as servants to be ground beneath their heels!"

Low angry growls met those words.

"But we will make a difference! We will show them they cannot take us for granted! We will force them to come to us, to acknowledge us, to beg for our help rather than command our obedience! We will be masters of our own future, our own destiny, not slaves to their self-interested whims!"

His voice had risen in his last sentences, and the group cheered as he finished.

Satisfied, Mondrig rocked back on his heels. "Now, go. Find others who recognize that we are at a turning point in our society, and that the Coterie offers an alternative to that which has failed our people before...."

Rekel watched the others covertly as Mondrig finished his speech.

For the last month, she'd been keeping tabs on Mondrig's efforts to build his own political faction. The man was a charismatic speaker, but with rumors of his involvement in an earlier failed riot, he had become persona non grata to most in positions of authority. The Directorate's repudiation after that riot had cut off his access to supplies and communication. Adding that Federation and Cardassian security sporadically continued to look for him to question in a number of legal matters, including murder and sabotage, he had to keep a low profile. He depended on his handful of supporters for his daily needs, information, and contact with others.

He believed her to be one of those supporters.

The speech ended. As the group dispersed, Rekel lingered. Mondrig approached her eagerly.

"What do you think?" he asked her directly.

"They are hopeless," she said starkly. "Servants with delusions. Fools without guidance."

"That is why they come to me!" he interjected. "And they are just the beginning! I will gather more, they will spread the word, and when the time comes--"

"There is no time. The preliminary election is less then ten days away," she reminded him. She gestured after the last shadow in the night. "You convince them to follow you -- but where can you lead them? They have to be led, they have no idea what to do or what direction to go."

"They are the beginning of a new power base on Cardassia!"

She had been listening to him for weeks, on orders from her superiors. It was beyond tiring. Rekel's inherent contempt for most of the Coterie flared. "They're nothing but sand voles. Insignificant vermin. They will follow anyone with empty promises," she said contemptuously.

Mondrig flushed angrily. "I do not make empty promises!"

She snorted. "Then you're as deluded as they are, if you believe this Coterie of yours can make a difference to anyone on Cardassia!"

He gripped her shoulders, his mouth set and close-set eyes glittering.

Disgusted, she shoved him away.

"Do not taunt me this way, Sudari," Mondrig hissed, his voice deep and thick. "We have danced long enough, it is time--" He reached for her again, anger fading before desire.

No." She caught his hands and twisted, her fingers moving with quick, sure skill, deliberately putting sharp pressure on certain nerves.

He dropped to his knees with a howl of pain.

"I am tired of your empty words. I am tired of you. If you touch me again, I will kill you," Rekel enunciated clearly. She moved back a single step, eying him, before turning on her heel and vanishing into the darkness without so much as another glance.

Holding his suddenly numb fingers to his chest, Mondrig watched her go.

She had hurt him. She had insulted him. This was no love game.

He could not believe she refused him. She had been so loyal, her interest so obvious--

He focused on one sentence. Tired of words. That's what she'd said. Tired of words. She needed actions. Mondrig found himself smiling despite the pain in his wrists and tingling in his hands. Of course. A strong, magnificent woman like Rekel, used to moving in a world of soldiers, would demand more than words from the man she condescended to accept. Actions would bring her back. He would prove to her that he could make a difference, that his decisions were significant. He would prove it to all Cardassia.

Julian ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't believed it was possible to be even more exhausted then he'd been in the first few weeks on Cardassia. They'd lost half their Cardassian medics and nurses in the last few days, from sickness and staff no longer showing up. Between caring for patients, overseeing Kato's epidemiology research, working on his own research, reviewing planetary updates, and dealing with miscellaneous minor crises, he hadn't slept in three days.

Not that he had been sleeping well the last while anyway....

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall.

A "normal" human would have collapsed by now. Only Bashir's physical and mental enhancements kept him going, but even he recognized that he was at the limits of his endurance after almost three months on the planet. Still, he continued to push himself, while ordering his team members to rest whenever possible.

His chin itched. He scratched it. Scruffy. When did I last remember to shave...?

If he stayed here much longer, he would fall asleep where he was standing.

"Doctor Bashir?"

He blinked and turned from the wall. "Hmm?"

Malyn Ocett stood there, with several Cardassian soldiers standing behind her.

"Yes, Gul Ocett?"

She looked over her shoulder. "This is Glinn Melleen. He and his men have volunteered to work in the clinic."

"Volunteered for the clinic?" Bashir stared at the glinn, for a second not comprehending.

The broad-shouldered young officer stared back grimly with deep-set, haunted blue eyes. His features were stern, thin, and more than the usual ashen gray.

"Glinn Melleen," he acknowledged after a moment.

"Doctor," the officer responded in a hoarse, gravelly voice, then clamped his mouth closed.

Bashir glanced back at Ocett, who told him, "Glinn Melleen just arrived."

The human's puzzlement showed.

"From Cardassia IV."

"Oh. I didn't realize we were bringing in volunteers from the inner system."

Ocett looked at Melleen, who kept passively silent, then back to Bashir. "Melleen and his people were aboard a ship that was badly damaged in the final battle. The survivors were able to beam down to one of the moons. But they only reached the base last week, on foot."

"Ah, I heard about them." He nodded. "It must have been terrible to finally reach the base, and find out everything that had happened on your homeworld."

Melleen gave a clipped nod, but didn't offer any comments.

"And these are your men?"

The Cardassian nodded again.

"What kind of--"

"We are here to do what needs to be done, not to stand around answering questions," the glinn interrupted, anger underlaying his words. "Assign us, or refuse us. But we have no time for foolish questions or Federation pity. We are here to help what's left of our people."

Julian was taken aback for a second, then accepted the Cardassian's response. There were frustrations and short tempers everywhere -- he suspected his own team would mutiny if he didn't keep a lid on his own temper -- and it sounded as though these soldiers had already been through more than their share. Lord knew the clinic could use the help, even from traumatized survivors of the last battle.

"Of course. You understand our situation here?"

"Yes," he replied. "That is why we are here. To do our duty where we are most needed. None of us have surviving family, if that makes a difference to you."

"Duty. Right." Death wish, then? It didn't matter. They needed the help. "Thank you, Gul Ocett. All right, the rest of you, come this way. If you're certain you want to work in the clinic, we can use you in the wards...."

Blake waited for Hart to return, to give her the news personally. At the vehicle garage, he watched as the landtram ground to a halt. The door swung open, and a pair of legs appeared. The lieutenant commander stepped out, followed by the rest of her team. They all looked weary and grimy. After over a week traveling between outer communities, repairing equipment, he wasn't surprised.

"Emily. Heard you were on the way back."

"Ted." She stifled a yawn and waved for one of the others to check in the vehicle. "Sorry. What is it?"

"Looks like Sisko did it. I knew you'd wanna know."

"Want to know he did what?"

He crossed his arms before his burly chest. "Just after you left, he got word that the Federation's sending more help to Cheiron IV and the other colonies along the Zone."

She stared at the big man. "How did he hear that?'

"Through one of his news contacts. Sounds like his story did some good after all."

"Do you believe it?" she responded. "Have we heard anything through official channels? How about Bashir -- has he said anything?"

Blake scowled, as usual when Bashir's name was mentioned. "I believe it more coming from Sisko than I would from the mutie. But yeah, he's confirmed it. Direct from some admiral or other."

"Then they're getting help. His word was good...," she murmured, more to herself than to the man.

"Yeah, but look what it took to get our own people help," he grumbled bitterly. "If we hadn't done what we did, our own people would still be on their own and the Federation wouldn't even have noticed. Awh, hell, a hundred years from now, who's gonna know or care?"

"The people on Cheiron IV will."

"They'll know their government was more concerned with saving the enemy from the consequences of their crimes then saving their own innocent citizens." Blake shook his head. "And the rest of the Federation won't care."

Hart closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I don't want to argue, Ted. We know our history. We've read about Earth's mistakes and the struggle humans went through to make a world that cared about all of its people. We know we made mistakes; we learned from them. And I also know that, someday, another generation will judge our leaders for the choices they're making today."