could get below cost, I acquired—although my DaiMon didn’t always care for cuisine from Benzar, or Andor. A man such as yourself probably has a much broader palate than an idiot like Gart, though, am I right?”
Dukat sighed. “I don’t think so, Mister Quark.”
Quark looked even more unhappy than he did before. “That’s perishable cargo,” he muttered to himself. “There must be someone around here who can appreciate—”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. Now, if you don’t mind…”
The Ferengi nodded to him, somewhat compulsively, before finally taking his leave, and Dukat let out the breath he had been holding. He found the Ferengi to have something of an objectionable odor, a smell that reminded Dukat of Bajor’s swamps—of moss and muck and the larvae of biting insects. He couldn’t imagine that anyone would have an interest in food offered by this man, not unless it was a person who was starving to death.
Doctor Mora’s primary job was to calibrate the equipment for Doctor Reyar as she prepared the computer systems on Terok Nor, to process the new transmissions from the surface. He was somewhat in awe of the station, and it certainly felt strange to have left the walls of the institute, walls with which he had grown contemptuously familiar in the past seven years.
“Doctor Mora, must I again remind you to concentrate on your work?” Reyar’s crisp voice interrupted Mora’s thoughts as he looked around the computer core, its strange colors and severe angles such a far cry from Bajoran design. The air was hot and dry. He felt as though he were in the epicenter of the Cardassian mind, surrounded as he was by these foreign terminals and flashing streams of Cardassian alphanumerics. Would the whole of Bajor someday look like this? Mora hoped he would not live to see it.
“I…apologize,” he stammered, and turned back to his work, slowly pecking at his keypad. He knew Cardassian characters well enough now, but his fluency would always be stilted. It might have been different if he had learned the language as a child instead of as an adult—pointless to even think of it; he suffered enough for not being Cardassian. And there was the matter of the Cardassians’ eidetic memory, though Mora had long since learned that it was less developed in some than in others—and Reyar fell into the category of those who struggled. He felt reasonably certain that her intelligence and ability at rote memorization were somewhat on a par with his own, but that did not still his fear of her. Of all of them.
Mora helped her develop the recognition software that would process telemetry from each of the scanning stations that had been built on Bajor’s surface. Erected by labor crews of Bajorans that had been recruited from the hill territories of each continent, the towers would transmit constant scans of Bajoran airspace, searching for non-Cardassian flyers. If the system detected an unauthorized craft, particle beam weapons would lock onto the transgressor and blow it out of the sky. The system would go online at the end of this week, but Mora had an idea to get word to the resistance before then. It was a long shot, and it was dangerous, but Mora felt that he had to take the chance. His cousin, a farmer in the village of Ikreimi, had always claimed to know someone who was affiliated with the freedom fighters. If Mora could send word to his parents, asking to have his cousin come and visit him at the institute, he might be able to pass on some valuable information before it was too late…
“Stand up, Mora,” Reyar instructed him. Puzzled, he did as he was told. She took out a small scanning device and began to wave it up and down the length of his body.
He cleared his throat. “May I ask what you’re doing?”
She smiled to herself, clearly pleased. “I suppose you thought I brought you up here for your expertise, hm?”
He cleared his throat again. “I’m your…lab partner, Doctor Reyar. You
Dukat sighed. “I don’t think so, Mister Quark.”
Quark looked even more unhappy than he did before. “That’s perishable cargo,” he muttered to himself. “There must be someone around here who can appreciate—”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. Now, if you don’t mind…”
The Ferengi nodded to him, somewhat compulsively, before finally taking his leave, and Dukat let out the breath he had been holding. He found the Ferengi to have something of an objectionable odor, a smell that reminded Dukat of Bajor’s swamps—of moss and muck and the larvae of biting insects. He couldn’t imagine that anyone would have an interest in food offered by this man, not unless it was a person who was starving to death.
Doctor Mora’s primary job was to calibrate the equipment for Doctor Reyar as she prepared the computer systems on Terok Nor, to process the new transmissions from the surface. He was somewhat in awe of the station, and it certainly felt strange to have left the walls of the institute, walls with which he had grown contemptuously familiar in the past seven years.
“Doctor Mora, must I again remind you to concentrate on your work?” Reyar’s crisp voice interrupted Mora’s thoughts as he looked around the computer core, its strange colors and severe angles such a far cry from Bajoran design. The air was hot and dry. He felt as though he were in the epicenter of the Cardassian mind, surrounded as he was by these foreign terminals and flashing streams of Cardassian alphanumerics. Would the whole of Bajor someday look like this? Mora hoped he would not live to see it.
“I…apologize,” he stammered, and turned back to his work, slowly pecking at his keypad. He knew Cardassian characters well enough now, but his fluency would always be stilted. It might have been different if he had learned the language as a child instead of as an adult—pointless to even think of it; he suffered enough for not being Cardassian. And there was the matter of the Cardassians’ eidetic memory, though Mora had long since learned that it was less developed in some than in others—and Reyar fell into the category of those who struggled. He felt reasonably certain that her intelligence and ability at rote memorization were somewhat on a par with his own, but that did not still his fear of her. Of all of them.
Mora helped her develop the recognition software that would process telemetry from each of the scanning stations that had been built on Bajor’s surface. Erected by labor crews of Bajorans that had been recruited from the hill territories of each continent, the towers would transmit constant scans of Bajoran airspace, searching for non-Cardassian flyers. If the system detected an unauthorized craft, particle beam weapons would lock onto the transgressor and blow it out of the sky. The system would go online at the end of this week, but Mora had an idea to get word to the resistance before then. It was a long shot, and it was dangerous, but Mora felt that he had to take the chance. His cousin, a farmer in the village of Ikreimi, had always claimed to know someone who was affiliated with the freedom fighters. If Mora could send word to his parents, asking to have his cousin come and visit him at the institute, he might be able to pass on some valuable information before it was too late…
“Stand up, Mora,” Reyar instructed him. Puzzled, he did as he was told. She took out a small scanning device and began to wave it up and down the length of his body.
He cleared his throat. “May I ask what you’re doing?”
She smiled to herself, clearly pleased. “I suppose you thought I brought you up here for your expertise, hm?”
He cleared his throat again. “I’m your…lab partner, Doctor Reyar. You
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