DISCLAIMER: These characters and situations are the property of
Paramount Pictures, except for the ones I made up.

***

Reason Not the Need

The call came three days later than Odo had expected it to, but it
came.  Dukat summoned him to his office to submit his final report in
the Vaatrik case.  Unfortunately, he had no final report. Several
people might have killed the chemist, had the motive or the
opportunity, but he couldn't conclusively prove that any of them *had*
killed him.  It wasn't for lack of trying. The Prefect had set him up
with a computer and access to all the station security databases the
Cardassian felt appropriate for him to see.  They'd put him in a
small, bare room on the Promenade, and, except for regenerating for as
brief an interval as possible every 18 hours in a maintenance bucket
he'd found nearby, he'd spent the last eight days poring over the
records, searching for anything he might have overlooked, anything out
of the ordinary.  He'd gleaned a pretty thorough understanding of life
on Terok Nor, had made himself familiar with every infraction
committed and every criminal arrested for the past two years, but he
hadn't gotten any closer to solving the case.  Now, when he told Dukat
this, the Prefect would no doubt fall back on his superiors'
recommendation to execute ten Bajorans selected at random.  He might
punish Odo as well, but all the shape-shifter could think of were the
ten innocent people who would die because he'd not been clever enough.

Dukat welcomed him expansively and asked him to sit down.  "So, who
did it?  I've found the suspense quite unbearable," the Cardassian
asked with jovial curiosity.

Odo lowered his eyes.  "I don't know, Prefect," he mumbled.  "I can't
make a case against anyone."

"You don't know?  I *am* disappointed.  I had you pegged for a born
investigator, and I'm rarely wrong about people."

Still looking down at his hands, which he'd folded in his lap, Odo
said softly. "Will you begin the random executions, then?"

"That would distress you, wouldn't it?" Dukat asked.

Odo looked up, finally.  "Of course it would.  Who wouldn't be
distressed by ten innocent people losing their lives for the crime of
one who goes free?"

"The entire senior staff of Central Command comes to mind," Dukat
returned drily.  Forgetting for a moment his own misery,  Odo regarded
the Cardassian more closely.  For some reason the Prefect wasn't
particularly angry that Odo hadn't solved the case.  He was toying
with the alien, using him in some game whose purpose wasn't clear to
Odo.  "You could lower that toll to one innocent person, you know,"
Dukat continued.

"What do you mean?"

"Just pick one of the suspects.  It's always prudent to distrust the
wife in affairs like these.  Or the girlfriend--plenty of
circumstantial evidence there, and if you look much further I'm sure
you'll find she has Resistance connections.  I know the type.  You
pronounce any one of them guilty, and I'll have them tried and
executed.  And no one else will die."

"No, if that's the way you want to resolve the matter, you'll have to
pick someone yourself, Prefect.  I wouldn't be a party to such an
unholy bargain."

"What if I say that ten will die unless *you* pick one?"

Odo gathered his thoughts.  On the surface, there was a logic to what
Dukat was offering.  It was still an injustice, but injustice of a
lesser degree.  But, no, something elemental in him said no. He bowed
his head again, "I'm sorry.  I won't choose."

"Well, then, perhaps it's too early to close the case after all,"
Dukat said breezily.  "If we keep it open, the true culprit may
eventually surface.  It's not like it's a murdered Cardassian we're
dealing with.  My superiors won't become unduly upset about a delay in
bringing the killer of a Bajoran to justice.  I may have started you
out on too advanced a level."  The Cardassian pointed to a stack of
PADDs on the corner of his desk.  "These are all the unsolved petty
thefts on the station.  Why don't you see what you can make of them?"

Odo stared at him dumbfounded.  Dukat laughed.  "Don't be so
surprised, shape-shifter.  I'm appointing you Chief of Security on
Terok Nor."

"But you have a security chief, a Cardassian security chief.  His men
would never take orders from an alien," Odo protested, still reeling
from the Prefect's announcement.

"They'll take orders from anyone I tell them to take orders from,"
Dukat insisted. "I've had three security chiefs on Terok Nor, Odo.
One of them drank himself to death, one committed suicide, and that
idiot Thrax is currently on rest leave on Cardassia after he took to
patrolling the Promenade in his underwear.  Do you know that when I
told him to go back to his quarters and put on his uniform at once, he
dumped a jar of yamok sauce over my head?"

"Hmf, you hardly make the position sound very attractive," Odo replied
sarcastically.  For the first time he felt himself shaking off the
shame and fear that he had worn into the room like a garment.  He
leaned back in his chair and held Dukat's gaze.

"For a Cardassian, no," Dukat agreed with a chuckle. "You, however,
have a number of built-in protections against succumbing to the fates
of your predecessors.  You see, these colonial assignments take a
toll.  Lonely and a long way from home, men get to depend too much on
kanar, get too fond of the attentions of the native women, get moody
longing after loved ones left behind.  That's not going to be a
problem with you, is it shape-shifter?  From what I've heard, you
don't eat, you don't drink, you don't couple, you've no loved ones,
and you haven't the foggiest notion where home is."

The Cardassian's words seared him like a phaser blast or one of the
shock grids in Dr. Mora's lab: He was odo'ital, a nothing with nothing
to lose.  Dukat was grinning at him benignly as he said them.  That
was one thing Odo had learned quickly about Cardassians; they rarely
even noticed when they were being cruel.

"That's true, Prefect," Odo acknowledged, trying to keep the pain out
of his voice, "but I've hardly proved myself a capable investigator,
thus far."

"All in good time, all in good time.  I have faith in you."

"What if I refuse to take the position?"

He saw that Dukat was on the verge of making a threat, then saw him
retreat from it.  "Why would you?" the Cardassian asked instead. " Do
you have any pressing appointments, any better offers?  I'm giving you
an opportunity to serve a purpose, to *have* a purpose.  I think
that's the one form of sustenance you do require, shape-shifter."

Odo blinked in confusion.  How many times had he tried to explain to
Dr. Mora his feelings of utter uselessness when being put through his
paces at the lab?  He'd even said that he felt empty, as he imagined
Bajorans felt when the Cardassians cut back their rations.
Nevertheless Mora had never understood, having convinced himself that
he and Odo were partners in some heroic scientific endeavor.  And now
this man who barely knew him, this blindly arrogant tyrant who the
workers in the mines called "the Butcher of Bajor" had comprehended
his torment in an instant.  Still he fought the temptation to
acquiesce in the Prefect's offer.  Didn't the old legends say that
demons ensnared you by offering you your heart's desire?

"I would want to strive for justice and the rule of law on Terok Nor;
I don't think that would necessarily serve you well, Prefect."

Dukat smiled indulgently.  "I believe you misunderstand me,
shape-shifter.  I'm quite aware that what passes for law and order on
Terok Nor is merely an alternation of Bajoran criminal acts and
Cardassian punishments that have only a random relationship to the
apprehension and discipline of the guilty and exoneration of the
innocent.  Swift reaction to disobedience of our edicts is necessary
to control the Bajoran workers here.  All in all, though, slightly
more deliberate reactions in return for convicting the truly guilty is
a goal that's worth striving for.  It's another reason I want you in
the job."

No, I won't be a collaborator, a tool in accomplishing your nefarious
"goals" Odo thought, and then was astonished to hear coming from his
mouth the words, "In that case, I accept."

"Excellent, excellent," Dukat exclaimed.  He rose from his chair and
put his hand on Odo's shoulder.  "Come, we'll get you out of that
glorified storage locker and into the Security Office. And what about
your quarters?"

"I don't need anything beyond a container to use when I regenerate."
The Cardassian regarded him with an expression of disbelief.  "It's
not as if I had clothing to store, or bodily functions to attend to,"
Odo explained, rising also.

"No, I guess you don't.  Tell me one thing, though, shape-shifter,
because I'm curious: is making love just another humanoid bodily
function you lack?  Is there never any desire when you see a beautiful
woman pass by, even if you don't have the equipment to do anything
about it?"

The Cardassian's question caused humiliation to suffuse every particle
of Odo's being.  Back in the lab, when he was working on taking
humanoid shape by studying Bajoran anatomical schematics, he'd managed
to duplicate the "equipment" rather well and had rushed into Dr.
Mora's office to show him the results.  How Mora had laughed, assuring
Odo that he needn't expend his energies on *that*--that was something
a creature like him would never find a use for.

"If I-I ever needed the equipment I could manage it, I think," Odo
stammered.  "Not that a humanoid female would ever consider--"

"I asked you whether *you* would consider it, Odo," Dukat persisted.
"I think you're evading my question."

Before he had met that Kira woman, Odo would have been able to answer
the Prefect's question with a quick, unequivocal "No."  Every time he
conversed with her, however, he had felt something new and strange,
and he couldn't totally rule out the possibility that it was that
"desire" of which Dukat spoke.  "I'm not evading, Prefect.  I've never
considered it thus far, but I can't conclusively rule out the
possibility--" Odo, stopped, embarrassed.  Why would he say that?  It
was never going to happen, and he knew it.  More likely these foolish
revelations would inspire Dukat to ask him to top the Cardassian neck
trick with the Bajoran genitalia trick!

The Prefect laughed with delight, "There may be hope for you yet,
shape-shifter.  Just don't let it get in the way of your job." He
winked meaningfully.

As they were walking toward Security, Odo stopped and confronted the
Cardassian.  "Might I ask you one question, Prefect?"

"Go ahead."

"When I came into your office, did you already intend to offer me this
post?"

"In fact I didn't.  The inspiration came to me while we were
chatting."  Odo gave him a quizzical look.  "It was when you refused
what you called the 'unholy bargain.'  I've not met too many people
during this Occupation who can even recognize such a thing.  I thought
it might be to my advantage to have as an ally a . . . man who does."

"I see."

"'And thank you very much for your good opinion, Prefect,' " Dukat
chided him. "You will need to work on your manners, Odo."  Then Odo
saw a harsher expression come into Dukat's eyes, as if he realized
that he must not let his new security chief become over-confident in
that "good opinion" of his superior.  "Furthermore, shape-shifter, if
you ever get around to working on that equipment, do take care to do a
better job than you have on your face, or you'll have precious little
luck with the ladies," he said with a cruelty that was this time all
too obviously intentional

***


Besides the files on unsolved cases,  Dukat advised Odo to study a
PADD that listed the security chief's duties, powers of office, and
resources at his disposal, as well as one that contained the complete
list of station regulations, the "Uniform Code of Martial Law on
Cardassian Space Station Number 27: Terok Nor." Together, the two
documents made him reconsider whether he had not accepted an "unholy
bargain" after all.  As far as he could ascertain, he and the fifty
man Cardassian Security Force under his command could use any means
necessary to apprehend criminals and obtain confessions and guilty
verdicts.  If the accused had any rights, he couldn't locate them.
The Uniform Code, in addition to a few common-sense prohibitions of
theft, destruction of private property, and disorderly conduct, spent
most of its considerable length detailing regulation after regulation
concerning "crimes against Cardassians" and their mandated, severe
punishments.  These ran from "death by rifle fire" for anyone who
murdered or attempted to murder a Cardassian on the station to "one
year in a labor camp" for such infractions as "addressing a Cardassian
disrespectfully," "failing to show identification promptly when
requested," or "uttering defamatory epithets about Cardassians."  Odo
couldn't help smiling to himself about the last one; he'd heard the
full range of such epithets in the mines, with "spoon-head" being
about the only one safe to utter when children were present. As for
offenses against *Bajorans,* only murder qualified as criminal
behavior--Odo later learned that Central Command had very reluctantly
consented to this regulation to allay the fears of Bajoran
collaborators--and for it the sentence was "as appropriate under the
circumstances."  Odo sighed. Perhaps he might have a slight chance of
maintaining order and the rule of law. Justice, on the other hand,
hardly seemed a possibility.

As Dukat had requested, he began with the petty thefts.  Nearly every
business on the Promenade had reported repeated losses of various
items on a regular basis going back six months. Searching for a
pattern, Odo noticed that a majority of the items turned up missing on
the same days, these clusters occurring at five-day intervals.  He
interviewed every shopkeeper and restaurant proprietor, and it didn't
take long to ascertain that those particular days were the days of
regular replicator maintenance.  The Cardassian maintenance engineer
had a Bajoran "assistant," whose primary duties involved carrying the
overweight and asthmatic technician's tools.  On the next maintenance
day, Odo assumed the form of a fetneri gnat and accompanied the two on
their rounds, observing the enterprising young man secreting in the
tool chest a Tholian scarf, an antique Liseppian vase, and six
figurines produced by skilled Bolian craftsmen. Odo stopped him at the
conclusion of his rounds, opened the chest and arrested the thief on
the spot.

Odo put him in one of the communal holding cells for a couple of hours
and then had him brought into his office.  The young man--and he was
quite young, perhaps still a teen-ager--was named Dar Lala, and he was
completely terrified as he sat handcuffed in front of the mysterious
shape-shifter while a Cardassian security trooper pointed a disruptor
in his general direction.

"So, Mr. Dar," Odo began in his gruffest tones.  "We've caught you
dead-to-rights with eight stolen items, and we have compelling
circumstantial evidence that you're involved in the theft of
approximately 113 more.  Since the sentence for each theft is a year
in a labor camp, I think you're looking at being a slave to the
Cardassians for the rest of your natural life."

"Oh, Prophets have mercy," Dar wailed, fighting back tears and
trembling violently.

Good, that had the desired effect, Odo thought.  On a pre-arranged
signal from the security chief, the Cardassian guard left the office.
Odo reached over and unlocked the handcuffs; the young man recoiled as
if he expected the shape-shifter to devour him.  "Now," said Odo,
fixing the culprit with his bright blue eyes, "You've got one chance
for that not to happen."

"I-I do?"

"Yes, because this is not a crime against Cardassia, there is some
flexibility on how I file the charges; but you need to tell me what
you did with everything you stole, and who else is involved."

It all came pouring out of Dar in a torrent.  His brother, Dar Helem,
was a loader on the cargo ships that brought the raw ore to Terok Nor
for processing. Helem would take the stolen loot from him and get it
down to Bajor when his ship went back to be refilled.  A collaborator
named Timor Jaru, an overseer in the mines, had recruited them. He
later sold the items at cut-rate prices to other collaborators.
Keeping their latinum for himself, he paid off his two young
accomplices with excess ration cards confiscated from the bodies of
the many miners who perished in accidents weekly.  "We've got four
more brothers at home, three sisters, and grandmother and
grandfather," Dar sobbed.  "Mother and Father work all the time, too,
but there is never enough to eat."

My first great success as a crimefighter, Odo thought bitterly as he
summoned the guard to take Dar back to the holding cell and filed his
report with Dukat, who congratulated him effusively. In the end, the
Dar brothers each received five-year sentences in the labor camps, and
the collaborator got ten, as a warning to Cardassia's native allies to
avoid the temptation to take illegal advantage of their already
privileged positions.

That at least was the interpretation of the sentence that the Prefect
gave to his security chief as Odo and Dukat were sitting at a table in
Quark's the day after the tribunal confirmed it. The Prefect liked to
"blend in" with the life of the station every now and then, even if it
meant essentially renting the bar and filling it with hand-picked
Cardassians to eat, drink, and play dabo so that Dukat could imagine
that he was able to have a simple night out if he chose.  The three
security sweeps before his arrival and the guards stationed at every
entrance gave the lie to his pretense, but then Dukat was particularly
gifted at self-deception.

Odo was not a very appropriate companion for drinks and dinner, since
he never consumed either, but Dukat never gave up trying to pretend
that they were friends.  Odo hadn't taken long to conclude that
erstwhile friends were far more likely to wind up on the receiving end
of Dukat's wrath than mere dutiful subordinates, and he resisted the
Prefect's overtures as much as he could, always being careful to
display a formal manner in his posture and address to his superior.
The one non-work-related activity the Prefect had prevailed upon Odo
to share with him had been the playing of various Cardassian games of
skill. Unfortunately, Dukat couldn't stand to lose, and he eventually
would resort to cheating; likewise Odo's temperament would not permit
him to refrain from pointing out such infractions, and so they now no
longer played any games with each other, at least not literally.  From
time to time Dukat still insisted, however, that they sit down in
public and engage in some "friendly conversation," which they were
ostensibly doing now.

Of course, Dukat didn't really want a conversational partner; he
wanted an audience.  He'd once asserted to Odo that he only slept with
a very small number of the young Bajoran women he selected as his
"companions," only with those who succumbed to his charms without his
having to force the issue.  What he really treasured was the open
simplicity of the unsophisticated native girls, which made them such
excellent and attentive listeners.  Odo almost believed him.  The
Cardassian did love to talk, mostly about himself, his achievements,
and his frustrations.  Some of the other station officers used to joke
that there was no such thing as a "brief-ing" where the Prefect was
concerned.

Strangely, Odo never really minded being on the receiving end of these
interminable monologues.  During all his years in the lab, people
rarely spoke to him, even after they realized he was sentient.  There
would be commands aplenty, but no casual conversation.  He rather
enjoyed following the twisted logic of the Prefect's convoluted
self-justifications, that turned every barbarity inflicted upon the
Bajorans into the stern but necessary discipline administered by a
loving parent.   A fascinating primer on the workings of the criminal
mind, Odo thought, always cautioning himself to keep *that* thought
buried far away from any possibility of being articulated in the
Prefect's presence.

Tonight Dukat moved on from evaluating the outcome in the Dar case and
was finishing up an explanation of why the entire populace of Rekantha
province were being put on half-rations for a month when he abruptly
rose to go. "Well, a Prefect's work is never done," the Cardassian
announced.  "Come with me to Ops, Odo, I need to go over a few items
concerning security with you."

"Of course, Prefect," Odo responded dutifully, hiding his puzzlement.
Dukat rarely engaged in after-hours conferences with his staff.  They
entered the Prefect's office, and he did consult with the
shape-shifter on two totally negligible security questions that could
easily have waited until their normal afternoon meeting.  The business
concluded, Odo started for the door, but Dukat stopped him.  "Stay a
minute, Odo, I want to show you something.  You're the only person to
whom I feel safe in confiding on this subject. Understand me well
about this.  You cannot tell *anyone.*"

"Very well, Prefect," Odo replied, even more mystified.

Dukat reached down to a drawer in his desk that had its own highly
sophisticated security lock. He keyed in the access code, removed a
number of PADDs that bore the Kardasi characters for "Top Secret," and
then produced a holo-image and two rolled up sheets of paper. He
handed the holo-image to Odo.  It showed a very beautiful Bajoran
woman standing next to a girl about  ten or eleven  years old.  The
child had both Bajoran and Cardassian physical characteristics.

"That's my lover, Naprem, and our daughter Ziyal.  I named Ziyal for
the mother of my father. They live in a little cottage in a remote
area of--one of the Bajoran provinces, I don't think I'll tell even
you the location.  I get down to see them whenever I can.  Of course
it would be my ruin if Central Command ever got wind of the
situation."

"I don't quite understand, Prefect.  You have other Bajoran
mistresses, and Cardassians have fathered many children with Bajoran
women during the Occupation."

"Those other women mean nothing to me," Dukat proclaimed.  "I *love*
Naprem and Ziyal, Odo, more than life itself.  Cardassians may have
sired countless half-castes on Bajor--I realize the streets are
littered with the poor, abandoned creatures--but I consider myself
Ziyal's father in every way.  However, I'm not free to do so anywhere
but here ." He gestured to pictures always prominently displayed on
his desk, of his wife and his six Cardassian children.  "This is my
lawful family, the only family I can legitimately claim as a Gul of
the Second Order."  The Cardassian shook his head.  "My wife and
I--well, it was never a love match, and I see our children so rarely,
they're like strangers to me."

"Why are you telling me this, Prefect?" Odo inquired.

Dukat gave him a melancholy half-smile. "It's hard, Odo, to be so
proud that a woman of this sort can love me, and that such a special
child as Ziyal has grown from our love, and not to be able to share my
joy with anyone."

"Yes, I imagine it would be highly distressing for you to have
something this important in your life and not be able to talk about
it."

Dukat laughed.  "Touche', Odo, touche'."

"I really didn't mean, Prefect--"

"Of course you did.  You think I'm never informed of all the jokes
about the *brief*ings?  I can't deny that I'm a bit enamored with the
sound of my own voice.  So, it's indeed distressing to be silent about
this."  Dukat unrolled the two pieces of paper.  One contained a green
landscape done in water colors; the other was a crayon sketch of a
single flower.  "Naprem is an accomplished painter, and Ziyal appears
to have inherited her talent, don't you think?"

"The drawings are lovely," Odo said.  Although he didn't yet have a
highly developed aesthetic sense, he had deduced that fathers
generally expected vague compliments when they displayed their
childrens' artistic productions.

Dukat began pacing the room.  "Sometimes I wish I had the courage to
throw over everything and go live with them in that little cottage.
Ahhh!"  He clenched his fists, "It's terrible to be torn between the
woman and child you adore and the family you have a sacred Cardassian
duty to preserve from all harm, isn't it, Odo?"

"I wouldn't know, Prefect," he answered quietly.

Dukat stepped up to face him.  "I've been insensitive, going on about
family like this to you, haven't I, Odo?"

He knew he should come up with some mitigating remark, but it had been
a long evening, and his tolerance for the Prefect's posturing and
condescension was running low.   So Odo instead replied sulkily, "It's
not as if it were the first time."

The Cardassian's eyes widened.  "Two veiled insults in one evening,
shape-shifter! Is something troubling you, something I've done?"

Although he hadn't been conscious of it when he made the remark, in
fact something was troubling Odo.  "I just wish you could have
supported my request to reduce the Dar brothers' sentence to one year.
 I keep thinking of how their family will suffer without either of
them to contribute even lawfully to its maintenance."

"Then they should have considered that before they became involved in
this robbery scheme," Dukat retorted.  "I think they got off very
lightly indeed."

"But Timor used them shamelessly; it was *his* scheme, and he made the
real profits," Odo insisted.

"And he received the heavier sentence."  Dukat stepped closer to him.
"You are to enforce the laws on this station, Odo, not question them.
Is that clear?"

"Yes,  Prefect, but like you, I do occasionally find my duty in
conflict with my desires," Odo said evenly.

Dukat shot him a look of dangerous malevolence.  "Don't presume too
far on my confidence in you, shape-shifter," he warned.  "I think
you'd better return to that duty of yours now."

***
For the next several months, doing his duty was fairly routine. Hardly
any cases required Odo's investigative skills.  In a steady stream,
Bajorans  tangled with Cardassians, the Cardassians hauled them into
his office, and the tribunals shipped them off to the labor camps.
Shadowy Resistance members got jobs in ore-processing, brought
conveyor belts or smelters to a halt, and, for every one that the
Cardassians apprehended and executed, three vanished from the station
without a trace.  Few business owners on the Promenade had come to
such a bleak and unpromising location without having illegal side
interests, but stepped-up surveillance halted most of the smuggling,
fencing of stolen goods, and gun-running, even if not resulting in
arrests. He'd assigned two troopers full-time to watch the
ever-larcenous Ferengi bartender, and he had made it his personal
crusade to get the man into a holding cell before the year was out.

And then came the attempt on the Prefect's life.  That crime, far more
serious than the innumerable instances of failure to treat a
Cardassian with proper respect, had nevertheless appeared to require
no more examination of evidence.  Troopers had caught the three
Bajorans who placed the bomb red-handed at the scene of the crime, and
Dukat had ordered them shot on the Promenade the next day.  Odo hadn't
enjoyed the spectacle, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that
the men knew the risks when they planned the attack.

Three days later another bombing, having precisely the same signature,
occurred on the station, and this time Odo examined the evidence
scrupulously.  He soon concluded that it and a series of other
bombings on the planet had to be the work of the same Resistance cell,
to which the three executed Bajorans could not have belonged.  The
Cardassians had murdered innocent men, and he had helped them do it.

Odo went straight to Dukat, told him what he'd discovered, and offered
to resign.   "Ridiculous," the Prefect had said, "Just because the
Bajorans we executed could not have been the masterminds of the larger
terrorist conspiracy, doesn't  mean they didn't plant that one
particular bomb."  When Odo insisted that he was sure the men had
merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and couldn't
something at least be done for their families by way of reparation,
Dukat looked at him as if he had completely taken leave of his senses.
 "What's done is done. We don't look back," he said sternly.  Then he
softened his tone, "You're doing an excellent job here, Odo.  Go back
to your office and keep doing it."

Odo went back to his office, but he didn't return to his work.  How
could he have let this happen? Why hadn't he seen the inconclusive
nature of the evidence? Although it wouldn't be time for him to
regenerate for several hours, he called for one of the security
officers to man his desk and, retiring to the anterior space,
liquefied in his bucket.  He had to think this through without any
distractions, even the efforts of maintaining humanoid form.

He reflected upon his performance of his duties since taking over
station security.  Primarily he sat at his desk reviewing crime
reports and processing prisoners.  He realized that, in many ways, he
was like one of the slave laborers at the conveyor belt in ore
processing--no time to stop and think, just keep the raw material
flowing.  Part of the problem was the rate of the flow.  There were so
many ways that a Bajoran could run afoul of the Uniform Code that the
holding cells were always full, the prisoners always aggrieved and
desperate and loud.  If he were going to administer the law properly,
he had to reduce the crime rate, and to do that, he had to know what
was really happening on the station, not just what the computer told
him or what he could observe on his daily patrols.

So, he started spending the hours he had previously devoted to
re-checking each of his reports three times to literally blending into
the walls of the station, eavesdropping shamelessly on its Bajoran and
Cardassian denizens alike.

Life behind the ghetto fences was far worse than he had imagined.
Beside the fact that the workers were perpetually exhausted and
hungry, their despair and hostility extended not only to their
Cardassian overlords, but to each other.  On countless occasions he
witnessed strong young Bajorans stealing food from the elderly.  He
saw men lash out with fists against their wives or lovers, and harried
young mothers silencing crying children with a slap.  People sought
respite at the chemists' or through liquor or through loveless
couplings.   Not that he could blame them, when he saw the unprovoked
shoves and blows administered by any Cardassian guard who felt so
inclined or when he followed, in vole-form,  the off-duty troopers who
prowled the Bajoran sector in order to satisfy their desires with the
first young woman unfortunate enough to catch their eyes.

The Cardassians' abusive behavior stemmed, he learned, from their own
miseries, assigned to act as jailers light years from home to a
population that despised them, while the real glory was being earned
far away in the conflict with the Federation.  Most of them admired
Dukat for his tenacity in sticking out the thankless task of trying to
"pacify" Bajor, year after bloody year, but some, particularly the
veterans, wondered why a promising young military strategist would
have accepted such a career-ending assignment in the first place.
Inevitably, when this subject arose, someone would nod meaningfully
and whisper, "It's that business with his father, don't you think?"

Not that they didn't have their criticisms of their commander.  Odo
learned that the Prefect's warnings against the attractions of strong
drink and native women in colonial outposts derived from personal
experience.  The troopers joked about Gul Dukat's "ridge-nose fever,"
usually topping this observation with another: "It's not just the
women.  He wants the whole damn population of Bajor to love him!"
They also strongly disapproved of his having appointed "that alien
freak" to run Security.

Indeed, Odo ruefully acknowledged that if there were one opinion that
united Bajorans and Cardassians on Terok Nor,  it was their distrust
of and prurient curiosity about him.  Each group had spawned a number
of highly obscene jokes about his shape-shifting attributes that,
while developed independently, often replicated each other quite
closely.

After a month of such observations, he concluded that Terok Nor was
ruled not by law, but by fear.  Law would only rule when there was
respect for law, and respect for law would only come when the people
had first attained self-respect and respect for the rights of others.
Instilling that respect was the mammoth task before him if he were
truly to fulfill the mission he had undertaken.  And there was no way
he could accomplish this task alone.

He needed help.



The Bajoran prisoner was a big man, well over two meters tall.  He had
dark skin, partly from the effects of fifteen years in the dust of the
mines, partly because his natural complexion was the richly brown hue
of his native soil.   The Cardassians had put him in manacles and
heavy leg irons, and the guard was having great fun pushing him with
the barrel of his rifle to urge him to walk faster than was physically
possible.  The prisoner, however,  appeared neither intimidated by the
abuse nor angered by it.  Indeed, his expression was remarkably
placid, given his situation.

"You hardly needed to truss him up like that," Odo growled to the
Cardassian guard.  "I keep trying to tell you that I'm not in any
danger from an unarmed man."

The guard shrugged.  "It's standard operating procedure when
transporting lifers."

"Well, it's not standard in my office.  Take off the restraints and
go.  I'll summon you when I've finished interviewing him."

The Cardassian did as he was ordered.  The now unencumbered Bajoran
stood with his hands on his hips, regarding Odo in silent bemusement.
At length he said, "So, Odo, fancy meeting you here."

The shape-shifter smiled broadly.  "Hello, Nachas, it's good to see
you again."

The Bajoran's full name was Bram Nachas.  When he'd been fourteen,
he'd objected to a Cardassian's taking his father away for "routine
questioning" about a recent Resistance raid near their village, and he
had voiced that objection by fracturing the Cardassian's skull with a
large rock.  These days they would have shot him on the spot, but at
that time, fifteen years before, the newly arrived Prefect Dukat was
intent on improving the Cardassians' image with the Bajoran populace,
and he'd issued an edict abolishing capital punishment for criminals
under the age of eighteen.  It hadn't taken him but half a year to
rescind it, when it became apparent that about two-thirds of the
fighters in the various Resistance cells were in fact under eighteen.
Bram had been lucky enough to be sentenced and tried during the grace
period, however, if you could call that luck.  The alternate sentence
had been a life's hard labor in the mines, where he and Odo had met a
year-and-a-half ago.

A cave-in had occurred.  Three workers were trapped in an ore pocket,
and the Cardassian on duty didn't think it worth anyone's time to dig
them out.  Nevertheless, at the end of his shift, Bram had taken his
own breathing canister and two others "borrowed" from fellow miners
who were sleeping and gone back into the shaft to see if he could keep
the trapped miners going until morning, when an overseer known to be a
bit less callous would take over.  On impulse, bringing along a
canteen, Odo had followed him.  This was fortunate, as the men were
walled up behind several slabs of rock with only an eight centimeter
square breach.  Since it was no trouble for Odo to get into tight
places, he ferried in the canisters and the water to the miners, who
were injured but alive.  He then astonished Bram, who was not easily
astonished, by converting his arms into drill bits, so that after five
hours work, the hole was big enough for the two of them to carry the
Bajorans to safety.  "You're certainly a useful fellow to have around,
shape-shifter," Bram had said, extending his hand.  "I'm called Odo,"
he had replied, taking it a little shyly. "Well, then, you can call me
Nachas, Odo  It's my familiar name; I don't use it much down here, but
I think you earned the privilege tonight."

So he became Odo's first friend.  As they spent time together, the
shape-shifter saw why so many of the workers looked up to the big
Bajoran.  He was resourceful, smart, brave and generous, and he'd
combined all these attributes to pull off the remarkable feat of
actually staying alive for that long in the mines. Everyone confided
in him, and he probably knew more about the organizational structure
of the Resistance than most of its members.  What Odo admired even
more, though, was the man's serenity. Generally condemned prisoners
either succumbed to despair or boiled  with rage, but not Bram Nachas.
 Once Odo asked him how he did it.  "Listen, Odo, I was as hot-headed
as the worst of them once.  That's what got me here in the first
place," Bram told him.  "But over the years, I've come to realize that
the Occupation is like the winters in the northern provinces, where I
grew up.  They're treacherous; you have to be on guard every instant
so that you don't freeze to death, or starve, get crushed by an
avalanche or fall through the ice.  But it doesn't do you any good to
curse the winters or scheme against them.  You just have to endure,
because eventually the thaw *will* come, and the land will turn green
again."

"Don't you think it's been an awfully *long* winter?" Odo had
countered.  "The Prophets don't necessarily see things according to
our chronometers," Bram had answered, with a slight shake of his head,
"even though the Resistance keeps trying to put them on the clock."
He paused reflectively. "I suppose if I'd had the good sense to take
off into the hills instead of conking that Cardie on the head, I'd be
less keen on patience.  But here in these hell-pits, Odo, you must
simply wait and have faith, or the spring flowers will bloom only on
your grave."

Now here, in the Security Office, Nachas did not tell Odo that it was
good to see *him* again. Casting his eyes around the room's fixtures,
toward the holding cells beyond, and focussing on Odo's Cardassian
commbadge, he observed sardonically.  "I see you've chosen sides, Odo,
and it's not ours.  Not that I blame you.  I'm sure your time in the
mines convinced you that there isn't much future in being a Bajoran."

Odo had prepared himself for such a reaction, but that didn't take
away its sting. "I'm not on anyone's side.  I'm working to bring order
and justice to Terok Nor, that's all."

The Bajoran took a couple of steps toward him and folded his arms
across his chest.  "Those look like Cardie insignia on the walls to
me, and you've got spoon-heads snapping to it when you give the word.
You report straight to the Butcher of Bajor, if I'm not mistaken.
Don't kid yourself, Constable.  You're on their side."

"Why does everyone keep calling me Constable?" Odo said in annoyance,
even though he knew he was becoming sidetracked from the matter at
hand.

"Everyone, you say?  It's true that I did hear it from at least three
different, newly condemned men. Well, you know how easy it is for
legends to get started on Bajor, since the reality's so depressing.
Blame that girl from the Shakaar who's going around telling people
that she got caught dead to rights for some sabotage on Terok Nor, but
'Constable Odo' let her go.   I bet you're regretting that decision
nowadays, huh."

"Not for an instant," Odo said decisively.

Bram's face showed the beginnings of anger. "That's neither here nor
there as far as I'm concerned," he said somewhat sharply. "Just tell
me what all this crap is about my being a material witness to a crime
and then ship me back underground where I belong."

"It's a subterfuge, so I could get you onto the station without
arousing suspicion."

"Suspicion of what? Why would you want me here? To reminisce about old
times?" the Bajoran sneered.

Odo gathered his wits and mentally reviewed the arguments he had
rehearsed.  This was going to be what the Ferengi bartender called a
"hard sell." "Nachas, the Bajoran sector's in constant chaos.  No one
cares what happens in their lives, no one respects the law, or each
other, or themselves. The Cardassians push them, they push back, and
soon there are a dozen more Bajorans for me to lock up and Dukat to
ship off to the labor camps.  This has to stop, but I can't stop it
alone.  With some Bajoran help, though, I might.  That's why I need
you."

The man's eyes narrowed.  "Oh no, not on your life.  Just because I
don't walk around looking for the nearest spoon-head to crack anymore
doesn't mean that I'm a collaborator or an informer."

Odo got up and came around to face Bram.  "I don't want you to be.
What I want you to do is keep your eyes and ears open.  Inspire people
to endure and have hope, like you're always trying to do in the mines.
 If you see trouble brewing between Bajorans, if there are bullies
preying on the weak, or disputes over lovers, or someone who goes to
the chemist too often, try to deal with the situation before it
explodes into something covered by the Uniform Code of Martial Law.
If you need me to step in, I will, without making any arrests.

"And then there are the Cardassians who patrol the fences.  You always
knew in the mines who were the really brutal ones and who sometimes
treated the workers well.  Pass that information on to me.  I'll try
to get the troublemakers reassigned to guard the Prefect or to swagger
along the upper level of the Promenade. Should you spot a particularly
decent one, I can use that information too.

"You'll be working only for me, as a sort of secret deputy.  As you
become more acclimated to the station, you may want to recruit other
deputies,  people you trust to help in keeping tempers cooled.  No
Resistance operatives though.  I admire their passion for freedom, but
I'm trying to maintain order here, and disruption's at the top of
their agenda."

"If I should, however, stumble across any disruptive Resistance
plots, you'd expect me to notify you.  That's what this is really all
about, isn't it?" Bram said.

"No," Odo countered crossly. "I told you that you wouldn't be an
informer.  I'll deal with the Resistance on my own.  You and the other
deputies will work only to help me make conditions less abusive for
the workers on the station. The Cardassians will know nothing about
your existence, and I swear to you that no Bajoran will ever suffer
because of anything you tell me."

"Why should I believe any of this?" Bram queried him skeptically.

"Because I'm asking you to.  I was a friend you trusted, once, and
despite my new position, I haven't changed from who I was there in the
mines."

"But Odo, in the mines, you could always change at the drop of a hat."
 Bram laughed heartily and punched Odo's shoulder.  "It's been a long
time since I've felt safe taking a poke at a policeman.  All right,
let's sit down and figure out how to make this little scheme of yours
work."

Odo was surprised at the strong emotions Bram's acceptance of his
offer provoked in him. He harrumphed several times and perched
opposite the Bajoran on the corner of his desk.  "I've thought it
through quite carefully.  First I'll tell Dukat that you're a vital
witness in an ongoing investigation, and that I need to have you
transferred to ore-processing to avoid losing you in some mine
disaster."

"He's not going to buy that!"

"Yes, he will.  I have observed that if you tell a Cardassian you're
forging right ahead towards an objective, he just congratulates you
and doesn't think much more about it.  Besides, Dukat for some reason
relies upon my judgment."

"Then I may have to revise my opinion about his being an idiotic
blowhard," Bram said.

"Let's just say that he isn't a complete idiot," Odo grinned. "I'll
give you several weeks to get established.  Then I'll begin to drop in
on you when you come off shift to your quarters.  I won't set any
precise schedule, or Dukat might start to detect a pattern in my
absences from the Security Office."

"Won't it arouse just as much suspicion when you're seen at my door so
often?"

"Ah, no, I can get through the ghetto fence and into your quarters in
a number of different forms. I didn't intend to show up as Chief of
Security on Terok Nor. Just expect an even higher number of insects
and vermin than usual."

"That's a charming prospect," said Bram.

Odo then extracted a small metal object from within his substance.
"Here, attach this to your clan earring.  If you need to contact me in
an emergency, just press it.  I'll receive the signal and find you."

"I must say, Odo," Bram observed, "you've acquired quite a bit of
devious cleverness from your Cardie associates; you used to be
damnably direct."

"Not from the Cardassians here--I imagine all the deviously clever
ones are back on Cardassia Prime plotting each other's political ruin.
 But there's this Ferengi, Quark, who has a bar on the Promenade. He's
completely crooked, hatches some elaborate illegal scheme nearly every
day.  I need to keep him under very close watch, and I suppose I
*have* picked up a few tricks along the way."

"Cardassians and Ferengi--you have fallen in with a bad crowd, Odo.
It's a good thing I'll be here to keep you on the straight and
narrow," Bram said with a chuckle. "So, if that's it, I guess you can
send for my delightful spoon-head escort and give him the
disappointing news that I won't be going back with him."

Odo dropped his eyes.   "Nachas, ore-processing may be safer than the
mines, but it's no holiday; the work's just as grueling, especially
the jobs they assign to the prisoners, and the shifts are two hours
longer.  You're going to do me a great service, and I'm afraid I'm not
giving you much in return."

Bram laid a hand on Odo's shoulder.  "Listen, friend, if you were
paying me off, I'd feel like a collaborator.  At least it's a change
of scene.  Exciting as the mines can be, fifteen years is a
*long* time to spend underground."

***
Two months later Odo had Bram brought into his office again.  After
all, he'd implied to Dukat that the man had information that might
lead to the arrest of the masterminds of the continuing Resistance
bombings, and it was only natural that they might converse officially
from time to time.  Odo told the guard to leave, as the investigation
was at a very delicate point, and he touched the controls that made
all the transparent portions of the door and windows opaque. Then he
reached under the desk and brought out a large dish of kava rolls,
stuffed with moba jam, and topped with whipped cream.  Bram had once
told him that when he heard his sentence pronounced, it was the
knowledge that he would never again taste this favorite dish, always
prepared for him by his mother on his birthday, that hit him the
hardest.

"Happy birthday, Nachas," Odo said, grinning slyly. "I assume that it
*is* your birthday.  That's what your criminal file says."

"Yep, those Cardies always get the details right."  The Bajoran stared
at the plate with tears in his eyes. "I never thought I'd ever--" He
couldn't go on, as emotion choked his voice. Odo pushed the plate
toward him and turned away for a minute. "Go ahead.  Eat it," he said
over his shoulder. "The ingredients are all natural, not replicated.
I doubt it's quite up to your mother's standards, but I did the best I
could."

Bram dug in heartily, regaining his composure in the process. "It's
close, Odo, it's close.  Quite a neat trick when you can't give it a
taste.  You didn't tell me you were a cook."

"I'm not.  I blackmailed Quark into preparing it by turning a blind
eye to one of his less outrageous transactions.  He thinks it's for
some Bajoran woman.  I told him I didn't couple, but I made sure not
to be totally persuasive."

"Oh, speaking of which, last week I actually managed to find a corner
away from the spoon-heads' prying eyes in which to cement my
relationship with that woman Prelar Tam that I recruited into the
deputy corps.  Almost as good a birthday present as this," the Bajoran
smiled, licking whipped cream from the corners of his mouth.

"You and the corps have made amazing progress," said Odo, eager to
change the subject.  Bram always liked to tease him about his lack of
"experience."   "Arrests for minor infractions are down 45%.  People
actually speak to me civilly when I patrol the Bajoran sector."

"None of the other security chiefs ever even showed his face behind
the fence, and you come alone, without a detachment of security
troopers.  That impresses people."

"It was a brilliant idea of yours to have the deputies inform me of
Cardassian abuses when I'm there," said Odo, returning the compliment.
"Once I actually took action to deal with the complaints, they could
truthfully urge others to seek redress of grievances from me without
fear, and with some hope that I might be able to do something."

"What's the score, now, Odo?"  Bram queried.  "A dozen Cardie brutes
reassigned and twenty-five Bajoran bullies given one-way transport
passes planetside?"

"It's up to seventeen and thirty-two, according to my last tally."

"That's made a lot of difference, still . . ." the Bajoran's voice
trailed off.

"Still what?"

"Nothing.  It's ungrateful of me even to bring it up."

"You're supposed to tell me when things go wrong.  That's your job,"
Odo urged.

"Well, I was just thinking that, though we've got people in a better
frame of mind, so that they don't go off half-cocked and end up in the
labor camps like they used to--" Bram paused again, looking for the
right words. "It's just that life on Terok Nor still isn't all that
better than *being* in a labor camp.  People never have anything
positive to look forward to.  It's hard to feel good simply because
you made it through another day without getting arrested.  As you
yourself once told me, ore-processing is no holiday. "

"Maybe they need a holiday then," Odo mused, "a real holiday."

Bram laughed sarcastically, "An afternoon shopping and dining on the
Promenade, perhaps? Yeah, like that's going to happen under the
Occupation."

"Would you have thought when we first met in the mines that I would
ever be security chief on this station?" said Odo.  "I'm going to put
my mind to this holiday idea.  Meanwhile, finish *your* birthday
treat before my troopers get curious about what we're doing in here."

Bram flushed.  "Yeah, right.  You'd be shocked to hear some of the
things people think you do behind closed doors." He dug into the
dessert again, to hide his embarrassment at some of the more luridly
entertaining speculations he had himself advanced to the other
deputies.

"Not so shocked.  I've heard most of them; I can blend in with the
scenery quite effectively, after all." Odo shook his head ruefully.
"If only people knew how utterly non-existent my private life really
is."

"Tam has some friends who might be interested, you know--"

"Nachas, you're as bad as Quark.  How many times do I have to tell you
that I am no more likely to couple than to ask you to share your
dessert with me?  Such activities are foreign to my species."

"And you think the *Bajorans* need a holiday?" Bram huffed
good-naturedly, "What your species needs is to get a sight more
cosmopolitan, if you ask me! "

***


Coming up with a plan for the holiday which he felt was capable of
gaining the Prefect's approval wasn't easy.  It took Odo three weeks
to formulate it.  First he had a series of conversations with Bram and
the other deputies about what sort of outing would most please the
Bajoran workers and how to select the most deserving to
participate--and screen out anyone who might use the occasion to
start trouble.  (The shape-shifter was so intent on making the
"afternoon on the Promenade"  happen that Bram didn't have the heart
to tell him that he had been joking when he suggested it.)  Next Odo
had convened all the Promenade merchants about the part they would
have to play--and what sorts of financial arrangements would induce
them to play it.  Finally, he grudgingly offered Quark a consultant's
fee of one bar of gold-pressed latinum to tell him all the ways that
a businessman might use the system to make illegal profit and to give
him advice on how best to forestall such chicanery.  Then he spent
two hours putting together all the pieces in his mind, wrote them up
on a PADD, and waited for the right moment to present it to Dukat.

The moment came five days after he had completed the document.
Following his review of the weekly crime reports,  Dukat had
observed, "I say, Odo, we've not been sending many people to the labor
camps from Terok Nor these days.  It's fortunate that the Bajorans on
the planet continue to misbehave as much as ever, or the places would
suffer a severe staffing shortage."

The shape-shifter couldn't quite tell whether this was intended as a
rebuke or not.  "The number of unsolved cases on the station is
actually down 3% from when I first assumed my post, Prefect. It's just
that I've had great success in reducing the overall crime rate.  That
is the point of police work, isn't it?"

"It's one way of looking at it, yes.  To what do you attribute this
newfound respect for the law?"

Odo squirmed a bit in his chair.  Had Dukat somehow learned about the
deputies?  "I've made it quite clear to the Bajorans that *I* respect
the law, and its impartial enforcement, and I expect them to respect
it  also. Furthermore,  you've graciously helped me in removing
unsavory elements, both Cardassian and Bajoran, from behind the
fences.  That's done a lot to accomplish the turnaround."

"Glad to help," Dukat replied, suddenly all good will.  Odo inwardly
breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for the man's vanity.  All it had
taken was a little flattery to deflect the Prefect's suspicions.
Having thus greased the wheels, Odo decided that now was the time to
strike on the holiday issue.

"Still, we have to credit the Bajorans themselves," he began
carefully.  "It must be difficult to obey laws that aren't of your own
making."

"We devised the laws for the good of the Bajorans," Dukat countered.
"They need careful guidance."

Odo threw caution to the winds. "Come, Prefect, as an obviously
intelligent man, you can't believe that.  You made the laws to
intimidate the Bajorans so that the Cardassians can more easily
exploit their planet's resources."  He awaited the explosion.

"I'll admit that Bajorans might interpret the situation that way," the
Cardassian replied, clearly not pleased, but not yet enraged.  "I
would, however, hope that my own security chief would feel
differently."

Odo backed off a little.  "Let's just agree that, from a Bajoran
perspective, they derive little reward from conducting themselves in a
law-abiding fashion."

"I would say that not being sent to a labor camp is certainly reward
enough."

"Sometimes life behind the fences is little better than *being* in a
labor camp, Prefect," he said, echoing Bram.

Dukat regarded him closely.  "I assume this little discussion is
leading somewhere, shape-shifter? You aren't usually one to engage in
idle philosophical speculations."

Odo had to suppress a smile, so perfectly had Dukat played into his
hands.  "As a matter of fact, I had derived a strategy for rewarding
good behavior among the Bajorans."  He rose and handed him the PADD.
"It's outlined here."

"So just what sort of reward do you think our law-abiding Bajorans
deserve?" Dukat asked scornfully, as he took the PADD but did not look
at it.  "Doubled rations? Shorter hours?"

"I'm sure that they would welcome such changes in Cardassian policy,"
Odo responded, ignoring the sarcasm. "Actually, though, I was thinking
more of something involving individual preferences, sort of a holiday
treat."

"A holiday treat?  I do believe you're delirious, shape-shifter," the
Cardassian mocked. "Do your kind get fevers?"

Well, he had tried, and as Bram had predicted, he had failed--time to
retreat. "Not that I'm aware of, although we are apparently not
immune to foolish ideas.  If you'll excuse me, Prefect."

Dukat put out an arm to block his going.  "Stay, Odo. I'll at least
not reject the plan out of hand, without studying it."

"Why? You're clearly hostile to the basic concept."

"To the concept, yes," the Cardassian admitted, "But not to you.  This
apparently means a lot to you.  And your loyal support means a lot to
me."

As Odo stood in front of Dukat's desk, arms crossed against his chest,
the Prefect read over the document, pausing frequently to shake his
head or to chuckle.  At last he set the PADD down and looked up at his
security chief.  "So, you're planning to send 83 Bajorans, and all of
their minor children, on a shopping spree on the Promenade.  A spree
the Cardassian government is expected to finance at a rate of 10
strips of gold-pressed latinum a head."

"Yes, Prefect, subject to your approval."

"Where did you come up with this idea--holiday specials of merchandise
or food dispensed by all the commercial establishments on Terok Nor in
exchange for blue, DNA-encoded chits?  Not an activity that would
appeal to you personally, shape-shifter."

"I have observed that humanoids enjoy shopping for the best value, and
that purchases are most enjoyed when they are luxuries rather than
essentials.  The DNA-encoding is necessary to prevent any black-market
in chits from arising in the Bajoran sector," Odo replied.

"Why include children?  It's their parents' appropriate behavior that
we're encouraging," Dukat asked.

"You're a father.  Could you enjoy yourself without sharing the good
fortune with your children?" Odo looked at the Cardassian pointedly.

Dukat cleared his throat, and glanced back down at the PADD, "How are
we to be sure that these 'specials' are actually worth the latinum
we'll be reimbursing the merchants?"

"They're to mark the specials clearly on their displays and menus, and
then you and I will review the goods and make sure no one is cheating.
 Besides, an establishment that provides poor value for the chit won't
find many people spending chits there."

"You sound like a Ferengi!"

"I did--hmf--consult with Quark about some of the details, Prefect."

Dukat laughed.  "A strange alliance, but no stranger than this whole
idea.  All right, Odo, we'll do it.  Might as well give my officers
another reason to complain that their Prefect is losing his mind."

Odo broke out into a broad grin, "You won't regret this, Prefect!"

Dukat shot him a dubious look. "Now, we'll have to make some minor
changes to what you propose.  Crowd control will be far too difficult
if everyone on this list descends upon the Promenade at once.  You'll
have to send them through in three one-hour shifts, or the whole
affair will degenerate into rioting and looting."

"I think two-hour shifts would be better."

"All right, *two* -hour shifts."  The Prefect touched several keys on
the PADD.  "You'll also have to strike these eight from the list.
They're convicts. You of all people should know that they would pose
an unacceptable security risk."

Odo was eager to have all the deputies included in the group, so they
could help avert any potential incidents, and half of them Bram had
recruited from among his fellow prisoners.  He didn't dare make a
point out of it, however, for fear of tipping his hand.  "Very well,"
he said somewhat dejectedly.

"I will make an exception for that confidential informant of yours,
Mr. Bram, however," Dukat added.  "He sounds like a fascinating
fellow.  You should introduce me to him some time."

Alarm bells started to go off in Odo's head. The relief he had felt a
few minutes before had apparently been premature.  "Uhh . . . then
he'd hardly be a confidential informant, would he, Prefect?" he
stammered out.

"No, I suppose you have a point there." Dukat gave him what Odo had
come to regard as the Cardassian's "dangerous smile."  The Prefect
handed the PADD back to him.  "When you get all the arrangements made,
check back with me concerning a suitable day for this folly to take
place."

Odo knew something was wrong, that there was a threat lurking behind
Dukat's forced bonhomie. Still, the most prudent course of action
seemed to be to pretend that he hadn't noticed. "I will, Prefect," he
replied. "Perhaps, if it goes well, we could make it a regular
occurrence?"

"Don't push me, Odo," Dukat glowered.  "One reason I've let you in on
a few of my little secrets is that I'm in full possession of yours."

The trap had sprung.  Odo tried to sound calm and casual. "What do you
mean, Prefect?"

The Cardassian pulled a PADD of his own out of one of the desk drawers
and tossed it toward Odo.  "These are the transcripts of every
conversation that's ever taken place in the Security Office during
your tenure.  Not having complete familiarity with Cardassian military
protocols, you doubtless failed to realize that every room in one of
our facilities is monitored continuously by very sophisticated
surveillance devices, far more sophisticated than the equipment I've
permitted you to access could ever detect or disengage."

Odo occasionally consulted humanoid literature to help him understand
the creatures' often puzzling behavior, and he had once read the
phrase "felt as if all the blood had suddenly drained from his body."
Had he possessed blood, he imagined that he would now be experiencing
a similar sensation.  As it was, he struggled just to hold his shape
together.

"Now, although I'm disappointed that you did not see fit to share with
me the information about this 'deputy' business of yours," the
Prefect went on, "I've had no indications that you've used these
people to betray me or to endanger Cardassian interests on this
station--yet." Dukat steepled his fingers together and regarded the
shaken shape-shifter earnestly.  "Odo, I trust you more than any
other officer on this station--I truly do.  But I would have been a
dead man long ago if I didn't know that all trust has its limits.  If
you *ever* try to move against me, I will be ready for you.
Understand that."

"I have never had the slightest thought of moving against you,
Prefect." It was absolutely true, but Odo feared that the weakness in
his voice might make him sound less than sincere.

Dukat leaned back in the chair, lacing his hands behind his head. "No,
I don't think you ever have, strangely enough.  That's why I like you,
Odo."  Adopting the tone an affectionate parent might use towards a
child who had inadvertently broken a household item, the Cardassian
continued, "Now go prepare for your little party and see that it
doesn't get either of us into trouble."

Odo was more than happy to do as he had been told.

***
Ten days later, Odo stood nervously on the second level of the
Promenade as the first wave of holiday participants lined up to have
the DNA samples in their chits scanned by the troopers at the
checkpoints, who then passed them through, one by one.  Dukat had
insisted on posting additional Cardassian security everywhere, and Odo
feared that the show of force might curtail everyone's enjoyment
substantially. He needn't have worried.  The Bajorans were somewhat
subdued and apprehensive at first, but as their excitement grew while
going from shop to shop to examine all the blue-tagged items, and from
restaurant to restaurant to study all the menu items with blue dots
beside them, a true carnival spirit swept through the station.  He
even noticed a few reciprocal smiles between revelers and guards.
Moving him most deeply were the slightly stunned expressions on the
faces of Bajorans who all their lives had stood in line for scanty
rations but were now having their orders taken and their full-course
meals served by attentive Ferengi waiters while Quark, putting on his
best lord-of-the-manor demeanor, walked from table to table saying
that he hoped everyone was enjoying their food.

When the first two-hour shift ended, the Bajorans returned reluctantly
but peaceably to the other side of the fences, and the second wave
eagerly took their place.  About an hour into this group's
festivities, Odo, back on the upper level, spotted Bram, wearing a
tunic from the Tholian shop woven from so many bright and clashing
hues that even a Ferengi would have found it vulgar.  Odo smiled to
himself.  Fifteen years in gray Cardassian prison fatigues might well
make a man long for a little color in his life.  Then Bram caught
sight of his friend and recklessly favored him with a sweeping salute.
 Odo had thought that letting Bram know that Dukat had monitored their
conversations would make the chief deputy cautious, but it seemed to
have had just the opposite effect.  Odo glanced around to check
whether any of the guards had noticed the gesture, only to have his
spirits sink as he saw Dukat standing directly behind him and staring
straight at Bram. "At least that man knows how to show his gratitude
properly," the Prefect exclaimed, returning the salute.  Odo relaxed.
Trust Dukat's ego to have convinced him that this was his own idea.
In response Bram, still dangerously amused, threw back his head and
laughed as he waved at the Prefect, inspiring a limited number of
others to follow suit.  Odo could see the Cardassian almost literally
puff up with pride as he strolled to another section of the Promenade
in search of further expressions of regard from his Bajoran subjects.

As Odo's gaze followed the departing Gul, he saw two Bajoran children
sitting astride the railings with their feet hanging over the edge,
leaning perilously as they dueled with two sticks now bereft of any
jumja.  Furthermore, a security trooper was standing directly below
them.  Odo hastened toward the youngsters, trying to think of any
edict that might prohibit such behavior. Failing to remember one, he
improvised. "Children, get up," he said sternly "there's no . . .
dangling allowed on the Promenade."  The boy and girl scrambled to
their feet immediately. "We're sorry, Constable Odo," said one.  "We
won't ever do it again," said the other.  He looked into their faces,
expecting to see the fear tinged with revulsion that the imperfect,
alien face of Cardassian authority inevitably inspired in young
Bajorans.  Their expressions were indeed solemn; their eyes, however,
revealed not  terror, but  something else: respect.  Touched, he
reached into the pocket he had scooped out of his substance, where he
had placed three chits that couldn't be used because those issued them
had fallen ill.  He handed one of them to each child. "Here, keep
yourselves out of mischief by shopping for more treats," he said.  The
boy only stared at him in amazement, but the little girl spontaneously
embraced him.  

"Oh, thank you, Constable Odo," she whispered shyly, and then they
 both ran off into the crowd.
 
 Odo himself leaned far over the railing to get a good look at the
 chattering throngs on the lower level, gratified and relieved that
 the day was turning out so splendidly.  Gradually, he came to a
 realization.  For the first time since he had achieved sentience, he
 was absolutely sure who he was.  He wasn't the beaker full of an
 unknown sample, or the fascinating experiment, or the freak who
 inspired obscene jokes, or the disinterested outsider, or the
 Cardies' enforcer.  He was instead the embodiment of law and justice
 on Terok Nor, and the protector of all who called it home.
 
                              -end-