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Bajorans who would soon be coming to work at the ore processors.
    “Just think, Damar. Soon this station will be full of happily working Bajorans.”
    Damar looked around, envisioning it. The Bajorans would be quartered in community housing near ore processing, given a place of their own, although there would be those who earned private quarters, in the station’s inner habitat ring. Dukat had spoken of plans to turn one of the Promenade spaces into a Bajoran shrine, to make them feel more welcome; it was a revolutionary idea, and a brilliant one. “It’s a wonderful opportunity to show the Bajorans how they can profit by partnering with us.”
    He could see that his answer pleased the prefect. Dukat nodded firmly. “Yes, Damar, exactly! Someday we’ll be providing work for all idle Bajorans, here and on the surface. We will eliminate the food ration centers, and help them to become self-sufficient instead of relying on Cardassian charity. I commend the efforts of those who have conspired to provide welfare to our hosts, but I fear that the newer generations are learning only helplessness and a sense of entitlement from our repeated handouts. They have no gratitude, as they have come to expect us to feed them.”
    An aide who had come up behind them quickly fell in step with the prefect.
    “Gul Dukat,” the garresh said. “Your Bajoran intermediary is here and is waiting to meet you.”
    Dukat turned to the aide, looking puzzled and a little annoyed. “My intermediary? Do you mean Kubus Oak? I’ve already spoken with that pest at least a dozen times today.”
    Damar barely succeeded in concealing his surprise at hearing Dukat’s belittling of Secretary Kubus. The gil had met him earlier in the day, and Kubus had struck him as the sort of Bajoran who genuinely appreciated how his world could benefit from its association with Cardassia. That enthusiasm, coupled with his lifelong political acumen, made Kubus the ideal liaison between the prefect and the Bajoran government. Damar wondered what the man had done to earn Dukat’s apparent disdain.
    “Not Secretary Kubus, sir. It’s Basso Tromac. He has been appointed to take care of any…personal errands you may need fulfilled here on the station or on the surface of Bajor…? You requested—”
    Dukat nodded. “Ah, yes. Thank you. Have him wait outside my office. I’ll be there shortly.”
    The aide left them, and Dukat continued to walk, his hands locked behind his back. “I want to trust the Bajorans,” he confided to Damar, “but they make it so difficult. It won’t be easy for me to invest any confidence in a Bajoran assistant.”
    Damar nodded, thinking he understood. “But it is best to have someone of this world as a go-between, to help prevent cultural misunderstandings,” he suggested.
    “Exactly! You’re quite perceptive, Damar. And yet, I think it would be wise to put this Basso Tromac up to a little test of loyalty, wouldn’t you say?”
    Damar supposed that sounded reasonable, and he nodded. They walked a few minutes more, Dukat pointing out salient features of the station, explaining the concepts that had birthed his vision—a central core encircled by two rings, connected by several well-spaced crossover bridges; as many as 7000 people would be able to live comfortably in the habitat ring. The outer docking ring supported the massive pylons that housed ore-processing. The station was comfortable as well as functional, with a design aesthetic that spoke to the unique sensibilities of the modern Union. Terok Nor was truly a feat of Cardassian engineering.
    The two officers finally headed back for ops, Damar noting that Dukat was purposefully taking his time, making himself late for his meeting. The young gil lingered behind at his station when they reached the station’s uppermost level. Standing outside the closed door of the prefect’s office was a Bajoran man with a characteristically crinkled nose, the skin of his forehead so strangely