Three days later he's lies prone in the mud where the Anegrian forest gives way to the edge of a cliff. For all the rig on his back may be effective against sensors, it won't hide him from a Cardassian staring precisely this way through hi-mag binoculars from the settlement in the valley below.

Meyer's dressed to blend in with his surroundings, his usual shipboard wear of wool and leathers exchanged for synthetic waterproof garb. His face is smeared with the same malodourous mud in which he's lying, mud which cakes his scalp and has dried to form scabs in his thinning hair. He's barely moved now for over three hours and his elbows are hurting like hell. Through the scope of his rifle he's watched a group of Cardassian males in civilian clothing sit feasting and drinking on long wooden tables outside the town's clapboard-covered tavern. He's seen a trio of Nausicaans, a Hupyrian, and two (judging by the refrigeration suits they were wearing) Breen exit an office block and walk casually into that tavern. Across the street, in the grounds of what used to be a Bajoran temple, a group of Cardassian children are ripping through the flower beds, tossing the uprooted plants onto a raging bonfire. It's springtime in this hemisphere. The temperature is mild today and the wind barely a whisper. There's no rustling of leaves and the smoke from the fire rises vertically. If weather conditions persist, Meyer's job will be made that much easier. The presence of the children, on the other hand, out in the open not sequestered away in their houses or a school – that presents a potential problem.

His head is pounding, his temples pressed tight in an invisible vice. The cordafin stimulant he's been taking to keep himself awake and alert tends to have that effect after three continuous days of dosing. When he gets back to the ship and the drug flushes out of his system he'll feel even worse for a while. After the last time he'd taken it – during the long mission to evict Cardassian settlers from Portas IX – he'd been left with blurred vision, palpitations, and a temper that a Klingon could be proud of. Torres, despite her heritage, has never come close to rivalling the bad attitude Meyer had exhibited after that venture. Meyer wonders what effect the drug might have on her physiology then decides he'd rather not find out.

Had the parameters of this mission been different, she would have made a good travelling companion, a solid and reliable presence with whom to share the responsibility. Meyer isn't nearly as self-assured as he'd have his comrades believe. Alone with his thoughts every unvoiced doubt begins to fester and swell. What if he can't make the shot? What if the intel is bad and Zarak doesn't even show? There's only so long Meyer can wait here, only so long Sahreen can hang around at what passes for a spaceport down in the valley. If he's even made it there.

The drop off had proceeded perfectly, with Meyer gone from the shuttle before the Cardassians on Anegria had hailed it for entering 'their' territory. Long range transportations with second rate equipment are always risky, but Meyer had materialised in one piece on the eastern bank of a shallow mountain stream, just below the snowline. He'd followed this young river – a convenient route marker and clean drinking water source – as it burbled and ricocheted its way along a rocky course, gradually descending in altitude. Staying behind the treeline but not so far into the forest that he'd had to fight his way through dense vegetation, Meyer had, nevertheless, found the terrain underfoot punishingly uneven. Progress towards the hide site had been slower than anticipated. As well as the regular cordafin shots, he's been burning through his supply of high energy ration bars. To make up for lost time his rest breaks had condensed in duration until he'd trekked the last twenty klicks with hardly a pause. Then, he'd crawled the last few metres on his stomach, one centimetre at a time, until the target zone was spread out before him, part of a vista that, in other circumstances, would appear attractively rustic and homely.

Looking up from the rifle's scope, Meyer watches as a small Cardassian spacecraft descends through the predominantly clear azure sky. The small landing pad for both atmospheric and spaceworthy craft is located behind the settlement's largest building: the blocky, whitewashed sawmill. Has Zarak come down on this ship? Or has he already transported to the surface? The Gul could be sitting at the bar in the town tavern right now, sipping kanar and stuffing his face with gandark meat while his minions take care of the parking.

According to the intel provided by another Maquis cell, Zarak will be here on vacation. A keen hunter, he is eager to sample what this recently acquired planet has to offer in that regard. Before this sector became a conflict zone – when this was still a Federation colony with a small but diverse multispecies population – hunting enthusiasts would come from sectors away to pit their wits against the indigenous carnivorous gandarks. The inhabitants of the settlement now are mostly Cardassian. There are no humans, Bajorans or Bolians anymore. When two transport ships full of heavily-armed Cardassian thugs landed here two seasons ago, the Cardassians gave those residents they took exception to – virtually every living soul – an hour to leave the planet. Some, inevitably, resisted. Rumour has it the Cardassians tied those individuals up and left them out in the forest as dinner for the indigenous predators.

And the wildlife is another potential problem for Meyer. So far he's seen no sign of any large animals with the exception of some menacing claw marks on one tree trunk, but they're out here, somewhere, in this vast coniferous forest. With his focus so fixed on the goings on in the valley, it's not impossible that some stealthy beast could sneak up from behind and attack him. O'Donnell – an ousted Anegrian colonist now inducted to the Maquis cause – had insisted that the animals were shy of humanoids, that they rarely came within ten klicks of the town and preferred to stay deeper in the forest. Meyer hopes that's true. Unlike the gandarks, with their two faces, one on each side of their bulbous heads, he can't have eyes everywhere at once.

The shuttle disappears behind the sawmill. Meyer looks back through his scope to see four Cardassians emerge from the tavern. This quartet wear black quasi-military uniforms. They carry themselves like trained soldiers and their disruptors are drawn. Meyer watches as they move along the main street, north towards the landing pad, noting that, while their weapons may be readied and their postures are erect, none of the four so much as turns a head to scan for threats that might be lurking. They simply march in arrogant pairs as if on a parade ground.

In the temple gardens the children flock to a summons from an adult female on the other side of the white picket fence that divides the temple from the street. Ignoring the open gateway, they clamber over the low barrier and into the thoroughfare, joined by adults trickling out of buildings here and there: from the tannery, the medical centre, and the schoolhouse. Meyer has the layout of the settlement's buildings committed to memory, that mental map derived from a written plan helpfully submitted by O'Donnell. Do the Cardassians really intend to simply take up where the humans, Bajorans, and Bolians left off? The annexation of this colony did not follow a scorched earth policy. The Cardassians have recently settled whole families here. It's as if they've stepped into the shoes of the timber cutters and the sawyers, the hunters and tanners, who wanted to live simply off the land, away from the artificiality of twenty-fourth-century life. Are these Cardassians here by choice? Is it a part of some social experiment instituted by their government? Aside from the four soldiers, the rest appear to be unarmed civilians, just going about their lives as if the violence of two seasons past had never happened – as if this had always been a Cardassian colony. And a welcoming committee for Zarak comprising of the town's entire population was not something that Meyer or any of those involved in the mission plan had anticipated.

Meyer shifts his gaze back to the soldiers. They pass through the wide open doors of the sawmill and out of view. Realising he's been holding his breath, Meyer releases it, replenishing his lungs with a gasp. He can feel a chill creeping up his back, ascending further to his neck and then to his face and scalp. Cardassians brandishing weapons have that effect on him, invoking something less volatile than rage but just as powerful.

He doesn't relish his role as a sniper. It's underhanded, not offering the target a fair flight. But then the Cardassians don't tend to opt for fairness, they don't play by any civilised rules. At first he fought them for justice not revenge. Now, after all he's seen and done, he fights because he hates them. He hates what they've forced him to become. He's starting to forget who he was before this started. Whatever the outcome of this war, for Meyer there's no going back to the way things were – to the person he once was. He's a killer now, a destroyer of lives – Cardassian lives, but lives nonetheless. He'll never feel sympathy for the soldiers and insurgents that he's killed nor for those enabling their murderous ways. But, no doubt, many of them had families that loved them. Not all of those Meyer has left bereaved will have been complicit in the crimes of their relatives and friends. If he digs deep enough, Meyer can feel pity for those innocents. For the Cardassian children deprived of their fathers. For the parents deprived of their sons.

Five minutes passes before a larger group of Cardassians emerges from the sawmill – a procession with an imposing leader dressed in a dark civilian suit. Meyer flicks his scope to maximum magnification, positively identifying Zarak by the horizontal scar that bisects the Gul's pallid forehead: a parting gift from an already condemned Bajoran resistance fighter at the Batal labour camp. Zarak is flanked by two of the black-clad soldiers Meyer had observed previously. Following behind are an older, long-legged female and three shorter figures. The other two soldiers bring up the rear. Meyer racks his brain, trying to recall all he knows of Zarak's domestic situation. The Gul is a family man, with a wife and three children. With his heart skipping a beat, Meyer consciously deepens his breathing, willing his body to calm. It's imperative he remain steady: the rifle can only compensate so much for jittery hands. There was no mention in the intel that the Gul was bringing his family. If Chakotay had known he'd never have given his blessing to the mission. Whatever the cost of letting Zarak live a little longer, the Maquis would have had to wait for another opportunity to take the Gul down.

But the mission is already in progress, and Chakotay isn't here.

Gul Zarak has to die.

If Meyer hates the Cardassians for shooting defenceless men in front of their families does that make him a hypocrite? He's about to do the same. The Gul in the wavering crosshairs of Meyer's rifle scope is unarmed. For the first time in his life, Meyer finds himself wishing that a Cardassian had a weapon. He looks for a dagger on Zarak's belt, for the telltale bulge of a small concealed disruptor under Zarak's clothing. Anything with which the Gul could, hypothetically, defend himself. But there's nothing other than those cold grey hands and jackbooted feet. Though they've done enough damage over the years.

The procession pauses outside the medical centre, met by a smartly dressed female who points and gestures, directing Zarak's gaze about the street then further afield, out to the gentle forested slopes of the valley's east and west walls, and south towards the cliff face. For a split second the Gul looks right towards Meyer, and, although Meyer knows the Gul cannot have seen him with those naked serpentine eyes, he still flinches, the crosshairs lurching from Zarak onto one of Zarak's offspring: the youngest, a boy of perhaps ten years old. In disgust, Meyer quickly readjusts to focus again on the boy's father: a legitimate and deserving target.

Meyer knows of Maquis fighters who go by code names – like Bolívar, De Gaulle, and Valkenburg – as if by doing so they can separate themselves into two different people, so that the person who fires a weapon at another sentient being can be put away when the fighting is done. But Meyer is fast realising it will never be over, not unless the Federation backtracks and steps in on the Maquis side. The Cardassians won't rest until all the territory they want is theirs. If, in obtaining that goal, they wipe out all of the DMZ colonists, some of whom are third or fourth generation descendants of the original settlers, then they're happy with that. And, if Meyer has to lose himself in an effort, however futile, to prevent that happening, then he'll do so. He couldn't live with himself if he doesn't. So, whether he fights on or walks away, his old self will be extinguished.

Zarak, tailed by his entourage, strolls onwards, reaching the row of children. He walks along the line, pausing to speak to some of them, passing others with a mere nod. Perhaps he's praising them for their part in the temple's desecration. Meyer is surprised it's taken the new occupiers this long to vandalise the garden. Maybe they've been saving it for a special occasion like today.

He has the Gul's torso in his crosshairs. There are no obstructions now (the soldiers have peeled off and are headed into the temple), but the children are too close for comfort. So Meyer waits and waits, ignoring his elbows as they beg for respite.

Some minutes later there's a commotion in the temple grounds. The soldiers have re-emerged from the building followed by others including two bright blue faces: male Bolians. In chains. Led like dogs by their Cardassian captors: two burly so-called civilians that Meyer is seeing for the first time. Zarak moves towards the group, putting distance between himself and the children, but, again, Meyer hesitates.

The Bolians are presented to Zarak. He appraises them as Meyer used to study cattle at the market. As far as Meyer can see the Bolians appear healthy. Their clothing is clean and intact, Meyer can't see any cuts or bruises on their faces. They walk tall despite their shiny metal shackles.

One of Zarak's men releases the restraints on the Bolians' hands and feet, gathers up the shackles and discards them. Zarak addresses the Bolians and points towards the forest to the east. The Bolians turn to each other but otherwise don't move. One of the soldiers fires a disruptor, scorching the sandy ground at the Bolians' feet. Now they do pick up their feet and start to run, eastwards, disappearing from view into an alleyway then reappearing, kicking up dust as they pass a row of neat log cabins then starting the ascent up the slope of the valley's east wall towards the forest above. One of the Bolians is uncharacteristically lithe and makes rapid progress. The second is more rotund, but he too is eventually consumed by the trees.

Meyer has the shot now, but he wants to observe a little longer in the hope of discerning more about what's going on. The Bolians must be two of the ousted colonists, held here as captives since the Cardassians took over. Are the rest of the colonists who resisted eviction imprisoned in the temple too? Clearly the rumours of their collective grisly demise were not wholly accurate.

Zarak is here to hunt…

The Gul and the tallest of his three children – a teenage son – are handed disruptors. One of the Nausicaans arrives leading a pair of Cardassian riding hounds, saddled and bridled, their mouths dripping foam about their feet. Turning his back towards Meyer, Zarak leans in close towards his wife. With no sense of urgency they touch foreheads and then she steps away, taking her younger children's hands and following one of the soldiers towards the tavern. Meyer cannot wait any longer. Zarak's intentions seem abundantly clear.

Meyer fires at Zarak aiming for the centre of his back. There's a whoosh of air but no crack as the thick silencer muffles the gunshot. Zarak crumples. His wife spins around, releases the children, and runs to her fallen husband's side. Meyer thinks he can hear screaming, but it could be an auditory illusion, wishful thinking. Meyer should pack up now and run. In seconds they'll work out which direction the shot came from. But, instead, he calmly lines up in his sights one of the officers who's rushing to Zarak's aid, fires again and takes him down. Another Cardassian approaches Zarak's wife and attempts to drag her from her husband's motionless body. Meyer shoots him in the back, he falls forwards onto Zarak's wife. Neither moves again. The townspeople scurry for cover, bundling the children along with them. Meyer fires once more, aiming for Zarak's teenage son, but, this time, he misses. What he's doing now goes well beyond the mission parameters, but he can justify his actions: he's doing this for the Bolians, to give them time to get further away from their would be pursuers.

Disruptor fire flashes from the remaining armed Cardassians. Meyer is well beyond a standard disruptor's range, but he won't be once the Cardassians head in this direction. There's plenty of cover for them on the shrub-laden ground between the bottom of Meyer's cliff and the town's perimeter. Time is of the essence if this is not to end up as a suicide mission. He shuffles backwards on his stomach, rolls sideways behind the shelter of a tree trunk. He quickly breaks down his rifle, stows it in his pack, and draws a phaser from his belt. Before he comms Sahreen he needs to gain some distance from the settlement. With any luck, Sahreen is well aware that it's time to ready the shuttle. Others may, in their panic, want to flee the scene, and Sahreen will not be taking passengers. After a final unaided glance towards the ensuing chaos – figures in miniature still in the process of organising themselves – Meyer turns in the direction from which he came and starts to run.