Reon approached the leader of his cell with apprehension. He was still quite new to the Resistance and had only done a few missions before. They had been mostly reconnaissance and information gathering, no assassinations or bombings or anything of that sort. He wasn't yet trusted enough to use any real names, first names or surnames. He hoped that this would be the mission that proved he was loyal to the Resistance and immune to fear and corruption. He held his breath, waiting for instruction.
His leader was a Bajoran woman with caramel-colored skin and honey brown eyes. She had shaved her hair and tattooed herself with Bajoran scriptures. She had ugly scars upon her face she had chosen not to cover up. Her eyes were as cruel and calculating as a Cardassian high officer. Reon knew better than to ask her history. That would be dumber than asking for her name. With Bajoran women, the story was usually similar to another woman's. The only difference was the degree to which they had been abused.
"When are you going to stop dying your hair, boy?" she said with amusement but no smile.
"When Bajor is free."
"More likely when you run out of dye. Did you get to see your family member?"
Reon nodded, wondering how much his cell leader knew of his personal history and family. He got the feeling that it was plenty. There was admiration in her eyes. Shakaar's cell was becoming a quiet success story amongst the Resistance communicators, the secretive agents that kept their guerilla war thriving as much as they could. The cell leaders knew which soldiers were most promising.
"That is good. Family is important. They are who we fight for, even if it is only for their memory. We are blessed whenever we can enjoy their company while we are alive."
"So say the Prophets," he prattled the appropriate response by habit.
"Ready for your next mission, boy?"
"Aye, sir."
"There is a suspected Collaborator within the Singha Camp itself. You are to investigate the subject."
Reon bristled at the very idea of Collaborators in his home and asked, "Who is the target?"
"It is a monk named Trentin Fala."
At that, Reon felt as though someone had socked him in the gut and blurted, "There must be some mistake. Fala is our teacher of the faith. We have all known him for years. How could he possibly be a Collaborator?"
"No one likes the idea of one of our clergy being so underhanded," she lamented. "But there is too much suspicion surrounding him as of late. He has never labored as young men like you have. Fala is not yet a very old man, that is true, but Cardassians think anyone approaching old age are useless mouths. They bury them alive whenever they get the chance. Not only has Fala been ignored a long time by the Cardassians, he has not starved and continues to teach the faith practically in the open. Some might say he is of strong faith or stupid, but I wonder if it isn't because he is being protected."
"I know why you chose me for this mission," Reon said with a heavy sigh. "I have known Fala my entire life. He taught me and my siblings our prayers, bouncing us like a grandfather on his knee. He will trust me. This is going to be difficult, but I will do it. I pray that I will clear his name rather than drag him in for such a despicable crime."
"So do I, boy. Do try to investigate the matter to the fullest. Do not jump to conclusions or dismiss any leads."
"Of course not, sir."
"Go with the speed and blessing of the Prophets!"
Reon knocked on Fala's door the same evening. After so many years with the camp established, Bajorans were allowed to trade some of their tents in for small huts. The monk answered quickly and eagerly when he saw who the visitor was. Fala was a middle aged man with thinning brown hair and dark brown eyes. He had a kind and quiet demeanor typical of most monks.
"I'm always happy to see one of my Kira neighbors!" he said with such merriment. "Come in, young Reon! You have no work today?"
"No. The Cardassians didn't pick me for a shift today."
"I've never understood why they can't just give all the Bajoran lined up for work humane shifts instead of selecting only a few to mince fourteen hours like meat in a grinder!"
"That would make too much sense, Fala. They want us to be hungry for the work and immensely grateful for the scraps they reward us with. They want us to compete with each other just like they love watching us fight over our remaining women like wolves gnashing their teeth for bones. If a man loses control and becomes violent, they can justify treating us like animals and not sentient beings."
"By the grace of the Prophets, the next generation will not have to suffer through this Occupation or the Cardassians will see their light and wisdom," the monk made some religious gestures.
Reon groaned, "The next generation will be more Cardassian than Bajoran if the conquerors have their way. More and more abominable hybrids are born each year and not all of them are sterile. They plan to breed us into oblivion. You know that, don't you?"
"Not even Cardassians like those mongrels, though. They'll keep enough of us around to keep breeding comfort women. The beauty of our women will be our saving grace."
"If that's so, then the Prophets are disgusting creatures!" Reon said cynically.
"Kira Reon!"
"I apologize," he said lazily.
Despite his blasphemy, the monk welcomed Reon into his home without question and offered his a bowl of watery soup. He felt guilty accepting it, but it was rude and would have aroused mistrust to turn down food during the Occupation for any reason.
"It's been a long time since I heard any news of Nerys," the monk said as he slurped. "I worry about that girl."
"She got a job in another province," Reon lied.
"Oh? Which?"
"She never said."
"What direction did she head toward when last you saw her?"
Reon shrugged and tried not to show his confusion on his face. Why was Fala asking so many pointed questions about his sister? Who was supposed to be under investigation here? It was a bit odd.
He must have given himself away somehow because the monk explained, "She was my favorite student. She was a rabid debater, asked many questions, but no child learned as much as she. She challenged me often. Imagine, a babe, causing a monk like me to fumble as she did."
"I recall that she could be quite rude about it," Reon snickered.
The monk lowered his voice to a whisper, "You know you don't have to lie to me. You Kiras are all horrible liars. I know your sister is in the Resistance."
"How?" his heart sank.
"It seemed painfully obvious to me. Where else would she go, a fierce girl like that?"
"She wanted to avoid the life of a comfort woman."
"I understand, but to run off to the Resistance?" Fala shook his head. "Reon, I hope you don't join up with them too. They do more harm than good. Now why have you come to visit me?"
Reon used the excuse that his father was having spells again. Perhaps a blessing by a monk and spiritual counseling for both father and son would help them? It didn't hurt his credibility that everyone knew Taban was a little cracked. Seeking religion was a natural option to pursue. Taban was a spiritual man and Reon was displaying his doubt without reservation. They had no medical care beyond first aid available to them too.
"I see," the monk nodded with a smile. "Let me go and have a talk with your father first. Then you and I can pray and go over scripture. It'll be just like when you were a little boy."
"I will finish up my soup, if you don't mind."
"Take your time."
As soon as Fala left, Reon searched the home for bugs, secret doors, and compartments. He tried to be as swift with his sweep as possible and to remember to leave things as close to how he originally found them. He discovered a stockpile of rations that was a discouraging sign. He hadn't seen so much food in a Bajoran home for a long time, especially in the home of a man that had supposedly not had any sort of work. His faith in the monk was shrinking by the moment.
He left the rations alone, ignoring his growling stomach. The soup had only whetted his appetite. Instead, he snatched encrypted data chips he found in a Bajoran holy book. He had a device that could unzip and read the data the Resistance had given him and what he found was absolutely disturbing.
The data contained hours and hours of recordings of his family over the years in the camp. Fala had filmed mostly the children without their knowledge or consent. There were images of Nerys and Reon playing spring ball and reciting their prayers. Most of all, the videos seemed to focus primarily on his sister. He didn't have time to watch it all, but he played one of the earliest recordings, his heart pounding.
"Look into this device, little one," Fala was talking to a four year old Nerys and using his most paternal and pleasing tone.
Nerys fixed her big brown eyes into the optic lens. She had been slurping down watery soup like Reon only a moment before. She was missing her front teeth and her hair was wild and her face dirty. She had always been one of the more active children of the camps.
"Good girl!" Fala praised her. "Now tell me something: What would you say to your mommy if she was here with us right now?"
Little Nerys burst into tears, but she said very sweetly once the priest had soothed her, "I would tell her that I miss her and love her so much! Daddy said she's never coming back. I get so sad that my tummy hurts and I dream about her."
"It's getting better as time goes on though, right?"
"I don't know."
"Well, how much do you love mommy?"
"This much!" the girl stretched her arms as far as possible, wobbling on little legs to keep her balance.
"Aw. That will make mommy feel so good to see you say that, little darling. She loves you so!"
That made Nerys smile, but she was too shy to show teeth or lack of them.
"Say goodbye to mommy for now, Nerys!"
"Bye, mommy!" she blew a kiss.
That particular video ended.
"What sort of sick nonsense is this?" Reon exclaimed to himself.