Star Trek: Terok Nor 02: Night of the Wolves Read Free Page A

above him threatening to spill their contents. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been in this line, and since he didn’t have a timepiece, there wasn’t any effective way to be sure without asking someone else. He knew better than to ask the woman sitting on the ground behind him—old Thera Tibb was a notorious jabberbox, and the last thing Lenaris needed was to be trapped listening to her endlessly embroidered anecdotes about her children. Anyway, Lenaris was fairly certain she was asleep, which gave testament to how slowly the line was moving.
    Lenaris looked at the man in front of him. He was approximately the same age as himself, in his late twenties or early thirties, with very sharp ridges on his broad nose, and a wild tangle of uncut curly hair. His clothes were rough, even shabbier than Lenaris’s own. He most likely didn’t have a timepiece, either. Still, Lenaris was so bored and uncomfortable, he thought he might as well strike up a conversation.
    “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been standing here?” he ventured. It was always a little ill-advised to speak to strangers when one was away from home. If the person you spoke to happened to belong to a higher D’jarra, he or she might take offense at your attempt to engage in conversation, depending on their caste. But many Bajorans—Lenaris among them—held those things in much lower esteem since the effects of the Cardassian occupation had become more widespread.
    “I believe we’ve been here since first morning prayers.” The man nodded at the glint of B’hava’el, piercing a thin ray through a break in the cloud cover overhead. “So, assuming my knowledge of the sun’s position is correct, we’ve been here for at least six hours.”
    “Six hours!” Lenaris exclaimed. “I knew it had been a long time, but—”
    “I could be overestimating,” the stranger admitted, “but if I am, it’s only by half an hour or so. I’m certain first morning prayers were going on when I got in line, and you didn’t come along much later than that.”
    Lenaris folded his arms and sighed. These food ration lines were getting more intolerable by the day. His stomach was empty, aching from the days since he’d had a substantial meal. “I can’t believe the spoonheads put us through this, day after day,” he muttered, “and still have the gall to claim that they’re trying to help us.”
    “The…what? Did you say… spoonheads ?”
    Lenaris cleared his throat. It was unwise to throw around such a blatant slur, when there were collaborators everywhere. “I mean, uh…”
    The other man laughed. “I don’t know if I’ve heard that before,” he said. “Spoonheads. It does suit the Cardies, doesn’t it?” The stranger stuck out his hand. “My name is Ornathia Lac, by the way. Or just Lac.”
    Lenaris took the man’s hand and shook it. “Lenaris Holem. Where are you from, Lac? I don’t believe I’ve heard of the Ornathias.”
    “Oh, I’m not from around here.” He seemed not to have any inclination to speak further, but Lenaris was bored. He eyed the other man’s earring.
    “A farmer?” Holem asked carefully.
    The man nodded, but said nothing else.
    Lenaris went on, trying to put Lac at ease. “My mother came from farmers. She married outside her D’jarra. ” He chuckled, and then clutched at his stomach at a mild twinge caused by the laughter. He was pretty sure he had been working on an ulcer for the better part of a year. “She always had a rebellious streak, which my father says I inherited. She was from the farmlands near the northern Relliketh province—is that where you come from?”
    “No,” Lac told him. “I come from inland of the Tilar peninsula, across the channel.” He held out his hand, palm up, and looked toward the sky. “Did you feel a drop?”
    Lenaris shook his head. “By the vineyards? What are you doing all the way over here?”
    “The vineyards are part of my family’s old estate,” Lac