“Um, we’ve just received a subspace transmission from the Cardassian ship Trager , sir. Its captain has requested to speak with you.”
“Put it through to my quarters, Ensign. Audio only.” She suddenly felt remarkably alert for having not yet partaken of her morning raktajino. She addressed her unseen visitor, steeling herself for her stomach’s inevitable lurching. “Colonel Kira, here. Go ahead, Trager.”
“Colonel.” The rich baritone voice poured into the room, and despite being braced for it, Kira found she still had to rein in her emotions.
“Gul Macet,” she said evenly. “What can I do for you?” Kira reached for her robe and cinched the waist tie extra tight. Ruffling the hair on the back of her neck with her fingers kept her hands occupied. Intellectually, she knew Macet wasn’t Gul Dukat, the hated former prefect of Cardassian-occupied Bajor. Cardassia’s provisional government had vouched for him, even sent her his DNA scan in an effort to reassure her and any others who might question his identity; unfortunately, scientific technobabble failed to overwrite years of conditioning. She tried repressing her gut reaction to Macet, but instinct was not easily assuaged by intellect.
“And how is life on Deep Space 9 this morning? All’s well, I presume?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Why?” Kira took a seat in front of her companel, hastily skimming the last shift report. The tone in Macet’s voice made her wonder what he knew. Like something awful might be hurtling toward the station at warp speed and he thought he’d give her a friendly heads-up.
“With all that’s gone on lately—resettling the Europani, Fleet Admiral Akaar and his group coming to Bajor, your first officer leaving for the Gamma Quadrant—I know you’ve had your hands full.”
“Goes with the territory, Gul Macet. We’re a busy outpost.”
“Busy supplying aid to my people among your many tasks, Colonel. We certainly appreciate all that Bajor has done for us. The last shipment of medical supplies could not have had better timing.”
“I’ll convey your gratitude to First Minister Shakaar the next time I speak with him.” No point in telling Macet that after the Europani had been resettled on their planet, Kira had worked to bring the Cardassian relief efforts back up to their previous levels. There must be a point to his contacting me, Kira thought. I hope he gets to it soon. Chitchat wasn’t typically Macet’s style. On the other hand, she didn’t really know what Macet’s style was.
“Perhaps I can offer my thanks in person.”
Abruptly, Kira straightened up. “You’re on your way to Bajor?” So much for today being uneventful.
“To the station, actually. We should be arriving this afternoon.”
“We?” Alone, Macet would be tricky; if he brought a battalion of soldiers with him, Kira might be facing a logistical nightmare. Such as how to prevent a station full of Dukat-loathing Bajorans from killing Macet on sight.
“Myself, my men, Ambassador Lang, her staff—”
“Ambassador Lang,” Kira repeated. “Natima Lang?”
“Ah, you remember her.”
“You could say that.” Once a resident of the station, Lang had been a correspondent for the Cardassian Information Service during the Occupation. After the withdrawal, Lang’s advocacy of controversial reforms on Cardassia had forced her and her students to seek political asylum back on the station. Familiarity with Lang’s virulent anti-Occupation stance had always lent her a modicum of respect in Kira’s mind. And then there was the Quark factor: Lang had exhibited a knack for bringing out the latent nobility lurking beneath Quark’s profit-oriented paradigm. Now she’s returning as an ambassador from Cardassia’s fledgling democratic government.
“Ambassador Lang is on an errand from Alon Ghemor. She requests a meeting with First Minister Shakaar at his earliest convenience. You can arrange that, can’t you, Colonel?”
“I’m not his secretary, Macet,” Kira said tersely. “And I should probably tell you, he isn’t on the station. He’s in Ashalla working out the details of Bajor’s admission into the Federation.”
“I think if you conveyed the news of our visit to Admiral Akaar, he would be pleased that Minister Shakaar has accommodated us. It’s possible the Admiral might appreciate the opportunity to discuss the status of the Federation’s protectorates in Cardassian territory.”
Kira’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be happy to pass word along to the first minister and the admiral, though I believe they might be better able to accommodate you if they knew what Ambassador Lang’s business was.”
“It’s not my place to explain Ambassador Lang’s mission. I’m merely serving as her transport and protection at the behest of our government. She will make her purpose known to the appropriate parties in due time. Meanwhile, if you could present our request to Minister Shakaar, we would be in your debt.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Though how willing Shakaar will be to reorganize his life around a surprise Cardassian visit is yet to be seen, Kira thought, grudgingly giving Macet credit for excellent timing. Shakaar risked appearing to be unwilling to forgive old grudges if he failed to give the Cardassian diplomats proper attention, something the Federation delegation would certainly frown upon. “ Meanwhile, why don’t you transmit the specifics as to when you anticipate arriving, what kind of accommodations you’ll require, supply needs and so forth.”
“You’re most gracious, Colonel. Transmitting requested specifications now. And I look forward to seeing you again.”
“Good day to you, Gul Macet. Kira out.” Kira waited for the light on her communications panel to indicate the termination of the subspace link before she contacted ops. “Ensign Beyer, how is the station’s workload looking around 1400?” Kira tapped an inquiry into the computer requesting the arrival and departure schedule even as she waited for Beyer to provide the big picture. “Pull together stats on docking crew support staff, available security officers—whatever it takes to host a vessel the size of the Trager. And check the Habitat Ring for vacant guest quarters. I know a lot of our meeting spaces have been appropriated by the Federation delegations, so long-term conference room availability might be a concern.”
“The Chamberlain—”
“The Cardassian relief vessel?” Kira read aloud from her desk screen.
“Yes, sir. The Chamberlain is set to leave at 1245 off upper pylon one. Starfleet’s Kilimanjaro is off at 1315 from lower pylon three,” Beyer prattled on. “Regularly scheduled Bajoran shuttles leaving for—”
“Ensign.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I can read the schedule. What I need you to tell me is whether or not the station has the resources to accommodate the Trager based on the specs just transmitted to ops.”
“I think we’re good to go, sir.”
“Transmit the appropriate docking specs to the Trager and notify Lieutenant Ro about its arrival. Wait. Belay that last one. Have Ro meet me at my quarters in twenty minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Kira out.”
Kira leaned back in her chair, steepled her fingers together and brought them to her lips. The Trager comes to pay a social call…whatever the Ghemor government has in mind must be explosive, otherwise Macet wouldn’t have been so cagey about Lang’s mission…and what if Macet has his own ulterior motives? Time to plunge in and hope I’m not drowning in palace intrigue by day’s end. She sighed and headed for the shower, for the moment satisfied by the reality thrust into her brain by coursing adrenaline.
Accustomed to briskly exiting her quarters, Kira avoided spilling her double raktajino by instantaneously thrusting the mug away when her boot nearly connected with Lieutenant Ro’s skull.
“You mind telling me what the hell you’re doing down there, Lieutenant?” Kira asked.
Ro looked up at her. “I’m sorry, Colonel. You obviously haven’t been out yet.”
Kira crouched down to see what held Ro’s fascination: a small, opalescent ceramic urn with a torn piece of parchment sticking out of
it; two spent sticks of incense and what looked like a cheap, bronze religious icon—something one might find in the marketplace stalls around the temples. She removed the parchment from the urn and immediately recognized the ancient Bajoran calligraphy. Scanning the words for something identifiable, she felt puzzled until her eyes locked onto the characters for the word “Ohalu.” She looked over at Ro whose tight-lipped expression indicated she, too, had recognized the text.
“I take it these things don’t belong to you,” Ro observed.
“No,” Kira confirmed. “But it might be a good idea to know who they do belong to.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Ro said. Removing a tricorder from her belt, she scanned the items for DNA and stored the readings in the tricorder’s memory. Then she touched her combadge. “Ro to Shul.”
“Go ahead.”
“Send someone with an evidence bin to Colonel Kira’s quarters. There are some religious artifacts sitting on the floor outside her door that I want collected. Return the bin to my office and I’ll handle it from there. Ro out.” To Kira, she said, “It’s probably nothing, but better safe than sorry.”
Some minutes later, after Corporal Hava arrived to gather up the items, the two women walked toward the crossover bridge. Kira wasn’t surprised by Ro’s familiarity with her routine; Kira’s alpha shift walks to ops were part of the station’s rhythm. The walks began many years ago, taking on special significance when a stop by Odo’s office became more than an excuse for exchange of gossip. Though Odo’s departure might have given her a reason to take a turbolift, Kira found comfort in going through the same motions she always had, as if holding on to this one remaining vestige of an old routine would somehow help keep her grounded.
“Any idea who might have left those items?” Ro asked as they walked.
“How would I know? Since I made Ohalu’s book public, I’ve more or less been out of the religious loop,” Kira said, more testily than she intended. “Maybe an extremist crackpot thinks his tokens will prevent my evil influence from tainting the faithful.”
Ro appeared to be exerting effort not to answer Kira’s annoyance in kind. “Sorry, Colonel. I assumed that perhaps this had happened before. That maybe we’re dealing with a precedent.”
“No. I’m just as puzzled about it as you, Ro,” Kira said. “But I don’t plan to lose any sleep over it.”
“Wasn’t suggesting you should, sir. Like I said, it’s probably nothing. But you do understand that nocturnal visits to the door of the station commander’s quarters need to be investigated?”
Kira nodded. “Fine. Just keep it discreet. Last thing we need around here is another religious crisis.”
By the time they made their way to the Promenade, the place was already crowded and noisy with merchants opening their storefronts, parents hustling reticent children to school, Bajorans heading for morning shrine services, Starfleet personnel attending to the business of bureaucracy and overnight shift workers flooding into Quark’s. Earthy smells of roasting Andorian flatroot, a delicacy presently popular with the ops staff, seeped onto the walkway.
Kira observed Ro’s apparent obliviousness to the confusion swirling around her and wondered what the security officer might be mulling over. Ro’s brow wrinkled more deeply as she studied the floor.
Her head came up and she looked at Kira. “It occurs to me that since I’m not in the religious loop myself, maybe in-depth surveil lance of our local faithful might be a gap in our intelligence. I’ll find one of my deputies who isn’t offended by my agnosticism or your Attainder to keep us briefed as to the goings-on among the prylars and vedeks,” she said, with thinly veiled sarcasm. “We could be facing a religious uprising and neither of us would know about it.”
Kira smiled grimly. “All right, Ro. Point taken.” At least Ro felt comfortable enough to make light of her current predicament. It wasn’t as if not talking about the Attainder would make it vanish. She paused, stopping in her tracks when a fact she’d dismissed a week ago suddenly seemed relevant to the present. “Maybe I do know something.”
“Oh?” Ro said as she nodded to Chef Kaga, who was carrying a basin filled with a squirming mass of gagh as she and Kira passed the Klingon Deli.
Kira continued. “When I was talking to Captain Yates a few days back, she mentioned something about rumors of a schism in the Vedek Assembly.”
Ro’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s interesting. At least I know what to listen for during the next week or so.”
“You could always put Quark on it.”
“And give him one more reason to think he knows more than the rest of us?”
“Bad idea.”
“Agreed.”
Kira noted that as she and Ro walked the crowds parted a bit too quickly to be spontaneous. She never thought she’d miss the jostle and muttered-under-the-breath ‘excuse mes’ that used to mark her morning strolls through the Promenade. Now, it was the station visitors who offered polite pleasantries. When she appeared, Bajorans averted their eyes, finding that the goods in their arms, the padds in their pockets or the posted station schedules required their immediate attention. Kira understood they had no malicious intent; were she in their position, she couldn’t honestly say that she wouldn’t do the same. But she missed the smiles in their eyes, the wave of a hand, the sense of community that united them.
“Ensign Beyer mentioned a Cardassian ship arriving this afternoon?” Ro asked.
“Yes,” Kira answered, grateful for the diversion from her thoughts. “A Cardassian warship called the Trager bearing a diplomatic delegation will be visiting the station. Its commanding officer is a Ghemor-loyal gul named Macet.”
“We have semiregular visits by Cardassian ships. This one warrants special attention because—?”
How do I say this delicately? Kira thought. “Let’s say that Macet bears an extraordinary resemblance to his maternal relatives, the Dukats.”
“I see,” Ro said. “Exactly how Dukat-like does he—?”
“Nearly identical,” Kira said grimly. “On his previous visit, understanding our people’s sensitivity to his appearance, he stayed aboard his ship.”
“Thoughtful of him.”
“Send out a security notice alerting station residents of Gul Macet’s arrival. Include a picture from his file. Explain that he’s here on official business.” Kira imagined panicked Bajorans stampeding to Ro’s security office or whispered gossip wafting about the station causing needless fear.
“Our residents are generally reasonable people, but Macet’s appearance is a surprise I doubt they’d handle very well.”
“Agreed. Another layer of security presence might be a precaution worth taking.”
Ro rolled Kira’s words around in her head. “Plainclothes deputies. Specifically assigned to areas being utilized by the Cardassians.”
“A good place to begin,” Kira said. “When Ensign Beyer finishes assigning quarters, I’ll have the details sent to your office.”
They arrived at a turbolift. “Then with your permission, Colonel, I’ll take my leave of you here.”
“Dismissed, Lieutenant,” Kira said. She watched Ro head off for the security office, waving to Quark who was posting the morning specials near the front door. Why her security chief would consider seeing the Ferengi socially in any capacity puzzled Kira. Maybe it had to do with keeping your enemies close.
Maybe.
Or maybe not?
Another thought she couldn’t wrap her brain around this morning. At least not until she’d had another raktajino.
As soon as Kira stepped into ops, Ensign Beyer thrust a padd containing the minute details regarding Macet’s visit into Kira’s hand and began a recitation of her most recent accomplishments. Instead of waving her aside, Kira commended the anxious ensign’s efforts and hastily retreated to—
—my office, she thought, still amazed by the twists and turns of her life that had brought her here. The more Kira flexed the muscle of her position as s
tation commander, the more she enjoyed it. Hell, she’d be happy if the only perk of being in charge was not having to indulge every whim of the egomaniacs populating the upper echelons of the Bajoran Militia and government. Most days, her job title allowed her to skip implementing stupid directives passed down by bureaucrats. On Deep Space 9, her word was law.
Still, she marveled at how quickly self-interest supplanted concern for the collective good that marked the Occupation era. Former comrades-in-arms who, in earlier days, would have shared food off her utensils, wouldn’t bother to acknowledge her pleas for personnel or supplies if it didn’t benefit them personally. As hard as the resistance days were, Kira missed how basic Bajor’s needs were then—how simple the goals. Shakaar’s tireless efforts since the end of the war to make Bajor a more active participant in the community of the Alpha Quadrant were steering the people into a new and much more complex age, compelling them to face the question of how to move forward anew as Federation citizens. Bajor could reclaim its former greatness, of that Kira was confident, but not without the growing pains innate to any change. Part of Kira’s job, as Deep Space 9’s commander, was to help ease those pains by tackling her share of unpleasant tasks. And she knew as soon as she signed off with Macet that one of those unpleasant tasks would be awaiting her arrival in ops.
She sighed: she couldn’t put off contacting Shakaar any longer. Kira took a seat behind the desk, cleared her throat and told Selzner to open a channel to Bajor.
After several annoyingly long delays as her request to speak to the First Minister went up the chain of government underlings, Shakaar appeared on the viewscreen, frowning. “Nerys,” he said, curtly. “We’re quite busy here.”
Kira understood his unspoken message: you’d better have a damn good reason for disrupting me during these delicate and politically sensitive negotiations. Well, things are about to get more delicate, she thought.
This Gray Spirit Page 3