Star Trek: Deep Space Nine®: These Haunted Seas, page 98
“You’re leaving the station?” Kira wondered if the Promenade brawl, combined with the vandalized conference room, had led his advisers to recommend that he return to Bajor until the station situation stabilized. An attack on Shakaar’s staff or offices—even worse, an assassination attempt—would send any peace efforts spiraling into a quagmire, possibly even derailing the transition into the Federation. He would hate having to run from a fight, Kira thought, remembering how eagerly he plunged into the unknown, dealing with whatever challenges lurked ahead without fear for his own well-being.
“Yes and no. The Federation meetings are in recess, and I’ve decided to use the opportunity to accept Captain Mello’s invitation to tour the Gryphon during one of its patrols of the system.” He removed several items from his desk—a book, a plain metal case, several isolinear rods—and placed them neatly into his travel bag before he started searching the office for something else. “I expect to return to the station the day after tomorrow.”
“Sounds like fun,” Kira said, wondering what it was he couldn’t find and whether she should help him look. She perused the items scattered over his desk, trying to imagine what a commander-in-chief took along for a visit to inspect the troops, but saw nothing she considered important.
“Anything new from Lieutenant Ro’s investigation?” he asked, his voice muffled as he ducked under his desk.
Opening and closing desk drawers, throwing opening cabinets and shuffling through padds, Shakaar never stopped moving. Kira felt dizzy watching him. “It appears the toxic combination of gambling, liquor and rivalry exploded at Quark’s. We haven’t been able to ascertain who threw the first punch, but it seems that after the initial taunts, it was only a matter of friends coming to the aid of friends. Everything escalated from there. No fatalities, thankfully, but at least two dozen serious injuries.” She held out to him the padd she’d brought with her. “You’ll find Ro and Dr. Girani’s complete reports here. We’re keeping all pertinent information out of the main data core until both sides can agree what details are relevant to the station population. Everyone is anxious, sir, as you might imagine.”
Shakaar accepted the padd, but didn’t look at it. “Understandably. And without any sign of tensions abating soon. You know, Nerys, I was thinking…”
“Sir?”
“We’ve both been working hard. We could use a break. How about joining me at the holosuites for a round of hang gliding off the Cliffs of Bole when I get back from the Gryphon?”
Kira snorted indelicately. “I think you’ve forgotten how much I dislike holosuite adventures, First Minister. I’ll have to pass, but thanks for the invitation.”
“Nerys, please. We’re alone in my office—it’s just us. You can call me Edon.” He held up the padd Kira had given him and quickly scrolled through the contents. “So Quark agreed to the settlement proposed by Gul Macet and my office?”
“He groused about the yamok sauce he lost, but Ro knew he’d been stashing it in a cargo bay for the last six months, so he can’t claim it as one of last night’s losses.” She owed Ro for acting as the intermediary between Quark and her office. If she’d had to deal with Quark’s whining on top of everything else today, she might have been here informing Shakaar of another homicide on the station.
Shakaar tossed the padd into his travel bag. “Sounds like you have everything under control, then.”
“I hope so, sir,” Kira said. She remained standing, fixed in front of his desk, uncertain as to how to transition into the next topic, especially since Shakaar appeared to be done with her. For all her desire to remain uninvolved in the politics surrounding her, she knew the time had come for her, as commander of the station, to voice her concerns about a process that impacted them all. “Minister?” she said at last.
“Yes?” he said, his tone and expression obscure.
Once upon a time, she would have been able to read him. How she lamented the gradual erosion of trust between them! In the past, she could have—would have—come to Shakaar with anything, spoken plainly and known that she wouldn’t have been misunderstood. Now, she had no idea what to expect from him. Kira took a deep breath. “While I was waiting for reports to come in over the last eight hours, I took the liberty of reading the transcripts of the negotiations between Ambassador Lang and Minister Asarem.”
He didn’t appear surprised or concerned. “Haven’t yet had the chance myself. How’s it going?”
At last, an opening! “I’m glad you asked that, sir.”
“Edon, Nerys,” he said with a smile.
“Edon,” Kira repeated. “To be blunt, I think Minister Asarem’s approach is unreasonable.”
He looked at her blankly. “You have a basis for that conclusion?”
“I’ve reviewed the transcripts of the meetings, and it seems very clear to me that the second minister is obstructing the initiatives you began when the war ended, to have Bajor spearhead and coordinate the Cardassian relief efforts.”
“How so?”
“Those initiatives were designed to be progressive,” Kira reminded him. “We’re supposed to be helping Cardassia not just survive the next five years, but get back to being a self-sufficient civilization under its new democratic regime. But everything Asarem is doing seems designed to keep Cardassia crippled and dependent on outside aid indefinitely. I think she’s made this personal.”
Shakaar’s eyebrows went up. “That’s a strong accusation, Colonel. What made you look into this?”
The time of reckoning is here, Nerys. Kira made sure Shakaar was looking directly into her eyes before she answered. She needed him to see that she told the truth, that she had no hidden agenda. “Gul Macet asked me to review the transcripts.”
“Nerys—”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think his concerns had merit.”
“To do this right, you shouldn’t go around—”
“Old grudges are getting in the way of our delegation’s doing its job. The Federation, with cause, could delay our petition again if they think we’re not prepared to be forthright in our dealings.”
Shakaar frowned. “You haven’t taken this to Akaar—”
“Of course not!” she said, indignant at his suggestion.
“Because if you had, Colonel, I’d be questioning your loyalty.”
Kira took a deep, steadying breath before answering. “I came to you because I’ve been implementing your initiatives toward Cardassia for the last six months—initiatives I believe in—and I’m seeing the original intent of those initiatives being compromised.” She locked eyes with Shakaar. “And more to the point, I came out of my own sense of right and wrong. And what Asarem is doing is wrong.”
They lingered in uncomfortable silence until Shakaar at last said, “You’re right and I apologize for overreacting. It’s just that knowing who your friends and enemies are these days is harder than ever.”
No one knows that better than me, Kira thought. So which are you, Edon?
Shakaar, however, seemed to feel that they’d resolved their disagreement; he smiled pleasantly. “Send the meeting transcripts to Sirsy for my database. I’ll look into the matter personally.”
Relief washed over Kira. “Thank you, sir.”
“No need for that. I realize what you must think of Minister Asarem, but you have to know she’s an absolute patriot. Her love for Bajor is as deep as yours. While she may seem harsh and inflexible, she stands on equal footing with you in terms of her loyalty. Separating her personal views on the Cardassian question from the need for political expediency has always been a struggle for her. I think you two are more alike than you know.”
Kira winced involuntarily at the comparison, thinking of the rigid, inflexible politician she had observed, what was it, only yesterday? It felt like an eternity ago. Maybe once I was like Asarem. Maybe it’s true if you still think of me as I once was. Now, I don’t think you know me. Edon would never see the subtle distinctions. “I’ll go, then. If there’s nothing else…?”
Shakaar waved her out the door, and as he had said, Minister Asarem had arrived for her meeting. An unspoken greeting passed between the women. Kira hoped that in the future, likely after the talks had wrapped up, she could get to know Asarem as the well-intentioned woman Kira knew she must be. Until then, politeness would have to suffice.
Later in the day, when word came from Macet that Minister Asarem’s office had proposed resuming talks the following morning, Kira exulted. To celebrate, she left ops early, planning on rewarding herself with an hour at the spa for a mineral soak. It pleased her to walk through the Promenade, now bustling with normal activity. Particularly gratifying was seeing the long lines waiting for admission to the grand opening of the Ziyal exhibit. For the first time since the Cardassians’ arrival, Kira felt hopeful.
Once she arrived back in her quarters, she opened up her next day’s schedule and cleared out a block of time where she could sit in on the talks. Not so she could gloat, or take credit for helping to break through a seemingly insurmountable barrier. Kira wanted to be there so she could one day tell her grandchildren about how she witnessed the day when Cardassia and Bajor began forging a fragile peace.
As a man of action, waiting was never Quark’s strength. Under circumstances such as these, he failed to understand why he, Chairman of the Promenade Merchants’ Association, wouldn’t be given due deference, VIP admission, a priority position. One of the downfalls of Federation philosophy that Bajor was so hot on embracing was the misguided notion that social status should, for the most part, be irrelevant. Otherwise, he’d be at the front of the line instead of waiting with all the other plebeians to see the exhibit.
And who decided not to charge admission? Talk about a missed opportunity. Maybe he could come up with a promotional tie-in for the bar. Hmmmmm…
On the plus side, the longer he waited, the more time he had to spend with Laren. She wasn’t in a terribly talkative mood tonight, not like he could blame her after breaking up a midnight riot and subsequently having little or no sleep. She seemed content to watch the people in line instead of gazing at him. He needed to fix that.
“Um, Laren?”
“Yeah, Quark?”
“Thanks again for getting everything paid for. There was no way I was going to ask Rom to float me a loan while I argued with the colonel.” Gratitude, real or feigned, tended to grease the conversational wheels.
“It didn’t take much convincing. I think part of her regrets the way she treated you that night at the reception. But paying the repair bills for the fracas is as close to an apology as you’re likely to get.”
Quark held up his hands. “I’m not complaining. As nonapologies go, I could do worse.”
“Expecting coverage for the yamok sauce was pushing it, though.”
“A Ferengi can try. The 10th Rule of Acquisition: Greed is eternal. I wouldn’t be me without it.” He grinned amiably. “So you got me the latinum. You have any pull with making this line move?”
“You complain about waiting again, I’m going home.”
“Right, right,” Quark said quickly. No need to make his tired and cranky companion more tired and cranky.
The line trudged forward a few steps, brushing against the line ropes as another group was admitted to the exhibit. A pile of program cards outlining the exhibit’s contents sat in a stack. Ro removed one and began reading while they walked.
When they stopped again, Ro turned to Quark and studied him thoughtfully. “You knew Ziyal, didn’t you? Who was she?”
In his mind, Quark conjured up a picture of the wide-eyed child-woman. He wasn’t one to be sentimental about much—life and death happened in the course of business—but Ziyal had a genuine sweetness that couldn’t help but touch you. “She was a good kid. Really. Good isn’t generally a word I use to describe Cardassians—ruthless, cold, predatory, devious—all qualities I can appreciate, to be sure—but good? Except Natima, and you already know she’s amazing. But, Ziyal. She was special. Never could figure out how a bastard like Dukat popped off a kid like her.” Quark tsked as he thought of the former prefect.
“What do you remember most?” Ro asked.
“She called me ‘Sir’ or ‘Quark,’ instead of ‘Hey you, Ferengi,’ like most Cardassians. She’d sit on her stool, talking with Jake or the colonel—even drink root beer with him—and they’d yammer on about holovids and games and such.” Had it only been a few years since she died? It felt like another lifetime when all of them had been together on the station…Jadzia, Odo, Rom, Leeta, O’Brien, Captain Sisko, Jake, and…Quark stopped. No, Ziyal had her weakness. “The only thing she did that didn’t make much sense was falling for Garak. If Ziyal was good, Garak was just wrong. You could never really trust him, except to be himself, and that was the problem, because no one ever really figured him out.”
Ro nodded. “I’ve learned a lot about Garak since coming to the station.”
Quark grunted. I can only imagine. Odo must have kept quite a file on Garak. But Garak never got to Ziyal. No, I think she got to him. Ro continued looking at him expectantly, probably waiting for him to expound further on Garak. He shrugged. “I think Ziyal’s death changed Garak. Who knows? Maybe that’s what finally snapped whatever loyalties he still had to the old Cardassia. You just never knew with him.”
Their group reached the entrance. A security officer scanned their retinas and then waved a tricorder over them, searching for weapons. Satisfied with the results, he waved them in.
The guests wound past a wall screen scrolling through an official welcome from the Bajoran government. Whatever chatter had been underway when guests entered dissolved promptly when they were presented with the first painting. A deferential hush filled the room, more like at a place of worship than an art exhibit. Even Quark, who prided himself on being a connoisseur of any and all valuable art commodities from the famous and infamous, found himself lacking any words to describe what he felt.
Suspended from the ceiling was an oil painting on matte black canvas. Monochromatic tints and shades in juxtaposed violent and graceful brush strokes carved the two-dimensional surface as surely as a sculptor’s chisel would stone. A straight-on perspective of a face dominated the center, with two sharply geometric side profiles adjoining the central face at unwieldy angles. Surrounded with tempestuous swirls of gray and white, shiny black triangles, presumably hair, sprayed out in wakes behind the heads.
Ro had immersed herself in reading the biographical texts scrolling across the monitors lining the walls, but Quark remained fixed in front of the painting, pondering. He grabbed Ro by the elbow.
“What?” she said, puzzled.
“Look.” He nudged his head toward the painting.
“I did.”
“No, look. That’s the answer to your question. Who is Ziyal. Look.”
Standing shoulder to shoulder with Quark while the other guests milled about, Ro contemplated the painting. Quark watched her eyes following the eruptions of color, the soothing organic forms mingled with the stark triangles and squares. Nodding her head almost imperceptibly, she leaned closer into Quark and gave his hand a tight squeeze.
They stood together until another guest, hoping to obtain a better view, asked them to move along.
Her step buoyant, Kira passed through the security checkpoint, headed down a hallway and turned a corner…Wait a minute, she thought, puzzled. Ambassador Lang, Gul Macet and several of Lang’s aides huddled tightly together. The schedule indicated that the lunch break wasn’t due for another hour. Why would they be…unless…Tense with uncertainty, Kira strode toward the Cardassians. They parted when they recognized who was approaching.
“Colonel, please join us,” Ambassador Lang said, opening her arms.
Kira took a spot beside Lang. “What’s going on? I thought you all would be in the conference room. I’d heard opening statements were scheduled to begin an hour ago and—”
Macet interrupted her. “Minister Asarem announced that Bajor would be withdrawing from any diplomatic proceedings until after completing its probationary period for joining the Federation.”
A mountaintop avalanche inundating her path might have shocked Kira as much as Macet’s revelation. Maybe she was still asleep. Maybe this was some stress-induced bad dream…“What? That’s not how things were supposed to go. At least, Minister Shakaar never said anything about postponing the talks. I thought Minister Asarem would take a more open approach, not shut things down altogether.” Her head spun with the implications of Macet’s words.
“Apparently, Minister Asarem believes that binding Bajor to a path independent of the one Bajor is forging with the Federation is a waste of time,” Lang explained patiently, whatever shock she might have felt gradually giving way to the sadness brimming in her eyes. “Existing treaties between the Federation and Cardassia will apply equally with Bajor—there’s no need to negotiate something separately.”
This is ludicrous! Kira refused to accept this turn of events. “You’ve talked to First Minister Shakaar, Ambassador? He can’t have signed off on this.” She scanned the lobby, peered down the hall, hoping to see evidence of a Bajoran presence, but found none. Cowards turned tail and ran.
Sullen-faced, Lang said, “I’m told Minister Shakaar is currently unavailable.”
Kira took a deep breath and started pacing. “All right. Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that Asarem’s position really is what’s best for Bajor. Why not wait until after the transition to settle this—why now? Why push it?”
“Ironically, our situation isn’t unlike Bajor’s was seven years ago,” Lang replied. “The allies govern our territories while Cardassia Prime struggles to rebuild and redefine itself. A single epidemic and what remains of our civilization could be brought to its knees.
“We can’t rebuild without outside help, we can’t secure outside help unless we prove we can be trusted. If we fail to obtain the assistance we need, our world will revert to the same principles that led to our downfall. We are fated to repeat history unless we can prove we can move beyond the place where Cardassia began to go terribly wrong—and that’s with the Bajoran Occupation. If we can start again with new Cardassia forging ties with new Bajor, my people stand a chance.”
