He’d do well not to underestimate her.
As for herself, Asarem was trying to figure out how she was supposed to fit into Shakaar’s plans, and how to insulate herself from any potential political fallout flowing from his peculiar actions. She had already received dozens of inquiries from other ministers as to why her stance on the Bajoran–Cardassian reconciliation had suddenly become so obdurate. Shakaar had put her in a very difficult political position, and she had to wonder to what end his actions with her were aimed. Was he trying to force her from the Chamber of Ministers? Perhaps he wanted to create a situation whereby she would be shamed and disgraced, and would remove herself from the levers of power as a consequence.
Despite these concerns, Asarem was excited to be docking aboard Deep Space 9. There was slightly less than a full day left before she and Shakaar were to officiate at the signing of the historic agreement heralding Bajor’s formal entry into the United Federation of Planets. They had arrived earlier than most of the other Bajoran ministers and Federation diplomats; a few obscure details and legal loose ends remained to be discussed with Starfleet Fleet Admiral Leonard James Akaar and with the Andorian diplomat, Federation Councillor Charivretha zh’Thane.
Shakaar touched Asarem lightly on the hand. “You’re not meditating, and yet you seem light-years away, Wadeen,” he said.
“Hmmm, I guess I was,” she said, managing a slight smile. “I have a lot to think about these days. Momentous events are upon us.”
“They are indeed,” Shakaar said, nodding. “I don’t think that even in my wildest imaginings I could have foreseen that I would be among those to lead Bajor into an interstellar brotherhood.”
“Nor could I,” Asarem replied. “The Prophets work in strange and wonderful ways.”
They both stood up, and Asarem smoothed the wrinkles from her robes. Shakaar stepped down from the slightly raised platform onto which their chairs were bolted and approached the hatchway leading to the airlock. The two assistants had their bags and stood waiting nearby. One of the pilots stepped toward him. Asarem knew that the man was unarmed in the traditional sense, but as pilot and bodyguard to the First Minister he had been trained in unarmed combat to such a degree that he was probably at least as effective as a platoon of phaser-toting protectors.
“To it, then,” Shakaar said, smiling at those around him, and he depressed the button to open the door.
Asarem almost didn’t notice the small silver box that Shakaar held in his other hand, but the glint of the airlock lights caught it. He had been carrying it with him for quite some time now. Perhaps it was a good luck charm, or a family heirloom that served to remind Shakaar of his ancestors.
But something about it vaguely unsettled her, though she couldn’t say precisely why.
Stifling a yawn born of far too many late nights and early mornings, Kira Nerys stepped off the turbolift and onto the docking ring. Sergeant Gan Morr, apparently on his way back from servicing a spacecraft, saw her and smiled in acknowledgment. Kira returned the gesture, grateful once again that at least someof the Bajorans on board weren’t treating her as though she had Perikian skin blight.
Approaching from one of the crossover bridges connecting the docking ring to the Habitat Ring, Lieutenant Ro Laren offered a wry smile of her own. “Late night, Colonel?”
“Always,” Kira said as the pair began walking together. “I assume the preparations have been completed for all the diplomatic arrivals we’re expecting today?”
Ro nodded, punching up data on a padd. “The guest quarters for our visiting dignitaries have been meticulously prepared. We’re doing a final sweep for spying devices right now. We’ve already made sure that every last food replicator is in working order, and that the climate and atmospheric controls are all on species-appropriate settings. We’ve even turned down their sheets and put mints on their pillows.”
Kira had no idea what Ro meant by that last comment, and the security chief obviously saw her perplexity. “Sorry,” Ro said. “Earth custom. I learned about it back in my Starfleet Academy days.” She offered a grin, and Kira gratefully accepted it, answering it with a smile of her own.
“Sounds as if you’ve got everything under control, Lieutenant, as usual.” Kira had used Ro’s title rather than her name, for the benefit of the two Bajoran security officers who trailed a few paces behind them.
“Thank you, Colonel,” Ro said. “And of course, I’ve got all available security personnel pulling double shifts. There’ll be no surprises during this ceremony if Ihave anything to say about it.”
They reached docking port six just in time to see the display pad on the bulkhead change color, indicating that Shakaar’s ship had docked. Kira keyed a command sequence into the control pad, and the massive, coglike door rolled to the side. Inside the docking-bay airlock stood Shakaar, Asarem, and two aides, one of whom Kira recognized as Sirsy, Shakaar’s personal assistant. Also conspicuously present was a Bajoran man whom Kira immediately assumed to be a bodyguard, though he wore a pilot’s orange flight suit.
“Ah, Colonel Kira, thank you for coming to greet us,” Shakaar said, extending his hands.
Though she was sorely tempted to ignore Shakaar’s gesture, Kira took the proffered hands. Her position as the station’s commander was tenuous enough without offering insults to Bajor’s highest political leader, however misguided his recent actions might be. She even managed to smile fractionally, if only for the benefit of everyone who stood by, watching and listening.
“First Minister, Second Minister, I hope that you had a safe and pleasant flight.” She hoped that the ice in her tone was not too noticeable.
Shakaar withdrew his hands and clasped them together. Kira caught a fleeting glimmer in his eyes that told her he sensed her discomfiture in his presence—and that he either didn’t give a damn about it or else positively enjoyed it. What was happening to the man she had once loved and followed into battle against the forces of the Cardassian Occupation? She knew well that there were some among her people for whom, sadly, the war they had fought all their lives would never be over. She had always thought of Shakaar as being beyond such vendettas. Could he be one of those unfortunates whose Occupation-inflicted wounds would never heal?
“The flight went without incident, Colonel,” Asarem said, her tone somewhat tart. Kira wondered if Asarem had noticed her nonverbal exchange with Shakaar. She also wondered how hard the second minister was really working to persuade Shakaar to return to the negotiating table with the Cardassians. Kira realized, of course, that her assessment of Asarem might not be entirely fair. Like Kira, the second minister had a public persona to live up to. And Shakaar had always been difficult to persuade when his mind was made up. Just after the end of the Occupation, when he and a group of his fellow Dahkur Province farmers had defied orders to relinquish several government-owned soil reclamators, Shakaar had proved yet again to be one of the most doggedly stubborn men Kira had ever met. He had not only prevailed in that conflict, but had earned enough public sympathy to be elected Bajor’s first minister.
Asarem continued, “Our passage from Bajor gave us both time to meditate on the historic nature of tomorrow’s ceremonies, and what the coming changes will mean to Bajor. I’m certain you are as enthusiastic about this ceremony as we are, and that you share our feelings of happy fellowship.”
Noticing a subtle tensing in Asarem’s body language—and Ro’s quizzical stare—Kira decided that the safest course of action was to keep things moving.
“Certainly, Second Minister. It isa momentous occasion.” Gesturing toward Ro, Kira added, “You both know Lieutenant Ro Laren, Deep Space 9’s head of security. She’s also in charge of making sure that all the dignitaries attending the signing ceremony have a safe and enjoyable time.”