Stop it,she told herself. This is getting you nowhere.Before diving into Ro’s report, she decided to scroll through the list of music selections in her personal database: Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Sarah Vaughn… Hmmm. I have to remember to ask Elias if there’s any relation.She mulled over the list, figuring something among the unfamiliar titles would help her to relax. They were all Captain Sisko’s choices: a gift to her some years ago on the occasion of a Terran holiday, she couldn’t recall which one. The memory made her wish she’d made as much of an effort to share Benjamin’s culture as he had always made to share hers.
“Computer,” she said finally. “Play Sisko Jazz Compilation Number Nine, track seven: ‘Yardbird.’”
A wailing alto saxophone pierced the stillness, its clear, passionate notes lulling her into passivity as she contemplated the vast canvas of stars outside her great eye of a window. I could stand here and dream all night, except for that nagging sense of duty that never goes away. Even if I put off the reports, I still have one last bit of business that won’t wait. But then what? Catch up on latest Starfleet regs. Call it a night, take a late supper in quarters.
Or not.
She hadn’t felt this restless for a long time, plagued by the feeling that she had a forgotten task. Unknown anxiety twisted her stomach. Not with anticipation so much as apprehension. What’s next? If I had a friend close by, I’d go for a walk.A stroll along the Promenade balcony would be a perfect distraction. Maybe Kasidy was right: time for a hobby. A new sport like orbital skydiving. Plant sculpting or cultivating orchids. She could start knitting something for Kasidy’s baby.
Or…I could figure out what the Cardassians are up to.
Now it was out there. She dared to think it. For the bulk of the day, Kira had ignored Macet’s surprise visit except in the most superficial terms. Avoidance wasn’t her usual method; tackling conflict head-on was more her style. Considering how she’d allocated her time these last months, Kira realized she’d spent little—if any—on Cardassian matters. Outside of keeping the supply line of humanitarian aid flowing to Cardassia as the ships came through the station, and the brief interaction she’d had with Macet during the Europani evac, Kira had pushed Cardassia far out of her train of thought. Let someone else worry about them for a change.
Hadn’t she done her part, training Damar in “Resistance 101”? To her knowledge, she was the sole Bajoran hiking through Cardassia’s bombed-out ruins after the Founders meted out their punishment. What do they want from me? From us,she amended quickly. This wasn’t personal. Whatever Macet and Lang had come for, it wasn’t about Kira Nerys.All that was required of her was to serve honorably as commander of Deep Space 9. Follow orders, make sure nothing blows up, protect the public trust, end of story. Her chapter in the Cardassian saga ended with her testimony to the Allied Tribunal negotiating the Dominion War Accords. Period.
Her stomach growled and Kira wondered if it might be time to replicate dinner. Aching muscles up and down her spine begged for attention. She ignored her discomforts. “Computer, search main library database for references to knitting with yarn.”
“Two hundred ninety-two thousand, seven hundred sixty references. Narrow search parameters.”
“Maybe I should just call Kas back,” Kira muttered.
“Input not recognized,”the computer intoned.
“Never mind. Cancel search,” Kira said irritably. The computer issued a bleat of acknowledgment before falling silent. Her musings ended abruptly when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the indicator light on her desk that signaled the arrival of a turbolift into ops. She checked the time; too early for her last appointment. Kira turned toward her office doors, looking through the windows and across ops to see who her visitor was. When she saw him, she found herself fighting down the instinct to go for her phaser.
He descended the stairs into the pit with slow, steady steps, past the situation table and toward the opposing stairs that led up to her office. She could see several of the ops crew reacting to the new arrival, looking to her for orders. In response, Kira steeled herself and touched the control on her desk that would open the office doors to admit her visitor. No ghosts tonight. No ghosts.She mouthed the words, intent on believing them.
He paused before stepping over the threshold. “Colonel Kira. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
Kira couldn’t suppress the grim smile that came to her lips at the Prophets’ sense of humor. “What can I do for you, Gul Macet?”
“…and while I recognize that postwar reconstruction tends to focus, by necessity, on basic needs like potable water, adequate food supply and medical care, don’t you think that expending resources on life’s little luxuries serves morale?” Quark waited for Natima to agree with him, but she’d half turned away from him, peering out into the crowds. “Yoo-hoo.” He cleared his throat, waved a hand in front of her face, but she brushed it aside.
“Check out what’s going on across the room,” she admonished him.
What could be more interesting than me?he thought. Glancing over Natima’s shoulder, he saw Ro run-walking toward the Andorians’ table, reach up to touch her combadge. Something’s cooking. Glass shattering! What the hell—?
From over the din of customers, he heard a plaintive exclamation, “You push and push, but I’m not giving in this time!” and the sounds of scuffling. A chilling scream.
A hush descended on the bar. Curious onlookers left gambling and eating to get a better view, effectively blocking Quark’s as they huddled around the table. Rising from his own chair, he caught the dabo boy scurrying to the bar and ducking behind the counter.
“Let her handle this, Quark,” Natima warned. “She seems capable of managing far worse.”
Yeah, but how many chairs and glasses will be broken in the process?Quark smiled. “I’ll be right back. Don’t give away my seat.”
Racing across the bar, Quark pushed his way through the crowd to the front just in time to witness Ro spinning into a sidekick, her foot connecting with the Andorian’s arm, sending a broken glass spinning through the air and vaporizing when it hit the floor. The Andorian retaliated, slamming her fist, full speed, into Ro’s cheek. He took a few steps backward to avoid the falling bodies; the Andorian’s momentum had toppled them both.
Ro planted her hands on her attacker’s collarbone, shoving against her. She threw an elbow into Ro’s stomach; Ro replied with a leg hooked around the Andorian’s hip and a boot heel jammed into the small of her back. The Andorian jerked back with a wail and crumbled onto her knees, giving Ro a chance to untangle herself and scramble to her feet.
With split-second response, the very attractive (in Quark’s opinion) Andorian sprang to her feet and lunged at Ro, who successfully sidestepped the Andorian’s attack. The women circled each other.
“Stay out of what doesn’t concern you!” she shouted.
“Back off!” Ro ordered. “Now!”
“Can I help anyone here? Drinks? Maybe take a few wagers, 3 to 1 odds in Lieutenant Ro’s favor.” Quark hastily pocketed latinum slips, hoping he remembered who bet what.