Kasidy had only been to Peri’ketra a handful of times, and always on business, never for recreation. Kira was pleased to be able to show her around. She was familiar with the sights of the city, from the brief time she’d been part of the Bajoran militia in the capital before being assigned to Deep Space Nine, and from later during her personal relationships with Vedek Bareil and First Minister Shakaar, both of whom had spent substantial amounts of time there as part of their duties.

They spent several pleasant hours that afternoon, walking very publicly through historic and governing districts of the capital, talking desultorily, both of them avoiding political and religious topics, consciously or otherwise.

By late afternoon, Kasidy was feeling winded and needed a rest.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite have the energy I used to,” she apologized as they sat down at a table in a crowded open-air café near the Assembly Hall. “I need to get off my feet for a while.”

“No need to apologize, I understand completely!” Kira assured her cheerfully, waving it off. “I’ve been pregnant too.”

“That’s right — little Yoshi. Have you heard anything from the O’Briens recently?” Kasidy asked.

“I had a letter from Keiko a few weeks ago, along with some gifts from the children.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “She’s become the Federation’s expert on Bajoran botany, and she’s teaching. I think she’d really like a few years on Earth to raise the children, close to their families and safe — well, more secure than the last few years have been for them, anyway. Then I think she’d like to get back into space.”

A waiter came by; they each ordered a light fruit juice, then sat back and relaxed.

“I can understand wanting to raise your children where it’s safe, where your family are,” Kasidy said contemplatively. “Every time I talk to my brother, he asks me when I’m coming to Cestus III to stay with him and his family, and reminds me how close we always were as children. Then when I talk to my sister or my parents, they want to know when I’m coming back to Europa, and remind me that the rest of my family are there, and it would be such a good place to raise a child....”

She stopped, studying Kira. The other woman seemed to be staring right past her, her gaze intensely focused.

“Nerys?”

“Kasidy, remember that man we saw in the conservatory?”

“The one in the worn-looking clothes, who seemed to be looking at us more than the flowers, but always seemed to turn away when we stopped and waited for him?”

“Yes.”

“He was over at the entrance to the café until he saw me staring at him.”

Kasidy turned in her chair; the man was nowhere in sight. “Maybe he’s just one of those people who’s transferred his devotion from the Emissary to the Emissary’s wife?” she suggested, in resignation.

“Then why didn’t he approach when we made it obvious we were waiting for him?” Kira countered, now scanning the rest of the crowd intently. “The Emissary was always seen as approachable — people always wanted the captain’s blessings or just to be near him for a moment....” She half stood for a second to get a better view, then sat down again, shaking her head. “He’s gone.”

“Perhaps he’s very shy?” Kasidy offered, obviously not convinced herself.

“I doubt it,” Kira replied, suspicion heavy in her voice and in the way her gaze kept shifting, looking for trouble.

Colonel Rig suddenly appeared from the street, threading her way through the café crowd, heading straight for their table.

“Uh-oh,” Kira muttered.

Rig stopped beside them, scanning the rest of the customers. “Come with me, please, now,” she said in an undertone.

“What?”

“I’ve had someone following you today, for your own safety.”

They exchanged exasperated glances.

“Well, that explains why we’ve had the feeling we’re being followed since the conservatory,” Kira said a little caustically.

“Does it explain why my officer has spotted the same two individuals near you all afternoon, trying very hard not to look like they were watching you? A dark-complexioned man a little taller than me, wearing a rather heavy robe for this climate and time of year, and a fair-featured, dark-haired woman in tan and red, carrying a large bag over her shoulder?”

“No.... Who are they?” Kasidy asked, stunned. They hadn’t even seen the woman, nor, it appeared, Rig’s shadow on them.

“We don’t know. They both managed to elude us when Harus called for back-up and tried to apprehend them. Which means they’re good, very good, whoever they are.”

“Any idea where they’re from?”

Rig shook her head. “At the moment, no. We don’t know who they are, or where they are. And we don’t know if they’re working together. The two were never observed near each other, or appearing to signal or leave messages for each other. They could be working independently.”

“I think we’d better go with her, Kasidy. Rig doesn’t jump to conclusions. If she thinks these two could be trouble, we should go.”

“But....” Kasidy resisted the idea for a moment more. “What if it really was just somebody who wanted to be able to say they saw the Emissary’s wife? Or maybe even to say that they saw the legendary Kira Nerys? How can you tell they were dangerous?”

Kira snorted a humorless laugh.

“I’d rather not wait until someone puts a knife in your belly, Captain Yates,” Rig said pointedly.

As she’d intended, that thought was enough to jolt Kasidy into acceptance.

“All right,” she capitulated.

The waiter arrived with the fruit juices, looking puzzled when they stood up.

“Something came up,” Rig told him, dropping some coins on the man’s tray as she led the other two out of the café.

A few yards down from the café, a man stood apparently musing over whether to get a jumja stick or a frozen moba juice. In the brightly polished surface of the metal refrigerator, he watched the three women pass behind him, the two Bajorans flanking the pregnant human, scanning the crowd as they went.

“Decided yet?” the perky kiosk operated asked, coming back from another customer.

“Jumja,” he replied with a smile.

Exchanging a tenth-lita coin for the confection, he made his way down the boulevard in the opposite direction.

She slipped down the narrow alley after spotting the security team moving in on her. Crouched behind a jutting column that marked a back door, she waited long enough to be sure they’d passed by, motionless and barely breathing.

It was almost twenty minutes before she moved again, her footsteps light on the stone paving.

She heard a cough and whirled.

A tall man stood there, only a pace away, dark-skinned and dark-eyed, his ominous gaze fixed on her.

She stared back, for a second unsure how to respond to the possible threat that had come so close without her realizing it.

He struck first, his fist lashing out straight for her face.

Her training stood her in good stead; she ducked enough to avoid the punch that would have laid her out. Then she counterattacked, a flurry of hand thrusts punctuated with a roundhouse kick that sent the big man reeling back against the wall, grunting in pain.

He blocked her palm heel blow, at the same time hooking her knee with his foot, dropping her to one knee. A phaser dropped out of her pocket; for a second the man was distracted, watching its trajectory.

The woman caught her balance and struck again, putting all her weight behind it as she shoved herself back to her feet. This blow caught his chin. His head snapped back, striking the stone wall, and he finally dropped.

Panting a little, she stood over him, undecided.

“You! Stop!”

Local security. She grabbed her bag and bolted.

Kasidy wandered through one of the gardens that formed a terrace of the Assembly Complex. She was uncertain if she should be more upset at being confined to these grounds for now, or worried about the person or persons who appeared to have been following her that afternoon.

Somewhere overhead, there was a rumble of distant thunder. She looked up, studying the clouds scudding across the early evening sky. Tropical proximity meant Peri’ketra sometimes had incredible storms roll in from the southern waters.

“Kasidy!”

She turned her attention at Vedek Hatha’s worried call.

He hurried up to her, his usual calm expression altered into near-panic. “I heard what happened. I should not have left you...”

“Trund, you can’t babysit me every moment I step away from my home!”

“But I came to ensure your safety, and when you might have been in danger, our people—“

“I wasn’t in danger,” she interjected strongly, holding up a hand. “Nerys was with me, and Colonel Rig had someone keeping an eye on us, and there were plenty of people around — I was in no danger!”

The vedek didn’t look mollified.

“Never mind, Trund. Let’s just go back to the monastery, before the storm hits....”

Lightly cloaked against the wind and possible rain, they left the Assembly complex.

“You see,” Nog said eagerly, absorbed in his theory, “if we increase the flow through the ODN gamma buffers here, and then run it through a krellide matrix....”

Pedorina watched attentively as he traced patterns on the table, nodding between spoonfuls of borscht and sips of raktajino. “Yes, I see! If we modify the sensor array in that manner, we may be able to boost gain by point-eight-two percent! That could gain us an additional ... oh, twelve to fifteen seconds notice of approaching vessels!”

“Yes! Time enough to identify a ship, maybe contact Starfleet ... raise shields ... even arm weapons, if necessary!” he agreed earnestly.

The sound of a chair scuffing the floor distracted the two engineers. “Do you see them?” Alden hissed eagerly, his eyes glittering as he threw a leg over the chair and leaned in close. “There, Kaoron and the Vulcan captain!”

The engineers wore matching expressions of puzzlement as they followed the direction of the lieutenant commander’s gesture.

“They’re just having a snack, Commander!” Nog said, a little sulky at being interrupted — it wasn’t often he had private time with Ensign Pedorina, and he was hopeful that she was enjoying it as much as he had been.

“That’s what I said!” Alden muttered, his attention fixed on the other pair. “Kaoron and ... what’s her name, T’Leera.”

“That’s her name,” Nog acknowledged, resigned.

“How long have they been here?”

“I don’t remember.”

“How can you not remember?” Alden sounded irritated.

“I wasn’t watching for them!” Nog shot back.

“What have they been doing?”

Nog hissed in exasperation. “Believe it or not, Commander, they’ve actually been eating! Here in the replimat! Amazing, isn’t it!”

Alden rocked back, taken by surprise. Before he could retort, however, he was distracted, as the pair he’d been watching rose from their seats. “They’re leaving!” he whispered.

Nog looked ready to drop his nose into his mug of root beer. “Maybe you’d better follow them, Commander. Who knows what they could be up to,” he suggested, his expression and tone resigned to the destruction of what had been a very positive lunch.

“Good idea!” Alden all but leapt out of his chair and headed out of the replimat after them.

The commander all but pounced on him as soon as he left the captain at the airlock.

“So who is she?” Alden pressed, falling into step with him as he made his way back across the Promenade.

Kaoron raised an eyebrow, then replied, a little mischievously, “Greetings, Commander. She is Captain T’Leera of the Vulcan Science Academy vessel Plom’tel.”

“Well, I know that!”

“If you were aware of that information, it was illogical for you to ask,” the Vulcan observed.

“So how do you know her?”

“I have known Captain T’Leera for as long as I can remember.”

Alden studied his expression calculatingly. Kaoron deliberately wiped away any trace of emotion or reaction.

“So she was the girl next door, huh? Your first crush? Oh, excuse me, that’s right, Vulcans don’t have crushes — your first, uh, what do you call members of the opposite sex that you’re interested in?”

Kaoron’s expression was resigned. “Commander, I believe you are already aware that Vulcans are ... what humans would call betrothed, at a young age, and complete the betrothal at attaining ... the appropriate stage of maturity.”

“Yeah, but....” The commander’s eyes narrowed, then widened, and his jaw dropped for a second. “You’re not telling me she’s your wife!”

“No. She is not my wife,” he replied more dryly.

“Then who—“

Kaoron relented. “T’Leera is my cousin. Our mothers are sisters. We have been ... very close, for many reasons, since our childhoods,” he explained. Observing Alden’s reaction to that, he added, “I am surprised that you noted and attributed significance to our recognition. That was quite observant, Commander.”

“Yeah, well, I notice things, sometimes, you should know that by now,” the human shrugged. “Like this new commanding officer. He may be carrying out this order suspending traffic through the Wormhole, but I don’t think he likes it.”

Kaoron paused. “Indeed? And how did you reach that conclusion?”

Now Alden looked a little embarrassed, and what Kaoron could only identify as nervous as well.

“He.... I don’t know, it’s ... the way he was standing, there was a tone in his voice. Nothing I can pinpoint for sure, but I ... I don’t think he likes this order. I don’t think he supports it.”

“Hmm,” Kaoron considered. “That is logical.... Minister Shakaar is staunchly in favor of Federation membership for Bajor; he would not originate an order such as this, with the potential to alienate the Federation, among other peoples. Defense Minister Jolorn.... While I believe he initially was opposed to joining the Federation, he has more recently been heard to support the petition, under the proper circumstances. We do not know the reason they recalled the Colonel, but it would be logical for Shakaar and Jolorn to send a replacement who would support their policies — especially with the current situation. Which suggests Krim may indeed be opposed to this order.”

Alden snorted. “So? You think that’s gonna make any difference, when the general’s dealing with a direct order?”

“It may....” He increased his stride, hurrying toward the nearest turbolift. “I must speak with the general....”

Alden rubbed the back of his neck, then trailed along. “This I gotta see.”

“General, do you have a moment?” Kaoron asked politely from the door to his office. Alden waited beside him, his expression anticipatory.

The general glanced at them both, then stood up. “Ah, just the one I needed to see. You are Lieutenant Commander Alden, I believe? The executive officer of this station?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Excellent.” Krim handed over a PADD. “I need a summary and analysis of the station’s current firepower and defensive capabilities, including that of the Defiant and the station runabouts, along with the optimal defensive postures.”

Something cold and frustrated crossed the commander’s face.

“I also need a crew listing of all personnel trained and experienced in the operation of the vessels associated with this station, with your recommendations as to who would be best qualified to place aboard each vessel, in what position, in case such postures had to be adopted under emergency circumstances.”

The cold turned into shock. Alden swallowed hard, his eyes dilating, blinking.

“What of ... your qualifications ... General?” he asked cautiously. “Are they ... in the crew data files?”

“I’ll save you the search,” Krim replied. “While I can fly anything Bajor has put in the air or space in the past fifty years, I have never flown a Federation vessel. I need that analysis as soon as possible, Commander, no later than this afternoon.”

“Ye.... Yes, General.”

Alden vanished.

Kaoron raised a somber eyebrow. “Do you suspect we face imminent attack, sir?”

“It is my hope otherwise, but it is best to be prepared. I am aware of the Romulan activity during the war. They attempted to destroy the Celestial Temple on one occasion. They signed a non-aggression pact with the Dominion. They allowed the Dominion to use their space to launch attacks on other powers. They attempted to establish a hospital on one of our moons that was a cover for a military base. Frankly, I do not trust the Romulans.”

“They are a generally honorable race,” Kaoron said, shifting.

“After their own fashion?”

“Yes—”

Krim snorted and sat back in his chair.

“And they were not the only people to sign such a pact during the war,” Kaoron said, obliquely reminding Krim that Bajor, too, had signed a pact with the Dominion.

“We did so at the Emissary’s instruction,” Krim shot back, then quickly changed the subject. “But I am sure you did not have the Romulans on your mind when you came here. What is your concern, Lieutenant?”

“General, what are the exact parameters of your orders regarding the Wormhole?”

“Excuse me?” Krim looked vaguely irritated and taken aback.

“What is the exact language and parameters of your order?” he repeated calmly.

“Traffic through the Wormhole is suspended, for all but Bajoran ships,” the general responded after a moment.

“So Bajoran ships are still allowed passage.”

“Yes.”

“What is the definition of a Bajoran ship?”

Krim frowned. “A Bajoran ship is ... a Bajoran ship....”

Kaoron clasped his hands behind his back. “Must it have been built on Bajor, by Bajorans?”

“No....” A beat. “Quite a number of our ships were purchased from other worlds or gifted by allies — or taken from enemies — during the Occupation. And we have a number of freighters operating under government auspices with alien crews — Captain Yates, for one.”

“So it is not necessary for a ship to have been built on Bajor, or to have a Bajoran crew, to be a Bajoran ship?”

Krim looked bemused. “So it would seem.”

Kaoron continued. “As I recall, Captain Yates’s ship is civilian — a simple freighter, from another world, with not even a Bajoran name, but it operates in Bajoran space with the consent of the Bajoran government. Would it be classified as a Bajoran vessel, free to pass through the Wormhole?”

“Perhaps.” Krim leaned back in his seat, studying the science officer.

“So a ship need not have been built on Bajor, or have a Bajoran crew, or a Bajoran captain, for that matter, or be operated directly by the Bajoran government, to be qualified to pass through the Wormhole, under the current order.”

“If you are suggesting that we cannot define what would constitute a Bajoran ship—“

“Not at all, sir. I am suggesting that, in the absence of a specific legal definition, we create one.”

Krim’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Create...?”

“Surely a Bajoran ship must have a Bajoran registry number.”

After a moment’s stare, enlightenment gleamed in the general’s eyes, and he began to laugh, deep in his throat — it didn’t sound like he did it very often. “So you’re suggesting we get around the order by assigning Bajoran registration numbers to other worlds’ ships, and then allowing them passage? The ministers will never accept that — I’ll be reprimanded, if not stripped of my rank and position!”

“Which has never happened to you before?”

Krim’s expression grew more grim. “Assigning false numbers to alien ships will not work.”

“By itself, I would not suggest it — and I would not expect ... short-term registrations to long satisfy the ministers,” Kaoron agreed. “However, the hope is that this will only need to be a short-term solution, until the ministers vote. And if we place a Bajoran aboard each ship passing the Wormhole — a captain pro tem, so to speak — it may meet the literal requirement of being a Bajoran ship. Each would have a Bajoran registry under a temporarily named Bajoran captain. On the other side of the Wormhole, our Bajoran could beam aboard the sentry ship already posted, and return with one of the regular runabouts or sentry ships.”

The Bajoran leaned forward, leaning his chin on his hand, his dark eyes focused on the Vulcan. He thought hard.

“Lieutenant Kaoron.”

“General?” he replied.

“I believe it could work. Hmm, the sentry ships....” He glanced at one of the data screens on his desk. “Trelmanin and Nellit on guard on this side of the Temple, the To’kem serving as sentry in the Gamma Quadrant.... The Trelmanin will comply without question. I expect the Nellit, however, would report this directly back to Bajor.”

“That would be reasonable behavior, under the circumstances.”

“I would expect within a day or two to receive instructions from Bajor, either rescinding the suspension and allowing free access through the Wormhole again, or condemning me for violating the intent of the Chamber of Ministers.”

“I would be very surprised if it were otherwise, General,” Kaoron replied calmly. “The question becomes, are we willing to risk it?”

Krim’s gaze strayed to Captain Sisko’s baseball, which remained in a place of honor on the desk. “It is a risk. But my hope is that this ... situation is only temporary. And in the meantime, it provides an option, however temporary. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Implement it at once. And then, we must wait for further orders or the final vote.”

Kaoron nodded respectfully and left the office.