Chapter 6

“What’s going on, Edon? Why is your security chief so concerned about an assassination plot?” Kira passed him the mug of salam tea sweetened with alvas juice; that had always been his beverage of choice, at midday, although she couldn’t stand the taste. She had chosen a simple raktajino.

He accepted the mug and slid back in his seat. She thought he already looked more at ease, less tense. She knew she’d been right, having this first meeting here in her quarters. Col. Rig and Lt. Taymon were outside the door, at least willing to acknowledge that Kira’s quarters were reasonably safe — and Kira strongly suspected that no one would get by the two of them.

After the first sip of his tea, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes, enjoying the taste and the scent. “Colonel Rig has uncovered evidence of a plot to kill me,” he said simply.

“A plot—“ Kira sat bolt upright in her chair. Rig hadn’t been exaggerating her concern. “A real plot? Not just some malcontent’s whining? What kind of plot? When…. Who…. What’s she doing to stop it?”

“She’s doing everything she can,” he replied, opening his eyes. “As to when, who, where, and how, that’s still unknown. Actually, it’s one of those rumors that run with the wind — many people hear it, some feed it and change its direction, few hear the whole story. So who knows the truth behind it?”

Kira was still. “The reason you didn’t come here with Carn … and you chose a lower docking pylon rather than the docking ring…. You’re making light of it, but you take the possibility seriously.”

Shakaar seemed to consider what he should tell her next — she knew that expression from the old days when they’d fought together, and from the more recent days when they’d loved together. He was debating how much she needed to know. She knew the second he’d made his decision.

“All right, Nerys, you deserve the whole story. This is the third time Rig has uncovered what appears to be a ... serious assassination plot against me in the past three months.”

Kira was appalled. She couldn’t find words. Three plots in three months?

“The first two, she confirmed and we handled them quietly. One was apparently inspired by my admitted continuing push to have Bajor join the Federation, now, rather than wait for the Emissary’s return. The other….” He shook his head. “It may be due to the Cardassian treaty, but Rig’s not sure — it could also have been retaliation for the deaths of the two Kohn-Ma members we tried to apprehend.”

“Lis’tanot and Foldan?” The names were well known to Bajoran commanding officers and security personnel; the terrorists had attempted to destroy a shuttle containing Federation ambassadors on their way to the Emissary’s memorial service.

He nodded, sipped again.

She sipped her own drink, thinking about events of the past few months, and of the event she’d just witnessed and broken up on the Promenade.

“Edon,” she asked, “do you think that … incident is tied in to the Federation’s reluctance to rebuild the relay?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“It is, isn’t it? They don’t trust us any more,” she said flatly. “With Sisko gone, they don’t trust us.” She couldn’t sit. She had to pace, long angry strides. “We’re back at the beginning, they see us as a group of unpredictable, uncontrollable, ragged beggars who can’t control our own—“

“Nerys!”

She paused.

“That’s not a factor.” His mouth twisted a little. “I’ve already raised that question with certain connections, and been reassured it’s not an issue — while being reminded that we haven’t exactly been secretive about our own trust issues now that the Emissary is gone.”

“And you believe them—“

“Yes.”

Shakaar had always known how to read people. If he believed it, it must be true. She sat down again.

“Sorry….” she apologized for the quick-tempered response. “We had an incident on the Promenade just before you arrived. It’s under control, but I’m a little tense.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “Disruption of Vedek Carn’s speech, nearly turned into a riot. There was … a little property damage, a few injuries, nothing serious….” She laughed without humor. “I’m afraid I made a point about what kind of image of Bajor they projected to the rest of the galaxy.”

“Colonel Rig will want the details on the riot,” he told her, frowning.

“You think there might be a connection?”

“I’ll leave that for her to determine.”

After a long moment, Kira asked, “Who is she, anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever met her before.”

“She was Resistance, like we were. Good at what she did, by all accounts.”

“Rig Saldys.” Kira frowned. “I don’t think I’ve heard of her — and I thought I’d heard of all the Resistance leaders and major operatives….”

“She had the good fortune or skill to avoid identification by the Cardassians — and I think her history of secrecy has become so ingrained that it’s second nature. Some of her activities … she may feel should never be revealed.”

“Really.” Kira felt a solemn need to respect that, but she was so impressed she had to ask: “Can you tell me what cell?”

“During the Occupation, she was Den’derat—“

Kira started, half out of her seat. “Den’derat! They were as bad as the Kohn-Ma! You trust her?” she demanded bluntly.

His lips actually quirked in a smile. “You’ve never questioned my judgment of people before, Nerys. If I didn’t trust her, she wouldn’t be my security chief. But,” he concluded firmly, “we are not here to discuss my security chief, who is more than capable of handling her job, which is why I will not be concerned about this plot. We are here to discuss the situation with the Federation and the Gamma Quadrant relay. Is there anything new to report?”

“Oh, uh, yes, let me give you the most recent reports….” She stood up and moved to the wall comm unit to call up the last few days’ reports from the Tiber and Ops. Everything had of course been forwarded directly to Bajor, but she knew bureaucracy — even with the best of intentions, everything took a day or two, at least, to find its way through the maze and reach the people who needed to know.

“Here. Most of this has already been sent to you and the Ministers, but … well, this is complete.”

Shakaar put down his mug and accepted the PADD to review the most-current information. “And Starfleet receives the same information, of course,” he said, more for confirmation than because he had any doubts.

“Of course.” She smiled wryly. “If it’s not Admiral Ross, it’s Admiral Nechayev, wanting daily updates. And of course, it’s standard Starfleet procedure for all station reports to be filed with Starfleet Command—“

Chirp.

The little combadge was starting to annoy her. Kira hit it a little harder than she intended; she felt a momentary pulse of pain.

“Kira here.”

“Colonel, Vedek Carn has finished his prayers — do you wish to escort him to the baseball game?”

Kira could tell it wasn’t really a request. She glanced at the First Minister. “Edon?”

He put down the PADD and stood up. “I’ll look at this later. Let’s go to the game.”

Surprised, Kira stood up too.

He read the expression on her face. “Nerys, I don’t expect anything to change in the next few hours. And honestly, I don’t expect we’ll really have time to talk until tonight, after services and the reception. You know the routine. We both have to live by it. I’m also sure that, while Admiral Ross is breathlessly awaiting your report of our meeting, he won’t die of asphyxiation for having to wait a few more hours!” he finished wryly.

She couldn’t help the laugh. Shakaar had always been able to make her laugh. But she also couldn’t help noticing the lines of strain that reappeared around his eyes as they headed for the door.

* * * *

“Strike three! You’re outta here!”

The crowd went wild as “Fingers” Jordan made the final out in a perfect game — no runs, no hits, no errors, and a victory for the Thunder Bay Lightnings over the London Kings. The coaches for the two baseball teams ran out for the obligatory congratulations and handshakes.

Among the crowd were a Bajoran First Minister, a Vedek, and the commander of a space station. Shakaar’s personal security officers were outside the deceptively-sized chamber, along with Carn’s acolytes and functionaries.

“And that one’s Buck Bokai? The one whose hand is wrapped?” Carn asked, frowning, pointing out one of the milling players.

“That’s him,” Kira confirmed, clapping vigorously. “Captain Sisko still thinks that if Jordan hadn’t hit him with that pitch in the second inning, the Kings could have won. At the least, they wouldn’t have been shut out — Bokai had hit home runs in the two games before this one, and would have a streak that would run for … 14 games, starting the next game he played. If he hadn’t been injured, the Emissary believed he would have hit a home run in this one, too.”

“Indeed.” Carn’s attention remained on the field; he frowned slightly as he tried to absorb all that the colonel had told him over the past few hours.

Kira was glad he didn’t ask any more questions. She’d about reached the extent of her knowledge and memories about the game in general, and about this game in particular. It was hard to concentrate on what they were watching when, every time she glanced at Shakaar, she could see that his attention was light-years away.

He needs to talk. Why are we even wasting time here? she wondered. I’ve seen this game before. I know Edon has seen it. As far as Carn is concerned, we could have used a holoprogram of … of a “little league” game, for what he knows about baseball. They all come to connect with the Prophets, by searching for meaning in the Emissary’s sport.

Shakaar continued to sit, ignoring the crowd of holo-spectators that were beginning to file out of the bleachers around them.

“So, Colonel, have you had time to consider?”

She blinked for a second and turned back to Carn. “Consider what, Vedek?”

“Replacing your constable with one who will recognize the honor bestowed on him or her, by being chosen to serve here within the palm of the Prophets.”

“I haven’t had an opportunity to talk with her — things have been a little hectic today, you may have noticed.”

“What would there be to talk about? She wears no mark of faith on her ear. She refused to allow me to commune with her pagh. And I notice she did not enter the shrine at any time while I was there.”

Taken aback, she shifted her feet. “Emyn was defending you from a crowd that was threatening to get out of hand.”

Carn smiled genially. “Admitted. And perhaps a lack of faith does not imply lack of ability.” The smile became stern and paternal. “But this has become one of our more sacred places, Colonel. Along with B’Hala and our other shrines. There are many who would consider themselves blessed by the Prophets if they were stationed here. Why have a woman who could perform her function anywhere else, one who doesn’t appreciate the singular honor of being here?” He shrugged. “If you like, I could speak to the Senior Over-General — I could also recommend several worthy officers….”

Kira felt her rebellious streak rising. She suddenly sensed a political motive behind the religious concerns. She also remembered how she had come to be stationed here in the first place. She wasn’t going to allow that same kind of politics to dictate her officers — or to condemn one of them to some hole-in-the-wall post out of some official’s hair!

“Thank you for the offer. I’ll keep it in mind, but I need to talk to the Constable before considering a transfer request,” she said stiffly. Maybe they were all making unfair assumptions. And even if they weren’t, she needed a little time to think about it before she accepted anybody’s offer of a “worthy” person for any post. Considering the current situation on Bajor, she had no doubt that Carn’s worthy officer would be one of his partisans. While she had nothing against him personally, at this point, she was not about to play religious politics with station personnel.

“The reception begins in an hour — I’m sure you both want to rest and change.” She deliberately changed the subject, and touched Shakaar’s arm. “Minister? Are you ready to go?”

* * * *

Kira could have used a nap, but figured she would be too keyed up to really rest. She first escorted Carn and Shakaar to their quarters. Lt. Taymon, Shakaar’s bodyguard, had stayed outside his door while Colonel Rig swept the chambers — again — for any devices or explosives before allowing him inside. Station security — Bajoran, of course — was guarding Vedek Carn; Lt. Brilgar stood watch at his quarters.

Leaving her guests under those watchful eyes, she left for Ops to review the day’s reports before freshening up for the reception.

Everything was under control in Ops. Nog had final station repairs well in hand, and seemed to have his crew equally well in hand. There was nothing new from the Gamma Quadrant. The Tiber hadn’t yet returned, and since the subspace tests were now complete, there were no other signals going through the Wormhole.

Kira headed for her own quarters.

Den’derat. Rig had been Den’derat. All the stories came back to her.

Den’derat, like Kohn-Ma, had been ruthless, violent, and daring. At times it had seemed nothing was beyond them. They were unsurpassed experts in assassination, terrorism, espionage. Den’derat had operated throughout the eastern islands, through Musilla and Rakantha Provinces — how they managed to escape the Cardasssians and to move with such apparent freedom was still a mystery, in some ways. Kira remembered the Cardassians twice announcing the “utter destruction” of the Den’derat rebels. But they always reappeared, either the survivors reforming, or a new group claiming their name and mantle.

It was obvious why the Cardassians had finally resorted to putting members of their Obsidian Order, like Tekeny Ghemor’s daughter, under deep cover to try to track down and destroy such groups. It was the only way to infiltrate. The Resistance cells seldom collaborated with each other, and they didn’t share their information about themselves or their operations — survival often depended on secrecy, and the fewer who knew your secrets, the better your chance they would stay secret. But they’d passed along information about the enemy to each other, when they safely could. During the Occupation, there had always been the Cardassians to fight.

Then, with the Cardassian withdrawal and freedom, their internecine quarrels and differences of policies had increased in significance. There had been differences of opinion in everything, from how to re-establish a government, to who was entitled to return home and who should be banished, to determining the priorities of rebuilding, to whether or not to welcome the Federation. There had been arguments that had literally come to blows, and to some cells turning on each other.

Certain cells had been so violent, in their history and in their post-liberation actions, that even their fellow Bajorans wouldn’t accept them back. A few cells had refused to accept that the war was over, and had continued to carry their battles onto other worlds.

Like Kohn-Ma. Like Den’derat.

They’d gone rogue. They weren’t the only ones, of course; there had been others. But unlike most of the others, the rumor was that the entire surviving membership of each cell had fled Bajor, to continue a pointless war against Cardassia, or to wage a new war against their own people — including their own members who later tried to return home.

Two members of the Kohn-Ma had come home, since the incident with Tahna Los and the Klingon sisters, when Kira’d talked the ministers into offering amnesty. Unlike Tahna and his associates, their request for asylum had apparently been genuine. Each had been dead within a month — murdered, no question, as an example.

So, were the rumors wrong? Had one of the Den’derat stayed? Had she returned, quietly? How had a woman from that cell wound up as security chief for the First Minister of Bajor? And considering what had happened to the two Kohn-Ma, how was she still alive?

* * * *

The reception had been a mixed success. Everything had been pleasant; the music had been low and melodious; the food and beverages had been Quark’s best. But there had been an undercurrent that had been anything but light and easy. Several times, Kira had seen what appeared to be very intense and personal conversations, off to the side. Some had involved Carn. Some had involved Shakaar. Some had involved others. But every time she approached, the conversation had ended abruptly, usually with someone hurrying away.

Hardly relaxing, she suspected.

Afterward, Shakaar had invited Kira to his quarters for a drink — and, she presumed, to finally talk privately. He must have planned it, she realized when they arrived — Quark was just delivering a bottle of spring wine and some late night snacks. He was also being grilled by Taymon and another militia officer, presumably the night guard.

Quark had glared balefully at the pair as he was finally allowed in to deposit his tray. “Last time I do you a favor,” he muttered to the First Minister as he was unceremoniously ushered out again.

Finally, they were alone.

Shakaar poured the wine, then handed her a glass. He took his own and sat back.

“I’m assuming everybody had plenty to say tonight about the relay and every other political question before the Ministers and the Assembly,” she began, when he showed no signs of starting to talk.

“Enough,” he said briefly, and sipped at his wine. He moved a little awkwardly.

Kira remembered where the tension would build up in his neck and shoulder, along an old muscle tear, a permanent reminder of a long-ago mission. She knew just how to massage out the strain. Without conscious thought, she moved behind him, and begun to rub his neck and shoulder.

He slowly relaxed as she massaged, then set down his wine and shifted position to give her more access to his shoulder. Kira continued to knead at the muscles.

“Nerys,” he said quietly, “I’m tired.”

She paused. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Not that kind of tired.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against her. He sighed deeply. “It’s been almost four months. The Emissary is gone. We have no Kai. There are still uncertainties from the war. Bajor is … afraid … I think.” He ran his hand up his forehead to push back his hair, streaked with more gray than she remembered. “We used to be so certain. We had won back our freedom. The Prophets would guide us. The Emissary would stay with us. We would join the Federation and become part of something greater. Now….” He shook his head. “Our people are more agitated by the day … divided … even more than when the Occupation ended.”

She bit her lip and waited.

“I’m tired, Nerys. I’m tired of the fighting. I’m tired of the politics, of everyone wanting me to do what they want, of the games and the arguments and the compromises. I could handle it before. Now, I’m … tired of feeling like the only one left.” He laughed a little and moved forward to pick up his glass of spring wine again. “I want to go back to my farm. I want to plant again, and see things grow. I want to harvest my own crops and hold progress in my hands. I want to feel tired at the end of the day because I’ve done something useful. I want to be at peace with myself and my world.”

“Edon….” Kira swallowed hard, shock finally giving way to words. Her heart raced in panic. “You can’t resign, you can’t! We need you, we’d be—“

“Utterly bereft?” he finished. “I know. I know my obligation. I won’t leave my people without someone to lead them.” A brief pause. “But when we have a new Kai, and when the Federation question is settled….” He stared at the glass, nodding. “Yes. When we are really at peace, I’m going home.”

“You have led us through … amazing times, Edon,” she replied softly. “You led a small group of us through the fight against Cardassian slavery. You led all of us through a turning time, through a war that could have enslaved our entire quadrant. We were the pivot of the galaxy, for a time. That’s a lot to carry on anyone’s shoulders.”

“I led through the first war with the words of Opaka to strengthen me. The other, if I saw the way at all, it was because of the Emissary’s wisdom. And in both—“ He smiled wanly at her. “I had you fighting beside me and believing in my leadership.”

Her heartbeat stilled; she felt cautious relief.

“How do you feel, Nerys? Do you still support membership in the Federation?”

“Yes,” she replied unequivocally. “I believe it’s what the Emissary wanted. And I believe it’s what’s best for Bajor, ultimately.”

“What about the Gamma relay and station?”

She made a face. “I think Admiral Ross wants me to talk you out of it. I know the Ministers and the Assembly want us to build it, and to hold it like a fortress against everybody else.” She sighed, crossing her arms across her chest and walking around the couch. “I believe a station in the Gamma Quadrant is too important to put on hold. If the Federation can’t or won’t build it now, we have to. But I don’t want it to destroy our relationship with the Federation.”

“We can’t let it destroy that relationship,” Shakaar replied firmly.

“So what do we do?”

“Right now, we’re at stalemate.” Shakaar was on his feet now too, pacing as she was. They continued to circle the couch. “We’ve each expressed our opinions, diplomatically. Anything more … could be construed as ultimatums.”

“We don’t want to be seen as giving ultimatums — but we also don’t want to submit to ultimatums,” she thought aloud. “Having seen what’s on the other side of the Temple, we need a base there, it’s too important not to. New Bajor would have been, but the Dominion wiped them out….”

Shakaar nodded, a bleak look flitting across his face at the memory of their lost colony. “Will Admiral Ross listen to you?” he asked. “Or will he just tell you what he wants me to do?”

Kira paused, leaning against the couch in thought. Just now, Ross was not one of her favorite people. But they had a history of working together. “He … might listen. What do you want me to tell him?”

“He called you,” Shakaar murmured. “He knows you can talk to me; we know he can talk to those in authority in the Federation. To be honest, Nerys, there are some in the capital who are tired of talking to the Federation, officially. Some feel the Federation doesn’t listen. But I’ve got to keep unofficial channels open — someone not part of our government, that the Federation will listen to, quietly. Someone I can trust absolutely.” He looked at her. “That’s you.”

“Me—?” Kira drew in a sharp breath.

“Yes.”

“I thought one of the reasons we needed control of a station in the Gamma Quadrant was because the Federation wouldn’t listen to me like they listened to Sisko, when it came to the Temple and the Prophets.”

“Formally. We’re talking about an informal line of communication. You’ve dealt with more of their captains and admirals than any of us, me included.”

She stared at him for a long moment, skeptical. “What if the Federation doesn’t want to keep those lines open?”

Shakaar shook his head decisively. “I don’t think they’re ready to write off Bajor. I think they’re looking for a way to get out of this, just like I am, without destroying what we’ve built over the last seven and a half years. I think that’s why Ross called you in the first place, Nerys — he knew you were the obvious choice.” He grinned a little. “It’ll probably help my shoulder almost as much as a good massage if you say yes.”

The grin was good to see. “Of course I will.”

The smile broadened. It wiped away several lines around his eyes and his mouth. “I knew I could count on you.” He glanced at the low table, where two mostly-full glasses of spring wine and a tray of hasperat mini-soufflés rested. He gestured back at the couch. “Now let’s talk.”

She laughed and sat down.

Chapter Seven

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