Asarem set the padd down for a moment and rubbed her eyes. Her interrupted sleep was going to make the day that much harder to get through. She was supposed to meet Minister Rozahn later in the morning for a springball match, which was to be the setting for the two women to discuss an old proposal of Shakaar’s, found among his files, to invite the Federation to establish a Starfleet shipyard within the Bajoran system. She glanced across the room at the ministerial portrait of her predecessor above the fireplace, and wondered how often he felt as smothered by the job as she did right now. She smiled at the painting, thinking that perhaps he’d have been pleased with how Bajor was faring overall. Shakaar looked back at her from the canvas, his expression hopeful. The portrait had once resided in the office of his personal assistant, Syrsy, who had withdrawn from public service after Shakaar’s violent death. I haven’t spoken with her since the memorial service,Asarem realized. I should get in touch with her, see how she’s doing….
Making another note in the padd, Asarem finished her slice of makapaand then reached for the cup her aide had filled before he’d left her to eat her breakfast in private. She took a single sip and winced. “Theno!” she shouted.
A moment later, her aide entered the residence. Theno was older than she by perhaps thirty years, slight of build, somewhat wizened in appearance, but possessing the most pronounced rhinal ridges she’d ever seen. His gray hair was combed back from his forehead, and his soft voice always failed utterly to disguise his complete impertinence. “You screamed, First Minister?”
“If I did, you have only yourself to blame,” Asarem said. She held up the cup. “What is this?”
“Celatea, First Minister,” Theno said as he approached. “I asked the kitchen to prepare some for you.”
“No, no, no!” she said, setting the cup back down. “How long have you been my aide, Theno?”
“It seems like forever, First Minister,” Theno drawled.
“Then you should know by now that I only drink celatea from Rakantha Province. Wherever this came from, it wasn’t Rakantha.”
Theno picked up the abandoned cup and sampled the tea for himself. “It tastes passable to me.”
Asarem pointed at Theno and pounced. “You see, that’s the problem. Right there. That attitude. The idea that ‘passable’ should mean ‘acceptable.’ Bajorans don’t strive for ‘passable.’ Our culture and our civilization weren’t built because our ancestors satisfied themselves with what was ‘passable.’ The growers in Rakantha are an ancient order of monks who have been cultivating celaplants specifically to make tea for centuries. They’ve elevated it to art, producing a leaf that surpasses the quality of celagrown elsewhere.”
Theno frowned in distaste. “Isn’t this the same group that campaigned a few years ago to have Cardassian voles declared a protected species?”
Asarem folded her arms. “For your information, despite the ecological problems the voles created when they were first introduced to Bajor decades ago, their droppings have been found to have had a remarkable restorative effect on our damaged farmlands since the end of the Occupation. The cela-growing monks in Rakantha were the first to recognize this. Because of them, there are now entire farms devoted to the refinement of vole fertilizer, which has greatly reduced our dependence on offworld soil-reclamation technology.”
“But…they’re voles,”Theno said.
“You’re missing the point. The monks who came to understand their value weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty, to look at things from an unpopular perspective, and to speak up in order to make things betterrather than be satisfied with what was ‘passable.’ ”
“My ignorance shames me, First Minister,” Theno said. “Shall I arrange to have myself taken into custody?”
Asarem glared at him before returning to her morning brief. “Just get that swill out of here and bring me some kavajuice.”
“As you wish. Would you like one vole dropping in that, or two?”
Before Asarem could fire off a scathing retort, Theno’s right index finger went to the tiny comlink receiver affixed to his left ear. He looked up at her, all trace his customary insolence gone. “It’s Second Minister Ledahn. He says it’s urgent. He’s standing by on comm channel nine.”
“Thank you, Theno. That’ll be all,” Asarem said automatically, moving to her companel as Theno exited the residence and keying the proper channel. The face of Ledahn Muri winked into existence. “What’s happened?” she asked without preamble. “More news about Sidau?”
Ledahn shook his head. His strong features, Asarem noted, seemed accentuated since he began shaving his scalp. “Not yet,”he said. “It’s something else. Rava Mehwyn is dead.”
Asarem blinked, unwilling to believe at first that she’d heard him correctly. Rava was Bajor’s newly appointed first representative to the Federation Council. She’d left Bajor only a week earlier. Thoughts of assassination and new political turmoils, foreign and domestic, raced through Asarem’s mind.
“How did it happen?” she asked. “Who’s responsible?”
“What? No, no one!”Ledahn said. “There was no foul play. Rava had a heart attack in her sleep at the Bajoran Embassy, her second night on Earth. She was found dead by one of her aides the next morning, too late to be helped. The embassy physician confirmed it was natural causes. I’m sorry, First Minister, if I led you to think—”
“No, that’s all right, Muri,” Asarem said, relief and sadness forming a peculiar mixture in her mind. “I guess I’ve gotten into a bad habit of automatically assuming the absolute worst.”
“That’s understandable, especially after all we’ve been through lately,”Ledahn said.
“I can’t believe it. I know Rava wasn’t young, but…I’m sorry, this is quite a shock. I take it her remains will soon be returned to Bajor? We’ll need to make sure her life is honored properly. Have her children been notified?”
“Not yet. I thought you’d prefer to contact them yourself. They all live in Dahkur.”
“Thank you, yes, I’ll do that right away.”
“Before you do,”Ledahn said, “there’s the matter of selecting Rava’s replacement to discuss.”
Asarem was taken aback. “Can’t that wait? Prophets, Ledahn, the woman just died—”
“I’m afraid it can’t, First Minister.”
“Why not? We spent a month wrangling with the Chamber of Ministers over the selection of Rava. The next one will take at least as long.”
“No it won’t. Or rather, it musn’t. The Federation Council has been in recess for over three weeks. The new session convenes in five days. Under its charter, new member planets must have representation at the start of a session. If we don’t have a councillor there for Bajor at that time, we’ll have to wait for the next session in order to take part in new council business. Six months from now.”
“Wait a minute. What are you saying?” Asarem demanded. “Are you telling me that, even though Bajor is now a member of the Federation, we could be excluded for half a year from taking part in the shaping of policy that could impact us? And that issues Bajorans are concerned about may not be raised until the next council session?”
“That’s the short of it, yes,”Ledahn said. “Unless we get a new councillor to step in quickly in five days.”
“And just how am I supposed to do that?” Asarem asked angrily. “I couldn’t get my first nominee passed because the damned Chamber of Ministers was more worried about sending a ‘team player’ who would make friends on the council than someone who would take a stand for Bajoran interests. I only agreed to go with Rava because it was clear Sorati Teru didn’t stand a chance. Now you’re telling me we’re back to square one, andwe’re out of time.”