Vaughn stepped back away from the wrecked tower, then turned and made his way back to his supplies. He sat down on the roadway beside them, facing toward the wreckage, but averting his gaze, looking down instead. He pulled off his coat, opened one of the water containers, and wet a corner of the fabric. Gently, he wiped the blood from his forehead, then applied pressure to the wound there. He held his hand like that for several minutes, hoping to stanch the flow of blood.

Unable to stop himself, Vaughn thought about the Vahni Vahltupali. Such a lovely species of beings, they embodied what Vaughn had hoped to discover out in the universe. The Vahni stood as the antithesis of what the circumstances of Vaughn’s life had left him exposed to. They were bright and joyful, peaceful and calm. Truly, he could not have hoped for a better experience on his first exploratory mission.

And yet I was so anxious to leave,he recalled. While the rest of Defiant’s crew had expressed their desire to spend more time with the Vahni, Vaughn had looked ahead, to the next discovery, the next wonder, that they might come across. Charging through the mission as though it were an intelligence operation,he realized: checking off one objective and immediately moving to fulfill the next, without reflection or satisfaction, but only the intensity for completion. The crew had met the Vahni and embraced them, enjoyed their time with them, as Vaughn had simply categorized the encounter as a success and sought to move on to the next goal, the next discovery. Where had his own joy been, he wanted to know, his own sense of wonder? Somehow, he had missed the whole point of his own desire to explore, and now the cruel truth of that left him feeling empty.

Vaughn withdrew the section of coat he had kept pressed to his forehead. He dabbed at his wound with his fingertips to see if the bleeding had stopped; it had. He looked up and regarded the fallen tower. He felt very much like the ruined structure, shaken until it had torn itself apart.

“Stop it,” he said aloud. As he so well knew, he could do nothing about the mistakes of the past. He could only look forward. For now, the chance to explore had gone, leaving a mission in its place. He had to reach the source of the pulse and find some way to save the Vahni Vahltupali. Those were his next goals, and he had to concentrate on accomplishing them.

Vaughn stood up and packed up his few provisions once more. He circled the wreckage twice, searching for his phaser, which he had dropped on the roof before the tower had come down. He didn’t find it.

Not wanting to use up any more time, Vaughn put the mass of broken stone behind him, headed once more toward the mysterious pulse.

48

Kira worked the control pad set into the bulkhead. “These will be your quarters while you’re on the station, Minister,” she said as the door coasted open.

“Thank you,” Shakaar said. Kira had met the first minister at the docking bay and escorted him here. Their conversation along the way had been limited to official matters, and had been somewhat strained. It only underscored Kira’s feeling that Shakaar had put some distance between them.

Until today, they had not spoken in more than six weeks, since she had returned to the station via the Iconian gateway. And their last significant communication, not too long after she had been Attainted a few months ago, had been contentious. At that time, he had let her know that her excommunication could easily threaten her position aboard Deep Space 9. Although he had never suggested that he wanted to remove her from command, he had tacitly warned that, whatever struggles arose for her, she would have to weather them without him. Since then, she had done just that.

“I’ll see you tonight at the reception,” Kira said, ready to return to her office.

“Of course,” Shakaar said. “Would you like to come in for a few minutes?”

The invitation caught Kira off-guard. Shakaar must have seen her hesitation, because he added, “Unless you really need to get back to ops.”

“No,” she said, curiosity replacing her surprise. “Not at all.” He stepped aside to allow her to pass, then followed her into the cabin. The door hummed closed behind them.

“It’s good to see you,” Shakaar said, moving past her and farther into the room. “Nerys,” he added, with a smile. “You can still call me Edon,” he told her, “or have things degenerated that badly between us?”

“No, of course not,” Kira said immediately, although she really had perceived an iciness in their relationship. She had initially believed that the distance growing between them had only been natural—they had stopped seeing each other romantically a couple of years ago—but she had lately come to believe it a result of Shakaar’s political life. Now, apropos of that, she said, “Unless there are some Bajorans listening to us. Maybe then we’d better argue with each other.”

Shakaar laughed, a sound Kira had not heard in a while. “That might actually work best for me,” he said. “I think you’ve got more political enemies than I do.”

Kira smiled, but Shakaar’s jest bothered her. So far as she knew, the only real political opposition she had came from Vedek Yevir and his followers, who had been the ones to Attaint her. Well, and maybe from Admiral Akaar,Kira amended.

“May I get you something to drink?” Shakaar asked, crossing over to the replicator in the small dining area.

“No, thank you,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “All right.” He looked at the replicator for a moment longer, as though deciding whether or not to get something for himself. Then he walked around the dining table and over to the sitting area. “Please,” he said, indicating an easy chair, “have a seat.”

Kira walked over and sat down in the chair, and Shakaar sat on the sofa across from her. “You’ve been well, I hope,” she said.

“I have,” Shakaar told her. “Busy, but well. I trust the same is true of you.”

“It is,” Kira said, and realized that she meant it. Despite all of the difficult times she had undergone in the last few months, and notwithstanding the potentially tumultuous days approaching for Bajor, she felt strong in her own life. She recalled the swarm of locusts that had infiltrated her sleep last night, but the concerns fueling her dreams she held not for herself, but for her people. Feeling somehow unburdened by the insight, she returned to her thoughts of a moment ago. “Can I ask you about Admiral Akaar?” she said. She saw what she perceived as hesitation in Shakaar’s features, and she quickly added, “Off the record.”

Shakaar nodded his head slowly as he seemed to consider this. He leaned back on the sofa, spreading his arms wide. “Off the record, certainly,” he said. “What can I tell you?”

“What do you think of him?” Kira asked.

Shakaar shrugged. “He’s a Starfleet admiral, like all the rest. Perhaps a bit more serious than some, a little more…” As he searched for a word to complete his thought, Kira offered her own observation.

“Secretive?” she said.

“I would’ve said… guarded…but yes,” Shakaar agreed. “Has that been a problem?”

Kira shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I have a vague uneasiness about the admiral.” The apparition of the locusts flew across her mind again, and she wondered if their presence in her dream represented a shadow she felt Akaar might somehow cast over her people.

“Are you sure your feelings are about the admiral,” Shakaar asked, “and not about the prospect of Bajor joining the Federation?”