56

Kira shrugged out of her dress jacket, pleased to finally be free of the ill-fitting garment. During her years on Deep Space 9, she had often thought to have the jacket altered so that it would sit comfortably on her body, but the idea of Garak touching her clothing had prevented her from ever doing so. Now that the erstwhile tailor had returned to Cardassia, though, a Bajoran seamstress—Hatram something, she thought—had opened a shop on the Promenade. Hatram had even had the good sense to move into a different space than Garak’s old shop, which nobody seemed to want to rent. Anyway, I’ll have to bring it in,she told herself, knowing that she never would. That Garak had owned the tailor’s shop had only been an excuse; Kira tended to avoid minutiae such as this, and her life experience had certainly provided her the ability to withstand a little discomfort.

Besides,she thought, tossing the jacket on her bed, I may never have to wear this again.If Bajor joined the Federation, then she would be wearing formal Starfleet attire for occasions such as today. Of course, there was no guarantee that Starfleet’s dress uniforms would be any more comfortable than those of the Militia.

Kira sat down on the bed and slipped out of her pants. As she dropped them on top of the jacket, she smiled, realizing that she had made a significant decision without even thinking about it. Bajoran membership in the Federation, she knew, would mean that the Militia would roll up into Starfleet. But even with the summit beginning tomorrow, Kira had not really thought about that in terms of her own career—although she had considered the implications for Ro, after Akaar had revealed his disapproval of her. Kira supposed that if she had thought about it, she would have made her choice quickly anyway. As much as she had come to like her position as DS9’s first officer, her half-year as the station’s commander had proven even more fulfilling. No matter what Vedek Yevir might maintain, Kira believed that she had served Bajor well. She wanted to keep doing so, and it really did not matter to her whether she did so as a member of the militia or as a member of Starfleet; in the last weeks of the war, Admiral Ross and Captain Sisko had commissioned her as a Starfleet commander, and her uniform had fit perfectly well.

Kira stripped off her remaining clothes and pulled on a thigh-length, gold lamé robe, the fabric cool and silky against her skin. She headed out into the living area. It had been a long and tiring day—when were her days anything but?—and she sought a measure of tranquillity.

At the small shrine she kept, Kira lighted a candle and then sat down on the floor, folding her legs together and resting her wrists on her knees, palms facing upward. For a few minutes, she concentrated on the candle’s flame, letting its gentle, wavering movement mesmerize her. Then she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind of thoughts. In place of the flame, she visualized the blue-white pinwheel of light that decorated space when the Celestial Temple opened, attempting to lose herself within its depths. By degrees, the tension in her body and mind melted away, like a morning frost succumbing to the rising sun.

Thank the Prophets they didn’t take this away from me,she thought. In truth, they—Vedek Yevir and the others who had chosen to Attaint her—could not have taken this away. Even had Kira tried to accommodate such a penalty, it would likely have been impossible for her. She spoke to the Prophets too often—virtually every day—and not even in such a structured way as this. Simply walking through the normal course of her life, she maintained a dialogue with the Bajoran gods. It had been her way for as long as she could remember, and it had seen her through many dark times. It was one thing for the Vedek Assembly to forbid her to pray with other Bajorans or to read the sacred texts, and something else entirely for them to try to control her heart.

Of course, Kira still missed temple services, as well as studying the hallowed works. She had read the ancient texts so many times that she could almost recite them— Maybe more than almost,she thought—but there was something special about holding the books in her hands and actually seeing the words.

Again she felt that critical times lay immediately ahead for her people. It troubled her that Akaar might have a say in that, and what he had said earlier in the evening recurred to her. He had spoken of “Bajoran hospitality,” in a way that she had found difficult to decipher. He had repeated what she had said to Ambassador Lent, but that could easily have been a coincidence. But coincidence or not, he could have intended the words as a compliment or as sarcasm; his inscrutable demeanor allowed for either possibility.

Kira recalled all of the questions the admiral had asked her with respect to Bajor’s relationship with Cardassia, and about Bajor in general; she also remembered the discomfort she had felt in answering those questions, and her resistance to his apparent desire to measure the Bajoran people through her. Nobody but Shakaar could speak for Bajor unless the First Minister himself authorized it; according to Kasidy and her friend Prylar Eivos, even the Vedek Assembly seemed on the verge of schism, though Kira had heard nothing more about that in the last week. With Federation membership at stake, though, she knew that Bajoran unity would be more important than ever.

Kira opened her eyes. Her focus drifting, she stared once more at the flame of the candle. She let the minutes pass as she strived to abandon her thoughts, seeking the calmness of her faith. The Prophets would watch over Bajor, she knew. She closed her eyes…

…and saw the face of Gul Macet. Despite the DNA records provided by Cardassia, Macet still made Kira uneasy. Dukat had played that game too many times, claiming to be something he was not. That face—Dukat’s—had haunted her dreams for so many years, and to see those same features now on Macet—

Kira’s eyes opened again. So much for meditation,she thought. She slapped her hands on her thighs, frustrated, then leaned forward on her knees and blew out the candle.

I have to let all of this go,she told herself. All of these things that I can’t change.She could only command Deep Space 9, she could only be true to her faith, and she could only deal with Macet as circumstances warranted.

Kira sighed, then stood up. All she wanted right this moment was to follow the path on which the Prophets had set her. She had weathered the last few months—the months since she had been Attainted—relatively well, she thought, but every now and then she lost her way a bit. Although she maintained her faith, and practiced her solitary rituals and prayers, she felt sometimes as though she had been not separated, but distanced, from the Prophets.

And now—right now—she could not even seem to meditate.

She wandered over to the window and gazed out at the location in space she knew the Celestial Temple to be. She wished it would reveal itself. As many times as Kira had seen the sight, it never failed to thrill her in a profound way.

Now, though, only the distant stars and the emptiness of space between them stared back at her. And suddenly an idea occurred to Kira, an idea born of her faith, and of her need to feel close to the Prophets.

“Kira to ops,” she said, raising her voice a touch.

“Ops, Selzner here, Colonel,”came the reply.

“Ensign, at what time is the Rio Grandescheduled to finish maintenance on the subspace relay tonight?” Kira wanted to know. She walked over to the companel and checked the current time on the chronometer.