“Not at all, Colonel,”Macet said, graciously not making an issue of Kira’s initially adversarial manner. “My crew and I are at your disposal. We’ll wait until your people are prepared for the Europani to boardTrager.”

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s night here, so it’ll probably be eight to ten hours before we can begin.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,”Macet said. “And Colonel…my crew will remain aboard ship while we’re at Deep Space 9.”

Neither of the times that Tragerhad docked here before had Macet or any of his crew come aboard the station, and considering how much the gul resembled his infamous cousin, Kira realized what a wise decision that had been. She wanted to tell Macet now that such a restriction was not necessary, that he and his crew were welcome on DS9. But even if Kira welcomed these Cardassians aboard, would the same be true of the Bajoran civilians on the station? In particular, what would be the reaction to a Cardassian gul who so resembled the justifiably reviled Skrain Dukat?

“Acknowledged,” Kira said. Macet nodded, and then his image vanished from the screen. Kira thumbed the channel off, then contacted ops.

“Selzner here, Colonel,”came the reply.

“Ensign, give Gul Macet clearance to dock when the Tragerarrives,” she said.

“Yes, sir.”

Kira slumped back in her chair. She hoped Macet’s willingness to assist in Bajoran operations was genuine, and that his motivations were of a charitable—or at least diplomatic—nature. She remained skeptical, and criticized herself for the feeling. She had fought her entire life to free her people from the tyranny of the Cardassians and, thank the Prophets, they had been freed. But how full, how rich, would that freedom be if the people of Bajor could not escape the tyranny of their own fear and hatred and racism?

Kira peered across her office at the bookshelf where When the Prophets Criedstood, and recalled the passage in which Vedek Synta counseled her people to embrace their enemies as they would their friends. Such noble sentiments pervaded Bajoran canon, but had been little espoused during or since the Occupation. How can you wrap your arms around somebody who is torturing or raping you, or working you to death, or simply killing you?

Memories and anger threatened, and Kira pushed them away. She knew she was destined always to be a soldier, but she commanded Deep Space 9 now, and that made her a leader, and even a diplomat. Even after everything that had happened in the last decade, from the end of the Occupation to the Ascension of the Emissary, Kira could not help thinking that Bajorans faced a critical juncture in their history right now.

She considered Admiral Akaar, his question to her about Bajoran aid to Cardassia, and his informing the Cardassians that the Europani would be returning to their world from Bajor. And all that,she thought, after the first minister had asked the Federation to reconsider Bajor for membership.She wondered if Akaar had come here to make the final determination about that, perhaps along with Councillor zh’Thane. And if so, would Bajor’s relationship with Cardassia be a factor?

Kira suddenly felt very tired. She stood up and headed out of her office. The doors slid open, and as she descended the stairs into ops, the eyes of the few crewpeople—and of Taran’atar—turned toward her. “Good night,” she said, and the crew—but not the Jem’Hadar—returned her farewell. She walked around the upper level and into the turbolift, then turned, facing back into ops. “Habitat ring,” she said, and then specified the section where her quarters were.

As the lift started down, Kira saw a young Bajoran man—Corporal Aleco Vel—working at a console on the far side of ops. Kira realized that, like her, the young man had never known anything but contempt for the Cardassians. She remembered her father telling her of a time, back when he had been a boy, when Bajorans and Cardassians had coexisted in a peaceful relationship. And the generations older than that of her father surely could recall such times as well. Because of that, she thought it might be easier for them to see a future in which Bajor and Cardassia could once again live together in peace. But for people like Kira, and like that young man in ops, the Cardassians had only ever been the enemy.

The turbolift finished the vertical part of its journey and moved laterally, out toward the habitat ring. In a way, Kira supposed, the Cardassians presented a more difficult problem for Bajor now than they ever had. Fighting’s easy,she thought. Acceptance and accord are hard.

All the way out to the habitat ring, and then around to her section, the sight of Corporal Aleco stayed in the front of her mind. When the turbolift reached its destination, Kira still wondered if her generation would ever be able to reach into the future, away from the Occupation and toward embracing the Cardassians. She thought that now, finally, she was ready to do that, but as for her Bajoran sisters and brothers, she was not so sure.

9

The main square in Brintall sat at the city’s edge, tucked beneath the tallest mountain in a range that stretched to the horizon in either direction. Councillor Charivretha zh’Thane stood on a balcony perched above the square, one story up in one of the many low buildings that bordered three sides of the public meeting place. The fourth side lay open to the mountain, a vast, verdant wall towering above the city. Charivretha’s eyes rose with the land, past the timberline and along cold, gray rock, up into the azure Bajoran sky. Wisps of cloud flirted with the mountaintop, their bright whiteness almost indistinguishable from the snows decorating the summit.

Charivretha, not easily impressed, appreciated the vista before her. A balmy breeze, no doubt born above the ocean only a hundred kilometers away, floated through her floral hairstyle, ruffling her white, petaloid locks and caressing her antennae. The day had been hotter earlier—too warm even for an Andorian—and, knowing that the summer months had arrived here in the southern hemisphere, Charivretha had anticipated an uncomfortable stay in Brintall. Despite the lightweight fabric of her floor-length dress—a lustrous gray that set off her cerulean skin and matched her eyes—she had expected the temperature and the thousands of people who would pass through the square to make this a long and difficult day. But as morning had faded into afternoon, the Bajoran sun had hidden behind the great mountain, releasing the city from its potentially torrid clutches. Now, what could have been the hottest time of the day had transformed into a soothing, prolonged dusk.

“I love the summer afternoons here,” said the person to Charivretha’s right, as though commenting on the councillor’s thoughts. The woman had to raise her voice a bit to be heard above the susurrations of the crowd that filled the square below. “It’s one of my favorite places.”

Charivretha looked away from the mountain and over at Asarem Wadeen. The Bajoran second minister stared out over the landscape like a young cheiregarding his zhavey.Charivretha recognized that expression. Though not from Thirishar, at least not in a very long time,she thought, not without some acrimony. “You’re from here, aren’t you?” she asked, also speaking up a touch so that she could be heard.

Asarem looked up—she stood a dozen or so centimeters shorter than the councillor—and smiled. Over tan slacks and a white blouse, the minister wore a tailored maroon jacket that fell to the tops of her knees and demonstrated her familiarity with the area’s temperate summer weather. “Yes, I am,” she confirmed. “Well, actually, I’m from a little town farther north—” She pointed to the right. “—called Lecelon. But I think of this whole area as my home.”