Although Kira had suspected that this event sat poised on the horizon, the confirmation still knocked the wind out of her. She thought she had been prepared for this, but was she? And were her people? She slowly sat back down, feeling a bit dazed. Across from her, Akaar took his seat again as well. Questions formed in rapid-fire fashion in Kira’s mind, each leading directly to the next. Before she could decide which to ask first, though, the admiral answered the most important of them all.
“Several months ago,” he said, “Minister Shakaar officially requested the renewal of Bajor’s petition for membership.” Kira knew that had been the purpose of Shakaar’s visit to the Federation not long ago. “Pending this summit,” Akaar continued, “the renewed petition will either be approved or denied.”
“What happens if it’s denied?” Kira wanted to know.
“Bajor will be ineligible to reapply for membership for a period of no less than five years,” Akaar said. He picked up the padd he had brought with him and activated it. The device, almost hidden by his massive hands, blinked to life with a quiet sequence of quick, electronic tones. “In addition to Councillor zh’Thane and me, First Minister Shakaar will be attending, as well as the Trill and Alonis ambassadors to the Federation.” He worked the controls on the padd, then handed it across the desk to Kira. “This is a list of the staff members accompanying the two ambassadors and the minister,” he said. Kira took the padd and scanned its contents, reading through the list of names, orange letters displayed on a black background. “The summit will begin the day after the delegations arrive.”
Kira looked up from the padd. As the practical considerations of hosting such an event on the station occurred to her, the shock of learning what lay ahead in the next few days began to fade. “Obviously you’ll want to step up security while the ambassadors are on the station,” she said.
“Yes,” Akaar agreed. “Given the nature of the negotiations, though, I would like it to be handled in as low-profile a manner as possible.”
“Of course,” Kira said, finding it odd to suddenly be working withthe admiral, rather than feeling as though they were operating at cross-purposes. “Diplomats want to be safe, but they also don’t like to be smothered.”
“That is my experience as well,” the admiral said. “I do have a concern about the security arrangements, though.” So did Kira; she always did. Deep Space 9 was a big place that saw a lot of visitors, sitting as it did at the most important junction in the quadrant. Still, they had managed to keep the station secure for more than eight years, through far more difficult circumstances than they would be facing now. “Colonel,” Akaar went on, “do you think your chief of security will be capable of performing the tasks that will be required of her?”
“Of course,” Kira said at once. Her own reservations about Ro had been allayed both by the fine job she had been doing and by a general improvement in her attitude since being assigned here. “If I didn’t think Lieutenant Ro capable of doingthe job, then she wouldn’t still havethe job.”
“Of course,” Akaar said. “But do you have any doubts at all about her willingness to follow orders? Because I am inclined to replace her for this duty with Lieutenant Spillane, the security chief aboard Gryphon.”
“Are you asking me if I trustLieutenant Ro?” Kira asked, bewildered. She knew that Ro had experienced some troubles when she had served in Starfleet, and that she had eventually walked away from it completely, but Kira nevertheless found it stunning that a Starfleet admiral would question the woman’s integrity. “I don’t doubt Ro,” she said. “She’s been a valuable addition to my staff.” Kira considered whether or not to say more, to say the thought that had come to mind, and then decided that she would. “I’m sure she would even make a fine Starfleet officer.”
Akaar rose from his chair, apparently ready to end the meeting. “If Bajor is admitted to the Federation, Colonel,” he said, “then which members of the Bajoran Militia are offered positions in Starfleet will be decided on an individual basis.” For once, the admiral’s antagonistic implication did not seem directed toward Kira. “But you run this station, and so the personnel decisions are yours to make.” He started for the doors. “Good day, Colonel.”
Something occurred to Kira, though, and she stopped him with a word. “Admiral?” He turned back to her as the doors opened. The sounds of consoles and voices drifted into the office from ops. “Are matters of Bajoran faith, and our relief efforts to Cardassia, and our military capabilities—are those things relevant to Bajor’s admission to the Federation?”
“Everything Bajor does, everything Bajor is,”he proclaimed, “is relevant.” They regarded each other across the room, and then Kira stood, choosing to end the meeting by once again assuming a small measure of control.
“Thank you, Admiral,” she said, clearly dismissing him. Akaar turned and exited. She watched him go, thinking about her dealings with him, which she now viewed in a somewhat different light than she had for the past six weeks. His many questions now seemed understandable—though not necessarily reasonable—given the circumstances. To Kira, it now appeared that the admiral had been attempting to take Bajor’s pulse through her, a prospect she did not especially like, considering the Attainder and the recent tension in her professional relationship with the first minister. Still, as Kira reviewed all of Akaar’s pointed questions, she did not feel threatened, either for herself or for her people. Bajorans could stand up to any scrutiny. In the end, she felt certain that their renewed petition to join the Federation would be approved.
Kira sat back down. And as she thought about Bajor joining the Federation, she wondered, if he were here, what Captain Sisko would think.
25
Bashir approached the cabin he shared with Ezri, anxious to see her before she returned to duty later today. He always looked forward to the two of them spending time together, of course, but he was motivated now more by his concern for her. After the incident aboard Sagan,Ezri had stayed overnight in the medical bay, and then at Vaughn’s orders, had remained off-duty for the next two days—owing not to her physical injuries, but to allow her some time to cope with the death of Ensign Roness. Bashir had privately concurred with that decision, but Ezri had asked to take a shift today, and the commander had agreed—prematurely, Bashir feared. Ezri had been understandably despondent since the incident, and he worried about her adding to her own burden by resuming her duties too soon.
The door to the cabin opened with a low breath of air. As Bashir stepped across the threshold, he felt the tension in his body: the rigidity of his arms, the stiffness of his back, his hands clutched into fists. He willed himself to relax, not wanting to anticipate—and thus contribute to—any negative emotions that Ezri might be experiencing. When he had left for the medical bay this morning, she had still been asleep, and so he did not yet know how she was feeling today.
Inside their small quarters, Bashir was immediately pleased to see Ezri in her uniform, working at the companel, as though she had begun to move past the terrible sorrows of the past few days. Perhaps it would not be too early for her to return to duty, after all, he thought. “Hi,” he said, any remaining anxiety quickly draining from his body. “Are you ready for lunch?” But when Ezri turned toward him, he saw her eyes rimmed in red. Tension flooded through him once more, though he strived not to show it.