They had come in her dreams, billions of insects sweeping en masse across Bajor. They darkened the skies and eclipsed the sun, sending her world into an eerie darkness. Kira remembered running through a city—Ashalla, she thought—dashing down the pedestrian thoroughfares and yelling to people, warning them of the descending swarm.
She had woken up hours ago, sweating, the bedclothes torn from the mattress. She had been unable to fall back to sleep, instead replaying the fragmentary dream—the nightmare—over and over in her mind. Even now, as she prepared for the day, prepared to meet the officials as they arrived at the station, she could not let it go. The sinister images still haunted her.
Kira left her bedroom and walked into the living area of her quarters. She headed for the door, intending to go to her office for a few hours before the delegates began arriving. A feeling stopped her in the middle of the room, though, and she turned, her gaze coming to rest on a photograph she kept on a side table. Captain Sisko—Benjamin Sisko, the Emissary—peered out from within the frame, his sleek, handsome aspect a source of strength for her even today, more than half a year after she had last seen him.
Except that today, the likeness of Benjamin Sisko also reminded Kira of when Bajor had been on the verge of entering the Federation three years ago. After the Emissary had experienced a pagh’tem’far—a sacred vision—he had urged the Bajorans not to join at that time, and they had heeded the advice of their religious icon. And the Emissary’s pagh’tem’far,Kira knew, had been one of locusts.
Kira breathed in and out quickly, her mind racing. She had no illusions that she had experienced any sort of a vision during the night, but she wanted to understand what her subconscious had been attempting to communicate to her. She need not be touched directly by the Prophets in order to trust her instincts. Her dream might not presage Bajor’s future, but it surely indicated what Kira thoughtmight happen, and how she felt about those possibilities.
Feeling a bit light-headed, Kira raised her arms to her waist and locked her hands together. She closed her eyes, then slowed and deepened her breathing, concentrating on one of her many meditation rituals. By degrees, a sensation of calmness spilled over her.
Kira opened her eyes and looked over again at the photograph of the Emissary, drawing hope from her memory of him. She started for the door, leaving thoughts of locusts behind. That was the past,she told herself, choosing to interpret her dream now not as an omen of things to come, but as a recollection only of things that had come before. Within months, or even weeks, Bajor might be a member of the Federation.Kira left her quarters, headed for her office and marching foursquare into the future.
As the airlock hatch rotated open, Kira tugged one last time at the front flap of her uniform, trying again to make it sit properly on her body. She actually liked the formal dress of the Militia—the soft, brushed fabric, the lavender coloring, the Bajoran style—but she just could never quite wear hers comfortably. She had fussed with the long wraparound jacket for half the morning, but nothing she did seemed to make any difference for more than a few seconds.
Get used it,she told herself. After all, she would be in the uniform for the rest of the day. She would greet the Alonis delegation when they arrived at the station in a few hours, and then Shakaar and his staff later in the day. This evening, she would host a reception for all of the guests.
Opposite Kira in the corridor, Lieutenant Alfonzo, who had opened the hatch, continued to work at a panel set into the bulkhead. The ring of heels on the metal decking of the airlock drowned out the beeps of the panel. Two figures emerged through the hatchway and stepped down into the corridor. The first stood a head taller than Kira, slender, and he moved with a natural grace. A second man accompanied him just behind and to his left, shorter, but solid and muscular. A narrow river of irregularly shaped spots flowed from each man’s forehead and down the sides of their face and neck.
“Welcome to Deep Space 9,” Kira said. “I’m Colonel Kira Nerys, commander of the station.” She stepped forward, holding out her hand in salutation. For a moment, she flashed back to the first time she had met Akaar, and she wondered if she had once again made a diplomatic blunder. She thought back to her seven years as DS9’s first officer, and she could not recall Captain Sisko ever having such problems receiving visitors to the station. But then the first man raised his own hand and clasped Kira’s. His hand felt cold, and Kira remembered that the same had been true of Jadzia, and that it was true now of Ezri.
“I am Seljin Gandres,” the man said, “Trill ambassador to the Federation.” He had long brown hair, down past his shoulder blades, far longer than she had ever seen on a male Trill. His eyes were a rich brown, but Kira also thought that they lacked a depth that she had always perceived in Jadzia’s eyes, and that she even saw now to some extent in Ezri’s. Even had Kira not read the biographical synopsis Starfleet had provided on the ambassador, she thought she would have been able to tell that he had not been joined to a symbiont. “This is one of my aides,” Gandres continued. “Hiziki Gard.”
Gard eased his way past the ambassador with a poise Kira found unexpected, given the man’s short stature and his muscled physique. He offered his hand, and Kira took it. “Welcome to the station,” she said.
“Thank you, Colonel,” he said. “A pleasure to meet you.” As with Gandres, Gard possessed an icy grasp. Unlike the ambassador, though, his eyes gave the impression of great knowledge and experience, belied by the outward appearance of his age. Kira released his hand, and with an effortless bearing, he slid back into his subservient position behind and beside Gandres.
“Ambassador,” Kira said, “the local time here is ten hundred hours, and we’ve planned a reception for all the delegations at twenty hundred, so you’ve got ten hours until then. In the meantime, I’d be happy to conduct you on a tour of the station, if you’re interested, or I could have you escorted to the quarters we’ve arranged for you and your staff.”
“Pardon me, Colonel,” Gard said, “but would it be possible to inspect the quarters before occupying them?”
Gandres turned his head and peered down at his aide. “Forgive my aide’s impertinence, Colonel,” the ambassador said, “but he is in charge of security for our contingent, and he is…thorough.”
“I intended no disrespect,” Gard said, bowing his head. Kira recognized the truth of his words—he had intended no disrespect—but she also understood that he made no apology for wanting to see to the security needs of the ambassador.
“Not at all,” Kira said. “Lieutenant Alfonzo can take Mr. Gard there now.” She gestured with an open hand toward Alfonzo, who had completed his task at the panel, she saw. “Just so you know, though, we have tightened security on the station in anticipation of the summit.” She spoke directly to Gandres, but she intended her words for Gard as well. “The arc of the habitat ring in which the delegations will be housed has been swept and closed to all but authorized personnel. We’ve also closed this section of the docking ring, as well as the crossover bridge connecting this location with your quarters.”
Kira wondered if she should have asked Ro to join her in welcoming the delegation to the station. She had considered doing so, but had decided that such an action would have been antithetical to the low profile Akaar had requested. Kira had also opted not to burden her security chief with having to wear a dress uniform for the day; Ro struck her as someone not particularly comfortable in formal settings.