“I expected that I would,” she paused. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure.” Matthias had proved to have very few demands so Ro was willing to accommodate her in whatever way she could.
“Is there somewhere around here that I could change my clothes for the reception?” she said sheepishly.
Ro laughed, causing Matthias to blush. “You’re going? I’d heard it wasn’t mandatory for Starfleet personnel.” Would that First Minister Shakaar was as flexible as Admiral Akaar on social matters. Shakaar wanted to be impressive, prove that Bajor wasn’t the backward, orphan child of the Alpha Quadrant anymore, that she deserved to be included in the first worlds of the Federation.
“I don’t haveto go. I like to dance,” she explained. “I take it if you had a choice—”
“I’d be at the gym. Or the Replimat. Or scrubbing plasma conduits. Anything but a party with dozens of dignitaries and high ranking political figures.” Ro shuddered, picturing herself monopolizing the quietest corner of the buffet table. “At least I’m on duty. Maybe I’ll get lucky and voles will invade the duct system, giving me an excuse to leave.”
Matthias laughed.
Ro gestured back toward the holding cells. “You’re welcome to use the head next to the guard’s station to change. I probably should be getting ready myself. Let me know—”
“—If there are any problems with Thriss. I will.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. See you tonight?”
“I’ll be the one eating the dip,” Ro said, hoping that Quark would supply at least one dish that wasn’t pus yellow, alive, or raw. The prospect of spending three hours in a large crowd was trying enough without having to go hungry.
Matthias pursed her lips thoughtfully, her expression entirely innocent. “I can ask Sibias to take you for a spin on the dance floor. He’s very light on his feet—”
“Don’t make me issue an order, Commander,” Ro warned, mock seriously. “You need to treat your station security chief with a certain deference.”
“Yes sir,” Phillipa said.
As she exited, Ro glimpsed Matthias’s cheeky salute. Maybe there’s hope yet for me with Starfleet if this is the kind of officer they’re growing these days.An optimism she hadn’t felt in a long time suffused her. I might actually survive the reception,she thought. Or not. Wouldn’t want to become too optimistic…
Cynics who thought Alpha Quadrant sentients could never peacefully stand side by side on any matter had never seen the stirring sight that met Kira’s eyes when she entered the formal reception room in the office station’s Upper Core, a few levels below the Promenade. Sirsy and Ensign Beyer had outdone themselves.
Festooning one broad side of the great elliptical room were vividly colored flags and banners representing the Dominion War allies and non-Federation worlds like Ferenginar. The Bajoran flag had an honored position at the front of the room, standing a half meter taller than the other flags on the right side; the Cardassian flag stood exactly opposite the Bajoran flag on the left. The United Federation of Planets flag stood even with Bajor’s and Cardassia’s flags in the room’s center. Vivid colors and symbols representing thousands of years all brought together in one place on this optimistic occasion—Kira thought she finally understood why Shakaar had been so adamant about having a celebration.
Quark’s staff had already brought down the cold appetizers and set up the heating units for the hot dishes that Kira assumed would be arriving shortly. Platters of pulpy melons, q’lavas,Palamarian sea urchins and finger-size vegetables sat beside baskets overflowing with mapabread and whole Tammeron grain rolls. The bar had been fully stocked with languorand kanarfor the Cardassians; and a selection ranging from Bajoran springwine, tranya,Saurian brandy and tulaberry wine to Vulcan port and Terran Cognac had been provided for everyone else. A service turbolift hidden behind a curtain opened, admitting half a dozen servers carrying containers that billowed steam clouds. The smells of rich broths and spices permeated the air.
Everything appeared to be coming together as planned.
Kira walked along the tables, checking the place cards by the layout displayed on her padd…. Ambassador Gandres, Andar Fal, Hiziki Gard…that takes care of the Trill delegation. Now to the Romulan attaché—carefully situated far away from his Klingon counterpart on the other side of the room, Kira noted with relief —the representatives from the Bajoran Commerce Ministry and the Vedek Assembly; Captain Mello and her executive, Commander Montenegro, from theU.S.S. Gryphon. Thankfully, Beyer and Sirsy’s collective attention to detail resulted in perfect execution of tasks such as this one. Though Kira knew it was too late to make dramatic changes in how the room was configured, she still second-guessed the decision to put all the VIPs in one place instead of dispersing them throughout the room. She didn’t want to appear elitist, but a more egalitarian approach would have required stricter security measures and social protocols, neither of which she had time for.
Important guests would eat at long, rectangular banquet tables placed in two L-shapes mirroring each other; all tables faced the center of the room so every honored guest would be visible to every other honored guest. Additional invitees would be seated at smaller, more intimate circular tables behind the main tables. Seating decisions had been preassigned based on rank, delegation, and organizational and planetary affiliation. Since Kira had received the guest list, Beyer had learned of several old grudges still being nursed and a few badly ended romantic relationships that required a reassessment of some of those assignments, but for the most part, this was a group that knew how to behave themselves.
At Sirsy’s insistence, Kira sat between Admiral Akaar and the Bajoran government’s delegation. “A bridge between who we are and who we will be!” she’d enthused. Kira didn’t buy the symbolism. As station commander, she held a highly visible position, but this night—this reception—wasn’t about her. It was about Bajor and Cardassia’s tentative steps toward dealing with each other as equals. She didn’t want to distract from the task at hand on any level and she accepted that, to many Bajorans, she was a distraction.
She already knew that Shakaar had tapped Second Minister Asarem to deal with any Cardassian business that might follow the reception, while he, as first minister, would remain focused on the Federation talks. Though they’d met before, Kira knew Asarem mostly by reputation: a sharp negotiator who had campaigned for her present job by taking a hard line on all things Cardassian. Her party’s role in Shakaar’s coalition had been to represent the views of older, Occupation-era Bajorans who still favored a hawkish stance; Kira had heard gossip that Asarem had privately protested Kira’s role in helping Damar’s resistance during the Dominion War. Asarem felt that, regardless of the strategic value of undermining the Dominion’s stranglehold on the Cardassian military, a Bajoran national such as Kira shouldn’t serve the Cardassians in an advisory role: should complications arise, it would be too easy to blame Bajor or make accusations that escalated the existing bad blood between the two worlds.
Kira hadn’t seen Gul Macet since he’d visited ops. She assumed he’d been assisting Ambassador Lang. Since Macet had requested time on the program, Kira had contemplated—and worried about—what he or Lang might have planned. It’s probably nothing worse than a proclamation from Alon Ghemor or a plaque commemorating this “historic occasion.”But no matter how she tried to reassure herself, Kira remained uneasy. Cardassians irritated her.
No,she amended her last thought. Macet especially irritates me.