“You’re asking me? I thought you two were best friends these days. Doing each other’s hair and having sleepovers.”
“Quark—”
“All I meant is that you have better access than I do under the present circumstances. What did you come out here for, anyway? You miss me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I came by to tell you I decided what we’re doing for our evening in the holosuite.” She slid off the table and started back toward the reception hall.
“Oh? And what might that be?” he pursued her doggedly through the maze of tables and chairs.
“I think I’d rather surprise you.”
“Surprise? Is this a ‘you’re under arrest for tapping the comlinks to the habitat ring’ kind of surprise, or is it a ‘I’m not wearing anything underneath this raincoat’ kind of surprise?”
She stopped and turned around to face him, stopping his mouth with her index finger. “I swear, Quark, you say one more word and this little experiment is over. 2100 hours. In two days. Holosuite one. Assuming you aren’t on my last nerve by then.” Quark opened his mouth to speak. “Not a word,” Ro said, cutting him off.
Quark’s mouth snapped shut. He smiled genially and nodded to her before retreating into the side rooms.
Ro wondered not for the first time since she agreed to see Quark socially whether such an agreement was a monumental error in judgment. Regardless, she’d said she’d give it a try and she felt obligated to keep her word. And it wasn’t like she wasn’t getting anything out of the deal. Quark liked her for herself, taking her on face value. And he didn’t have any expectations except to have a good time (she wanted that, too) and good company. Whether there was any potential for something more than friendship had yet to be seen—actually going on a date with him would go a long way in establishing whether they were hopelessly incompatible.
Empty plates were coming off the tables when Shakaar stood and moved to the front of the room, holding a full glass of spring wine. He tapped the goblet, calling for his guests’ attention.
Shakaar might have protested his unsuitability for politics when the idea of running for first minister was first suggested to him, but he’d certainly grown into his leadership role in the years since. With hundreds of eyes focused on him, he radiated a serene confidence that Kira admired. In that moment, she found it easy to forgive the ongoing strangeness between them because he was so good at what he did. She was grateful it was him, and not anyone else, who was navigating Bajor through these confusing times.
“Our visitors, the Cardassians, have requested a moment of our time tonight and we are honored to hear from them. It’s my understanding that our visitors hope to invite us to embark on a journey with them. And while we Bajorans have traveled with the Cardassians before, we must have courage to explore new territory. I don’t anticipate this will be an easy journey, but this time, we have another companion to offer us aid and support: the Federation.” He placed his glass down on a buffet table, freeing up his hands to applaud. Everyone in the room followed suit. “So let us move forward bravely, always mindful of what brought us to where we are now but always hopeful of where we can someday be. I raise a toast to the hope of new friendship!”
Over two hundred voices joined to proclaim Shakaar’s toast and Kira, her own glass raised, gazed out over the room, filled to capacity with peoples of every species and political stripe, unified. To her immediate left, she saw towering Admiral Akaar leaning down to speak with Ambassador Lang, a mere slip beside him, and beyond her, Macet, nodding his head in apparent agreement with whatever Akaar was saying. The Andorians—Dizhei, Thriss, and zh’Thane, the councillor a portrait of elegance with her upswept white hair—earnestly conversing with the Romulan attaché and Captain Mello. Across the room stood Minister Asarem beside Klingon Governor Krodu, listening intently to the very animated Trill Ambassador Gandres.
Only the Federation could have done this: brought together, in friendship, former enemies and associates of disparate political stripes. What the Federation does best,she thought with a wry smile, pleased that someday, Bajor would be part of facilitating this process.
A young Cardassian, presumably an aide, pushed a portable holoprojector into the center of the room. Kira was suddenly jarred back to anxious expectation. There was a lot of present that needed to be lived through before that idealistic future came into being.
Lang assumed the spot where Shakaar had stood only moments ago. The crowd hushed.
“Because I believe First Minister Shakaar articulated very eloquently the task at hand, I wish to offer, on behalf of Alon Ghemor and the people of Cardassia, a token to christen this journey. A symbol of hope that personifies not only the terrible beauty of where we have been, but a vision for the future.” She nodded to her aide and the lights dimmed.
Kira directed her gaze to the center of room and waited. The hologram flickered into focus.
Of the many possibilities she had imagined, what followed was not one of them.
11
Jeshoh treaded water while patiently waiting for Ezri to adjust her gear. Activating the lens datafeed proved challenging with her dexterity hampered by the gloves she wore, but she had it working properly after the third try. The goggle viewscreen was a neat feature. Instead of Jeshoh providing her with a running narrative, she had only to press a button on her wristlet to take a sensor reading. Within seconds, the data would be displayed on the lower quarter of her goggle lenses. At that point, she could request further clarification. She double-checked her suit temperature, made certain the rebreather’s oxygen ratios were comfortable, and then indicated she was ready to explore the ocean. While most of the committee—and Dax’s crew—went one way, Jeshoh pointed Ezri in the opposite direction.
No one had told her what they were visiting or why. Ezri assumed that she would learn as she swam. Dax stirred inside her not long into her dive. Since her joining, Ezri noticed she responded more intently to liquid environments, from the glub-glub of air bubbles rising to the surface and the feel of water caressing her body to the swish of sea grasses swaying with the currents. And that was odd. Ezri paused, studied the environment more intently and realized it was devoid of any plant life. She initiated several scans, discovering that outside their dive party, only microbial life existed within sensor range. Not even algae or barnacles grew on the empty shells scattered on the sea floor. An ocean not teeming with life didn’t seem possible, especially on this world. Jeshoh noticed her falling behind and swam back to check on her.
“Is something wrong?”he said over the comlink.
Ezri shook her head visibly. “What’s wrong here? Where are the fish? The seaweed?”
Jeshoh pressed a series of buttons on his own wristlet, pointed it in the direction of Ezri’s and transmitted data to her.
Ezri read the chemical analysis scrolling across her goggle lens. “The levels of nitrogen in here are toxic. What—?”
Nudging his head in the direction of dark, shadowy mounds, Jeshoh swam off, with Ezri following behind. She kept expecting to tangle her feet in a kelp bed or encounter a school of fish; the eerie lifelessness made her nervous. The sound of her own breathing sounded foreign and in the vast, empty plain rolling out as far as she could see, she felt vulnerable, exposed. Increasing the tempo of her kicks, she propelled nearer to Jeshoh.