The calculated neatness felt especially wrong. Passion crimes tended to be messy. Ro hypothesized that the criminal had gone to his or her quarters, desecrated the flag, returned here to drape the flag over Lang’s chair and then, as an afterthought, driven the knife into the chair, making certain the vehemence of the sentiment was unquestioned. Pathological anger, anger so vivid and vicious that it motivated one to lash out rarely exhibited this kind of control. Not a padd out of place. Chairs tucked neatly against the table. All was in order. Her eyes traced the inscription on the nameplate marking the chair where she sat: “Asarem Wadeen, Second Minister, Bajor” in standard script. In an instant, Ro realized that she sat on the cusp of an investigation that required she scrutinize the most powerful individuals currently in this sector: the list of those with access to this conference room read like a list of who’s who in postwar politics. Any one of the people sitting at this table might have a motive.
She toyed with the nameplate. Even you, second minister.
Only two hours into alpha shift and Kira felt like she’d never gone off duty. Dealing with last night’s attack on the conference room continued into morning. She might have slept for a few hours, but she couldn’t remember if there had been a pillow involved. Making an executive decision on the exhibit, she left orders to have Ziyal’s art moved into its new home where the curator could spend the day arranging and rearranging it. Time to take Lang up on her offer—and take a welcome break from ops at that.
Sliding into the second row of chairs behind Sirsy and a handful of Federation observers, Kira’s seat placed her within eye-line of Lang and the Cardassian delegation. With every clattering stylus or chair scraping the floor, Lang jerked abruptly or lost her chain of thought. Damn, I knew the attack impacted her more than she let on.The ambassador had received Ro’s report with consummate professionalism, but the knowledge that she had an enemy making overt threats against her had to be disquieting. As she watched the proceedings, Kira brainstormed for more secure, alternate locations, on or off Deep Space 9, where the talks could be held.
When she changed to a new set of notes, Lang’s eyes registered Kira’s arrival and her mouth curved into a barely perceptible smile. She continued, however, with a seamless reading of her text.
“…and to continue humanitarian medical assistance until such time as Cardassia’s medical infrastructure has been reestablished and is strong enough to manage the needs of its people. Furthermore—”
“Excuse me, Ambassdor Lang,” Asarem interrupted, raising a hand. “But I’m not certain that aid on the scale you’re proposing is agreeable to our side.”
Lang sighed, bit her upper lip and paused, clearly trying to hold her tongue. “This isn’t a new proposal. These are the levels agreed to in the postwar Accords by the Romulans, the Klingons—”
“I’m aware of who signed the Accords, Ambassador. But that doesn’t change Bajor’s position that maintaining such levels of aid, indefinitely, is undesirable.” Asarem leaned back in her chair and rested her hands in her lap. Though Kira couldn’t see her facial expressions, she sensed Asarem felt comfortable in the lay of the battlefield. How she eased into the chair back, loosely crossing her legs and relaxing her shoulders said that she controlled the field. The burden was on Lang to flank her.
Kira recalled an experience with Shakaar when their cell awaited the arrival of a Cardassian weapons shipment they planned on stealing since their own supplies were running low. Though they had been outnumbered five to one, Shakaar remained in good humor. When asked why, he answered simply, “Because we hold the hills.” Watching Asarem, Kira couldn’t help but think that the second minister believed she held the hills. And why not? Her delegation hadn’t been threatened. At least Asarem won’t be susceptible to any Cardassian double-talk.She felt reassured that Bajor had an excellent steward. So why am I having a hard time trusting her?
Earlier, the task of briefing the Bajoran delegation had fallen to Kira. Asarem made sympathetic noises when she heard of the surreptitious threat against the Cardassians. Her immediate concern had been for Ambassador Lang’s safety and she asked what measures she personally needed to take to circumvent any future attacks. Nothing in Asarem’s manner suggested insincerity. Her untainted political record served as proof that she was an honorable public servant. Maybe that’s my problem,Kira mused. I don’t believe in perfection—there’s something in Asarem’s manner that’s so polished, it feels scripted. Still, if I agree with her positions, what’s my problem here?A marked increase in the volume in the room startled her back into paying attention.
“You want to maintain our high infant mortality rate?” Lang said, unable to blunt the shrill edge in her voice. “The numbers succumbing to the Calebrian plague? What we’re receiving now barely addresses those needs!” Her aide, the one Kira recognized as a former student, placed a reassuring hand on her teacher’s arm, but Lang shoved it off.
Asarem shrugged. “No need to raise your voice, Ambassador. I’m merely pointing out a previously overlooked complication in providing your people with virtually unlimited medical supplies. When taken individually, crates of biomimetic gels and isomiotic hypos have legitimate applications. In combination with other agents, Cardassia could conceivably manufacture biogenic weapons,” she said, her tone mild.
What?Startled, Kira sat forward in her chair, waiting to hear what would be said next.
The phrase “biogenic weapons” triggered a low hum of hushed exchanges from spectators in every corner of the room. Asarem must feel very secure in her position to make such audacious suggestions. Given the same evidence, Kira wouldn’t have drawn those conclusions. Even in these days of quantum torpedoes and orbital weapons platforms, an unseen enemy terrified populations more effectively than any particle beams or warships ever could. Why is it that we default to the presumption that we’re safe simply because we can’t perceive, with our senses, any immediate danger?
Clenching her hands around the arms of her chair, Lang’s eyes narrowed to dark slits, incredulity etched on her face. Kira felt the room collectively holding its breath in anticipation of the Cardassian ambassador’s response. She scrutinized Asarem for a long moment, allowing extraneous murmuring to die down. Uncomfortable silence swelled until Lang spoke. “I accept that you hold us in little esteem. But what kind of soulless ghoul would I be to come here, begging for help, if it were my intent to divert desperately needed medical supplies to manufacture weapons? What possible motive would we have?” Her soft-spoken tone belied her incisive words.
Heart pounding in her throat, Kira willed Asarem to show mercy, to rise above forcing Lang to flay herself in order to prove good faith. If we fail to show compassion when compassion is called for, we succumb to the same cruelty exhibited by our oppressors during the Occupation.She held her breath.
“Reestablishing military supremacy. Blackmailing Bajor. There are a host of logical reasons that aren’t unprecedented,” Asarem said, sounding like she could reel off another long list of potential Cardassian black deeds if asked to. “Besides, what reason would you have to elucidate your government’s true intentions here and now when you know Bajor and the Federation would never agree to assist in any sort of rearmament?” She paused, waiting for the meaning of her words to sink in. “And it’s possible the Ghemor government could be using you: why would they tell you what their true intentions are if feeding you sympathetic stories about children and helpless pregnant women helps them accomplish their long-term objectives?”