Kira felt sick. This isn’t negotiation: this is retribution.

Inhaling deeply, Lang gritted her teeth. “To this point, Minister, Bajor has been extremely generous in helping us rebuild a social services infrastructure that provides pediatric hospital facilities, vaccinations and basic preventative health care.”

“And we will continue to be generous,” Asarem said reasonably. “But I believe imposing some restrictions or implementing time limits on the type and amount of aid we continue to provide is not unreasonable, given the probability that Cardassia, at some point, might divert that aid for militaristic purposes.”

Kira noted, with concern, the panicked expressions on the Cardassians seated beside Lang. And it wasn’t the fear of being caught engaged in treachery, it was the fear of those watching hope flicker and die. All eyes looked to their leader for guidance.

Shadows, new since her triumph at the reception, darkened Lang’s lower eyelids; her shoulders hunched slightly with fatigue. She leaned over the table, putting her in closer physical proximity to Asarem. “With all due respect, Minister, a week before I left, I spent five days helping deliver supplies to our medical facilities,” Lang began, “and I have to ask, when was the last time you held a child in your arms dying from the curable Fostassa virus?”

Lang’s words scraped Kira raw; a flood of memories poured over her, stinging like saltwater.

In the hours following the final assault on Cardassia, she and Garak walked the decimated streets, picking their way around twisted metal from collapsed buildings, chunks of stone and broken glass. Acrid smoke hung like thick fog: the breath of destruction. Weak cries attracted Garak’s attention, leading him to a dirty faced little boy in shredded clothes, huddled against a toppled pillar. The child rocked back and forth, crooning a discordant song, to a floppy-limbed doll he hugged against his chest. When the boy failed to acknowledge either Garak or Kira’s approach, Garak waved a hand in front of the boy’s eyes, quickly ascertaining the child had been blinded. He had instantly scooped the boy into his arms, the child clinging to him, wrapping his gaunt legs around Garak’s waist. Garak passed the doll off to Kira. She reflexively hugged the cold thing against her, knowing the boy would want his toy back until, horrified, she discovered the true nature of what she held. Mustering all her self-control, she avoided recoiling and tossing the baby’s corpse away; instead, she waited until she found a small indentation in the ground, probably a bomb crater, where she could show the dead proper reverence.

And now she wondered if Lang had been there, that black night on Cardassia.

The Cardassians had paid exorbitantly for their arrogance. Regardless of what had been done to her—to Bajor—at their hands, Kira failed to see how extracting further payment would be justified. I wouldn’t take up the lash if it were handed to me.The realization stunned her. Kira sought Natima’s eyes, hoping she would find comfort in the knowledge that a former enemy understood, but Asarem’s chair suddenly shoved back. Kira steeled herself for the minister’s response.

Asarem stood up with deliberate slowness, her body vibrating with sinewy tension. Squaring her shoulders, she faced Lang, still posed offensively. “The last time a child died from Fostassa virus in my presence?” she said, her voice glacial. “Eight years ago. Just as the Cardassian Occupation of Bajor ended.”

Lang froze.

Brittle quiet chilled all present.

“Ambassador, Minister,” came Gul Macet’s quiet appeal. Seated at Lang’s elbow, he had thrown a cautionary arm in front of his superior. “I believe this is an appropriate juncture to call a recess. Our delegation will review the numbers your staff has provided us and after we’ve eaten, we’ll meet back here to see where we can reconcile our differences.”

Now composed, Asarem said softly, “Based on the substance of the talks to date, it’s my judgment that we take an indeterminate recess until such time as both delegations are better prepared to delineate definitive parameters on the items we’ve discussed.” With a visible tremor in her hand, she passed off a padd to an aide and turned piercing eyes on Macet. “When we both know how flexible our respective governments can be in negotiating specific points, I believe we’ll accomplish more.”

“You mean, when Cardassia is willing to do whatever Bajor demands?” Lang said cynically.

“Natima,” Macet cautioned without looking away from Asarem. “By indeterminate recess, do you mean the rest of the day?”

“I mean as long as it takes,” she said. Asarem cleaned up her workspace without comment as her aides packed up any extraneous supplies. Support staff for both sides studiously avoided contact with the opposition.

Shaking, Lang collapsed into her chair until Macet coaxed her outside, ostensibly for lunch. Her aides, some looking glum, others angry, followed close behind.

The Cardassians and Bajorans exited through opposite doors. Kira waited until all but Minister Asarem had left before she rose from her chair. I’ll be complicit in this injustice if I don’t speak up.

“Minister, might I have a word?”

Asarem arched an eyebrow. “Colonel Kira. I presume you want to share your enlightened perspective.”

“I don’t know what you mean by enlightened, but any reasonable person would be concerned about what just happened here.” Whatever she had done to alienate the second minister, Kira wished she understood so she could apologize.

“You think I’m being unfair to the Cardassians?” she asked sourly.

Be rational, Nerys. Don’t lose your temper,Kira admonished herself. “Lang is asking for medical supplies, not quantum torpedoes. She’s not even requesting raw materials that could more easily be diverted to develop weaponry.” From her own experience, she knew that crude weapons spewing shrapnel or obliterating infrastructure were just as effective as the sophisticated weaponry Asarem seemed to believe the Cardassians were interested in building. “What’s unreasonable about wanting plasma replicators and surgical equipment? How does traking a hard line, making it difficult to save Cardassian lives, benefit Bajor?”

“Your attitude surprises me, Colonel,” Asarem said pointedly. “You of all people should appreciate the need to do whatever is necessary to ensure that Cardassia is never again in a position to harm Bajor, or anyone else.” The minister turned back to packing her briefcase. “Perhaps the reports of your patriotism are exaggerated.”

I don’t have to take this! I’m not the enemy.Kira resisted the urge to snipe at Asarem. “Last time I checked, I was wearing the uniform of the Bajoran Militia, Minister. I do have some experience relevant to this situation.” Kira tried smoothing her sharp tone, but knew her impatience seeped through.

Asarem paused, cast a glance at Kira’s bare ear. “Last time I checked, faithful Bajorans follow the counsel of the Vedek Assembly.”

Kira’s eyes narrowed. Biting back a dozen thorny responses, she pushed forward on the critical issues. “Have you even been to Cardassia since the war?”

“No,” Asarem said. “I haven’t.”

“Then how can you compare what you know of Bajor with what Cardassia is going through? What right do you have to dismiss Ambassador Lang the way you did just now?”

“The rights given me by the people of Bajor who elected me to serve them.”

“And the people of Bajor elected you to be their avenging angel? To single-handedly make the Cardassians pay for fifty years of wrongdoing?”

Asarem slammed her case on the table. “I decided to hear you out because as the commander of Deep Space 9 you’re owed a measure of input. But I’m done.” Walking briskly, she left the conference room; Kira maintained her pursuit. She locked onto Asarem and refused to let her escape until she’d said her piece; her conscience wouldn’t allow her to walk away.