Abruptly, his fatigue overtook him. He collapsed to the deck beside Ezri’s biobed, visions of the ancient spacebar artifact vying with Istanbul’s Hagia Sophia for the attention of his unconscious mind’s eye.
9
The passengers of the Bajoran ship-of-state Li Nalas were barely jostled during the hookup to Deep Space 9’s docking ring. In the vessel’s control room, the two pilots checked and double-checked switches and panels, making sure that the airlock seals were correctly aligned. In the center of the ship, a pair of young Bajoran assistants arranged the traveling bags for easy disembarkation.
First Minister Shakaar Edon and Second Minister Asarem Wadeen sat astern. Until moments ago, they had been meditating. Asarem had asked for silence, making the excuse that she wanted to prepare her mind for the coming day’s events. Truthfully, she was still trying to figure out what Shakaar’s motives were for forcing her to stonewall the peace talks with Cardassia. She had not been able to bring herself to discuss the matter with anyone, including her closest aides; Shakaar’s reticence of late led her to believe that this was a political secret of which only the highest-ranking officials might be aware.
Asarem knew that Colonel Kira Nerys was aware of Shakaar’s actions, since they had already discussed the matter aboard Deep Space 9 a few weeks earlier. According to Kira, Shakaar had almost gloated about the impasse to which he had brought the negotiations, an uncharacteristic action for someone who desired secrecy. What was to stop the colonel from revealing his political subterfuge? Asarem could only assume that Shakaar’s power had kept Kira in check. The woman had already been cast out from the Bajoran faith—Attainted—and her military commission was the only power she had left. Shakaar could easily have that stripped from her as well, if she were to cross him, leaving her with nothing. Still, Kira was a deceptively strong woman. Her years in the Resistance, and the time she had spent fighting alongside Starfleet officers and Cardassian resistance fighters during the Dominion War had undoubtedly left her with more reserves of strength than Shakaar probably imagined.
He’d do well not to underestimate her.
As for herself, Asarem was trying to figure out how she was supposed to fit into Shakaar’s plans, and how to insulate herself from any potential political fallout flowing from his peculiar actions. She had already received dozens of inquiries from other ministers as to why her stance on the Bajoran–Cardassian reconciliation had suddenly become so obdurate. Shakaar had put her in a very difficult political position, and she had to wonder to what end his actions with her were aimed. Was he trying to force her from the Chamber of Ministers? Perhaps he wanted to create a situation whereby she would be shamed and disgraced, and would remove herself from the levers of power as a consequence.
Despite these concerns, Asarem was excited to be docking aboard Deep Space 9. There was slightly less than a full day left before she and Shakaar were to officiate at the signing of the historic agreement heralding Bajor’s formal entry into the United Federation of Planets. They had arrived earlier than most of the other Bajoran ministers and Federation diplomats; a few obscure details and legal loose ends remained to be discussed with Starfleet Fleet Admiral Leonard James Akaar and with the Andorian diplomat, Federation Councillor Charivretha zh’Thane.
Shakaar touched Asarem lightly on the hand. “You’re not meditating, and yet you seem light-years away, Wadeen,” he said.
“Hmmm, I guess I was,” she said, managing a slight smile. “I have a lot to think about these days. Momentous events are upon us.”
“They are indeed,” Shakaar said, nodding. “I don’t think that even in my wildest imaginings I could have foreseen that I would be among those to lead Bajor into an interstellar brotherhood.”
“Nor could I,” Asarem replied. “The Prophets work in strange and wonderful ways.”
They both stood up, and Asarem smoothed the wrinkles from her robes. Shakaar stepped down from the slightly raised platform onto which their chairs were bolted and approached the hatchway leading to the airlock. The two assistants had their bags and stood waiting nearby. One of the pilots stepped toward him. Asarem knew that the man was unarmed in the traditional sense, but as pilot and bodyguard to the First Minister he had been trained in unarmed combat to such a degree that he was probably at least as effective as a platoon of phaser-toting protectors.
“To it, then,” Shakaar said, smiling at those around him, and he depressed the button to open the door.
Asarem almost didn’t notice the small silver box that Shakaar held in his other hand, but the glint of the airlock lights caught it. He had been carrying it with him for quite some time now. Perhaps it was a good luck charm, or a family heirloom that served to remind Shakaar of his ancestors.
But something about it vaguely unsettled her, though she couldn’t say precisely why.
Stifling a yawn born of far too many late nights and early mornings, Kira Nerys stepped off the turbolift and onto the docking ring. Sergeant Gan Morr, apparently on his way back from servicing a spacecraft, saw her and smiled in acknowledgment. Kira returned the gesture, grateful once again that at least some of the Bajorans on board weren’t treating her as though she had Perikian skin blight.
Approaching from one of the crossover bridges connecting the docking ring to the Habitat Ring, Lieutenant Ro Laren offered a wry smile of her own. “Late night, Colonel?”
“Always,” Kira said as the pair began walking together. “I assume the preparations have been completed for all the diplomatic arrivals we’re expecting today?”
Ro nodded, punching up data on a padd.
