This Gray Spirit

by Heather Jarman

  Kira shrugged. “Humans and Bajorans have enough in common that what works for us usually works for you. Give it a try. Couldn’t be worse than having to stay off your feet.”

  “True enough,” she conceded. “You look tired, Nerys. Still haven’t taken any time off, have you?”

  Dropping her feet to the ground, Kira leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “I’m fine.” Shrugging off Kasidy’s dubious expression, she reiterated her stance. “Really. With all the VIPs around, the tempo around here’s a little more crazed than usual. But I’m staying on top of it all, though I’m still working on the fine art of balance. The captain had it mastered.”

  “True. Ben could throw a dinner party in the middle of a crisis— or take time to visit his land when he faced a serious decision,” she said while focusing her gaze on the length of yarn she’d just pulled out. “Sometimes he’d go out in the back where the porch is now, pull out the baseball bat, and whack some balls. Made him feel better.”

  “Are you saying that taking up a hobby will better my leadership skills? Or are you guilting me into coming to Bajor?” Kira chuckled.

  “You caught me.” Kas smiled, allowing the yarn to roll off her lap. She looked up at Kira. “I’d like the company. Someone who knows me for me and not merely as the Emissary’s wife and mother of the Avatar. And don’t forget the farmers are bringing in the katerpods over the next few weeks. You don’t want to miss that!”

  Memories of dark, smoky autumn nights nudged their way into the present. Kira sighed, feeling pangs of longing for those few simple moments her people had stolen from the Occupation: walking winding farm lanes with lighted copper lanterns to ward off the inky darkness, and singing the harvest melodies, thanking the Prophets for another year of bounty, even though that bounty might be little more than a handful of katerpods.

  “I know you want to visit,” Kas said. “I have your room all ready—it has a lovely view of the river. They’re starting the sugaring in a few weeks….” Her voice trailed off, her tone teasing and tempting.

  “All right, all right! You’ve convinced me.” Kira held up a hand in good-natured protest. “I’ll talk to my staff and see what works best into the station’s schedule.”

  “If you’re structuring your plans on the station’s schedule, you’ll be here about the time my child’s grandchildren are born,” Kasidy snorted.

  …and that may be how long it takes for my fellow Bajorans to start speaking to me again, all things considered, Kira thought ruefully. “Work before play, Kas. You know the drill.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Kasidy nodded. “But that doesn’t stop me from trying. We’ll talk next week?”

  “Sooner if we have word from Jake. I promise.”

  Kasidy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “And please let there be word from Jake,” she said, invoking whatever powers the universe might use to bring him back home.

  “Prophets willing, Kas,” Kira said earnestly. She straightened up, slapped her thighs and smiled to lighten the mood; she wanted to end their conversation on a positive note for Kasidy’s sake. “Besides, I’ll want you to tell me how well the herb packs worked on those swollen ankles. Without having Julian around to tell you how it’s all just a bunch of folk hokum, you don’t have any excuse not to try them.”

  Kasidy smiled. “Yates out.”

  Before Kasidy’s face winked out, Kira noted that it had started to exhibit that soft roundness characteristic of mid-pregnancy. Her hand dropped to her own belly and she ran her fingers over her flat stomach, remembering what it felt like to carry a life inside her. She wondered how Kirayoshi liked Earth, if her presence even shaded his memories.

  Enough, Nerys, this is the part where you look at your endless to-do list and come up with meaningful reasons why you won’t be tumbling back to your quarters until after midnight. She gave a cursory glance to a half dozen padds sitting on her desk. Ro’s mostly informational report on the Ohalavaru trinkets left on her doorstep awaited her attention. In moments of morbid curiosity, she watched reports from the Bajoran news feeds, read the opinion pieces cropping up in the journals; the furor had yet to die down. She wanted desperately to believe that the late-night visit to her door was only a misguided gesture by some well-meaning individual. But in her heart she feared it was a portent of things to come…things she herself had set into motion by making the banned Ohalu text public.

  Stop it, she told herself. This is getting you nowhere. Before diving into Ro’s report, she decided to scroll through the list of music selections in her personal database: Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Sarah Vaughn…Hmmm. I have to remember to ask Elias if there’s any relation. She mulled over the list, figuring something among the unfamiliar titles would help her to relax. They were all Captain Sisko’s choices: a gift to her some years ago on the occasion of a Terran holiday, she couldn’t recall which one. The memory made her wish she’d made as much of an effort to share Benjamin’s culture as he had always made to share hers.

  “Computer,” she said finally. “Play Sisko Jazz Compilation Number Nine, track seven: ‘Yardbird.’”

  A wailing alto saxophone pierced the stillness, its clear, passionate notes lulling her into passivity as she contemplated the vast canvas of stars outside her great eye of a window. I could stand here and dream all night, except for that nagging sense of duty that never goes away. Even if I put off the reports, I still have one last bit of business that won’t wait. But then what? Catch up on latest Starfleet regs. Call it a night, take a late supper in quarters.

  Or not.

  She hadn’t felt this restless for a long time, plagued by the feeling that she had a forgotten task. Unknown anxiety twisted her stomach. Not with anticipation so much as apprehension. What’s next? If I had a friend close by, I’d go for a walk. A stroll along the Promenade balcony would be a perfect distraction. Maybe Kasidy was right: time for a hobby. A new sport like orbital skydiving. Plant sculpting or cultivating orchids. She could start knitting something for Kasidy’s baby.

  Or…I could figure out what the Cardassians are up to.

  Now it was out there. She dared to think it. For the bulk of the day, Kira had ignored Macet’s surprise visit except in the most superficial terms. Avoidance wasn’t her usual method; tackling conflict head-on was more her style. Considering how she’d allocated her time these last months, Kira realized she’d spent little—if any—on Cardassian matters. Outside of keeping the supply line of humanitarian aid flowing to Cardassia as the ships came through the station, and the brief interaction she’d had with Macet during the Europani evac, Kira had pushed Cardassia far out of her train of thought. Let someone else worry about them for a change.

  Hadn’t she done her part, training Damar in “Resistance 101”? To her knowledge, she was the sole Bajoran hiking through Cardassia’s bombed-out ruins after the Founders meted out their punishment. What do they want from me? From us, she amended quickly. This wasn’t personal. Whatever Macet and Lang had come for, it wasn’t about Kira Nerys. All that was required of her was to serve honorably as commander of Deep Space 9. Follow orders, make sure nothing blows up, protect the public trust, end of story. Her chapter in the Cardassian saga ended with her testimony to the Allied Tribunal negotiating the Dominion War Accords. Period.

  Her stomach growled and Kira wondered if it might be time to replicate dinner. Aching muscles up and down her spine begged for attention. She ignored her discomforts. “Computer, search main library database for references to knitting with yarn.”

  “Two hundred ninety-two thousand, seven hundred sixty references. Narrow search parameters.”

  “Maybe I should just call Kas back,” Kira muttered.

  “Input not recognized,” the computer intoned.

  “Never mind. Cancel search,” Kira said irritably. The computer issued a bleat of acknowledgment before falling silent. Her musings ended abruptly when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the indicator light on her desk that signaled the arriv
al of a turbolift into ops. She checked the time; too early for her last appointment. Kira turned toward her office doors, looking through the windows and across ops to see who her visitor was. When she saw him, she found herself fighting down the instinct to go for her phaser.

  He descended the stairs into the pit with slow, steady steps, past the situation table and toward the opposing stairs that led up to her office. She could see several of the ops crew reacting to the new arrival, looking to her for orders. In response, Kira steeled herself and touched the control on her desk that would open the office doors to admit her visitor. No ghosts tonight. No ghosts. She mouthed the words, intent on believing them.

  He paused before stepping over the threshold. “Colonel Kira. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

  Kira couldn’t suppress the grim smile that came to her lips at the Prophets’ sense of humor. “What can I do for you, Gul Macet?”

  “…and while I recognize that postwar reconstruction tends to focus, by necessity, on basic needs like potable water, adequate food supply and medical care, don’t you think that expending resources on life’s little luxuries serves morale?” Quark waited for Natima to agree with him, but she’d half turned away from him, peering out into the crowds. “Yoo-hoo.” He cleared his throat, waved a hand in front of her face, but she brushed it aside.

  “Check out what’s going on across the room,” she admonished him.

  What could be more interesting than me? he thought. Glancing over Natima’s shoulder, he saw Ro run-walking toward the Andorians’ table, reach up to touch her combadge. Something’s cooking. Glass shattering! What the hell—?

  From over the din of customers, he heard a plaintive exclamation, “You push and push, but I’m not giving in this time!” and the sounds of scuffling. A chilling scream.

  A hush descended on the bar. Curious onlookers left gambling and eating to get a better view, effectively blocking Quark’s as they huddled around the table. Rising from his own chair, he caught the dabo boy scurrying to the bar and ducking behind the counter.

  “Let her handle this, Quark,” Natima warned. “She seems capable of managing far worse.”

  Yeah, but how many chairs and glasses will be broken in the process? Quark smiled. “I’ll be right back. Don’t give away my seat.”

  Racing across the bar, Quark pushed his way through the crowd to the front just in time to witness Ro spinning into a sidekick, her foot connecting with the Andorian’s arm, sending a broken glass spinning through the air and vaporizing when it hit the floor. The Andorian retaliated, slamming her fist, full speed, into Ro’s cheek. He took a few steps backward to avoid the falling bodies; the Andorian’s momentum had toppled them both.

  Ro planted her hands on her attacker’s collarbone, shoving against her. She threw an elbow into Ro’s stomach; Ro replied with a leg hooked around the Andorian’s hip and a boot heel jammed into the small of her back. The Andorian jerked back with a wail and crumbled onto her knees, giving Ro a chance to untangle herself and scramble to her feet.

  With split-second response, the very attractive (in Quark’s opinion) Andorian sprang to her feet and lunged at Ro, who successfully sidestepped the Andorian’s attack. The women circled each other.

  “Stay out of what doesn’t concern you!” she shouted.

  “Back off!” Ro ordered. “Now!”

  “Can I help anyone here? Drinks? Maybe take a few wagers, 3 to 1 odds in Lieutenant Ro’s favor.” Quark hastily pocketed latinum slips, hoping he remembered who bet what.

  A pair of security officers arrived to assist Ro. Quark held them back until he could be assured that their involvement wouldn’t compromise Ro’s safety. The blood pooled on the floor beneath the table testified to Quark’s fear.

  The Andorian lunged and tackled Ro, pinning her flat to the floor. From her back, Ro had been unable to assume a proper offensive position, giving the Andorian time to pull back her arm for another punch. Ro swept her opponent’s legs from beneath her and sent her sprawling. She had a sidearm out of her concealed holster and targeted on the Andorian before she could make a second pass.

  “That’s my girl,” Quark said to the impressed onlookers.

  “I dare you to fire,” the Andorian hissed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Crouched and tensed on her hands and knees, she resembled a Norpin falcon ready to spring on her prey.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Ro countered. Keeping her weapon fixed on her assailant, Ro scrambled to her feet and turned to one of her deputies. “Sergeant Etana, I want this individual in restraints. If she resists, shoot her. Quark, can I get a glass of water?” She swiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve.

  Quark dispatched a slack-jawed dabo girl to fill Ro’s request. No way was he going to miss a moment of Laren in action.

  “Eat. Drink. Gamble. Leave.” Ro shooed away the crowds, encouraging a return to whatever form of debauchery they were indulging in. When they were satisfied she wasn’t cheating them out of any action, they gradually dispersed. The dabo girl arrived with Ro’s water; she downed it in one swallow. With the Andorian restrained, Ro took her by the arm and dragged her toward the door.

  “We’re going to have a little chat in my office, Thriss.”

  Thriss complied, but before she left the premises, Ro turned to Quark with a wrinkled brow and opened her mouth as if she had something to say.

  “Something the matter?” Quark asked.

  “Only three to one in my favor?”

  “I’ll lay better odds next time,” he promised, giving her a wicked grin. What a woman!

  In each encounter, Macet’s appearance rendered Kira momentarily dumbstruck: the resemblance was extraordinary.

  His voice had the same rolling timbre, the rounded rising and falling tones and elongated diction as Dukat. Kira saw him in profile: the aquiline nose and square chin casting an exaggerated silhouette on her wall. She pushed away images of Dukat’s hand curling around Meru’s chin, his fingers stroking the surface of her mother’s ugly facial scar. Of a blue velvet dress he had sent her to wear to a dinner party, as if she were a decorative accessory whose purpose was to bring him pleasure. Of him standing at the altar of the pah-wraiths on Empok Nor, seducing his followers into decadent, sensual worship. But Dukat was gone. Kasidy had confided what she’d learned from her vision of the Emissary, and Kira believed the story. She took comfort in it.

  Especially now.

  “I didn’t anticipate meeting with you until tomorrow,” she said told Macet. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to greet the Trager when it docked. First Minister Shakaar has given me several assignments, including overseeing the planning of the reception—” Kira gazed over at him, standing statue still. No ghosts…

  “It’s the reception I’ve come to speak with you about.” Macet strolled languidly toward her desk. “Alon Ghemor has a gift he’d like presented to Bajor on behalf of the Cardassian people. We’d expected to give it to the first minister privately, but since Minister Shakaar elected to have our first official meeting at the reception, it seems appropriate to share it there.” He stopped in front of Kira’s desk, hands folded before him.

  He has an almost noble carriage, she thought. And his mouth has none of Dukat’s cruel twist about it. Nonetheless, her skin crawled. Kira pursed her lips. “Ensign Beyer—one of my staff—is doing the bulk of the planning. Feel free to contact her.”

  “Our request is simple,” he said. “We would like the opportunity to say a few words. The presentation will take fifteen to twenty minutes.”

  Grateful for the excuse to look anywhere else, Kira turned to her console and pulled up Beyer’s files on the reception. Playing music proved to be a fortuitous choice: the energetic jazz melodies filled a potentially uncomfortable silence nicely. “Based on what I see here, I think we could manage a half hour after dessert.”

  Macet acknowledged her offer with a smile. “I believe Ambassador Lang will be satisfied.”

  “I’ll mak
e sure it’s arranged. Would it be too much to ask for some idea about what we might expect?” Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Skrain Dukat! And for his first act, he’ll invite a pah-wraith to possess the first minister.

  “Something that I believe will set the proper tone for our visit,” Macet said earnestly. “I’d rather not say more until the reception.”

  Kira frowned. “Let me be frank, Macet: I hate surprises.”

  “You’ll like this one.”

  Steady, Nerys. This is still the man who helped us pull off the Europani evac, when he certainly didn’t have to.“In that case, I’ll look forward to your—surprise. Thank you for stopping in.”

  Macet didn’t move from where he stood, lingering expectantly for a long moment. Kira straightened up. She’d be damned if she’d cower in his presence. Even raised to her full height, she had to look up at the gul to meet his gaze. His broad, thick shoulders enhanced his dominating stature. So what. She’d taken down opponents far more intimidating than Macet.

  “There is a story going around,” Macet said at length, “that you had a—how shall I put it?—a unique experience during the gateway affair. I’d be most interested in hearing about it.”

  Kira had to admit it took a certain amount of fearlessness to seek out, without support personnel or weapons, a former enemy in the enemy’s territory. Wasn’t that what the entire Cardassian delegation was doing? Still, Macet had yet to provide answers about the purpose of their mission. Not too much trust on your part either, gul.

  “Actually, I have another appointment due to arrive at any moment,” she said.

  He nodded, his expression once again emotionless. “Another time, perhaps. Forgive my presumptuousness, Colonel. But please reserve a moment for me tomorrow at the reception, should duty permit.” Not waiting for her to reject him again, he offered her a brusque nod of his head and promptly exited her office.

  Kira watched him leave. It seemed to her as if it took forever for the turbolift to arrive. When it finally did, it was occupied.