Licking her lips, she took a deep, controlled breath, willing her respirations to steady her. Ezri rolled her head back and forth, stretching her muscles. A class she’d taken on crisis negotiations—what was the procedure? Build a rapport between perpetrator and negotiator. Focus on the perpetrator’s needs. The time she’d spent with Jeshoh gave her a powerful advantage. Responsibility, loyalty and integrity motivated him. Appeal to those traits. She rose from her seat, resting one hand on each chair.
“Jeshoh, I know you’re concerned about reaching the rendezvous on time, but maybe we should take a moment, settle down. Eat? We missed dinner at Perian. The hour is late. I know I’m sleepy. Aren’t you a little hungry?”
He turned to Keren, “Are you hungry? Lieutenant Dax could bring you food.”
“Thirsty,” she conceded. “Something to drink.”
He’s more concerned about her needs than his own. That’s where I have leverage.“Keren, water? Fruit juice?”
“Water is fine,” she said.
“Shar, take conn, would you?” Ezri said, and went to replicate Keren’s drink. Handing it to her, she said, “You look tired, Keren. Take the copilot’s chair.” She paused. “If that’s all right with you, Jeshoh.”
He nodded. A tenderness suffused Jeshoh’s face as he watched Keren move to the front.
Assuming Keren’s seat, Ezri asked Jeshoh, “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
“Just make sure Ensign ch’Thane takes us to the rendezvous.” He refused her attempts to engage him.
Ezri leaned over, speaking so only Jeshoh could hear her. “Keren’s exhausted. This day has taken a toll on her.”
“We’ll be done soon enough.”
Now to induce doubt about the viability of his choice.“I wouldn’t count on that. You and I have both been in negotiation situations. They can drag on and on.” Ezri shrugged, stole a glance at Jeshoh who seemed to be listening. She continued, “Your contact could back out at the last minute—the Cheka could change their minds about the deal and demand higher payment. And then there’s the question of how to get back to Vanìmel without the defense forces on Luthia coming after you. We could be on the run for a while.”
“We can handle it,” he said stubbornly. Distracted, he twirled the weapon around his fingers.
“But if you’re on the run, you won’t be able to bring the Cheka weapons back to the underground.”
Jeshoh hesitated. “We’ll find a way.”
“And Keren? She doesn’t deserve to never be able to return to Vanìmel.”
“We would be free. Together.”
“Until when? Until my commander and the Defiant catches up with you? Until the Sagan flies into a Cheka web weapon and you’re cooked? And then there’s the Yrythny military who will hunt you down.”
“When we’re done, I’ll leave you and Shar somewhere. Your commander can find you.”
Ezri watched Keren, flaccid and pale, in the front seat, her chin propped on her hands, her shoulders slumped. He had to see what his actions were costing her. Believing she’d found a wedge to pry open Jeshoh’s defenses, Ezri resolved to persist. “Oh, I know I’ll be fine. And so will Shar, but what about Keren? Look what this situation is doing to her. It’s a lot of stress. Especially since I know she’s coming into her fertile cycle soon.”
“There will be other seasons. If all goes according to plan, next year Keren and I will be able to go into the water together, without hiding.”
“If you live that long,” Ezri muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She considered the flight controls, trying to figure out how much time she had to devise an alternative plan. If she couldn’t convince him to give up his scheme willingly, she would use force. At their present course and speed, she guessed they had 10 minutes before circumstances required she act decisively.
“Say it,” Jeshoh persisted.
He’s listening, at least. I need to keep talking.“The odds are against Keren surviving this adventure you’re taking her on. The Sagan can’t travel indefinitely without refueling. And without energy, life support will dwindle, and the replicators won’t work. Then there’s the problem of living on the run. The fugitive lifestyle is hard and for you to choose it for her…. But I’m certain you’ll find a way to make it work.” She shrugged and offered him a wan smile.
He fixed his attention on Ezri for a long moment. She remained composed under his scrutiny, saying nothing further.
Without a response, he vacated his seat and approached Shar, though he kept his weapon trained on Ezri. “Shar, a shuttle will launch from the Avaril. When the shuttle crosses over from theAvaril to the Cheka warship, my contact will instruct us where to transport the eggs.”
He’s still planning on carrying out the trade, but he doesn’t sound quite as confident as he did at the start. Ezri still needed to know how the exchange was supposed to happen. If needs be, at the last minute, she would risk changing courses. “I’m curious—are you going aboard the Cheka ship, Jeshoh?” she said smoothly. “Or are you supposed to transport the eggs to them and they in turn will transport the weapons to you? Or is there another ship that’s taking the weapons?”
Jeshoh appeared legitimately startled by Ezri’s question. “I—I—I don’t know. I was supposed to receive my instructions when I arrived.”
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but open-ended deals usually end badly. Too much room for a double-cross.”
“That won’t happen.”
“Yeah. But you don’t know for sure. Think about Keren, Jeshoh. We should transport her to the Avaril. At least she’d have a better chance of getting out of this alive.”
Twisting to consider his lover, Jeshoh’s weapon hand bobbled. Ezri thought she might be able to wrest it from him, but if she failed, he wouldn’t listen to anything else she said. She elected to be patient; the Sagan’s cause was better served if she hung back, waited, and watched.
“Shuttlebay doors on Avaril are opening,” Shar announced.
But not for long. Either Jeshoh would choose or she would.
18
Other than the few naps that interspersed her reading, Kira worked through dawn and into the morning hours, both watching the Promenade cleanup efforts proceed from monitors in ops and reading the negotiation transcripts. Considering the edginess suffusing the station, she was thankful she had an office where she could sequester herself with a desk full of work. The Promenade merchants had contacted her every half hour, wanting updates, complaining about broken merchandise or malfunctioning equipment. Several vedeks had protested in person, resenting the cancellation of shrine services. Parents, spouses, children and lovers affiliated with anyone involved in the fight worried about the well-being of their loved ones. Kira could say, conclusively, that the only people unquestionably happy today were Thriss, whose capable assistance had prompted Dr. Girani to ask if she’d accept regular shift assignments in the infirmary for the duration of her stay, and the children, for whom school had been cancelled.
Reports to Akaar and the first minister had gone as well as she could have hoped. While Akaar had focused on the long-term, probable outcomes following such an outpouring of hostility, Shakaar saw the night’s disturbance more like a field commander would see any turn of luck that went against his forces, be it bad weather, inaccurate intelligence or unforeseen cunning on the part of the enemy. He went into counterattack mode, immediately strategizing as to how Bajor would hurdle this latest obstacle. His predictable unhappiness increased when he heard the number of Militia personnel involved in the fight. A Militia Internal Affairs officer was ordered to report to Deep Space 9 to review the individual cases. The officer would mete out whatever disciplinary actions were called for, saving Kira from the detestable task. Now that it was approaching noon, she was due to brief Shakaar, in person.
While waiting in the antechamber to his office, Kira made distracting small talk with Sirsy. She had spent the last hour trying to
formulate the best way to present what she’d concluded from her night’s reading—that Macet’s concerns were founded in fact, not supposition. Almost from the start, Asarem’s approach had been to block rather than negotiate; she refused to budge on any point, even those already conceded in the postwar Accords.
As soon as Minister Kren exited, Kira ventured in to see Shakaar. With his usual energy, he bounded about his office, loading up a travel bag that lay open on his desk. Monitors running newsfeeds from Bajor and adjoining systems flashed breaking reports on screens lining the walls. From appearances, Shakaar kept continual tabs on many situations.
“Nerys!” he said with a smile. “Come in, come in.”
“You’re leaving the station?” Kira wondered if the Promenade brawl, combined with the vandalized conference room, had led his advisers to recommend that he return to Bajor until the station situation stabilized. An attack on Shakaar’s staff or offices—even worse, an assassination attempt—would send any peace efforts spiraling into a quagmire, possibly even derailing the transition into the Federation. He would hate having to run from a fight, Kira thought, remembering how eagerly he plunged into the unknown, dealing with whatever challenges lurked ahead without fear for his own well-being.
“Yes and no. The Federation meetings are in recess, and I’ve decided to use the opportunity to accept Captain Mello’s invitation to tour the Gryphon during one of its patrols of the system.” He removed several items from his desk—a book, a plain metal case, several isolinear rods—and placed them neatly into his travel bag before he started searching the office for something else. “I expect to return to the station the day after tomorrow.”
“Sounds like fun,” Kira said, wondering what it was he couldn’t find and whether she should help him look. She perused the items scattered over his desk, trying to imagine what a commander-in-chief took along for a visit to inspect the troops, but saw nothing she considered important.
“Anything new from Lieutenant Ro’s investigation?” He asked, his voice muffled as he ducked under his desk.
Opening and closing desk drawers, throwing opening cabinets and shuffling through padds, Shakaar never stopped moving. Kira felt dizzy watching him. “It appears the toxic combination of gambling, liquor and rivalry exploded at Quark’s. We haven’t been able to ascertain who threw the first punch, but it seems that after the initial taunts, it was only a matter of friends coming to the aid of friends. Everything escalated from there. No fatalities, thankfully, but at least two dozen serious injuries.” She held out to him the padd she’d brought with her. “You’ll find Ro and Dr. Girani’s complete reports here. We’re keeping all pertinent information out of the main data core until both sides can agree what details are relevant to the station population. Everyone is anxious, sir, as you might imagine.”
Shakaar accepted the padd, but didn’t look at it. “Understandably. And without any sign of tensions abating soon. You know, Nerys, I was thinking…”
“Sir?”
“We’ve both been working hard. We could use a break. How about joining me at the holosuites for a round of hang gliding off the Cliffs of Bole when I get back from the Gryphon?”
Kira snorted indelicately. “I think you’ve forgotten how much I dislike holosuite adventures, First Minister. I’ll have to pass, but thanks for the invitation.”
“Nerys, please. We’re alone in my office—it’s just us. You can call me Edon.” He held up the padd Kira had given him and quickly scrolled through the contents. “So Quark agreed to the settlement proposed by Gul Macet and my office?”
“He groused about the yarmok sauce he lost, but Ro knew he’d been stashing it in a cargo bay for the last six months, so he can’t claim it as one of last night’s losses.” She owed Ro for acting as the intermediary between Quark and her office. If she’d had to deal with Quark’s whining on top of everything else today, she might have been here informing Shakaar of another homicide on the station.
Shakaar tossed the padd into his travel bag. “Sounds like you have everything under control, then.”
“I hope so, sir,” Kira said. She remained standing, fixed in front of his desk, uncertain as to how to transition into the next topic, especially since Shakaar appeared to be done with her. For all her desire to remain uninvolved in the politics surrounding her, she knew the time had come for her, as commander of the station, to voice her concerns about a process that impacted them all. “Minister?” she said at last.
“Yes?” his said, his tone and expression obscure.
Once upon a time, she would have been able to read him. How she lamented the gradual erosion of trust between them! In the past, she could have—would have—come to Shakaar with anything, spoken plainly and known that she wouldn’t have been misunderstood. Now, she had no idea what to expect from him. Kira took a deep breath. “While I was waiting for reports to come in over the last eight hours, I took the liberty of reading the transcripts of the negotiations between Ambassador Lang and Minister Asarem.”
He didn’t appear surprised or concerned. “Haven’t yet had the chance myself. How’s it going?”
At last, an opening!“I’m glad you asked that, sir.”
“Edon, Nerys,” he said with a smile.
“Edon,” Kira repeated. “To be blunt, I think Minister Asarem’s approach is unreasonable.”
He looked at her blankly. “You have a basis for that conclusion?”
“I’ve reviewed the transcripts of the meetings, and it seems very clear to me that the second minister is obstructing the initiatives you began when the war ended, to have Bajor spearhead and coordinate the Cardassian relief efforts.”
“How so?”
“Those initiatives were designed to be progressive,” Kira reminded him. “We’re supposed to be helping Cardassia not just survive the next five years, but get back to being a self-sufficient civilization under its new democratic regime. But everything Asarem is doing seems designed to keep Cardassia crippled and dependent on outside aid indefinitely. I think she’s made this personal.”
Shakaar’s eyebrows went up. “That’s a strong accusation, Colonel. What made you look into this?”
The time of reckoning is here, Nerys. Kira made sure Shakaar was looking directly into her eyes before she answered. She needed him to see that she told the truth, that she had no hidden agenda. “Gul Macet asked me to review the transcripts.”
“Nerys—”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think his concerns had merit.”
“To do this right, you shouldn’t go around—”
“Old grudges are getting in the way of our delegation’s doing its job. The Federation, with cause, could delay our petition again if they think we’re not prepared to be forthright in our dealings.”
Shakaar frowned. “You haven’t taken this to Akaar—”
“Of course not!” she said, indignant at his suggestion.
“Because if you had, Colonel, I’d be questioning your loyalty.”
Kira took a deep, steadying breath before answering. “I came to you because I’ve been implementing your initiatives toward Cardassia for the last six months—initiatives I believe in—and I’m seeing the original intent of those initiatives being compromised.” She locked eyes with Shakaar. “And more to the point, I came out of my own sense of right and wrong. And what Asarem is doing is wrong.”
They lingered in uncomfortable silence until Shakaar at last said, “You’re right and I apologize for overreacting. It’s just that knowing who your friends and enemies are these days is harder than ever.”
No one knows that better than me, Kira thought. So which are you, Edon?
Shakaar, however, seemed to feel that they’d resolved their disagreement; he smiled pleasantly. “Send the meeting transcripts to Sirsy for my database. I’ll look into the matter personally.”
Relief washed over Kira. “Thank you, sir.”
“No need for that. I realize what you must think of Minister Asarem,
but you have to know she’s an absolute patriot. Her love for Bajor is as deep as yours. While she may seem harsh and inflexible, she stands on equal footing with you in terms of her loyalty. Separating her personal views on the Cardassian questions from the need for political expediency has always been a struggle for her. I think you two are more alike than you know.”
Kira winced involuntarily at the comparison, thinking of the rigid, inflexible politician she had observed, what was it, only yesterday? It felt like an eternity ago. Maybe once I was like Asarem. Maybe it’s true if you still think of me as I once was. Now, I don’t think you know me. Edon would never see the subtle distinctions. “I’ll go, then. If there’s nothing else…?”
Shakaar waved her out the door, and as he had said, Minister Asarem had arrived for her meeting. An unspoken greeting passed between the women. Kira hoped that in the future, likely after the talks had wrapped up, she could get to know Asarem as the well intentioned woman Kira knew she must be. Until then, politeness would have to suffice.
Later in the day, when word came from Macet that Minister Asarem’s office had proposed resuming talks the following morning, Kira exulted. To celebrate, she left ops early, planning on rewarding herself with an hour at the spa for a mineral soak. It pleased her to walk through the Promenade, now bustling with normal activity. Particularly gratifying was seeing the long lines waiting for admission to the grand opening of the Ziyal exhibit. For the first time since the Cardassians’ arrival, Kira felt hopeful.
Once she arrived back in her quarters, she opened up her next day’s schedule and cleared out a block of time where she could sit in on the talks. Not so she could gloat, or take credit for helping to break through a seemingly insurmountable barrier. Kira wanted to be there so she could one day tell her grandchildren about how she witnessed the day when Cardassia and Bajor began forging a fragile peace.
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