Quark was making quite a show of agreeing with her. “That’s fine with me. That sort of apparel wouldn’t be appropriate for Las Vegas anyway.”

“Las Vegas?” She didn’t recognize the name. “Is that a Gamma Quadrant planet?”

“It’s a city on twentieth-century Earth,” Quark said, cheerfully baring his snaggly teeth. “Courtesy of Dr. Bashir. Full of bright lights, indescribable sounds, and inhaled carcinogenic vapors. Harmless holographiccarcinogenic vapors, of course.”

“Sounds like a Cardassian labor camp,” Ro said with a frown. “Except for the part about the holograms.”

“I suppose my description hasn’t done the place justice. Actually—”

Ro’s combadge chose that moment to speak up. “Kira to Ro. I’ve got a situation on my hands, Lieutenant.”

The sound of Kira’s voice neutralized the spring wine as authoritatively as a bucket of cold water. “Ro here, Colonel. Please tell me nobody’s hurt or dead this time.”

“It’s nothing quite that serious. At least, not yet. But I still need to see you in my office right away.”

“On my way.” Ro stood up and excused herself. “Tomorrow night, 2100 hours.”

“Wear a nice evening gown,” she heard Quark say as she walked quickly away from the booth. “Something semiformal and off the shoulder would be nice. With sequins!”

As she moved toward the bar on her way to the Promenade, she practically collided with Morn, who had chosen precisely the wrong moment to step down from his perch. Ro felt like an astronomer bearing witness to the formation of an antimatter quasar; the sight of Morn disconnected from his barstool had to be at least that rare.

Smiling politely, she picked her way quickly past the massive Lurian before he had a chance to draw her into yet another one of his interminable family anecdotes.

Moments later, she strode from the ops turbolift and into the station commander’s office.

Kira rose from behind her desk. “It’s Gul Macet,” she said in response to Ro’s unspoken question. “He’s asked for immediate departure clearance for his ship. And he won’t explain why, or when he intends to return.”

Ro frowned. “The Tragerwas supposed to stay at the station for at least the next few days. Macet told me he’d placed his ship at the disposal of the Cardassian delegates still on the station doing the low-echelon stuff.”

“Yes, the people who have diplomatic meetings about whether and when Bajor and Cardassia will havemore diplomatic meetings,” Kira said, nodding. “My instinct is to tell Macet to just sit tight and wait his turn.”

Ro mulled that over for a moment. With the current levels of station traffic, that would bump back the Trager’s departure by at least six hours. Why was Macet in such a hurry?

“Has he given you any reason to suspect anything other than an innocent internal scheduling mix-up?” Ro said.

Kira’s smile was small and rueful. “Besides his looking so much like Gul Dukat that it’s virtually impossible to think about him objectively?”

“Besides that.” Ro knew that Kira’s point, though made flippantly, was entirely valid. How could any Bajoran who’d endured the casual brutalities of the Cardassian Occupation keep a level head around a man who wore the face of Bajor’s most hated oppressor?

But Ro also knew that there were larger issues to consider, namely Bajor’s relationship with Cardassia during that world’s postwar reconstruction—and the Federation’s evaluation of the Bajoran government’s actions before formally accepting Bajor as a member.

An event that now loomed only days away.

Kira’s furrowed brow told Ro that the colonel was busy weighing those very same issues.

Ro followed Kira from the office and down the steps into ops, where Ensign Selzner stood beside a communications console. She was clearly awaiting Kira’s instructions as to how to handle Macet.

“Hail the Trager,Ensign,” Kira said before turning back to Ro. “Trust has to start somewhere. Even at the risk of misplacing it.”

Absurdly, Kira’s comment reminded Ro of her upcoming date with Quark.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Macet said, doing his best to smile in an ingratiating manner. “You’ve just made my life immeasurably easier. Macet out.”

Kira’s image vanished from the viewer on the Trager’s cramped bridge. Macet’s smile likewise disappeared.

Macet turned his command chair toward the Bajoran man who stood less than two meters away, just out of range of the viewer’s visual pickup. “I am loath to do anything that might serve to undermine Colonel Kira’s trust. You have no idea how difficult it was to gain whatever small measure of it I may have squandered just now.”

“I understand,” Vedek Yevir said. “Neither trust nor true faith comes easily to Colonel Kira.”

“Yet you still insist on the necessity of all this…subterfuge,” Macet said as he stroked the tufts of hair on both sides of his chin and considered what Yevir was asking of him.

“I assure you, it’s entirelynecessary.” Yevir’s face was overcome with a passionate intensity that Macet had rarely seen before. “I regret these deceptions every bit as much as you do. And I assure you, if our pilgrimage fails, I alone will assume the responsibility before your superiors as well as my own.”

Macet smiled, more than a little reassured. He’s a step away from the kaiship. He has more friends and influence in the Vedek Assembly than anyone else alive. Other than perhaps First Minister Shakaar, thereare no superiors he’s obliged to answer to.

“All right,” Macet said. “But there are considerations here that are far more important than either of our personal reputations. And I’m still not certain what I can do to assist, other than providing transportation.”

“Oh, there’s a great deal you can do, Gul Macet, with the right help. Things that politicians and diplomats won’t or can’t do. And when the politicians and diplomats fail to do the right thing, then we must seek the help we need from others.”

Macet could no longer hold back the obvious question: “Who?”

“Get the ship under way,” Yevir said, his smile growing even more beatific. “And I will explain everything during the voyage.”

8

Bashir gathered up Ezri’s limp form and carried her toward the medical bay at a full-out run. Bowers ran alongside, using his combadge to alert Ensign Richter to the emergency as they sprinted through the corridor and into the turbolift.

Moments later, Richter and Bowers were helping Bashir place Ezri’s feverish, perspiring body onto the table in the operating room adjacent to the main medical bay. Bashir dismissed Bowers with a curt nod. He was grateful for this room’s Earth-normal gravity as he unlimbered his medical tricorder and ran its scanner quickly across Ezri’s torso.

The readings were grim.

“What is it, Doctor?” said Krissten as she entered the chamber.

“Her isoboramine levels are falling steadily.”

As Krissten studied her own medical tricorder, apuzzled frown creased her face. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Is her symbiont in immediate danger?”

“It certainly will be in another hour or two, if nothing changes in the meantime.”

“What could have caused this?”

Afraid that he already knew the answer, Bashir chose to dodge the question for the moment. “Trill physiology can be tricky, Krissten. Run a full battery of deep-tissue scans. We’ll laser-biopsy as necessary.”