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-wraithson 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 Tragerwhen 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 make 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 apah-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.”