Accustomed to briskly exiting her quarters, Kira avoided spilling her double raktajinoby instantaneously thrusting the mug away when her boot nearly connected with Lieutenant Ro’s skull.
“You mind telling me what the hell you’re doing down there, Lieutenant?” Kira asked.
Ro looked up at her. “I’m sorry, Colonel. You obviously haven’t been out yet.”
Kira crouched down to see what held Ro’s fascination: a small, opalescent ceramic urn with a torn piece of parchment sticking out of it; two spent sticks of incense and what looked like a cheap, bronze religious icon—something one might find in the marketplace stalls around the temples. She removed the parchment from the urn and immediately recognized the ancient Bajoran calligraphy. Scanning the words for something identifiable, she felt puzzled until her eyes locked onto the characters for the word “Ohalu.” She looked over at Ro whose tight-lipped expression indicated she, too, had recognized the text.
“I take it these things don’t belong to you,” Ro observed.
“No,” Kira confirmed. “But it might be a good idea to know who they do belong to.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Ro said. Removing a tricorder from her belt, she scanned the items for DNA and stored the readings in the tricorder’s memory. Then she touched her combadge. “Ro to Shul.”
“Go ahead.”
“Send someone with an evidence bin to Colonel Kira’s quarters. There are some religious artifacts sitting on the floor outside her door that I want collected. Return the bin to my office and I’ll handle it from there. Ro out.” To Kira, she said, “It’s probably nothing, but better safe than sorry.”
Some minutes later, after Corporal Hava arrived to gather up the items, the two women walked toward the crossover bridge. Kira wasn’t surprised by Ro’s familiarity with her routine; Kira’s alpha shift walks to ops were part of the station’s rhythm. The walks began many years ago, taking on special significance when a stop by Odo’s office became more than an excuse for exchange of gossip. Though Odo’s departure might have given her a reason to take a turbolift, Kira found comfort in going through the same motions she always had, as if holding on to this one remaining vestige of an old routine would somehow help keep her grounded.
“Any idea who might have left those items?” Ro asked as they walked.
“How would I know? Since I made Ohalu’s book public, I’ve more or less been out of the religious loop,” Kira said, more testily than she intended. “Maybe an extremist crackpot thinks his tokens will prevent my evil influence from tainting the faithful.”
Ro appeared to be exerting effort not to answer Kira’s annoyance in kind. “Sorry, Colonel. I assumed that perhaps this had happened before. That maybe we’re dealing with a precedent.”
“No. I’m just as puzzled about it as you, Ro,” Kira said. “But I don’t plan to lose any sleep over it.”
“Wasn’t suggesting you should, sir. Like I said, it’s probably nothing. But you do understand that nocturnal visits to the door of the station commander’s quarters need to be investigated?”
Kira nodded. “Fine. Just keep it discreet. Last thing we need around here is another religious crisis.”
By the time they made their way to the Promenade, the place was already crowded and noisy with merchants opening their storefronts, parents hustling reticent children to school, Bajorans heading for morning shrine services, Starfleet personnel attending to the business of bureaucracy and overnight shift workers flooding into Quark’s. Earthy smells of roasting Andorian flatroot, a delicacy presently popular with the ops staff, seeped onto the walkway.
Kira observed Ro’s apparent obliviousness to the confusion swirling around her and wondered what the security officer might be mulling over. Ro’s brow wrinkled more deeply as she studied the floor.
Her head came up and she looked at Kira. “It occurs to me that since I’m not in the religious loop myself, maybe in-depth surveil lance of our local faithful might be a gap in our intelligence. I’ll find one of my deputies who isn’t offended by my agnosticism or your Attainder to keep us briefed as to the goings-on among the prylars and vedeks,” she said, with thinly veiled sarcasm. “We could be facing a religious uprising and neither of us would know about it.”
Kira smiled grimly. “All right, Ro. Point taken.” At least Ro felt comfortable enough to make light of her current predicament. It wasn’t as if nottalking about the Attainder would make it vanish. She paused, stopping in her tracks when a fact she’d dismissed a week ago suddenly seemed relevant to the present. “Maybe I do know something.”
“Oh?” Ro said as she nodded to Chef Kaga, who was carrying a basin filled with a squirming mass of gaghas she and Kira passed the Klingon Deli.
Kira continued. “When I was talking to Captain Yates a few days back, she mentioned something about rumors of a schism in the Vedek Assembly.”
Ro’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s interesting. At least I know what to listen for during the next week or so.”
“You could always put Quark on it.”
“And give him one more reason to think he knows more than the rest of us?”
“Bad idea.”
“Agreed.”
Kira noted that as she and Ro walked the crowds parted a bit too quickly to be spontaneous. She never thought she’d miss the jostle and muttered-under-the-breath ‘excuse mes’ that used to mark her morning strolls through the Promenade. Now, it was the station visitors who offered polite pleasantries. When she appeared, Bajorans averted their eyes, finding that the goods in their arms, the padds in their pockets or the posted station schedules required their immediate attention. Kira understood they had no malicious intent; were she in their position, she couldn’t honestly say that she wouldn’t do the same. But she missed the smiles in their eyes, the wave of a hand, the sense of community that united them.
“Ensign Beyer mentioned a Cardassian ship arriving this afternoon?” Ro asked.
“Yes,” Kira answered, grateful for the diversion from her thoughts. “A Cardassian warship called the Tragerbearing a diplomatic delegation will be visiting the station. Its commanding officer is a Ghemor-loyal gul named Macet.”
“We have semiregular visits by Cardassian ships. This one warrants special attention because—?”
How do I say this delicately?Kira thought. “Let’s say that Macet bears an extraordinaryresemblance to his maternal relatives, the Dukats.”
“I see,” Ro said. “Exactly how Dukat-like does he—?”
“Nearly identical,” Kira said grimly. “On his previous visit, understanding our people’s sensitivity to his appearance, he stayed aboard his ship.”
“Thoughtful of him.”
“Send out a security notice alerting station residents of Gul Macet’s arrival. Include a picture from his file. Explain that he’s here on official business.” Kira imagined panicked Bajorans stampeding to Ro’s security office or whispered gossip wafting about the station causing needless fear.
“Our residents are generally reasonable people, but Macet’s appearance is a surprise I doubt they’d handle very well.”
“Agreed. Another layer of security presence might be a precaution worth taking.”
Ro rolled Kira’s words around in her head. “Plainclothes deputies. Specifically assigned to areas being utilized by the Cardassians.”
“A good place to begin,” Kira said. “When Ensign Beyer finishes assigning quarters, I’ll have the details sent to your office.”
They arrived at a turbolift. “Then with your permission, Colonel, I’ll take my leave of you here.”
“Dismissed, Lieutenant,” Kira said. She watched Ro head off for the security office, waving to Quark who was posting the morning specials near the front door. Why her security chief would consider seeing the Ferengi socially in any capacity puzzled Kira. Maybe it had to do with keeping your enemies close.