Kira thought about the question before answering. The Prophets only knew that she had been asking herself similar questions for days. But she arrived at the same answer now as before. “I think I’ve come to terms with Bajor’s membership in the Federation,” she said seriously. “I even believe that it will benefit our people. But I also think that for those in our generation, so many of whom have been horribly wounded by the Occupation, this step might be exceedingly difficult.”

“I understand,” Shakaar told her. He pulled his arms in and stood up. “I’ve had similar thoughts. But I’m confident that we can do this, and that it can be a great boon to all of Bajor.”

“I think so too,” Kira said. “It’s just that, with all the rapid changes Bajorans have experienced in the last century—even in the last decade—we’ve had to struggle to retain our character. I just wonder what will become of our…unique identity…once we become just one small part of something so much bigger.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Shakaar asked, walking back over to the dining area as he spoke. “That Bajor will join the Federation and become somehow homogenized? Because my experience is that their member worlds are very different, one from another.”

“I don’t know,” Kira admitted. “Yes, that does worry me. But I also think I’m even more concerned about Bajor notjoining the Federation.” If the locusts had represented Akaar to her, Kira realized, then perhaps the shadow that had so frightened her in her dream had not been the Federation descending on Bajor, but Akaar separating Bajor and preventing its membership.

“I’ve been dealing with this issue for months,” Shakaar said. “Believe me when I tell you that there’s nothing to worry about. Everything is proceeding exactly as I’d hoped.” They were mere words, Kira knew, and perhaps even hollow promises, but despite the prickliness of her recent dealings with Shakaar, she still trusted him. “We’re going to need you in the next few days and weeks, and past that.”

“I’ll be here,” Kira said.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” he asked, pointing at the replicator.

“No, I’m fine,” she said.

“Mobajuice,” Shakaar ordered. Kira could not see the device past him, but she heard its hum. Shakaar turned back toward her after a moment, a tall glass of the purple beverage in one hand. He sipped from the glass, and then said, “There’ll be a great deal of work beyond Federation membership. We’ll want to diversify, to enhancethe usefulness of Deep Space 9, especially once the wormhole is reopened to commercial and exploratory traffic. I imagine the Klingons and the Romulans may push for a bigger role in those affairs this time.” He started back across the room.

Kira could only imagine how troublesome it would be to have to deal with both Klingon and Romulan officials as permanent residents of the station, but she also understood why those powers would want a hand in occupying such an important area of space. Even discounting any possible threat from the Gamma Quadrant, Bajor and the wormhole had become a virtual crossroads of the galaxy, a place where everybody’s interests could be impacted.

Shakaar sat back down on the sofa. He talked about other governments who had expressed a desire to be represented on DS9, rushing through a list that included the Ferengi, the Tholians, and the Gorn. At one point, she thought he even mentioned the Breen—allies of the Dominion during the war, and a people who had shown nothing but animosity toward Bajor and the Federation, even since hostilities had ended—but realized that she must have misunderstood him. Eventually, Shakaar said, “I did ask you in here for a reason, though. Actually, I wanted to ask for your opinion.”

“About what?” Kira asked.

Shakaar put his drink down on an end table beside the sofa, then leaned forward. “I wanted to know who you favor as the next kai.”

“Oh,” she said, not prepared for the question. “Well, I guess it’s a foregone conclusion at this point that Vedek Yevir will be elected.”

“I’m not asking for a prediction,” Shakaar told her. “I’m interested to find out who you believe would best serve as Bajor’s spiritual leader. Or did I misinterpret you, and you think that Yevir is the best person for the job?”

“No,” Kira said, too quickly, she thought. Her discomfort with Yevir as kai had less to do with his call for the Attainder and more to do with whyhe had done it. “No,” she went on, “I don’t think Yevir would be a good kai.”

Shakaar regarded her for a few seconds, his eyes peering into hers. Finally, he sat back on the sofa. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s not that you don’t think Yevir would be a good kai; it’s that you think he’d be a bad one.”

Kira sighed. “Yes, I do think he’d be a bad kai,” she confirmed. “More than that, I think that he might actually be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Shakaar said. “How? Like Winn?”

“No, not like Winn,” Kira said at once. She could still grow agitated and angry when she thought of the former kai, a woman who had been motivated by ego and ambition, a political animal far removed from what Kira considered to be a server of the faith. “I don’t think Yevir is driven by ambition,” she explained. “He truly has a strong faith and a real commitment to our people. But I also think his faith is…voracious.”

Shakaar looked at her with a quizzical expression. “Surely you don’t object to somebody having a passion for their devotion.”

“No, of course not,” Kira said. “But Yevir’s passion is unbridled… unthinking.He believes so fully that the Prophets guide his every decision that he doesn’t really consider the consequences of his actions.”

Shakaar nodded slowly, offering a nonverbal sound of understanding, although Kira could not tell whether he agreed with her assessment. “All right, so not Yevir,” he said. “Then who? Ungtae?”

Kira could feel herself making a face, no doubt an expression that conveyed both her affection for the old vedek and her reservations about him being elected kai. “I like Ungtae,” she said. “He’s a good man, with a long record of good service…”

“But?” Shakaar asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s a man of great faith, humble, maybe even wise, but he’s just so…plain.”

“What’s wrong with plain?” Shakaar asked.

“Nothing, really,” Kira said. “And I’d probably be perfectly happy with Ungtae. It’s just that I would rather see a kai who didn’t just satisfy the Bajoran people, but inspired them.”

Shakaar smiled at her. “Somebody like Opaka,” he said.

“Yes,” Kira said, returning his smile.

“You really held her in high regard.” It was not a question.

“All of Bajor did,” she said. “But yes, I think she was an amazing woman. Gentle but strong, self-possessed but humble. She was a genuine leader, somebody we could all look to for spiritual guidance.”

“I liked her too,” Shakaar said.

“I know you did.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question,” he said. “If not Yevir or Ungtae, then who?”

“If I had to choose right now?” Kira asked rhetorically. The irony of the notion vexed her, since the Attainder would prevent her from voting for the next kai. “Vedek Pralon.”

“Pralon?” Shakaar repeated, reaching for his glass of mobajuice. “Really?”

“You don’t think Pralon would make a good kai?”

Shakaar sipped from the glass, and then said, “Oh, I think Pralon would be a fine choice, but I just wonder how she would be in dealing with other governments.”

Other governments?Kira thought, and realized that he must mean the Federation. The reason he was seeking her opinion became clear; Kira probably had more experience with the Federation, at least in the guise of Starfleet, than any other Bajoran. He must also believe that membership was imminent. “I don’t know if Vedek Pralon has had much contact with the Federation,” she said. “But I think she could handle it.”