Though not brightly lighted, the entire place was warmly decorated, a reflection, Asarem thought, more of the assistant than of the first minister. Colorful impressionist paintings adorned the walls at comfortable intervals, complemented by the muted hues of various flowers sprinkled in vases throughout the room. A neutral carpet tied all the furnishings together, and a light fragrance, distinctly floral but not cloying, dressed the air.

Sirsy emerged from behind her desk, clearly pleased to be able to report to Asarem that the first minister could indeed meet with her. The young woman—Sirsy must be nearing thirty, Asarem thought, at least a dozen years her junior—ushered her to the entrance to the inner office. Sirsy tapped on the door with her knuckles, then opened it and leaned in. “Minister Asarem is here, sir.” She stepped aside to allow Asarem to pass.

Shakaar’s austere office sprawled in marked contrast to the anteroom. The bare walls spread in arcs away from the doorway, curving outward until they met the back wall. The bare stone floor, though beautiful, lent the room a hard appearance, and the few pieces of furniture—a sofa and a couple of matching chairs around a low, circular table, and another small table and companel off to one side—did nothing to dispel that impression.

In the wall across from the door, several tall, wide windows marched from one end to the other, interrupted only by another doorway on the left side, this one leading to a balcony hanging from the back of the building. Usually, the windows and doorway provided the room’s only vibrancy, Asarem thought, allowing the lush green landscape stretching beyond the city to adorn the room, like natural artwork borrowed from the countryside. In the springtime, she knew, a few months from now, an explosion of floral growth would dapple the vista with color, further enhancing the otherwise pallid room. Today, though, the windows and doors were shuttered against the cool, murky weather, further contributing to the room’s severity.

Shakaar rose from the far chair, in the same motion deactivating a personal-access display device and sliding it onto the table before him. “Wadeen,” he said, not with the amiability of friendship, but the familiarity of their professional relationship. He crossed toward her, and she moved into the room to meet him. Behind Asarem, the door to the anteroom clicked closed.

“Edon,” she said. He took her left hand in both of his, his left thumb wrapping around hers. He smiled, but the expression seemed flat to her, forced onto his face by courtesy, she thought.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I’m sorry for missing our game.” Asarem bowed her head, closing her eyes briefly, to indicate her acceptance of his apology. He released her hand and motioned toward the sitting area. “Please.” She passed him and sat down in the near chair; he returned to the chair in which he had been sitting, across the table from her.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said. “Have you heard from the admiral?”

“Yes, I have,” Shakaar said. The smile had gone from his face now, she saw, and he seemed distracted. The inconstant glow of an oil lamp wavered over his features. Two large skylights, along with the windows and door to the balcony, usually afforded the room ample illumination, Asarem knew, but with the shutters in place and the cloud cover overhead, several lamps had been lighted instead. One stood in the center of the table between them, its flame flickering within its translucent chimney. “Admiral Akaar contacted me earlier,” Shakaar continued. “He’s arrived at Deep Space 9, and he’ll be coming to Bajor tomorrow.”

Asarem felt a surge of excitement. “That’s wonderful news,” she said. “The Federation must be closer than we thought to making a decision.”

“Even closer than that,” Shakaar offered. “Federation Councillor zh’Thane will be joining the admiral on his visit.”

Asarem frowned. For a moment, she had the sense that they—the Bajoran government in general, and she and the first minister in particular—had all at once lost any control of the situation, that events were suddenly proceeding faster than they would be able to effectively deal with them. But then her self-confidence and her knowledge of their careful preparations for this entire process asserted themselves, and she recognized the impending sojourn on Bajor of the admiral and the councillor for what it was: an opportunity. “I had wanted to review our arrangements for the admiral’s visit,” she said, “but I guess we need to discuss more than that now.”

“Yes,” Shakaar agreed in an offhand way, his preoccupation evident. He stood and paced across the room, from light to shadow to light again, moving from the reach of one oil lamp to another. That side of the room was virtually empty. Asarem had wondered during her earliest trips here how the first minister could possibly function in his position without a desk in his office, but here was the answer. Shakaar had spent most of his lifetime living under Cardassian rule, and a lot of that time leading a guerrilla war against Bajor’s oppressors. For decades, he had been ever on the move, running from place to place, his eyes steadfastly on the ultimate prize: the unshackling of his people. And this office reflected all of that, she had long ago realized: the almost hostile feel of a room with few places to work or rest; the lack of any explicit indication that this space belonged to Shakaar, and he to it; and, when the windows stood open, the distant view of Bajor’s freedom and beauty, beyond immediate reach.

The first minister walked back over to the sitting area. “Yes,” he said, “we have much to discuss.” For the first time, Asarem noticed his casual dress, a basic gray tunic atop workman’s pants, a look very different from the professional one he had cultivated in recent years. He bent and scooped the padd from the table.

“What is it, Minister?” Asarem asked. A flow of air from a heat register in the floor circulated past her.

Shakaar punched a control on the padd and it activated with a tone. He worked its controls and examined the display. Without taking his eyes from it, he said, “The Chamber of Ministers received a message this morning from the Cardassians.”

Cardassians.The word brought Asarem up short, and she thought she understood Shakaar’s remoteness, and even his missing their springball game. Almost eight years after their withdrawal from Bajor, the Cardassians remained a troublesome topic with which to deal. “Which Cardassians?” she asked. “What did they want? More aid, I presume.”

Shakaar looked up at Asarem. “Their provisional government has—”

Asarem made a noise, not exactly a laugh, but a quick exhalation of breath, loud enough to stop the first minister in mid-sentence. “Forgive me, Minister,” she said. “The irony of the Cardassians having a ‘provisional’ government is still…I’m sorry. After all that’s happened, the Occupation, the Dominion War…Bajor sending medicine and foodstuffs to the Cardassians, coordinating additional aid to them…after all this time, it’s still hard to grasp it all.”

“I know,” he agreed. He looked back down at the padd. Asarem thought to say more, but there was too much—too many feelings, too many words. Her own emotions ranged from hatred to pity, from fear and anger to compassion and forgiveness. And her political stands…well, they had changed through the years, and were perhaps still changing. “The communication came directly from Alon Ghemor, the legate heading their government.” Shakaar paused, and Asarem could not tell whether the first minister hesitated because he thought the information he wanted to impart would be difficult for him to say, or for her to hear. She considered urging him on, but chose instead to wait. He stepped around the table and sat back down in the chair, reaching forward and letting go of the padd. The device clattered onto the tabletop. “Ghemor’s message talked about Bajoran aid to Cardassia, and about the relationship between our two worlds,” he finally continued. “Essentially, he’s making noises, signaling his intent. Ghemor hasn’t done so yet, but I think soon he’s going to ask for normalized diplomatic relations between Bajor and Cardassia.”