SISKO REACHED the docking area without incident. The rest of the reception group was already assembled at the pylon three airlock: a wide corridor junction bare of carpeting or other amenities, not at all the kind of plush reception area the Kovassii would prefer. A pair of security officers in reassuring Starfleet uniforms stood at alert, and safely behind them was the notable representative of the current provisional Bajoran government, Ambassador Hnada Dels. Hnada was wearing an emblem of state on a chain around her neck, and she kept straightening it, visibly nervous.
Everything seemed to be in order, although Sisko felt a distinct ethical discomfort looking at the security contingent, both Starfleet personnel. Kovassii insecurities had demanded it, but this was a Bajoran station, and they were going to have to get used to that fact if they planned to conduct trade through the Gamma Quadrant wormhole. He was sorry now that he'd given in to their demands.
Hnada seemed to be trying to catch his eye, Sisko stepped over to her. "Madame Ambassador?"
"Commander Sisko, I hope the Kovassii delegates will accept our apologies over the explosion. They have to realize that the authorized representatives of the Bajoran people were not in any way responsible—"
"Ambassador, I can assure you that the best thing you could do would be simply not to refer to the incident at all."
"You're sure? I don't want to offend them. The Tellarites demanded an official apology when those demonstrators splashed blood on their robes, you know. And the Andorian insisted on fighting a duel."
"Yes, I'm aware. But in this case, the fact that the Kovassii are willing to continue the negotiations means that they're unofficially pretending nothing ever happened. If you were to bring the matter up now, they'd have to notice it officially, which would mean the entire delegation would be dishonored and forced to return home."
"I see. Thank you, Commander." Hnada gave him a slight, wan smile. "Your help in these protocol matters has made so much difference. We have to do well in these negotiations, but so many different races, so many different customs—"
"Commander, the airlock's engaged now."
Everyone resumed their proper positions, while Sisko inwardly gave thanks that he'd managed to stay awake during the interminable Academy lectures on diplomatic protocol.
The Cardassian-built airlock door resembled a large toothed gear. Now it rolled open with the usual slight hiss as air pressure equalized. A moment later, a cautious humanoid head emerged, crowned with a luxuriant topknot of silver hair. Wide silvery eyes peered closely at the receptions party, narrowing at the sight of the Bajorans, dilating again as they rested on Sisko's dress uniform. The commander's gloveless hands were folded carefully behind his back.
The Kovassii disappeared again into the airlock, but reemerged only a moment later. He folded at the waist in a deep bow. A second Kovassii came out, bowed likewise, but not so deeply. A third. The final Kovassii to step from the lock had his hair arranged in the most elaborate topknot Sisko had ever seen, from which it flowed down like a fountain. His robe was a gleaming, spotless white. His eyes met Sisko's and he bowed at a slight angle.
Sisko returned the bow and stepped forward to greet the ambassador. "Your Excellency, welcome to the Bajoran system and to Deep Space Nine. Allow me to present to you the representatives of the Bajoran provisional government. This is Her Excellency, Ambassador Hnada Dels."
There were tentative bows on both sides. Sisko was about to continue with the introductions when his communicator beeped. His jaw tightened in irritation. He'd given strict orders not to be interrupted. Unless it was a grave emergency. If this wasn't serious …
"Commander, this is Dax, in Ops. We have a situation developing here."
A situation. He bowed again to the Kovassii ambassador, more deeply this time, in recognition of the breach of protocol. "Your Excellency, I'm very sorry, but if you'll excuse me, a situation has developed that requires my urgent attention. I'm sure you'll understand."
He stepped aside to answer the call, leaving the two ambassadors face-to-face with no Federation intermediary, vowing to himself that heads would roll if this wasn't really an emergency. But there was no officer on the station that Sisko trusted more implicitly than Lieutenant Dax. If she was interrupting him, he was sure there was a good reason.
"Sisko here. What's going on?"
"Commander, there's a Cardassian Galor—class warship approaching the station at point two-two impulse. They've informed us that they plan to dock."
Sisko felt an adrenaline surge of alarm. Why were they coming in so fast? Were they planning to attack the station? Ram it? Sisko was well aware that standard Cardassian doctrine was to strike first and let the survivors ask questions later. But he hadn't believed the local commander, Gul Dukat, was likely to use such tactics, unprovoked. Dukat had been prefect of DS-Nine under the Cardassian occupation. He was a dangerous but known quantity.
"Call Yellow Alert. Do you have ID on that ship? Is it Gul Dukat?"
"Hailing them now." A pause. "I'm not getting an answer, but scan says it's a different ship."
Sisko's sense of urgency grew acute. The Cardassian government had been unstable since their loss of the wormhole and the failure of their previous attempts to take it over. The ruling party had been overthrown and a new junta come to power, more belligerent than the last. There had been accusations of treason, and even executions.
Suddenly Gul Dukat's absence took on new, ominous implications. Sisko was about to consider issuing a Red Alert when Ops reported back. "Sir, the Cardassian is decelerating. We've established contact now. The ship's name is the Swift Striker, Gul Marak in command."
"I'll be right there."
"Yes, sir."
He turned back to the diplomats. "Your Excellencies, it does appear that there's an emergency which requires my presence in Operations."
The Kovassii all looked at each other in obvious alarm. "Not another bomb!" the ambassador asked, glancing back toward the airlock and the safety of his ship.
"Nothing like that!" Sisko assured them quickly. "An incoming ship is in violation of the traffic regulations. This is nothing that should interfere with your negotiations."
He turned to the senior security officer. "Chief Phongsit, would you please escort Their Excellencies to the meeting rooms?"
Then he tapped his comm badge again. "Ops, this is Sisko. Beam me down there now."
He stepped off the transporter pad to see the entire staff in Ops glance up at his arrival. With the station on Alert status, all available officers were present, seated and standing at their stations around the gleaming blue-lit display of the operations table. Over the whole scene loomed the huge main viewscreen, displaying the ominous image of a Cardassian Galor-class warship: with its spreading wings forward, it made Sisko think of a dinosaur from the floor of Earth's primordial oceans, armored in rough metal plates. But he had fought against such ships and knew that despite their crude appearance, they were efficient in battle.
He went immediately to his position at the master console, relieved to be abandoning diplomacy to take up his role as station commander. As Lieutenant Dax came up to meet him, he ordered, "All right, let me see what's been going on here."
"This is what we have," Dax told him, calling up a recording onto the screen. The image displayed was of the Cardassian ship, at a greater distance. Sisko heard Dax's voice, requesting identification.
The Cardassian officer who appeared on the screen had a predatory look, with a sharp-bridged nose and thin, cruel lips. Sisko wondered briefly if many Cardassian infants were born sneering.
"This is Gul Marak, commanding the Cardassian dreadnought Swift Striker. We intend to dock at this station within ninety minutes."
Dax's voice on the recording said, "Gul Marak, we advise you that your incoming velocity is well in excess of the safety limit specified in our navigation regulations. There is civilian traffic in the vicinity. Please reduce delta-V immediately."
But the Cardassian's image disappeared from the screen with no reply, and the replay ended, replaced again by the real-time view of the incoming ship.
"What's their current approach velocity?" Sisko demanded.
"Point fifteen impulse, Commander."
"Hmm." Still dangerously fast, but the Cardassians were probably just indulging in a typical display of flashy aggression, Sisko decided. Deliberate provocation was part of their style. They liked to see whom they could intimidate at a first meeting.
But at the moment there was another complication. If Gul Marak meant to dock his ship, where was the station going to find the room to accommodate it? Deep Space Nine was getting crowded with all these delegations arriving, and there were only six docking pylons suitable for a ship the size of a Galor-class. The Cardassian warship would strain the available facilities. This was just another complication Sisko didn't need.
He turned to O'Brien. "Chief, I don't suppose pylon two is in any kind of shape to be used right now?"
O'Brien shook his head. "No, sir," he said emphatically. "I can't say when it will be, either. Those airlock doors were blown to hell and we don't have replacements."
"Then what about six?"
"Well, we've still been seeing those fluctuations in the power-junction nodes to the turbolifts in that sector."
"It'll have to do," Sisko decided. Docking pylon six was on the "down" side of the station, directly opposite the Kovassii ship. Repairs and maintenance had been neglected in those sectors as the operations staff coped with one crisis after another. But uninvited guests couldn't be too picky about their accommodations.
"I hope the lifts do go down again," O'Brien said under his breath. "Let the Cardies walk all the way to the core. It'd do them good."
Sisko shot him an intimidating look, but said nothing. He knew the reasons for his engineer's attitude toward the Cardassians.
A moment later the communications technician said, "Commander Sisko, Gul Marak insists on speaking to you. Personally."
"Open channel."
Marak's thin nostrils were flaring in indignation. The corded tendons on his neck seemed to throb with it. "Commander, my ship was just ordered by some Bajoran to dock at pylon six. I command a Galor-class dreadnought, not some filthy mining tub! I warn you, this insult is insupportable!"
Sisko took a breath. "Gul Marak, you can observe the situation for yourself. Pylon two is out of commission due to a recent accident. The other facilities are either occupied by ships already docked, or committed to incoming traffic. And I'll point out that you've arrived here without prior notice and without an invitations from this station. Under these circumstances, if I were you, I'd take the berth that's available."
Sisko cut the transmission and exhaled with distinct satisfaction. He'd learned some time ago that there was no use being too polite with the Cardassians. They only took it as weakness and used it against you. And this Gul Marak looked exactly like the kind of Cardassian who was going to cause trouble.
"I'll be in my office," he announced, heading for the stairs.
It was ironic, he thought a few moments later, looking around the room with its plenipotentiary's view of the Operations Center below. Not too long ago, this had been Gul Dukat's seat of command. Sisko had never before harbored any warm thoughts for Dukat, but at the moment, right after his encounter with Gul Marak, he almost missed the former Cardassian prefect. By now, he knew how to deal with Dukat.
What had happened to him, anyway? Had he been stripped of his command, or even arrested by a new government? Why was this Gul Marak suddenly showing up in Bajoran space?
Just then he spotted Major Kira as she stepped out of the turbolift into Ops, looking slightly out of breath.
Sisko tapped his comm badge. "Major? Could you come up to my office?" He knew that Kira was still, in her heart, at war with the Cardassians, and most likely, of anyone on the station, to have up-to-date intelligence on the enemy.
She looked up at him from the floor below. "I'll be right up."
He could hear her coming up the metal stairs, taking them in a hurry. "There's an alert?" she demanded as she came into the office. "A Cardassian ship?"
"Nothing urgent. Not anymore. Please, Major, sit down. I'd like you to take a look at this." He replayed the encounter with the Swift Striker on his desk console. "Do you know this Cardassian officer?"
"Gul Marak." Kira frowned, a gesture that always emphasized her Bajoran features. "No. I don't recognize him. But the name—it sounds familiar." She passed a hand over her eyes, blinking wearily.
Sisko noticed it and realized that she had probably been investigating the bombing for the last twenty-eight hours without rest. "Thank you, Major. That'll be all now. Get some sleep if you can."
The Bajoran officer straightened at once, aware that she'd been caught in a moment of weakness. Kira didn't admit to weakness. "There's an alert on the station," she said stiffly.
Sisko gave her a hard look. "I intend to cancel the alert as soon as the Swift Striker is safely docked."
"With Cardassians on the station, there'll be a need for increased security."
"Then it'd be a good idea for you to get some rest now, before they get here," he insisted, in a tone that didn't invite argument.
Kira left the office reluctantly. Sisko tapped his fingers on his desk, thought for a moment. "Computer, get me a report on the current Cardassian political situation. I want to know how this Gul Marak is connected to the new ruling party."
The computer voice answered: "There are two individuals named Marak in office with the current Cardassian government. Both are members of the Revanche party. One is a deputy to the new war minister, the other is on the Loyalty Investigation Board. The Gul Marak commanding the Swift Striker is the cousin of the deputy war minister."
"And what about Gul Dukat?"
"Records show no Gul Dukat currently holding a Cardassian command."
"What? Has he been cashiered? Arrested?"
"No further information on Dukat is available."
Sisko paused. "I want to be kept advised on this matter."
"Acknowledged."
Sisko tapped on the edge of the desk again. Finally he gave his communicator a thoughtful touch. "Dax? This is Sisko. Are you free to discuss something with me?"
"I can be right there."
Sisko brightened noticeably when she came into the room. An uninformed observer might have attributed this reaction to the fact that Jadzia Dax was an exceptionally beautiful humanoid woman, but the truth was that he had a hard time relating to her as a female at all. Years ago, another Dax had been his mentor, and now part of that Dax resided as a symbiont within this one. It was a confusing situation, and he hadn't completely come to terms with it yet.
But Dax was currently the only one on the station he could sit down and discuss things with, person to person. With Dax, he didn't have to constantly maintain the role of commander.
"You have a problem, Benjamin?"
He sighed. "It looks like I've been neglecting developments in the Cardassian political situation. It seems that our new friend Gul Marak is part of this new Revanche party that's taken power, and I don't think he's just come to pay a routine courtesy call."
"You expect trouble?"
He nodded. "It looks like Gul Dukat may have been relieved of his command. Maybe even arrested, I don't know."
"That would be hard to believe. Could they be blaming him for failing to take over the wormhole?"
Dax and Sisko exchanged a glance full of shared memory. It had been the two of them together who first discovered the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant, while they were investigating an area of unexplained neutrino disturbances.
"I suppose it might be something like that," he said. "Computer, have there been many Cardassians arrested since the Revanche party took over?"
"Records show that one hundred and fourteen individuals associated with the former administration have been charged with treason. There have been eighty-three executions. The guilty persons all confessed to accepting payoffs from the Bajorans and the Federation in exchange for turning over Deep Space Nine and control of the wormhole."
"That's absurd!" Sisko exclaimed. "Payoffs? To turn over the wormhole? No one knew the wormhole even existed until after the Cardassians gave up the system!"
"Not quite entirely absurd, Benjamin," Dax told him. "Consider: We know that the wormhole is an anomaly, artificially maintained by beings with the capacity for communication with humanoid species. The Bajorans have worshiped them for millennia. Isn't it conceivable, from the Cardassian point of view, that the 'gods' passed on the secret to their believers? That they waited to manifest the wormhole, in collusion with the Bajorans and possibly the Federation, until Cardassians had ceded control? Isn't this a more plausible explanation than mere coincidence?"
Sisko, who didn't believe in coincidence when it came to the Bajoran prophets, grudgingly admitted that her analysis made sense. But the thought of all those confessions to a nonexistent crime, and the methods by which they had likely been obtained, made him feel slightly ill.
"And this is Gul Marak's faction," he said grimly. "I don't like it, Old Man. I just wish I knew what his plan was."
"We can't afford to provoke him. Or react to any provocation on his part."
"No," Sisko agreed. "And I don't think it's a coincidence that he's showed up just when these trade negotiations are going on, either." He pulled at his tight collar. "I'm going to go get out of this thing."
Kira Nerys's quarters were spare, uncluttered by worldly possessions. The only personal object visible was a picture of her family—what had been left of her family by that time—taken in the refugee camp where they stayed when she was very young: three or four years old, from the looks of the picture. She couldn't remember. Half of the faces belonged to strangers whose names she didn't know, but they could have been brothers, uncles, grandparents. So many that she'd lost. That the Cardassians had taken from her.
Marak. She couldn't get the name out of her mind.
Lying sleepless on the thin, hard pad that was her bed, Kira could close her eyes, but the images persisted:
I was very small. Someone was carrying me. There was a crowd—I think we were waiting in line, maybe for water. There was never enough food or water in the camps. Life was mostly waiting in lines.
Suddenly there was screaming. People started to run. It was a panic. Then I was on the ground. They were kicking me, stepping on me, trying to run away.
People started to fall. Some of them fell on top of me. I couldn't get any air. I pushed—pushed the body off me so I could breathe.
Then I saw them. The Cardassians. They were shooting the people running away. Making them fall down. I cried when I saw them fall.
And now this face on Sisko's viewscreen: Gul Marak. The same dark, armored uniform. It had been years, but Kira's gut always clenched at the sight of that uniform, at the sight of a Cardassian face.
Rationally, Kira knew it couldn't have been this same Gul Marak at the camp. It had been too long ago. From what she'd seen in Sisko's office, the Swift Striker's captain was close to her own age.
The Federation tried to claim that the Cardassians weren't the enemy anymore. Kira would never believe it. As long as she lived, they would be the enemy. As long as she could still remember.
And she would always remember. That was the curse of her past, that she couldn't close her eyes and make the images go away.
Only the names were lost.