Kira shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
Macet suddenly stood up. “You’ve seen for yourself what’s happening. Minister Asarem isn’t interested in negotiating peace. She wants revenge.”
“But how do I know that what happened today is typical of the talks?” Kira argued, remembering what passed between all the involved parties.
“Review the transcripts. Interview me, Lang, any member of our delegation. And I’m sure if you asked, you could talk to the Bajoran delegation as well. Weigh the evidence,” Macet urged. “If you review the proceedings and find that all parties acted reasonably or that our party acted in bad faith, then I’d invite you to act on your conscience or walk away. But if you find that the facts support my contentions, will you go to First Minister Shakaar and plead our case?”
Kira rolled Macet’s request around in her mind, looking for any possible loopholes or places that might ultimately damage the precarious situation between Bajor and Cardassia further; she found none. “I’ll see what I think after I review the information.”
“Isn’t it accurate to say that true followers of the Prophets believe that all things may be done through their instrumentality?” he asked.
“If it’s right for Bajor.”
“And if brokering peace between our peoples is right for Bajor, do you not have faith that the Prophets will light your path?”
Kira met his direct gaze, seeing integrity in his eyes that Dukat had never feigned successfully. “If you know me as well as you claim to, you know the answer to that question.”
“I’m counting on it,” Macet said quietly.
That the security post inside the exhibit had been vacated without her being informed struck Kira as odd. She understood that the exhibit was to be guarded around the clock. The deserted Promenade pulsed with taut stillness, a tension that squeezed out all the sound. Without thought to Macet, she walked as if in a dream toward the front door, when the silence ruptured—an angry cacophony of screams and crashes, of breaking bodies and shattering glass.
A tangle of humanoid bodies was spilling out of Quark’s, many clutching random objects from the bar as makeshift weapons. She saw a group of Cardassians wielding table legs like clubs at charging Bajorans brandishing bottles and chairs. An abandoned cart loaded with incense, crystals, and candles toppled over, spilling wares onto the floor; a pair of combatants skidded to a halt, falling flat on their backs before their fists could make contact. Bar stools sailed through the air. Scents of spilled liquors and hoppy Terran ale permeated the air.
Kira touched her combadge. “Kira to Ro.”
“I know Colonel. Quark contacted me. I’m on my way.”Ro sounded breathless; she must be running from her quarters. “I’m closing the Promenade to everyone except security and medical personnel, and yourself, until we get the situation under control. All my off-duty people have been summoned and I’ve alerted the infirmary—but even so, this sounds pretty bad.”
“Actually, it’s worse. I suggest you hurry, Lieutenant. Kira out.” With her phaser drawn, Kira charged onto the west platform. She estimated the number of brawlers higher than sixty. She turned to Macet to ask for his assistance in putting down the tumult, but realized, too late, he’d already raced into the crowd and was prying his men off whoever their opponents might be. She quickly lost track of him in the sea of constantly heaving bodies. Hoping that any security officers present might help defuse the fray, she saw, to her anger, the unmistakable colors of the Militia swirling in the mix of Cardassian gray. Our own people are part of this…!
Kira scanned the room with her eyes, seeking a position from which to disrupt the melee in the quickest, surest way possible. She saw arms, bloody uniforms, limbs twisted at grotesque angles, and was wondering where the hell the medics were when she spotted Dr. Tarses. Simon had begun treating an injured Cardassian when he was suddenly accosted by an enraged Bajoran. The man started beating Simon until Sergeant Shul appeared from somewhere, yanked him off the doctor, and put him in restraints. For his part, Tarses went back to caring for his patient, ignoring the bruises that were already darkening his face.
Crouched down, out of sight between the gym and the jeweler’s, she waited for the strategic moment, phaser pointed at the ceiling, finger on the trigger….
Shielding himself with a tray, Quark bellowed demands for order, utterly ignored by anyone who heard him. Kira watched as he pushed anyone still inside the bar—anyone who even looked dangerous—out onto the Promenade. When he appeared satisfied that only his staff remained (and Morn, peering out at the chaos from behind the dubious safety of the bar), Quark activated a force field to prevent the brawlers from returning to further damage his establishment.
Macet was having mixed success in stopping his men; he’d break up one quarrel only to be drawn into another. Suddenly Kira saw an enraged Klingon, wielding a d’k tahg,charging Macet after the gul had forced the Cardassian that the Klingon had been fighting to retire.
Kira pivoted out, spraying a round of warning shots at the walls behind the Klingon. Startled, the Klingon turned to face his new assailant, only to be tackled by Macet. Keeping a knee wedged between the Klingon’s shoulder blades, Macet waved appreciatively to Kira.
Several brawlers had paused and ducked when the metallic sound of phaser fire rang out; some dove to the floor, but one particularly determined pair continued trying to kill each other until Kira stunned them both. They dropped, grunting. Kira kicked them out of her way.
“This is Colonel Kira!” she shouted. “Any and all Bajoran nationals are to stand down immediately or face criminal charges!” Several Bajorans paused, midpunch, to look toward Kira’s voice, but many ignored her demands.
Another round of phaser fire whizzed from the balcony above and everyone looked to see Ro standing over them all, phaser held out in front of her, and flanked by a dozen armed security officers. “The next person to flinch gets more than a warning shot!” Ro shouted.
As if daring Ro to make good on her threat, a man Kira recognized as an off-duty Militia engineer charged a Cardassian who had just allowed a badly beaten Bajoran to fall to the deck, unconscious. Another well-targeted shot from Kira’s phaser brought the engineer down instantly. A wave of compliance flowed through the crowd as fists fell, neck holds were released and all matter of objects being used to pummel clattered to the ground.
Ro nodded appreciatively at her commanding officer, then began deploying her people into the crowd below, keeping her weapon trained. “Everyone remains where they are,” she cautioned. “No one moves until you’re given permission to move.” The security chief found the man Kira had wounded and, hauling him up by his good arm, led him off to sit in front of the shrine as medics swarmed from the infirmary.
Macet appeared at Kira’s side. “Colonel. I apologize for the behavior of my crew.”
Kira shook her head. “We don’t know who started this.”
“It doesn’t matter who started this,” Macet said sharply. “My men were wrong to have been fighting. They will be appropriately punished, I assure you, and will submit to any interrogations Lieutenant Ro might require.”
“Interrogation is a very strong word,” Kira said, picking her way through collapsed, bruised and beaten revelers toward the west platform.
Macet walked alongside Kira, paralyzing with a cold glare whoever among his men dared look at him. “If interrogation is required to assure my people’s compliance you have my blessing to do whatever you need to do.”
“Thank you. I’m sure Lieutenant Ro will appreciate your cooperation.” As she walked, Kira began making mental calculations about how much damage had been done, what the cost would be, who would pay, and whether they would even be able to reopen the Promenade before morning. Irritated by the pointlessness of such wanton destruction, she gritted her teeth. When will we ever learn?
Out of the corner of her eye, Kira saw Dr. Girani and four nurses rushing out of a turbolift to join their colleagues already tending the wounded. Several of the medics appeared to have been roused from their beds: Lieutenant Chagall, usually a stickler for regulation, wore shorts and his Academy T-shirt; and Ensign Mancuso had thrown on a flowered bathrobe. Kira allowed herself to relax a bit: at least the wounded could be attended to properly.