Despite the open door awaiting her at the top of the steps, the portal bore no symbol of welcome, no light of hospitality. The encroaching twilight of the Janitza mountain range threw most of the dwelling’s interior into darkness, except for a narrow rectangle of light visible on the extreme opposite side of the house. Another open door.
I’m expected,she realized. Feeling her heart thumping inside her chest, she ignored it and went inside.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness within the house, its modest furnishings and expansive bookshelves registered dimly, including the simple desk where she made out a stylus resting atop a short stack of papers. She almost missed the shrine in a corner of one of the central rooms, but the scent of candle wax, recently melted, was unmistakable. That Aldos remained contemplative and well read didn’t surprise her, but she found she had to resist the temptation to stop at the desk and see what he was working on.
At the opposite door, she stopped. The way opened onto a wide wooden deck, painted green. There was a railing all around, adorned with lighted candles, and the view beyond it was breathtaking. The snowcapped Janitza mountain range stretched before her. The sun had already dipped behind the peaks, and the sky above them was awash in astonishing colors. A forested slope descended away from the house and into a lush, wild valley blanketed in the shadow of the mountains. She could only imagine how the scene must look in late morning, when all would be bathed in light.
She saw a powerful-looking telescope aimed skyward in the northwest corner, near the railing. Directly before her in the center of the platform, facing the spectacular view, was a high-backed deck chair. Next to it was a small table on which sat a single empty goblet and an elegant, blown-glass decanter of spring wine.
From the chair, a strong hand reached out and set a second goblet down on the table, half empty. Aldos’s profile became visible for a second as he completed the motion. She thought he had changed little in seven years, except perhaps that his hair was grayer. Then his hand withdrew, and his face disappeared within the chair again. Asarem was preparing to make her presence known when he made that unnecessary.
“I’ve heard it said that you don’t realize how much you’ll miss people until they’re gone,” he said. “But what I’ve come to understand is that you don’t realize just how little you miss them until one comes to disturb your peace.”
Asarem’s eyes narrowed. “It’s nice to see you too, Aldos. Your charms are undiminished.”
Krim Aldos stood up slowly and turned to face Asarem, the tiny smile he always had for her forming at one corner of his mouth. “I never had much use for charms, Wadeen, as you know better than anyone. Nevertheless, what few I possess worked on you in their day.”
“True,” she conceded, stepping out onto the deck. “But it was I who convinced you that we should marry. It was you who succumbed to mywishes then.”
Krim inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of her statement. He reached for the decanter of wine and filled both goblets. “Do you think I’ll succumb to your wishes now?”
He knows,she thought, wondering how she should proceed now. Though his body language betrayed nothing, she knew he would be on his guard. Finally she said, “I think you’ll do the right thing.”
Krim set down the decanter, stoppered it, and picked up both goblets. He extended one of them to her as he closed the distance between them. “And what precisely does the first minister of Bajor think is the right thing?”
Asarem accepted the goblet, watching the candlelight dance on the surface of the wine before she met his eyes. “Must we play these games?”
“That’s up to you, Wadeen. You’re the one avoiding the reason for your uninvited and unannounced visit.” He raised his glass. “To Rava Mehwyn. May her paghknow peace.”
Asarem touched her goblet to Krim’s, but didn’t drink. “I didn’t want to intrude on you,” she said, “but circumstances required that I come. Bajor needs you.”
Krim took a sip from his wine. He had enough respect for her not to laugh, at least. “What you mean is that you believeBajor needs me,” he said. “I don’t happen to agree.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Asarem countered. “Nevertheless, I’m here to ask you to serve your people once again, to become Bajor’s representative to the Federation.”
Krim turned away, moving to the edge of the deck. He set his goblet down on the railing and watched the last glimmers of color shrink behind the mountains. Overhead, the stars were beginning to emerge.
“I asked one thing of you when we last spoke, seven years ago,” she heard him say. “One thing. To be left alone. I saved your political career by unshackling you from my disgrace, and all I asked in return was that you honor my request for solitude. You couldn’t even do that.”
Asarem’s mouth dropped open. “Unshackling me? Is that what you believe…?” Her complete astonishment gave way to outrage. “You selfish, self-pitying, egotistical pavrak!How dareyou? How dare you claim to have done me a favor by ending our marriage?”
Krim turned to face her again, his voice even. “Don’t. Don’t do this, Wadeen. Don’t pretend you didn’t agree it was the best course of action for your career. Or that it hasn’t been proven out. You’re the first minister of Bajor now.”
“I didn’t become first minister by being voted into office, you idiot. My predecessor was assassinated!”
“But you were Shakaar’s second minister. You were hischoice to succeed him, a choice the electorate supported when he nominated you. That could never have happened to the wife of General Krim, and you’d be naïve to think otherwise. Even your friend Ledahn understood that. Your blossoming political career would have ended very quickly if we had stayed married. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t believe that seven years ago.”
Asarem didn’t answer. She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him she’d merely become his excuse to indulge in his newfound fixation with martyrdom, after already resigning as overgeneral of the Militia for his role in Jaro Essa’s coup d’état. Instead she said nothing, because the truth was, she hadn’t stopped him seven years ago. Aldos had fallen on his sword, and she…she had accepted it and survived, even prospered, while he attempted to vanish from Bajoran memory.
And it was all unnecessary.
“You’re right,” she told him. “I let you make the choice I was afraid to make for myself, to end the marriage so I could distance myself from scandal.” She stepped to the edge of the deck, set down her goblet next to his, and faced him directly. “But now you have to admit something to me,Aldos. You have to look mein the eye and tell me you still think your resignation was the right choice when, two years after the coup failed, the Circle Commission issued its report and exonerated you.”
“The commission’s findings with respect to me are a minor footnote in their overall condemnation of the Circle, and irrelevant,” Krim said, staring down into the darkening valley. “The fact remains that I picked the wrong side. I made the decision not to stop the Circle’s forces from entering Ashalla. I personally led an armed force in a fight for control of Deep Space 9. I was as guilty as Jaro. The only difference is that I’m not rotting in Kran-Tobal Prison.”