Cathedral by Michael Mangels (ebook reader color screen txt) 📕

loose sleeves. A brocade sash belted the shirt at his waist. The colors of his clothes complemented his dark eyes and Trill markings.

“Thank you, Ro.” He bowed and kissed her hand, then straightened and grinned at her again. “And you look as beautiful as a woman could in a dress Militia uniform.”

Her smile was lopsided. “Thanks. I think.”

They chatted a moment, and Ro became aware that she was being watched closely by someone. Scanning the crowd, she finally settled on who it was. Quark.

Excusing herself from Gard, Ro went over to Quark. He was holding a bottle of some kind of Orion wine, but the expression on his face was more sour than anything that liquid could have inspired. And he didn’t appear to have been drinking. “Hello, Quark.”

“Him again?” Quark gestured toward Gard with his head.

She sighed. “He and I are both working here, Quark.”

“So am I.” Quark said, baring his pointed teeth. “What’s that got to do with anything? I just don’t like him, that’s all.”

“Okay, so he’s flirting with me. Are you going to react that way with anyone who pays the least little bit of attention to me?”

“No, it’s not that,” Quark replied, looking her in the eyes. “There’s something…He makes me nervous.”

I’ll bet he does. Because you think I’m attracted to him. And I am attracted to him, dammit!

“I promise I’ll keep an eye on him,” Ro said, then realized her faux pas. “The same way I’m keeping an eye on everyone here. Including you.” She brushed her fingertips across his ear, and Quark’s expression almost immediately changed to one of delight. “Now, let me do my job, and I’ll let you get that wine delivered to wherever it’s going.”

Ro gazed after Quark as he scurried away. Jealousy seemed so out of character for Quark. Maybe he really was falling for her. And she had to admit that he was growing on her as well.

“…this truly auspicious day, the United Federation of Planets welcomes Bajor as its newest member!” Standing at the head of the lengthy table, Admiral Leonard James Akaar unfurled a long paper document. Kira knew that the parchment was merely decorative and ceremonial, intended for display at the Chamber of Ministers or some public museum; the actual document would be signed using a simple padd.

Kira hadn’t had an opportunity to spend much time with Akaar today, but she knew that he was an old friend of Elias Vaughn. Emphasis on old, she thought with an inner smile. At 109 years, Akaar had lived longer than almost anyone present except for some of the Vulcans and—if you counted their multiple lives—most of the joined Trills. He wore his years lightly, though, cutting an almost regal figure in a heavily decorated fleet admiral’s dress uniform. His dark eyes were sharp and alert, set into a deeply lined but vigorous face.

Despite the trials of the previous months, today’s recovery of the Orbs and the signing ceremony for Bajor filled Kira’s heart with a renewed sense of hope. Perhaps the future was not so bleak as she had imagined. She had endured so much already during her brief life; to see both of today’s epoch-making events—to be a part of them—was incredible, to say the least.

Lost in her reverie, Kira had paid little attention to Shakaar’s words as he droned on. She could barely bring herself to look at him, to say nothing of Vedek Yevir and his political-clerical cronies.

Glancing elsewhere, Kira saw that Gul Macet and Cleric Ekosha were watching the proceedings attentively. As her gaze continued slowly traveling through the room, she locked eyes with Taran’atar for a moment, then Matthias, then Quark, then Ro. Ro grinned, gesturing with a nod of the head, directing Kira to focus her attention back to the head of the ceremonial table.

Shakaar had stopped speaking, and was now rubbing his thumbs with ink on a small ceremonial blotter on the podium in front of him.

Akaar laid the parchment down on the table, smoothing it with his large, callused hands.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kira saw an impeccably dressed Hiziki Gard snap his arm down, as if trying to awaken it.

And then something tumbled into his hand, sliding out from under his sleeve.

Gard raised his arm and prongs snapped out from the object in his hand. A projectile shot forward from between them.

Shakaar raised his inked thumbs.

Kira started to shout a warning.

Two side blades snapped open on the projectile as it sped toward its target.

People began to turn toward Kira as the sound of her cry reached them.

The projectile tore into Shakaar’s neck, its serrated blades cutting cleanly to the sides, its pointed center puncturing the first minister’s throat. Shakaar’s head toppled backward, impossibly far.

Scarcely conscious of her movements, Kira vaulted onto the table and was sliding toward the assassin, yelling for security. Time seemed to stand still as if suspended in amber. Kira noticed that Ro and several guards had drawn their phasers and were sprinting forward as well. Shakaar’s body slumped forward onto the table, his lifeblood spilling out onto the ceremonial Federation document.

Security guards reacted swiftly, pushing Minister Asarem to the floor. Admiral Akaar reached into his uniform jacket, but if he had secreted one of his Capellan throwing knives there, he lacked the clear shot he needed to use it on the assassin.

Kira’s eyes sought out the man who had attacked Shakaar. Hiziki Gard shot a grim smile in Ro’s direction and then shimmered out of existence. Picked up by someone’s transporter beam.

In the seconds it took Kira to reach the spot where he had stood, the assassin had made good his escape.

The room had erupted into a cacophony of screams and shouts. Ro yelled into her combadge to lock down the habitat and docking rings and to intercept all active transporter beams.

Kira moved quickly to the head of the table, dodging a screaming Asarem and the much more composed Councillor zh’Thane. Slapping her combadge as she sprinted, she yelled, “Emergency transport! Two