The Lenash were a pleasant surprise, the first friendly denizens of the Delta quadrant they had encountered since leaving the Tessari sphere of influence ten months earlier. They were a civilization that had progressed to early warp capability, so contact with them was permissible, but they were a couple of centuries behind Federation technology. Even so, they were not pushing for any of Voyager’s superior technology in trade, but only for materials that would advance their science incrementally. In return, they had raw materials Voyager needed, although not in sufficient quantity to completely replenish stores. Word of Voyager’s journey home had reached them, and they apparently viewed it as an epic quest of heroic proportions. It was clear that the Lenash welcomed them.

Captain Janeway herself conducted the high level negotiations on the ship with Brala, the government’s Minister of Extra-Planetary Relations, and Genst, the Minister of Domestic Trade. Both were cordial and easy to work with, and Janeway was surprised at how well the talks went. The only thing the Lenash denied them was pergium; they said it was a rare commodity on their planet and the limited stores were not available for trade. In light of everything else they were getting, Janeway did not push the issue, even though pergium stores were dangerously low. The Tessari had not been able to provide much, and it seemed to be a rare commodity throughout this part of the quadrant. B’Elanna wasn’t declaring a crisis yet, but her warnings were becoming increasingly ominous.

A state dinner on Voyager was out of the question, but Janeway did invite the two officials to join her senior staff for a formal meal. Brala and Genst accepted happily, full of questions about Voyager, particularly about how the ship and crew came to be so far from home. Janeway asked Chakotay, their natural storyteller, to spin the tale.

At the end of the story, Brala looked at Chakotay. "So you, Commander, were the leader of the Maquis faction? And you were the enemy of the Federation faction?"

"For a time," Chakotay said.

Brala looked at Janeway. "And you, Captain, you were the leader of the Federation faction? And now the two of you are reconciled?"

"I guess you could put it that way," she said. "We’ve put aside our differences and learned to trust each other, to work together." She smiled at her first officer. "To be friends."

The two Lenash looked at each other with poorly concealed excitement. It was Genst who spoke first. "Captain, I would like to re-open the matter of the pergium. It is possible we can make a trade after all."

Janeway set her cup down in surprise. "I’m open to suggestions, Minister."

"We are authorized to make a quantity of pergium available in exchange for a service that you and the Commander can render," Brala said.

"What service?" Chakotay asked, suspicious. He didn’t understand this sudden shift in position, and it bothered him.

Genst looked at Brala once more, then said, "To best answer that, Commander, I must give you some idea of the history of my people. There are two things that distinguish us: we are perpetually contentious with one another, and as a result we are frequently at war. The second is, our culture is founded upon our relationship with the agenesta, a tree native only to this planet."

"The agenesta has been the lynchpin of our society since before memory," Brala continued. "In earlier days, it provided us shelter in its branches. Its fruit is still a staple of our diet, and our medicine relies on healing teas made from its bark and leaves. It is a symbol of our life, and sacred to us."

The two Voyager command officers nodded sagely. Neither had a clue where this was going to lead.

"But the agenesta is bound to the land," Genst said. "It thrives in times of peace but in times of war, it withers. If peace is not returned to the land and reconciliation proved in time, the agenesta dies."

"And it is dying now," Brala said. "Our last war was seven years ago. It was one of the most widespread in memory, involving five different factions on all three continents. Half the agenesta on the planet died before the truce. The other half have been dying slowly ever since, because we have not been able to prove reconciliation."

Janeway caught Chakotay’s eye. This sounded like something in his province, not hers. He saw her expression and caught the message. "What does it mean, to ‘prove reconciliation’?" he asked.

"The opportunity arises only once a year, on the night of the twin moons," Genst said. "The leaders of two formerly opposing factions are to spend the night at the sacred circle, the Place of Truth or Silence. If they can remain through the night without doing violence to one another, then reconciliation is proved. The land is satisfied, and the agenesta thrives again."

Janeway leaned back. "That’s why you asked about our factions, and whether we were reconciled."

"Exactly," Genst said eagerly. "You are both the leaders of opposing factions who are now at peace. You could prove the reconciliation for us."

"But we aren’t Lenash," Chakotay said. "And we haven’t been enemies for a long time. Would this be acceptable to…the land?"

The two Lenash hesitated before answering. "We don’t know. But the night of the twin moons is tonight, and we have no one willing to make the attempt. If you do not try for us, the agenesta will surely die out," Brala said.

"More," Genst added. "The coalition that has stabilized our government since the truce will splinter, and we will be plunged into factionalism again. Another war will be inevitable."

"No pressure," Paris muttered from down the table.

Tuvok was sitting even more erect than usual, his security instincts at high alert. "Why is no one willing to try? Is this dangerous?"

"Not to the truly reconciled," Genst said quickly. "Since the war, our factions have learned tolerance but no more. And tolerance alone is not sufficient proof."

Tuvok frowned. "What happened to those who tried and failed?"

Brala sighed. "Three pair left the sacred grove before dawn, because they could not endure each other through the night. Two pair quarreled violently and came to blows. And one pair, uh, well, they killed each other before dawn."

"I don’t think there’s much danger of that," Janeway said. She didn’t like this at all, but they really needed to bolster their pergium stores. Throwing a wry smile at Chakotay, she added, "If we do this, how much pergium will you provide?"

"What you asked for represents ten years’ effort," Genst said. "We will give you half that amount."

Enough to get them past the crisis point. Chakotay watched Janeway’s face, and knew she was going to agree, it was only a matter of when she said it.

They beamed directly to the sacred grove when the sun was low in the sky, despite Tuvok’s objections. He had been adamantly opposed to both the command officers being away from the ship, but Janeway overruled him. "There’s no danger," she said. "Keep a transporter lock on us and be ready to yank us out if there’s trouble. I’m willing to take a lot more risk for this much pergium."

Paris and Torres had volunteered to come in their stead. "After all," B’Elanna pointed out, "Tom and I were enemies longer than you and Chakotay were, and no one can deny that we’ve reconciled our differences now." But Brala and Genst insisted that only the leaders of the opposing factions were acceptable, and that meant only Janeway and Chakotay could fit the bill. The Captain resigned herself to a night spent in the great outdoors.

Genst had provided the supplies for the night – a single, albeit large, blanket, a loaf of bread, a jug of water, and a very sharp knife. The circle of trees clearly delineated the boundary they must not pass before sunrise. He had not exaggerated the condition of the trees; they were leafless and spindly, and appeared to be drying up. "Some kind of blight?" Janeway asked, looking at one more closely.

"Perhaps," Chakotay said. "This one looks like the center tree Genst described."

She looked up. The tree was certainly the tallest in the grove, and had the widest trunk. "You’re right," she said, and spread the blanket at its base. With a sigh, she said, "I never did like to camp out."

He smiled, and set down the basket with the other supplies. "But for this much pergium – " he teased.

"Damn straight," she said, smiling. The sky flared a brilliant pink, and she looked toward the horizon. "Just about sunset," she noted. "Got the knife?"

He reached into the basket and withdrew the weapon. Its blade was about six inches long, its handle seemed to be made of bone. She held out her left hand, palm up, and with great care, he drew the edge of the blade across the tip of her index finger. Immediately blood began to drip from the wound. He then handed the knife to her, and she did the same to him. They held their wounds over the ground at the base of the center tree and let several drops of blood fall into the dirt.

"I have drawn the blood of my enemy, and he mine," Janeway said, repeating the words that Genst had taught them.

"Let this blood be the last that we take from each other," Chakotay concluded. Then he reached into the basket and pulled out a dermal regenerator to close both cuts. She raised an eyebrow, and he replied to her unspoken question. "Genst said it was permitted."

Since her finger was already throbbing, she didn’t argue. "So," she said, trying for lightness. "Now we talk. There’s something familiar about this, but I can’t quite place it."

"The Fisher King legend," he told her. "It’s a recurring archetype in medieval Terran culture. The health of the land is tied to the body of the ruler. Sometimes the ruler’s blood is required to heal the land." He finished repairing the cut on her finger, and handed her the regenerator so she could heal his. "The discussion phase seems to be a Lenash variation, though. On Earth, something more drastic was usually involved, such as ritual execution or impregnation."

She raised her brows. "We’ll stick to talking, thank you."

The next step in the ritual required them to discuss the time that they were enemies. Then they were supposed to share the bread and discuss their reconciliation. After that, they could talk about anything, or nothing, or simply sleep, as long as they stayed until dawn. They sat opposite each other on the blanket.

"You became my enemy," she said with some formality, "the day I read your Starfleet file. I read your service record, and it was impressive. Excellent tactical skills, solid science background in archaeology and anthropology, good future – and yet you turned your back on Starfleet and the Federation. I remember feeling very angry with you, even though we’d never met."

"Angry? Why?" he asked.

"It felt like a personal affront," she admitted. "Remember, I’m fourth generation Starfleet. From your record, you seemed to be a fine officer, a man of integrity and honor. I couldn’t understand why you would go to the Maquis. I was determined to bring you in and make you tell me why."

He looked at her curiously. "But you never pushed that."

"No," she said. "When we met, I realized that you were a man of honor and integrity. And as such, your reasons must have been significant. I hoped that you would trust me enough to tell me one day – and you did." Then she smiled wryly. "I think I’m supposed to save that part for later."

"That file must have left a few things out," he observed.

"More than a few," she acknowledged. Privately, after she had come to know him, she had been astonished at the omissions from her briefing. It was as if the Admiralty wanted to take no chances that she might sympathize with or admire him - as if that would have hindered her from doing her duty. The thought was purely insulting. "But it didn’t skimp on your record with the Maquis. You did some serious damage, you know."

He grinned at her wolfishly, an expression she rarely saw him use. It reminded her how dangerous he had been. "Oh, I know," he said.

"Then we lost contact with Tuvok," she went on, "and I was truly afraid that you had discovered he was a spy, and killed him. In fact, I had just about convinced myself of that by the time I left DS9, in spite of my faith in Tuvok’s abilities and my brave words to T’Pel. And if you – the evil renegade Maquis leader - had killed him, I would go through the fires of hell to bring you in."

His smile faded. "If I’d known, I would have killed him. He learned too much too quickly. We didn’t have the luxury of putting our enemies in prison." His eyes narrowed a little. "I wonder what would have happened if we had gone head-to-head. It would have been a hellacious fight."

"I remember," she said slowly, "the first time we met. You were bigger than I expected. There was no way I was going to take you in hand-to-hand, if it came to that. I needed to be more clever than you, and given your record, I knew that wouldn’t be easy. You needed to believe I wasn’t intimidated."

"Intimidated? You?" he asked, surprised. "You didn’t show it."

"Good," she said, with satisfaction. "It’s your turn."

He nodded. "You became my enemy before I ever knew your name or saw your face. You were Starfleet, and I despised you. If we had met in the Badlands, I would have done my best to blow you out of the sky without exchanging a word. Then I saw you in the view screen, and you were Starfleet personified. And for the first time in years, my enemy had a name."

"As I recall, that was a short conversation," she said, frowning. "You made up your mind quickly."

"Had to, in the Maquis," he said. "You seemed inflexible and intolerant – everything I had come to associate with Starfleet."

That actually shocked her. "I didn’t realize that you felt that strongly – about Starfleet, I mean. You didn’t seem to hesitate when I asked you to put on the uniform again."

He laughed once, but without humor. "The Federation and Starfleet turned their back on my world, Kathryn, and everything and everyone I knew was destroyed. It was a betrayal that cut deep. I despised everything this uniform stood for, and putting it on again was one of the hardest things I ever did."

"Sometimes," she said, touching his hand, "I forget how it was in the early days. If I have ever taken you for granted, I’m sorry."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Save that for later, too. I’m still telling you that you were my enemy." She inclined her head, telling him to go on. "When we met on the planet, I had every intention of getting control of your ship, even if it meant stranding you and your entire crew with the Kazon. I figured you’d come after me as soon as you saw me. You really threw me when you suggested we work together. I honestly thought it was some kind of trap."

"And yet," she said softly, "you sacrificed your ship to save us."

"By then," he acknowledged, "every instinct I had said I could trust you. You did a helluva job with the Caretaker, and the Ocampa, and the Kazon. Even so, I was expecting you to throw me in the brig when you came to talk to me. The last thing I expected was that you’d offer me the exec position." He stopped. "I asked you then, but I’m going to ask you again. Why did you?"

Back then, she had said only that she had done so because it made sense. It was just part of the truth. "Because," she said slowly, "every instinct I had said I could trust you."

There was a long silence between them, then he said, "I think we’re finished with this part. Ready to move on?" She nodded, and he pulled out the loaf of bread, twisted off a hunk for her and one for himself. Speaking the ritual words from Genst, he said, "In friendship, let us share this meal."

"And of friendship let us speak," she replied, and took a bite of the bread. "This is good," she said, her mouth still full. It was still slightly warm and had a pleasant, nutty flavor. "Neelix’s cooking has improved, but he just doesn’t have a knack for good bread. You first, this time."

"You became my friend," he began, "when you offered me the job, although I didn’t realize it right away. It didn’t hit home until the first time we played pool in Sandrine’s. I haven’t had many close friends in my life, and it struck me then that I felt more of a connection with you in that short time than with just about anyone else."

"Whupped ya, as I recall," she said with a grin. "I do miss that program. I wish Tom would repair it."

"Don’t count on it," he warned. "I think Tom has moved past that time of his life, and doesn’t want to be reminded of it." He cocked his head at her. "I think it’s your turn."

"Oh." Suddenly, this was much harder than she thought it would be. "You became my friend… well, the truth is, I’m not sure when. As I said, I felt that I could trust you almost from the first."

"You didn’t show it," he said thoughtfully. "There was a line, sometimes I could almost see it – you would trust me that far and no farther."

She tipped her head in acknowledgement. "That’s true, although I didn’t realize it at the time. I’m a scientist by training, and I’m not used to relying on instinct." She smiled suddenly. "Although I’ve become considerably more accustomed to it in the Delta quadrant." Breaking off another hunk of bread, she handed him a piece and spoke between bites. "And every time I had just about convinced myself that my instinct was right, you’d run off on your own and I’d start to wonder."

She stopped, looking surprised. "I didn’t mean to say that. At least, not that bluntly."

"This is the Place of Truth or Silence," he said with a shrug. "I made mistakes, but my motives were good."

"I know," she said. "And after New Earth, I never doubted again." Then her eyes widened, and she looked away. It was the first time she had mentioned New Earth since they were rescued.

Her words hung in the air between them. For a moment, just a moment, he considered letting her off the hook. No chance, was his next thought. "Do you ever think of New Earth?" he asked quietly.

They were sitting very close to one another, her face only centimeters from his. Her heart began to thud in her chest. Don’t, her mind told her, but she ignored that voice. "Yes," she whispered. "Often."

"Me, too," he admitted. He pretended there was a stray lock of hair on her cheek and brushed it away. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened?"

Don’t say it, her head advised, but her heart answered. "Often."

"Me, too."

They sat, looking at each other, for what seemed a long time. At last he tilted his head downward, and she mimicked him, until their foreheads touched. "Kathryn," he said, his voice low, and he took her hands in his.

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Her usual control refused to assert itself, and she found herself focused on the feel of his hands in hers, remembering the strength and gentleness those hands were capable of. All the feelings she had buried or channeled in the months since their rescue came flooding back. "I’m sorry," she said softly, although she wasn’t certain exactly what she was sorry for.

"Look at me," he said, lifting his head and waiting until she met his eyes. He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

It was a gentle kiss, soft and tender, and he leaned back a few seconds later. She stared at him for several seconds, then astonished herself by pulling him back to her and returning the gesture. After a bit, she ended it, and looked at him with a sad smile. "I wish it could be different."

"I know," he said, then took a deep breath. They needed to change the mood and quickly, or they could easily get carried away. He said briskly, "I think we’ve probably established our friendship sufficiently."

"Yes," she said dryly. "I would say so." Shaking her head, she wondered why she wasn’t upset with herself. Her conduct was completely inappropriate for an away mission, but she couldn’t summon much in the way of recrimination. She was feeling very relaxed.

"I think we can sleep now, if you want," he said, and she nodded.

"I like that idea," she agreed. They set the basket aside and studied the blanket. Big as it was, it was not meant to accommodate two people trying to sleep apart. They both frowned at it. "Well," she said at last, "I guess we can both curl up together, it ought to be enough."

"Worried about your honor? " he asked, teasing.

"Hardly."

"Here," he said, showing her how to wrap the blanket around them. He laid back, pulling her to rest with her head against his shoulder. "This is how we named the constellations on New Earth, remember?"

He felt, rather than saw, her smile. "I remember," she said softly. She was suddenly very tired, and despite the fact that they were lying on hard ground she felt warm and safe. She laid a arm across his chest and closed her eyes.

Her regular breathing told him she was asleep almost immediately. He stroked her hair, careful not to wake her, and closed his eyes.

Their dreams were not specific. Just a general sense of happiness, and of contentment. Massive contentment.

When they woke in the morning, they were in the same position: both lying on their backs, she with her head in the crook of his shoulder. They were snuggled close to one another for warmth. It seemed that they awakened at the same instant, and found themselves staring at each other.

"Hi," he said, in a rusty voice.

"Morning," she replied, her voice unusually husky.

They stretched, and Janeway felt her body protest. She ached in places that hadn’t ached in a long time. Sleeping on the ground at her age was not as fun as when she was a child. It hadn’t been much fun then.

They stood, and looked around. And froze.

The trees which had been on the brink of death the night before were in full bloom; white blossoms with a sweet fragrance dominated their sight. Every single tree. "I don’t believe it," Janeway said slowly.

Almost in shock, they folded the blanket carefully and prepared to walk away from the sacred circle. Genst and Brala came running up the path to meet them.

"It’s wonderful!" Genst burbled. "wonderful!"

"A perfect reconciliation," Brala added.

The Voyager officers looked at them expectantly. "You’re satisfied, then? Janeway asked.

"Satisfied? Look around you! The trees are in bloom!" Genst turned in place, his arms upraised.

Brala seemed more under control. "Yes, you have fulfilled your part of the bargain," he said. He looked around at the white-blossomed trees ringing them. "More than fulfilled," he said softly. Then he remembered himself. "The pergium is ready for loading," he said. "Your ship already has the coordinates."

"Good," Janeway said. She looked at Chakotay. "We thank you for this opportunity. We have not stopped recently to reflect on how far we have come. I think this was valuable for us both."

Genst looked at them with wide eyes, and Chakotay wondered at it. "Oh, Captain, the value is yet to be seen. This was the most perfect Reconciliation in memory."

"Yes. Well. If you are satisfied, and we’ve done everything we can," she looked at Chakotay, "I guess we’ll be going now."

"Oh, yes," Brala said. "You have indeed done everything you could for us. Go with peace."

"And you," Chakotay concluded. This whole thing was becoming a little too weird. Looking around the circle of trees, he was struck by an odd certainty that he had forgotten something, something important. He wanted to be back on the ship, where everything was normal.

Janeway must have felt the same way, because there was a slight edginess in her voice when she contacted the ship. "Two to beam up."

Tuvok and the Doctor were waiting for them in the transporter room. "I trust that you spent an uneventful evening?" the security officer asked.

"Uneventful," Janeway confirmed, then smiled at Chakotay, "but interesting."

"That’s fine," the Doctor said briskly, "but I would like to check you both for any effects from the solar flare."

They both looked at him blankly. "What solar flare?" Chakotay asked.

Tuvok frowned. "You did not observe it, then?"

"It was night," Chakotay said impatiently.

"You should have seen its effects, nonetheless." Tuvok’s frown deepened. "There was a lunar eclipse at 0330 local time, at the same instant of the flare. The flare created the impression of a lunar corona. It should have been plainly visible from your location."

Janeway waved him off. "By 0330, we were asleep. I need a shower, and a cup of coffee, and then I’ll come to Sickbay, Doctor." She nodded goodbye to all of them, and left the transporter room.

"You should have seen it," Tuvok insisted to Chakotay. "It created sufficient light in the atmosphere to mimic daylight. I find it hard to believe you slept through it."

He shrugged. "I guess we were more tired than we realized. Sorry I missed it, though, it sounds spectacular. I’ll clean up and come to Sickbay, Doctor." He also left the transporter room.

The Doctor sighed. He had hoped to get the examinations over immediately. He knew his commanding officers well enough to know that despite their good intentions, they would get diverted before arriving at Sickbay and he would have to spend hours hounding them to come in. No one understood the difficulties of his job. He looked at Tuvok. "I don’t suppose you want to come to Sickbay." Tuvok said nothing. "No, of course not. Well, see if you can get them in before the next crisis," and he left also, leaving Tuvok alone.

The Vulcan stood at the transporter console for a moment. He was troubled by the conversation with the Captain and the Commander, but he could not define the source of his discomfort. He would have to consider the matter carefully. His thoughts were interrupted by a call from Harry Kim on the bridge. "The cargo is safely on board, sir. We can break orbit any time."

"I am on my way," he said, and left the transporter room for the bridge. He was not sorry to be leaving Lenash.

On the planet below, Brala and Genst stood on a balcony, looking out at a vista filled with white-blossomed trees. "Amazing," Genst breathed. "Simply amazing. This must have been what The Great Reconciliation looked like."

Brala nodded, but he was not smiling. "Do you think we should have told them?"

Genst shrugged. "They are not Lenash. It may not be the same for them. And if it is, well, they will find out soon enough." He clasped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Come. The celebration is beginning."