Piotr barely knows Sisko thus far, but he knows a good soldier when he sees one. He knows an officer when he sees one. This Sisko is no stranger to military command, to hard work, to discipline and conflict. It takes one to know one, so to speak. But it's something that automatically earns him some esteem in Piotr's eye -- and he is impressed by very little, these days.

He doesn't bother to mask the appraising look he gives Sisko when the man steps in, standing at attention, looking like a model soldier. Hell, they could probably use a few of those these days. Piotr, on the other hand, isn't standing quite so straight, leaning back against the table, arms crossed against his chest as he studies Sisko with his usual hard-faced look. For a man of only thirty-two, he commands an impressive presence, and he doesn't wear his rank like it's new. It's long broken in by now.

"You're military where you come from, correct?" Piotr's voice is rough -- a permanently acquired quality of some kind or another. "What's your rank?"

Because he's not going to pretend like he thinks Sisko is some private or enlisted man. That is an officer standing in front of him.