Opening his personal comm, he wrote the following message.
Dear Doctor Alden—
I trust that your time on my homeworld proved productive. I believe it did. I hope you will not find it forward of me to offer you some advice. I have played the game for a very long time, and I have seen most of the possible outcomes. You may have won today, but you are not the man you were, and I have seen what the future might hold for you. My advice is this—
Get out of this business as soon as you can. When nobody is seen to be innocent, nobody wins. And the guilt, Doctor Alden—the guilt is addictive. The game destroys. Some of us make it through. But not all.
Yours in pursuit of peace,
Elim Garak
He sent the message. He imagined it crossing the darkness that lay between them, imagined it reaching this young man and him reading it. He hoped it would have some effect. He wished it would, but he doubted that it could. Most of all he wished somebody had sent a message like that to him when he had been younger. He doubted he would have paid any attention to it either. Still, you had to try.
He picked up the book on his desk and went upstairs.
The room was very pleasant and very calm. There were meya lilies in a vase upon the table, and the first pinks and purples of the sunset were beginning to paint the walls. He walked over to the window and picked up the bear that was sitting there.
“Hello, Kukalaka,” he said. “I wonder how you got here. Did Pulaski smuggle you over the border? I don’t mind. Perhaps I’ll make you a citizen.”
He turned to look at last at Bashir, who was sitting staring out of the window. He stood for a while looking at his friend’s unmoving form. Bashir’s eyes were open but unseeing. There was nothing there of the vibrant, brilliant man that Garak had known, no sign of the sharp and humane intelligence that had animated the doctor. All that had made this man Bashir—Julian—was gone, and Garak did not know if it could ever be retrieved.
Slowly, heavily, Garak sat down in the chair beside Bashir. This, he thought, this is the ultimate cost of all our games and schemes and enigmas; this is where we end up, locked in prisons of our own making, alone, without hope of a key . . .
“My dear Doctor,” he said. “It’s good to see you. It was always good to see you.”
He put the bear down on Bashir’s lap. Then he held up the book that he had brought with him. “Enigma tales,” he said. “I don’t recall now whether I ever pressed these on you before. Kelas is insisting that I take a break and read them. Kelas Parmak, do you remember? My doctor, and my friend. I have been blessed with the friendship of many good doctors during my life. Still, I don’t know when he thinks I’m supposed to find the time to read.”
Garak stopped, his voice suddenly catching in his throat. He put the book down, stood up, and came to kneel beside Bashir’s chair. He lifted up Bashir’s hand—it was limp and unresponsive—and brought it to rest upon Kukalaka’s head. Then—gently, tentatively—he reached to brush his fingers against Bashir’s cheek.
“Julian,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”
But there was no reply. There might never be a reply.
Garak sat back down in his chair and picked up the book again. “I’ll find the time,” he said softly. “I promise.” For Garak was a patient man, and had played many long games throughout his long life. And if this was to be yet another waiting game—then Garak was reconciled to being a player. He would play this game for however long it took, and he would win.
The sun was setting, the light bronzing Bashir’s face. He looked the picture of health: a man in his prime. Garak couldn’t bear to see. He opened the book and bent over it. He cleared his throat and began to read out loud.
“Tale One,” he said. “ ‘Auto-da-fé.’ ”
His eyes were fixed on the page. So he did not see Julian’s fingers twitch, and reach out for a second to stroke the little creature tucked within his hand, before coming, once again, to their placid, empty rest. Garak, unknowing, read on, savoring Sayak’s words and her deftness of touch, and the joy of a fiction in which innocence was not only possible but brought reward. At length, the sun set on the capital. The restless wind stirred the dust. Garak read on as if his life hung in the balance, read on into the darkness.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My love and thanks as ever to Matthew, who gave me the space and support I needed to complete this book. Big hugs for Verity, who doesn’t mind too much when Mummy has to do her tippy-tapping writing, and has become quite interested in the exploits of Mister Garak.
Huge thanks to Dave Mack for the sneak peek of Section 31—Control, for answering my questions, and for Kukalaka. It’s a privilege to work with you, sir.
Thank you to Margaret Clark, who helped launch this book again when it looked like it wasn’t going to fly, and has been such an enthusiastic supporter of my vision for Cardassia. Thank you also (and to my anonymous copyeditor!) for spotting the Briticisms.
My grateful thanks to the Librarian of Newnham College, Cambridge, who gave me permission to work there. Thank you to all the library staff, who welcomed me every time I visited, and were so supportive as I chased the deadline.
This book is dedicated to my friend Ina Rae Hark, who read my first attempts at writing, and, with infinite skill and patience, walked me through writing my first novel. This book, and all my other books, would not exist without her. Thank you, Ina!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Una McCormack is the author of six previous Star Trek novels: The Lotus Flower (part of The Worlds of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine), Hollow Men, The Never-Ending Sacrifice, Brinkmanship, The Missing, and the New York Times bestseller The Fall: The Crimson Shadow. She is also the author of three Doctor Who novels from BBC Books, The King’s Dragon, The Way Through the Woods, and Royal Blood. She has written numerous short stories and audio dramas.
She lives in Cambridge, England, with her partner of many years, Matthew, and their daughter, Verity.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Una-McCormack
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.
* * *
Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.
Pocket Books
An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
™, ®, and © 2017 by CBS Studios Inc. STAR TREK and related marks and logos are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.
This book is published by Pocket Books, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from CBS Studios Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information,
address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Pocket Books paperback edition July 2017
POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-86
6-506-1949 or [email protected].
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Cover design by Alan Dingman
ISBN 978-1-5011-5258-0
ISBN 978-1-5011-5259-7 (ebook)
Enigma Tales Page 26
