“I trust you don’t mean that literally.”
“You were in my dream,” I maintained.
“Garak, you can’t believe. . . . Look here.” The Doctor took a deep breath. “My . . . persona . . . my symbolic representation was in your dream to . . . serve a purpose devised by your subconscious mind to satisfy some . . . need. It had nothing to do with me other than how your psyche used me . . . the way a . . . play-wright uses a character.” The Doctor paused and shook his head. The idea of his participation in my dream had ruffled his science. “This area has always been a great mystery. If I had a dream about . . . Hippocrates, you can’t believe that this ancient Greek healer actually showed up,” he challenged.
“We exist on many levels at the same time, Doctor. This level. . . .” I gestured to the room and its objects. “. . . the space/time continuum, I believe you call it, is perhaps the narrowest and least dimensional of all. But it’s the one in which we choose to relate to each other as corporeal beings in a defined material space measured by units of time. It serves a purpose, yes, but it’s a purpose that’s been determined by our interaction on other levels, deeper and more complex than this one.”
“What’s the purpose of this one then?” he asked impatiently.
“To consummate the agenda created by our more dimensional selves!” A passion had crept into my voice, and the Doctor just looked at me.
“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ ” he quoted.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Shakespeare,” the Doctor replied.
“Hmmh.” I nodded in agreement, surprised that for once the author of the politically misguided Julius Caesar made sense.
“I’ve never heard you talk like this before,” he said. “ I had no idea Cardassians held such ideas.”
“Most don’t. But we once did.”
“So you’re saying . . . what? That this level is the concrete manifestation of . . .” he stopped.
“Of who we are, Doctor. Our being. Human being. Cardassian being. But we have become these beings—are becoming, always in the process of becoming—on these other dimensional levels that are not limited by the measures of time and space. And the great determining factor of our becoming is relationship. Unrelated, I become unrelated. Alienated. Opposed, I become an antagonist. Unified, I become integrated. A functioning member of the whole.” The Doctor was thoughtful; his previous agitation had dissolved.
“You’re a scientist, Doctor. You have a deep understanding of this level. I don’t mean just the mechanics. You understand about relationship, the laws that attract and repel, the combinations that nurture and poison. Health and disease. Integrity and breakdown.”
“In your dream,” he said, “I presided over the burial of yourself and the people you were most intimately related to. Why?”
“You said, ‘for the good of the quadrant . . . they must never be allowed to return.’ Why would you say that?” I asked.
“I can only think that. . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Garak. This is not easy for me. I still can’t help thinking this was your dream. Even if I was invited . . . you were the playwright.”
“Yes, but put yourself in that part. Why would you bury these people and cover up the pit?” The Doctor looked at me in frustration. “Please. Indulge me. It’s vital that I have your answer.”
“If you and the others were carriers of some disease,” he shrugged. “In our fourteenth century on Earth there was a terrible plague, the Black Plague, which wiped out half of Europe’s population. People believed that the dead bodies had to be destroyed, burned . . . buried . . . because it was the only way to prevent the spread of the disease. . . .”
My comm sounded. “Garak.” It was Kira.
“Yes, Commander.”
“Can you be ready to leave at oh-seven-hundred hours?”
I sighed. It was less than an hour, but I had no choice.
“Certainly.”
“See you in Airlock 11. Pack lightly.”
“Just my hygiene kit and a change of undergarments,” I said lightly. We clicked off. The Doctor was studying me with an interest in his face I hadn’t seen in years.
“Well? Is it the Black Plague, Doctor? Or just the ramblings of an old spy on the eve of battle?”
“You’re an amazing man, Garak.”
“And my gratitude to you can never be adequately expressed. But I shall try,” I promised.
“Please. What have I done?” he asked genuinely.
“That time you extended yourself so generously and found a way to remove the wire from my brain without killing me . . .”
“I would have done that for anyone,” the Doctor interrupted.
“I’m sure that’s true, but that’s not what I mean. All during the time the device was deteriorating, I was convinced I was going to die.”
“You were even resigned to it,” he reminded me.
“I was also convinced that it was all a dream, and I kept asking myself what you were doing there.”
The Doctor was puzzled. “But what you just told me, that our dreams are just another way we relate . . . ?”
“I had forgotten. That point of my life was perhaps the lowest. I had forgotten many things. When I ‘woke up’ and realized that because of you I was going to live—at that moment, I began to recollect some valuable information.”
“About dreams?” he asked.
“Yes. But specifically about relationships, and how they set the course of our lives. You not only ‘saved’ my life, you also made it possible for me to live it.” The Doctor’s face darkened.
“What is it, Doctor?”
“The time I wounded you in that holosuite program. . . .”
“Yes,” I prompted expectantly.
“I never apologized for my action.”
“And you must never apologize!” I urged.
“Please, Garak. This is not the time to give me a lesson on how to behave like a hardened spy. . . .”
“No, no, no. On the contrary, when you shot me, my dear friend, that was the next step in my process of remembering. I was going to sacrifice the others, the people you considered your friends, because that was the only way I could be sure to save myself. You opposed me. Indeed, you would have killed me if necessary.”
“I’m sure it would never have gotten to that point,” the Doctor muttered.
“You would have killed me,” I repeated. “For the greater good.” The cliché suddenly had another meaning for both of us. “This is my last trip to Cardassia. I’m not returning. You were in the dream for a very specific reason. Once again, you helped me remember. Thank you, Julian.” I put my hand on his shoulder.
“You’re welcome,” he smiled warmly. “And by the way. It wasn’t the dead bodies that carried the disease. It was later determined that it was the rats feeding on the bodies who were the transmitters.”
“Then I guess we’ll go to Cardassia and look for the rats,” I said.
“Be careful, Garak. And look after my hot-headed friend, will you?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll look after each other,” I answered him. He moved to the door. “Did you really have a dream about Hippocrates?” I asked.
“Yes. Actually I did.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I replied.
Kira was waiting in front of the airlock when I turned the corner.
“Odo’s on his way. How are you feeling?” she asked.
“I’ve never been better, Commander,” I replied with fervor. Kira gave me a long look.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so enthusiastic, Garak.”
“I’ve finally remembered why I’m here.”
20
Entry:
“Let’s walk, Elim. It’s a lovely day.” Tain was waiting for me in front of the Assembly building.
“As you wish,” I agreed with pleasure and mild surprise. Over the years we rarely met outsid
e his office; only an emergency or drastic change of plan would alter the routine. Now as we walked through the late morning sun and pedestrians at a leisurely pace I experienced a connection to the surrounding bustle and energy in a way that felt almost normal. A father and his son taking a stroll. Tain was heavier, and I could hear his breathing labor with the effort. He’s an old man, I thought. He’s mortal. I’d never thought about Tain in this way, and I became protective as we approached an aggressive knot of pedestrians at the edge of the Coranum Sector. One man was about to run Tain down when I intercepted his path and bumped him to the side. I ignored his challenge as we continued.
“Yes, Elim. I’m getting old.” It wasn’t the first time he picked up my thoughts; this was how our conversations usually went. “It’ll happen to you, too. You’ll wake up one day and realize that you have just enough energy.”
“For what?” I asked. I was alerted.
“To leave your affairs in order,” he replied. “But you have to start thinking about these things long before that day arrives.” Behind the hooded half-smile was the steely focus that always challenged me to rise to the occasion.
“You’re leaving the Order,” I said.
“I am.”
“Where are you going?” I tried to control the sudden sense of dislocation that had usurped my newly found connection to the community.
“To the Arawak Colony.” Of course. His beloved mountains in Rogarin Province.
“Is Mila going with you?” I asked.
“She is.” I struggled to put all the forming questions into some kind of order. I wasn’t paying attention to our surroundings, and it was only when Tain stopped that I looked around and realized where we were.
“There is the matter of succession, Elim. The Order has managed to steer a course that’s been consonant with Cardassian security. The new leadership must maintain that course.” I didn’t know if it was the uncertainty about my own future or the fact that we were standing in the grounds where Palandine and I had spent so much of our time together, but I felt the inevitability of some kind of final reckoning. This was so typical of his manipulation. Just moments ago I was feeling protective of this benign old man, my father. And now . . . the irony filled my mouth with a bitter taste.
“Yes, you see. It’s a problem,” he nodded. “Two problems, actually. The less serious is that you’ve been connected to the incident with Procal Dukat. But we expected that he might retain enough memory of the interrogation. What was not expected was Barkan Lokar’s recognition. While there’s nothing they can prove, still, you’ve made some powerful enemies. Lokar has determined who you work for and he and the young Dukat now have you in their sights. Of course our stature is measured by the enemies we make, and that would be reason enough to allow you to succeed me,” he said in a gentle, almost paternal tone that was keeping me off balance. He moved to the covered seating area, where the sun filtered through the old vegetation. I had never been here with anyone but Palandine. With a long sigh he settled into a patch of sunlight on the low bench.
“This is a beautiful place. I can understand why it’s an ideal rendezvous,” he observed.
“I always expected that you’d find out,” I said.
“But what were you thinking? Not of the long term, certainly. And it’s not just any woman. She’s Lokar’s wife. Sooner or later he’s going to find out. You know that, don’t you?” he asked with a sharp edge.
“Yes,” I answered. The benign mask was slipping, and I began to see the depth of his anger.
“And when he does, your powerful enemy now becomes an implacable one. He won’t rest until he has destroyed every trace of you.” He was spitting his words at me. “What are you going to do?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” I admitted with tightly wound control.
“You don’t know!” he repeated with a disgust I hadn’t heard since I was a boy and failed to record all the details of one of our walks. “And I’m supposed to pass my life’s work on to someone who can’t think beyond his lust?”
“It’s not lust,” I argued.
“Sentimentality,” he hissed. “Even worse. You jeopardize our mission, the security of our people because of pathetic sentiments. And all this while, instead of giving up your life to the work, hardening yourself into a leader who could inspire others and expand the vision, you’re playing out Hebitian fantasies with another man’s wife!”
“Yes. Just like Tolan!” I exploded. “Perhaps he was my real father after all.”
Tain rose like a man many years younger and grabbed my shoulder in a powerful grip. His anger was now a murderous fury and it was all I could do to hold my stance against the pain of his grip. His cold eyes told me I had betrayed him. Worse, I had failed him. He let go of my shoulder and turned away from me. My entire body trembled. When he turned back he had regained his composure.
“You’ve been returned to probe status. You will be given a period of time to prove whether you have anything of value to contribute to the organization. This, of course, is contingent on your never seeing the woman again and immediately setting into motion a plan to eliminate Barkan Lokar. A plan that will not implicate the Order. From now on you will report to Corbin Entek.” He could have been speaking into a comm chip.
“And who will be succeeding you?” I asked.
“He already has. I leave for Arawak tonight.”
“Who is he?” I persisted.
“Pythas Lok.” He watched me for a moment. His mask was back in place. “Goodbye, Elim.” He turned and walked away.
As I watched him leave, I felt completely empty and wondered how I could feel such emptiness. This sudden, wrenching reversal of fortune . . . everything changed beyond recognition. . . . And yet . . . there was no anger, no self-pity . . . no fear. Only release. Release from the secrets. Release from the limbo where, ever since I was a boy, I had been trapped between imposed obligations and feelings of mysterious longing mixed with shame. I felt empty . . . and free.
I had to see her again.
“I was expecting you,” Mila said when the door opened. I followed her inside, and instead of the customary trip down to the basement she took me to the large central room, which was filled with stacks of packing bins.
“I’m afraid we’re not leaving you much,” she said. “The furnishings have already been taken away.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything.” I tried to keep all irony out of my tone.
“It’s your choice, Elim.” Her voice was just as neutral. “The house is yours to live in.”
“I assumed Pythas would be moving in.”
“The house belongs to Enabran, not to the Order,” she explained. “Under the circumstances you have the choice to live here.”
“Do you know the circumstances . . . Mila?”
She looked at me. It was the first real contact we’d had in many years. She nodded slowly.
“Before I make my ‘choice,’ I need your help,” I said, surprised that the request emerged so simply. I wasn’t as angry with her as I wanted to be. Mila saw this and softened perceptibly.
“How can I help you, Elim?” It was an objective question; she was careful to maintain distance between us. “Housekeeping” for Tain, after all, came with certain obligations.
“You know about . . . this woman.” I felt ungainly discussing this with her; like a little boy defending his wayward behavior.
“Lokar’s wife.” She revealed nothing, but at least I was discovering that she and Tain spoke to each other. Perhaps Mila was more than just an efficient housekeeper who dusted his brangwaskin books and scrolls.
“I need your help,” I repeated.
“You saw him today,” she stated as she arranged two cups in the drink replicator. I nodded. “He was angry when he left this morning.”
“I love her, Mila.”
“You’re a grown man, Elim.” I couldn’t decide whether she thought I didn’t know this or was seeing it for the first time herself.
“And Palandine’s a grown woman,” I replied.
“I don’t care about her. It’s you! You have to learn . . .” She broke off and passed me a cup which exuded the herbal aroma I’ve always associated with her and Tolan. Bitterbark and sweet groundroot. Moist rich soil.
“To control myself?” Mila blew on her tea. I shrugged at the obvious irony; I didn’t want to get into a fight. “I know. I really do know this, and if there were a way I could . . . just . . . let go . . . convince myself it’s a bad idea and walk away . . . I would.” Mila made an impatient movement with her head. She was struggling for control herself.
“I mean it, Mila. I would. But I think about her, feel her, all the time. Especially when I’m alone.” Mila sat on a bin and sipped her tea. She avoided my look. As I positioned another bin across from her, I experienced a deep pain in my shoulder. It was still throbbing.
“Tain’s angry . . . with me. He wants me never to see her again and . . . to kill Barkan.” Still she avoided looking at me. “But you know this, don’t you? And you know what’s possible. Because you have your own . . . thoughts about this. Don’t you Mila?” I persisted.
Again she jerked away from me. Tea from her cup slopped onto the floor. “There’s no time, Elim.” She put the cup down, wiped her hands on the protective smock she wore, and looked for something to clean the floor with. “There’s no time for this.”
“But here we are,” I shrugged. “I’ve been reduced to probe status, my work dismissed as counting for nothing. . . .”
“It will count when you choose to make it count,” she said, as she picked up a piece of fabric and rejected it.
“But what about the sacrifices I made? Don’t they count?” I demanded.
“Sacrifices?” In frustration Mila took off her smock to wipe the tea from the floor. “Elim, you amaze me.” Shaking her head, she got down on her knees and began scrubbing vigorously, as if the spilled drops of tea were hostile agents capable of spreading disease and destruction.
“Really? Well, I’m pleased I still have the ability—”
STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE ® Page 27
