But he said nothing. We finished work and packed our things in silence. The silence continued throughout the trip home on the public transport. Just before we entered the house, Father stopped and looked at me.
“I want to show you something, Elim.”
He led me into his private chamber, where he kept everything from cuttings to work records. He put his bag down and unlocked a huge compartment. After a moment of moving things I couldn’t see, he pulled out something that looked like a face that was made from stone‑like material. He held it out to me. It was the same creature’s face as on the carved mural I had remembered earlier.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a recitation mask. Hebitian poets wore it at festivals that celebrated Oralius.”
“Was he . . . their leader?” I asked.
“In a spiritual sense.”
My confusion must have been apparent, because Father nodded his understanding. “I know this is difficult. Oralius was not a corporeal being, Elim, he didn’t live as we do. He was a presence, a spiritual entity that guided people toward the higher ideals they were encouraged to live by.” Father was working hard to describe something for which I had absolutely no reference point.
“How did this ‘encourage’ them?” I asked.
“At the festival, the poet would put the mask on before he’d recite. In this way, he was no longer Elim or Tolan or any of ‘us.’ He was a conduit . . . a connector who with the help of his poetry brought the higher power of Oralius down to those of us who were there . . . who wanted this . . .” Father searched for the word.
“Encouragement? “I ventured.
“Yes.” Father was pleased with my interest.
“Was this your . . . ‘power,’ which makes the plants and flowers grow?”
Father’s face broke into a beaming smile, and I thought he was going to grab me. He had never looked at me like this, and I felt somehow proud that my question had gotten such a reaction. Suddenly he looked past me, and his expression–so open and so animated with the attempt to explain what essentially was unexplainable–became as unreadable as that disembodied mask.
Mother was at the door. I don’t know how long she had been there, but she was not pleased.
“Oh, Tolan,” was all she said.
“Get cleaned up, Elim,” Father said. I was aware of a strong forcefield that I had been caught in the middle of many times before. It always made me feel helpless, and this time was no exception. I gladly complied. As I was about to leave the room, however, I saw Mother’s eyes as she looked at Father. Intimate was not a word I would ever have used to describe their relationship–efficient or collaborative, perhaps–but I had never seen how much distance actually existed between them until this very moment.
I hurried past Mother and out of the room.
3
Entry:
“Is it too hot for you?” I asked.
“It’s hot.” Remara tentatively arranged her long body along the surface of the smooth rock. “But I think it’s bearable.”
Remara had asked several times if she could join me in the holosuite program I frequented, but I had never taken her seriously. I was convinced that only Cardassians could bear the heat of the rocks. Finally I agreed, but I was prepared to end the program immediately, anticipating that she’d change her mind after the first blast. But somehow she not only survived it but managed to find a position on her rock that looked almost comfortable. I must confess that her lithe body pressed against the rock presented a vision of feminine sensuality that added to my enjoyment.
“You used to come here with Ziyal, didn’t you?”
“We both enjoyed the experience. It was like a haven from the storm.”
“Yes, it must have been difficult.” Remara shifted her body, and I could see that she was perspiring profusely. Her skin began to meld with the rock.
“What was difficult?” I asked.
“Your relationship with her father. It must have affected you and Ziyal,” she replied.
“She knew who he was,” I said.
“Did she know who you were?”
“Of course,” I smiled. “A plain and simple tailor who craved a friend to sit with on the rocks.” Remara smiled back, but she was not to be deterred.
“Did Ziyal know that you had played a part in the death of her grandfather?” Her smile was even more radiant because of the effects of the heat. The longer she endured, the more beautiful she became.
“I’m glad to see the heat agrees with you, my dear. I had no idea that Bajorans had this kind of tolerance.”
“We’re very fond of our solar baths,” she said, shifting again to another graceful position. “Did she hold his death against you?”
“If she did, she never shared it with me.”
“Weren’t you at all curious to know?”
“Not nearly as curious as you are about me. When Colonel Kira asked me why you were making inquiries, I joked that perhaps you were writing a book. Perhaps it’s not a joke. You’re very well informed.”
“Nerys asked you that, did she?”
“And she found it curious that you wouldn’t address these questions to me directly.”
“I’m not surprised.” Now she was fully reclined on the rock with her face up. It was getting difficult to breathe. How ironic if I were the one to call off the program because of the heat. “Nerys and I have had our difficulties in the past,” she said, her voice seeming to come from a great distance. Her eyes were closed, and she was totally integrated with the rock
“Oh?”
“We knew each other on Bajor.”
“Really? Were you in the Resistance as well?” I watched her raise her right leg and flex her foot, which made the lean muscles along her thigh ripple. I forced myself to breathe deeply. Perhaps it was the heat, but even with the distance between us her physical presence was crowding and overpowering me.
At one point Kira and I became quite close,” she said dreamily. I wondered if she were about to fall asleep.
“And now you’re not.”
“Our lives took very different paths. No,” she finally answered, “I didn’t join the Resistance.” Remara opened her eyes, sat up, and gave one last serious stretch. “You know, Elim, I think I’ve reached the limit of my tolerance.”
And not a moment too soon, I thought. In one easy motion, she slid off the rock and led the way to the exit. I lingered for a moment, to savor her movement and wondered how an artist could capture the exquisite harmony of her physique. I also wondered how a man could continue his relationship with her knowing full well the danger involved. The major’s question echoed in my head: What doesshe want from you, Elim?
4
Entry:
The next morning I was surprised to find that Father had left for work without me.
“You’re coming with me this morning,” were Mother’s first words. When I began to ask where we were going she cut me off.
“You’ll find out,” was all she would say. I quickly ate something while she waited. Neither of us spoke; the heaviness in the room said everything.
Out in the street I followed as she set a brisk pace. She was a sturdy, compact woman with prematurely graying hair and strong features that were now leading the way. She was always very patient with me, but I was under the impression that she had something of weight and consequence on her mind that discouraged everything but essential interaction. As we moved through the busy, crowded streets I was struck by the way she appeared to be unaffected by the activity surrounding her. On a Cardassian street there is a lot of jostling and bumping and competing for lane space, but Mother set a fixed course and everyone moved out of her path. She behaved–and appeared–as if she were utterly isolated.
“You’re going to work today, son.” She remained true to her course and didn’t look at me when she spoke.
“I’ve been going to work every day,” I responded, out of a childish loyalty to Father.
“Th
at’s notyour work,” she stated. “You’re a man now, and you’re being given a great opportunity. I want you to behave like a man and submit to the path that’s opening up before you.”
“Have I ever opposed your wishes, Mother?” I probably imagined the slight crack of a smile on her face. My name as a child was “Sleg” after the sleg corgan,a huge crawling beast that in certain seasons would barely move at all. I was oddly diffident about what this path would be. Perhaps this was a defense against this new “opportunity”–a word I now associated with betrayal.
“I’ve been told that you showed aptitude at the Institute,” she continued. “I’ve also been told that you had lapses . . . of a sentimental nature.”
I said nothing. For some reason it made me uncomfortable to think that she knew about Palandine.
“Your father has ideas I don’t agree with . . .that are best left unexpressed. I advise you to forget them. They’ll only make your work more difficult.” She stopped and looked at me for the first time. “Understand, Elim–you are being given the opportunity to move above the service class.”
I recoiled from both the word I mistrusted and the implication that the work Mother and Father did was low and demeaning.
“I was taught that the service class was an irreplaceable piece of the Cardassian mosaic,” I replied with crude irony.
“Listen to me!” she said with a passion that startled me. “You are my son and you are a Cardassian. Not a Hebitian. Look around you!” she commanded. I did. We were in the great public area which is surrounded by the buildings that house the power of the Union. “Hebitians did not build this. Cardassians did. Your father and I serve and maintain, but we do not influence or guide the destiny of the Union. You could. That’s why you must submit right now! Do you understand me, Elim? Once we walk through that door,” she indicated the one that led to the subterranean levels of the Assembly building–to the Obsidian Order–“you must submit to your fate.”
Mother’s eyes were burning with an intensity that communicated a care and passion that was every bit the equal of Father’s. I nodded dumbly. She took a deep breath and composed herself. Unconsciously, she smoothed my hair and tugged at my tunic.
“You’re a good boy . . . Sleg.” This time the smile was real. She led the way and we entered the building. What I understood was that I had no choice. Father, I’m sure, understood that–which was probably why he was gone this morning. The rest was a mystery.
And the mystery deepened when the man who greeted us was Enabran Tain.
“A pleasure to see you again, Elim. Thank you, Mila.” He dismissed Mother, who left without returning my look, and fixed me with that long and disconcerting smile of his. Did his eyes ever blink? “Sit down.”
I obeyed. Submit, Mother told me. And don’t ask to what. I tried to orient myself: the room was small and cluttered. My first impression of Tain in these circumstances, reinforced by his portly figure and shapeless clothing, was that he was not an important person. But I now knew better than to trust any first impression, especially one calculated by Tain.
“Everyone has an opinion, Elim.”
“Excuse me?” Had I missed the beginning of this conversation?
“Was Bamarren the right place for you?” he asked.
“I. . . .” Listen to him and answer truthfully, a voice said. “Yes. I would have liked to complete the course.”
“You and the First Prefect. He was not happy losing you.” Tain studied me in silence. Listen, the voice reminded me. Don’t turn away. Breathe. It’s Calyx, I thought. Instead of a sandy pit, it’s a dusty office.
“If you ask ten people, you’ll get ten opinions. Would you like to hear mine?” Tain asked politely.
“Yes. . . .” I still didn’t know what to call him.
“We get what we need, Elim. We listen to everyone’s opinion, but in the end we get what we need. What do you need?”
“I never . . . asked myself.”
“Most people don’t. They’re led by instinct to satisfy the basics. What they don’t realize is that if you don’task, other people will answer for you, and then you never discover who you are.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Answering for me?” The anger in my voice surprised me.
Tain smiled. “You learned what you needed from Bamarren. If you had stayed longer you would have developed . . . habits . . . useful for other organizations. We’re different, you see? I’m not even sure the First Prefect understands.”
“But what am I here for?” I now felt bolder.
“You’re here to find out who you are. And to create your own story.”
“Story?”
“Your history. Up to this point you’ve been defined by other people’s needs. Mila’s. Tolan’s. Your docent’s.”
“Yours?” I asked. Tain laughed.
“Perhaps. But here you have the opportunity to change all that.”
Opportunity. The word clung to me like my shadow. Tain touched his comm panel. “Limor, please come in.”
“The Obsidian Order?” I asked.
“What do you know about us?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a good start.”
“What will I do?”
“To begin with, you’ll learn how to gather and process simple information.” As Tain said this, a tall, wiry man of indeterminate age entered the office quietly. Tain rose to meet him.
“And Limor Prang will get you started. This is Elim Garak, our newest junior probe,” Tain said to Limor, whose facial expression appeared permanently set to reveal nothing. Tain turned back to me; the smile was gone. “You will no longer live at home. Visits to your family will be limited to holidays and name days. You are never to say anything to anyone about your work other than your designation as a research analyst in the Hall of Records. When you see your mother, she is ‘Mila’ and you are to treat her like any other service worker.” He held my look to see how I would react to the last order. “You will receive all information and assignments from Limor. Thank you.”
Tain returned to his desk and Limor started to lead me out. We were dismissed. Just like that, my life had changed again. Tain noticed my hesitation.
“You have a question, Elim?”
I had nothing but questions. “I . . . don’t know what to call you now,” I managed.
The smile returned. “My name is Enabran Tain. Have you forgotten?”
“No . . . Enabran.”
In all my life I had never met a man who communicated so much with so few words as Limor Prang. Everything about him was as lean and spare as his body. He always looked like he was obscured by a shadow. In the brightest room one had to look twice to see that he was there. I thought that I was good at erasing my presence, but Limor made me look like a clumsy exhibitionist.
At the end of our first session Limor gave me my personal comm chip. “This has your schedule and data. It will answer all questions. Run the first program before you leave the building.” I looked down at the chip, which was smaller than the tip of my thumb, and when I looked back up Limor was gone. I sat down in the only chair and activated the chip.
“Elim Garak: code name, regnar;grade, junior probationist. Place chip in right ear,” the recorded voice instructed. I did, and the orientation program explained that communication is run once and not repeated. This is where the mnemonic training at Bamarren would be invaluable. I was given the location of my living quarters and the time and place of my first cell meeting. I was instructed where and when my training would begin. The program then rattled off a number of codes that would serve me in a variety of situations, from adjusting time and place coordinates to describing degrees of danger.By the time the program finished, my head was throbbing with the effort to hold on to this plethora of vital data.
5
As I moved building debris and arranged them into piles of different shapes and sizes, I came to realize that the ground floor of Tain’s house had been constructed strongly enough to withs
tand the destructive blast and hold the weight of the collapsed material. This left the basement undamaged. It was now just a question of clearing a way to the opening that led to the basement. But I hesitated: I knew what I would find down there, Doctor.
Most people, when I began this work, assumed that I was going to rebuild the house. After all, that was going on all around me. Cardassians are nothing if not industrious, and from the dust and rubble another, though more primitive, city was emerging. Each time the rudimentary shape of a house began to take shape, the morale of the sector was raised as well. At first people were confused by my efforts. Many assumed that I was unhinged and needed to do something, anything, to stay busy. Some even offered helpful advice about rebuilding, but when they realized that I wasn’t receptive they left me alone. After a while, as the shapes formed, they became curious, and their attitude changed. Many, like Doctor Parmak, were respectful, even reverent. One evening I came back from work and encountered a small group that had surrounded one of the constructed piles close to the walkway. As Parmak had done, they were calling out names in the traditional chant for the dead.
It was at that moment that I decided that not only was I not going to open up the basement, I was not going to rebuild the house of Enabran Tain. Instead I constructed the largest and most ambitious formation of material where the center of the house–Tain’s study–had formerly been located. This was my memorial to Mila, who remained entombed in the basement. If the people need a place to mourn their dead, to mourn a way of life that will never return, then I offer the home of Enabran Tain, the man most responsible for provoking this destruction. Parmak is right: otherwise, how can we ever move ahead?
6
Entry:
The first cell meeting took place in an empty, cold warehouse in the Munda’ar Sector that was almost entirely comprised of storage facilities for the foodstuffs and other goods that kept the city alive. I walked into the echoing, cavernous space, and saw that no one was there. I placed the comm chip in my right ear and was directed to a hidden ladder that took me down into a dark room, where ten chairs were arranged in a semicircle facing one chair isolated in a pool of light. Two of the chairs were empty, and it wasn’t until I took one that I noticed Limor Prang in the chair facing us. The eight people who preceeded me sat quietly in the shadow at the edge of the pool. Even though no one was encouraged to make contact we tried, sneaking surreptitious looks at each other, until we were interrupted by the last person descending the ladder. By then my eyes had adjusted, and when I stole a glance at the latecomer taking the last chair, I was struck by the familiarity of his face. I knew him–probably from Bamarren–but couldn’t precisely place how.
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