Foot traffic was minimal, and I realized that I was too close when Kel looked back and almost made eye contact with me. I stopped, pretending I had lost my way while they went on further. Finally they came to their building, a three‑storied newer version of the early Union style, but with the same classic angles and high windows. They entered, and suddenly I was alone on the street, a conspicuous loiterer. Determined that I would never do this again, I continued in the same direction. As I passed the building I glanced at the heavy door, which gave no promise or sign of opening for me. My plan was to take my next left and cut through the Barvonok Sector, the center of business and commerce, on my way to the Torr and yet another new home. It was a trained habit never to retrace my steps.
“Elim. Elim Garak!” Her voice came from behind, and I quickened my step. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to look at her. My mind was desperately looking for a way to slip off, to lose her. But the whole enterprise was a fiasco. Of course, she had spotted me. It was almost as if I had begged her to.
“Elim!” Her voice was winded, exasperated, and amused. She was a magnificent athlete, and her long legs had very quickly caught up with me. I turned.
“Palandine?” I winced at the utter woodenness of my feigned surprise.
“First you follow me, and now you’re trying to run away.” Her frankness was as disarming as ever. “Still the same bundle of contradictions, aren’t you?” I could see that she was trying to measure the Elim she knew from Bamarren against the one who stood before her.
“I assure you, I just happened to be walking in this sector,” I struggled to reply.
“And the screech crake has a pleasant voice.” She was still catching her breath. “But I suppose the fact that you were also at the Grounds and the Assembly building could be an extraordinary coincidence,” she said with a look that challenged me to come up with an answer. I couldn’t. I felt exposed and ashamed.
“I’m . . . sorry. I tried to be discreet.” There was no point in pursuing the deception.
“Elim, you forget–I studied with the same teachers. Old habits die hard,” she added with a self‑deprecating laugh.
“I was not going to do it again,” I assured her.
“Let’s walk,” she suggested, noticing a couple coming out of a building. We continued in the direction away from her house.
“You’ve changed,” she said.
“It’s been a long time. Would you expect me to stay the same?” I asked.
“No,” she replied softly. She had changed, too. Close up, her face was thinner and faint lines were drawn around her eyes and mouth. It was more than just middle age. As genuine as her pleasure was in seeing me again (a pleasure that relieved me enormously), the old delight that would always animate her face instantly was a thing of the past. There was a sadness about her, as she led me through an area of Coranum I’d never walked before. The streets narrowed and the houses were older.
“I love this area. This is the earliest settlement in the city. Turn here,” she instructed. A narrow passageway, almost hidden by an outer wall, led between two houses and opened up into an unexpected public grounds that was remarkable for the mature size of the shrubbery and plantings. It was a small grounds, but the profusion of growth gave it an insularity that reminded me of another place.
“This is extraordinary,” I said.
“Yes. Kel and I spend a lot of time here. Or we used to,” she added with that same softness as if she were talking to herself. “I feel safe here.”
“It reminds me of the enclosure at Bamarren,” I said. She laughed, and the old delight momentarily flashed.
“Yes! That’s why I love it here.” But her expression changed and she gave me a look that creased the lines in her face. “We treated you so terribly.”
“Please. . . .” I started to say.
“We did, Elim. You know that. We believed . . . or at least Ibelieved. . . .” she stopped herself with a bitter laugh. I didn’t ask her what it was she had believed.
“That’s finished now,” I said.
“Is it?” she asked with a wry smile. “Well, that’s good news.”
“We were children, Palandine.”
“Yes, we were. Aspiring to be grownups.” She gave me that creased look again. “You were the grownup, Elim. We were only pretending.”
“Please. . . .” I tried to stop her again.
“No! I lost you as a friend. I think you understand this . . . unless I’m very much mistaken.” Her look made me uneasy. “Why were you following me? Why’ve you been watching me and Kel all this time?”
“You knew?” I was incredulous. I had come to believe that I was virtually undetectable in these situations.
“Of course I did. I may not have a career, but I learned my lessons well.” She said this with a bitterness that took me out of my own feelings of failure. “At first I didn’t know what to do. There you were, sitting like your regnaramong those magnificent orchids. It unnerved me at the beginning, but after a while I looked forward to your being there . . . watching us.” As we held each other’s look I didn’t try to hide my conflicted feelings.
“Why did you decide to follow me today?” she asked. I struggled to find an answer. She nodded as if confirming something to herself. “Tell me, would you have ever . . . declared yourself to me if I hadn’t?”
“No,” I replied. She nodded again, this time with a sad acceptance. “You keep your own counsel now, don’t you? This must be very dangerous for you.”
“For us both. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” I added.
“No,” she smiled. “Where do you work?”
“At the Hall of Records.”
“Doing what?” she asked.
“I’m a research analyst,” I answered.
“What kind of research do you analyze?” She was not going to be put off with vague answers.
“I’m a bureaucrat, Palandine. I no longer try to make my work sound interesting. The best part is that I travel a great deal to gather data on population shifts–births, deaths. Most of my work is statistical analysis–making sure the facts match the reports we receive.” I delivered this with appropriate flatness.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“I like the travel,” I answered. Her face was now a grimace.
“Was Barkan the reason you left Bamarren?”
“I was asked to leave.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“I was never given a reason. When I got home I was placed in the Civil Service Institute.”
“Well, you certainly don’t look like a bureaucrat who sits in a chair all day.”
“I walk as much as possible. I know the City as well as I knew the Mekar.” Palandine forced a smile and walked to a low bench set amid the shrubbery. I could see that she was upset by what she perceived as my fall from grace. Promising young man forced by circumstances to live the life of a lonely functionary.
“What about you?” I asked as I sat on the ground across from her.
“Barkan and I were enjoined. For a while I worked in security at the Ministry of Science. I enjoyed it. Lots of intrigue and bad liars. But women dominate the Ministry, and I did very well. My prospects were encouraging.”
“What happened?”
“It’s complicated, Elim,” she shrugged. “Do you have a family?”
“No.”
“You really do keep your own counsel, don’t you? Part of me envies you.” She made an abrupt gesture with her head as if shaking off a pest. “Barkan progressed more rapidly than we’d expected. He established himself on Bajor, and we began spending a lot of time apart. He thought that we should work together, but before I could work out a transfer Kel was born.” She shrugged again. Such uncharacteristic diffidence.
“Why aren’t you living on Bajor now?” I asked.
“Too dangerous. By the time I felt Kel was old enough to make the move, the Resistance was targeting Cardassian families, and Barkan insisted that w
e stay here until they could control the situation.”
I immediately questioned his motives and tried to hide my thoughts, but the effort was as futile as trying to hide my presence from her.
“Do you still hate him?” she asked.
“Hate’s a strong word.”
“But we’re all capable of feeling it, Elim. How do you feel about me?” she asked with a direct simplicity that went through my body like electric shock. The churning I experienced earlier at the Tarlak Grounds returned. I was afraid to answer. She nodded again with resignation. This time she had completely misread my thoughts. I realized that she not only expected my hate, but accepted it. She stood up and seemed smaller.
“This wasn’t such a good idea after all, was it?” And when had she ended so many of her sentences with a question?
“What happened to you?” I asked sincerely. “You were the most confident person I’d ever known. Even when you made the decision at Bamarren there was no doubt–no apology.” Her eyes suddenly fractured and tears filled the cracks. “Do you think I followed you because I hate you?”
She couldn’t answer. She just stood there shivering. I moved to her to hold her, and she didn’t resist. She didn’t move. She let me put my arms around her and draw her vibrating body to mine. The touch, the feel of her against my body was something I had never expected to experience outside my imagination. For the first time since Bamarren, I wanted to expand my presence, to feel everything that was coming through this moment and joining us. Inexplicably, I had a sudden vision of the Guide, the woman from the meeting.
“This is our secret, Elim,” Palandine whispered.
“Yes,” I answered. “Our secret.” Another one. But it didn’t feel like it would poison me.
15
Entry:
The encryptions were getting harder to decode, but the information being pieced together indicated that a significant resistance was beginning to form on Cardassia itself. I had anticipated this happening, and wondered why it had taken so long to coalesce. Unless the entire planet had somehow gone mad, there were too many good and intelligent people who would be able to see the Dominion promises for what they were and take an action to forestall the inevitable betrayal. Odo confirmed my belief.
“After Tain’s attempt to destroy the Founders’ home‑world, there’s no chance the Dominion will allow an autonomous Cardassian state to exist.” It was the middle of the night, and we were finishing up the last transmissions in Odo’s office. I was exhausted. Sometimes we’d work through to the morning, but thankfully tonight I’d be able to return to my quarters and get a few hours sleep.
“But surely, Odo, the Founders must know that this was the action of a few desperate people,” I reasoned.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten that you were one of those desperate people,” he reminded me. I was too tired to argue. “Besides, Garak, this action only confirms their belief in the treachery of the solids. They’ve seen what Cardassians have done to other races; it’s not as if their fears are without foundation.” Odo looked as if he could use a spell in his bucket; I had rarely seen him looking so run‑down.
“No,” I sighed. “We have not inspired the confidence of our neighbors.” I began to push myself away from the computer when a rescramble suddenly formed into a coherent communiquй.
“Look at this, Odo,” I said. The renewed energy in my voice brought him over. “It’s from the Vorta–Weyoun.” We studied the message in silence.
“He doesn’t know where Damar is?” Odo was as perplexed as I was.
“Yes. And judging from this, he’s quite eager to find him.” I wondered, could it be possible? Odo was thinking the same thing.
“Do you suppose–?” he began.
“Yes. Damar’s broken with the Dominion. Either he’s on the run . . .”
“. . . or he’s gone over to the Resistance,” Odo finished.
“This would be significant. Damar’s a dedicated soldier who commands the loyalty of much of the army. He’s not a politician who changes sides like coats.” I hated the man, but I knew that he lived by a strict military code of honor: The Cardassian Union, right or wrong. How else could he have followed that psychopath Dukat for so long? And how else could he have justified his murder of an innocent like Ziyal?
“Unless it’s a trick to expose the rebels,” I added.
“I’d better get this information to Captain Sisko,” Odo decided.
“Would you rather I tell him?” I offered. Odo looked positively drained; he needed to return to his liquid state.
“No,” he declined after a moment. “There are certain protocols. . . .”
“I understand.” And I did. They had codes that I was not privy to, and they wanted to keep it that way. “In that case, Odo, I’m going to get some sleep. You know where to find me.”
“Thank you for your help, Garak,” Odo said, with his sincere formality.
The Promenade was empty at this hour. I made my way up to the second level, to spend a few moments in the observation lounge before retiring to my quarters. It was the one place on the station where I felt a sense of expanded space. The ironies of the situation both amused and irritated me. Here I was, the invaluable decoder of Cardassian encryptions containing life‑and‑death information for the Federation–and they won’t trust me with the code to wake up Captain Sisko. Ah well, it was never easy being a Cardassian on this suspended chunk of desolation. And then I laughed out loud. But what about Odo? The last time I looked he was a changeling, a member of the race of Founders that was determined to destroy the Alpha Quadrant. Not only did he have the captain’s wake‑up code, he also slept with the station’s second‑in‑command.
I found myself staring at the escape pods that had recently carried the Defiant’s crew to safety before that noble vessel was destroyed. They were temporarily tied to a docking arm and looked like small, vulnerable orphans waiting for another home. A noise at the other end of the level reminded me to pay attention, in case Londar Parva and his friends were looking for another opportunity to put the “spoonhead” in his place. The turbolift was nearby, and I made sure it was empty before I entered.
But if Damar had thrown his support to the rebels . . . if it wasn’t a ploy . . . I wanted my revenge on him, yes, but not at the expense of liberating Cardassia. And it wasn’t just liberating the planet from the control of a foreign power. It was closer . . . more personal. I wanted something that was even more difficult to attain–redemption.
The doors opened, and once again I was alert as I stepped into the deserted corridor and moved past the sleeping quarters to my own. It was time, I kept repeating in my head. It was time to take our place among the planets and peoples of the Alpha Quadrant as a civilized and open society. It was time to repair the damage. “A stitch in time saves. . . .” What? What was that expression?
As soon as the doors to my quarters closed, I felt her presence. Smelled her. She was standing against the window behind the desk. This was not the first time she had come here and waited while I worked late into the night. But something was different tonight. The distance between us had opened up again. I gestured to raise the light level.
“Don’t,” she said.
“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” As my eyes adjusted, I saw the phaser in her hand. “Who were you expecting, Remara?”
“You, Elim.”
“Am I in some kind of danger?” I looked around to make sure we were alone.
“Sit down,” she said quietly. I tried to maneuver around so that my back would face the window.
“Over there, Elim.” She indicated the chair in the corner near the door. “And don’t be foolish.”
“I’m afraid your warning comes too late.” She came around the desk and perched on the edge facing me.
“Is this an interrogation?” I asked.
“I was instructed to kill you without questions,” she replied flatly.
“Obviously people who don’t value the art
of conversation.” She just looked at me. The distance had never been greater.
“And you lied to me about Bajor. You know my homeworld very well.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I was there only for a short period.”
“Long enough to kill my husband and son.” Everything about her–her hair, face, the clothes she wore–was stripped down, severe. No one who knew her as a dabo girl would recognize her at this moment. I’d always known that spinning the wheel at Quark’s was a cover . . . and I’d chosen to ignore it. And I knew enough about myself and my craft to know that my lapses could no longer be considered accidents.
“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Elim?” Her eyes burned with an anger that would never subside in this lifetime. She wasn’t a collaborator; Kira had gotten that all wrong. She was a terrorist.
“You’re Khon‑Ma, aren’t you?” She didn’t respond. “Being the only Cardassian on this station, I expected you a long time ago. What kept you?”
“They were on the Taklanwhen you ordered it to be destroyed. With seventeen others who were just trying to free themselves from being sent to work as forced laborers here.”
“In a time of war, when you commandeer an enemy ship and attempt to escape. . . .”
“That wasn’t a war!” she snapped. “It was rape. Murder. Genocide. One day we had our lives and the next Cardassians were taking them away!” Remara’s anger dared me to deny this. I wondered what it had cost her to constantly bridle her true feelings as she was passing herself off as the remote and desired sex object. Perhaps the Klingons were unconsciously attracted by what was underneath the makeup and skimpy costume. Usually the experiences that drive a person into any kind of resistance movement are also ones that can anesthetize all feeling. But Remara’s passion appeared undiminished. Of course, this passion was my opening, my chance for escape from her revenge disguised as Khon‑Ma justice. But I was weary beyond caring. Moments before, I had been fantasizing about redemption, and now I was about to be executed for the Cardassian Occupation of Bajor. And all along I had been clearly setting myself up, ignoring every sign like an inexperienced probe. Perhaps this was the redemption I was looking for.
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