Illiana
Illiana (1997)
amantari2001@yahoo.com
Based on: Star Trek:
Deep Space Nine copyright Paramount/Viacom and Miriam,
written by Truman Capote in 1945.
----------
For several years, Mr.
Elim Garak lived on Deep Space Nine, in modest quarters at the
easternmost end of the Habitat Ring. He was a tailor by trade,
operating a small shop on the second level of the Promenade. While
the Cardassian's past remained disputable, he was no longer the
lonely outcast. Business was good, if not always stable, and there
were a number of people with whom he could share a meal and some
pleasant conversation. In his own words, "It is a full life,
if only a bit benign."
Then he met Illiana.
It was the end of the month, and people had little money or time
to invest in hand-made clothing. Garak stood by the entrance of
his shop, passing the time by noting the fashion flaws of all
the passers-by: a male Bajoran's suit was long outdated; a female
Vulcan's jewelry too excessive; a Gorn's long auburn hair obviously
fake. These and other inter-galactic victims of bad taste flocked
to the Replimat directly across. A line stretched around the corner;
there would be (he could hear the groans) a long wait for seats.
After an hour, Garak grew tied of playing arbiter of fashion.
The line seemed to be taking its own time and, looking around
for a new distraction, the tailor suddenly became conscious of
a young woman standing by the airlock.
Her eyes were the loveliest
he had ever seen: soft and large, like a child's. Their deep violet
color made her light gray face seem all the more pale. Her hair
was jet-black, bound in a single long braid, and a dark blue hooded
cloak drooped on her tiny frame. There was this look of quiet
longing as she stood, hands clasped firmly around the large travel
bag hanging from her shoulder. Garak was intrigued, and when he
made eye contact with her, she smiled. The woman walked down the
stairs to the entrance and said quietly, "Is there any way
you could do me a favor?"
"I'd be glad to,
if I can," Garak replied. The woman turned towards the Replimat.
"If it isn't too
much trouble, I was wondering if you could show me how to use
a replicator." With one quick movement, she handed the tailor
her debit card.
They went over to the
Replimat together. As they waited near the end of the line, Garak
happened to glance at the card. It was Cardassian, though the
emblems were at least two decades old. The name had long since
worn off. "I think it would be a good idea to get your account
updated," he said. "You could run into problems if you
plan on using it outside this system." The woman said nothing.
After moving up two places, she carefully removed her cloak.
Her dress was cream
silk, with a multi-colored embroidery around the collar and cuffs.
Examining it more closely, Garak noted that this too was an older
design. After moving up several more places, that tailor remembered
his manners. "By the way, my name is Elim Garak. And you
are..."
"Illiana,"
she said, as though, in some curious way, the information was
already familiar.
"Illiana..."
He repeated, expecting a last name.
"Just Illiana."
"That's a bit unusual."
"Is that so?"
Gradually, the two found
themselves in front of a replicator. Illiana did as the tailor
instructed, watching in delight as a bowl of l'danian spice pudding
materialized from thin air. Once seated, Illiana thanked him,
gesturing towards the seat at the opposite end of the table. Garak
would have joined her, but a small group of customers milled near
the closed doors of his shop. "My work awaits," he said
apologetically as he handed the woman her card. "But may
your stay here be a pleasant one."
Illiana nodded ever
so slightly.
Over the next week,
business remained painfully slow. Garak often found himself closing
shop early, passing the rest of the day at Quark's Bar or with
Odo and Doctor Bashir. By the end of the week, Garak wasn't working
at all. He had decided to take some time to do research on Earth
culture.
That evening, Garak
had fallen asleep on another of the doctor's spy novels when he
heard the door chime . At first, he thought it was a mistake and
whoever it was would go away. But eventually, the ringing was
replaced with a steady knocking that grew louder by the second.
He looked at his clock then climbed out of bed, trotting barefoot
across the cool, carpeted floor. The knocking continued until
he deactivated the lock.
"Good evening,"
said Illiana.
"More like good
morning," said Garak as he blinked against the incoming light.
"I remember you..."
"I thought you'd
never answer, but I kept on trying; I knew you were home."
Garak noticed that Illiana
was now wearing a green velvet dress, her hair was unstyled, flowing
to her waist in one endless line. "It's rather chilly out
here, mind if I step in?" she said.
"Now isn't exactly
a good time..."
"I promise I won't
be long," Illiana insisted.
Then, with a gentle
gesture, she urged Garak aside and slid into his quarters. The
sound of silk rustling could be heard as she strolled across the
room.
"Your quarters
are lovely," she commented. "The temperature is just
right." She gazed at a pot full of pink buds sitting on a
corner shelf. "Romulan Hyacinths," she said in amazement.
"How did you get them to survive indoors?"
"Is there something
I can help you with?" Garak asked tensely.
"Sit down,"said
Illiana. "You look upset. I hate to see people upset."
Garak remained standing.
"You know, I don't
think you're glad I came." For a second time, Garak was without
an answer. He turned his head, leaning his right hand against
the wall. Illiana smiled innocently as she seated herself at his
desk. Even in the dim light, Garak could see that her eyes were
now a shade darker than before; her skin a little less pale.
"You know,"
Garak said sarcastically, "The universe is a dangerous place.
Didn't anyone teach you that young women have no business in strange
quarters?"
Illiana shrugged, then
gravitated towards a small, oblong device sitting at the far end
of his desk. With one tap, the screen came to life. "A line
to Cardassia," she said as she viewed the screen.
"Leave that alone,"
said Garak anxiously. "Don't you dare touch that!"
"Certainly,"
she replied. "But I don't see why you're so upset."
And then, "I'm quite thirsty, why don't we have a drink?
Some kanar would do nicely."
"My dear,"
Garak sighed. "I'll give you the kanar, but only if you promise
to leave. I have to go to work in a few hours, and I'd like a
little peace and quiet."
"But we haven't
had a chance to talk."
"Perhaps some other
time," said Garak, struggling to control his voice. "I'm
really not in the mood."
Illiana began to twirl
a long strand of hair. Her eyes seemed thoughtful, as if weighing
the proposition. She turned towards the window. "Very well,"
she replied.
You're getting old,
Garak lamented as he retrieved a tall bottle from his desk drawer.
As he poured out the thick, bluish liquid, the tailor could hear
the sound of data padds scattering. "A decade ago, I would've
killed someone like her for less..." He stared at the bottle
numbly, biting his lip until he noticed a trickle of blood running
down the corner of his mouth.
"Illiana,"
Garak called as he placed two drinks on a tray.
But there was no answer.
He entered the room; placing the tray at the corner his desk.
He saw that his hyacinths had opened, (as they did only at mid-day)
and that the room was now empty. It gave him a queer sensation.
Without explanation, Garak spun around, crossing a small hallway
leading to his bedroom. As he slid the door open, his eyes grew
wide in shock.
"What the hell
are you doing?" he yelled, darting forward.
Illiana jumped back,
more startled by his choice of words than by being caught. She
stood by a bureau, a small metal case opened before her. She stared
at Garak for a second, then waved her right index finger.
"Such ugly language,"
she said scornfully. In her left hand she clutched a small crystal
bracelet.
"Return that at
once," Garak demanded. He felt the urge to call security,
but it seemed ridiculous.
"This is lovely,"
she said as she stared at it admiringly. "Why don't you give
it to me?"
Garak could feel his legs tremble. He leaned against the doorway
in order to steady himself. His head was unbearably heavy, the
veins in his neck throbbing.
"I can't...it belonged
to my mother."
As Garak stood, striving
to shape a sentence which would somehow save the bracelet, it
suddenly came to him that there was no one whom he could tell;
he was truly alone; a fact that had not entered his thoughts for
a long time. Its sheer emphasis was stunning. But here in his
own quarters on this hushed station were evidences that he could
not ignore or, he knew with startling clarity, resist.
With a smile, Illiana
gulped the kanar. When it was gone, she took a napkin and daintily
dabbed at the corners of her mouth. The bracelet dangled on her
tiny wrist, its dark green crystals glimmering.
"That was acceptable,"
she sighed, "But an older vintage would have been better.
The older, the better, don't you think?"
Garak leaned on the
edge of his desk, the drink in his hands untouched. His robe had
slipped sideways, and his hair was disheveled. His eyes were stupidly
centered on nothing, as though he'd just gone through one of his
own interrogations.
"Do you have any
candy--perhaps some Delivian chocolates?" Garak nearly dropped
the glass. His head swayed slightly as he tried to focus his eyes.
"You promised to
leave once I gave you the drink."
"Is that so?"
"Look, it's late,
and I really am quite tired."
"Mustn't fret,"
said Illiana. "I'm only teasing."
Illiana rose from her
seat, gently smoothing the wrinkles which had settled in middle
of her dress. She extended her palm and whispered, "Now bid
me adieu."
"I'd rather not,"
Garak replied flatly as he turned away. Illiana lowered her arm,
and shrugged.
"Very well,"
she said. But before leaving, Illiana paused, turning around to
retrieve her empty glass. With one quick move, she hurled it past
the tailor, striking the pot holding the hyacinths. The pot disintegrated
with a crash, spreading flowers and dirt across the floor. The
mess crackled underfoot as she walked to the door. Before exiting,
Illiana glanced at the scene once more. If Garak didn't know better,
he'd swore the woman was confused by what she'd just done.
----------
Garak spent the day
in bed, rising once to cancel breakfast with Constable Odo. He
took his temperature and had none, yet his dreams were feverishly
agitated. Their unbalanced mood lingered even as he lay, blue
eyes staring wide at the ceiling. One dream merged into another
like an elusively mysterious theme in a complicated symphony,
and the scenes it depicted were sharply outlined, as though sketched
by a hand of gifted intensity: a young woman holding pink flowers
and wearing a Gul's uniform, led a patrol through an endless stretch
of battlefield, and among them there was an unusual silence till
a soldier at the rear asked, "Where is she taking us?"
"No one knows," said another marching in front. "Does
it matter?" asked a third soldier,
"After all, she
is quite lovely."
He woke the next morning
feeling better. White stars twinkled through the bedroom window,
dissolving the last of his unsavory thoughts. After straightening
his quarters, Garak stepped onto the Promenade to discover a bustling,
cheerful mid-morning crowd. He returned to the Replimat, where
he ate breakfast and chatted happily with the Andorian waitress.
Then, he opened his shop. Though he had no idea if business would
improve, Garak still felt that it would be a good day. Not even
a jammed lock could disrupt his amicable mood. He called for a
technician, but ten minutes had passed and she still wasn't in
sight. Finally, he began whacking the lock with his fist. To the
small crowd of onlookers, the smile on Garak's face suggested
a perverse enjoyment. With a flurry of smoke and sparks, the door
suddenly slid open. The crowd paused, then burst into a round
of hearty applause. And with a great flourish, Garak bowed.
It was while rising
that he saw the man: a Bajoran, well over a hundred, leaning on
the railing above. He wore a ragged brown suit, and a tarnished
earring hung from his shriveled ear. Suddenly Garak realized that
the old man was smiling at him. He nodded back, but he was certain
he had never seen this person before. The man shuffled to the
stairs, Garak's eyes following as he slowly made his way down.
Once there, he stayed near the wall, occasionally stopping to
catch his breath. He then crossed directly in front of the shop.
As he passed, Garak noticed a pink hyacinth, in full bloom, hanging
from his right breast pocket.
After closing for the
day, Garak headed to Quark's to pick up a special package. "You're
in luck." the Ferengi grinned as he handed over the ornate
glass bottle. "This is the last vintage kanar left on the
station." From there, he went to the florist, purchasing
a pot for the few flowers he had managed to save, though the price
was intolerable and the pot itself bore little resemblance to
the original. Finally, he bought a box of Delivian chocolates
from a Bajoran gift shop right before closing time.
The hyacinths were placed
decoratively in the pot by the window. The bottle of kanar sat
upon a tray on the coffee table, while the chocolates lay neatly
in a dish close by. Garak sat at his desk, the only sound being
an occasional computer beep. At precisely 18:00 hours the door
chime sounded.
"Illiana?"
he called as he rose from his seat.
"That's correct,"
she replied, her voice sounding disturbingly pleasant. "Now,
let me in."
"Go away,"
said Garak. "I don't want to have to hurt you."
Slowly he drew a disrupter
from a panel in the wall. He walked to the door, calmly listening
to the chime; on and on. "You might as well leave. I have
no intention of letting you in." After five minutes, the
ringing stopped. Then, hearing no sound, Garak concluded Illiana
had left. Slowly, he opened the door, looking to his left, then
to his right. Illiana was leaning against the wall, arms folded
authoritatively. At her feet was her travel bag.
"I thought you'd
never come," she said peevishly. "Here, help me get
this in," she said as she hurled the bag in his direction.
It was a not spell-like
compulsion that Garak felt, but rather a curious passivity; he
took the bag with one hand while concealing his weapon in the
other. Once again, Illiana sat at his desk, watching dispassionately
as he intentionally slammed it onto the middle of the floor.
"Thank you,"
she replied with a smile. Looking satisfied, she spun round in
his chair, her long hair brushing across her face. "I have
good news," she said. "Look inside the bag."
Kneeling, Garak untied
the cord and lifted out a blue chiffon dress; then the white one
which she had worn the day they first met; then the cloak; and
of the remainder he said, "It's all clothes!
Why?"
"Because I've come
to stay with you," said Illiana, eagerly reaching for the
refreshments.
"You can't be serious!
You don't know who you're dealing with!"
"Ah, but I do,"
the woman replied as she bit into a chocolate.
"You know,"
she continued, mouth full "the last place I lived was with
a young Bajoran; but he was just a farmer and couldn't afford
to buy me nice things. But I know I'll be happy here." Illiana
rose, placing a finger to her right cheek. "Now, if you'll
just show me where to put my dresses..."
Garak's face twisted
into a smirk; he began to laugh, but it was a strange, joyless
display. He pulled out the disrupter, slowly wrapping his index
finger around the trigger. Though all his instincts told him to
fire, Garak instead edged backwards till he reached the door.
He stumbled through the hall and out into the corridor, eventually
making his way to the Promenade. He rushed into the Infirmary,
nearly running head-first into Major Kira. "What's this?"
she said, holding back the Cardassian. "Is something wrong?"
asked Doctor Bashir, emerging from the door of the supply room.
And it was to him that Garak turned.
"Dr. Bashir,"
he cried, sensing comfort in his familiar face, "I know this
sounds strange but...in my quarters..." He shook his head
uncomprehendingly. "It just doesn't make any sense..."
The doctor guided him to a chair, while the Major stood, looking
on curiously. "Calm down," he insisted. "Start
slowly, from the beginning..."
"There's this woman
in my quarters, and I suppose that I'm afraid of her. She refuses
to leave, and I just have this feeling that she's going to do
something terrible. She's already taken my mother's bracelet,
but I know she's going to do something worse!"
"A former lover?"
Kira asked. It was hard to tell whether she was joking.
Garak shook his head.
"I've never seen her before. Her name is Illiana, but, you
know, I'm not even sure of that."
"You need to relax,"
said Bashir reassuringly. "Major, why don't you and Security
have a talk with this Illiana..."
After Kira left, the
doctor brought Garak a drink of cold water. "I'm sorry to
make such a scene," said the tailor as he took a sip. "It's
just that she refuses to leave. I'm not afraid of this woman,
but I don't want to do anything to hurt her."
"You did the right
thing," Bashir said sympathetically. "Now you'd better
just take it easy." Garak nodded, taking another sip. As
he put down the glass, he noticed the room was pleasant enough
for sleep. In the background, the faint hums and beeps of computers
could be heard, and Bashir, drumming his fingers, kept excellent
time. A few minutes later, the comm went off, and the Major's
voice piped into the Infirmary.
"There's no one
here," she said with a shrug. "The woman must have left."
"Are you sure,"
the Doctor insisted. "Did security..."
"Yes," she
interrupted, as if annoyed by the question. "We did several
scans," she said. "There's no evidence that anyone other
than Garak has been here within the past twenty-six hours."
"Tell me, said
the tailor, rising "Did you happen to see a large bag? Or
some dresses?"
"No, Garak, but
I found an old bracelet lying on the floor near your desk."
A dead silence followed,
and Doctor Bashir rolled his eyes.
----------
Garak entered his quarters
softly; stopping dead in the center of the living area. No, in
a sense it had not changed: the flowers, the chocolates, and the
kanar remained in place. But the room was now empty, emptier than
if the furnishings and familiars were not present, stiff and cold
as a morgue. The desk loomed before him with a new strangeness:
its vacancy possessed a meaning that would have been less penetrating
and terrible had Illiana been sitting behind it. His blue eyes
gazed at the spot where he had tossed the bag; a web-like pattern
of lights and shadows now loomed in its place. And he looked through
the window; surely the stars were real, surely the wormhole as
well--but then, one could not be certain witness to anything:
Illiana, so vividly there--and yet, where was she?
As though moving in
a dream, Garak sank into the chair behind his desk. The room gradually
melted to a dim haze; it was getting harder and harder to see,
but he did nothing about it; he had no desire to turn on the lights.
Closing his eyes, he
felt a sudden surge, like the wormhole opening. In times of terror
or immense distress, there are moments when the mind waits, as
though for a revelation, while a skein of calm is woven over thought;
it is like a sleep, or some sort of super- natural trance; and
during this lull one is aware of a force of quiet reasoning: well,
what if he had never met a young woman named Illiana? perhaps
he had only been dreaming? In the end, it was of little importance.
For the only thing Garak had lost to Illiana was his sanity, but
now he knew again what was real: he was Elim Garak, the Cardassian
tailor, and this was Deep Space Nine.
Leaning his head back
contentedly, he suddenly became aware of another sound: of the
bedroom door sliding forth; he seemed to hear it long after completion--opening
and closing. Then gradually, the harshness of this was replaced
by the shuffling of footsteps. Beginning gently, it grew increasingly
harsh as it trailed across the living area, stopping directly
behind a solitary chair. Garak cringed as a hand gently touched
his shoulder.
"Good evening,"
said Illiana.
THE END