III
Look On My Works
Deep Space Nine; November 2372
Bashir stumbled into the ward room, yawning. The rest of the command level staff was already there. 'So sorry I'm late,' he said apologetically. 'I just couldn't get away from the Infirmary any sooner...'
'That's all right, doctor,' Sisko answered, watching with concern as the young man half-sat, half-collapsed into a seat and reached out desperately for some coffee.
'Christ, Julian, you look done in,' O'Brien exclaimed, saying what they had all been thinking.
'I haven't been able to get off duty since yesterday morning,' Bashir mumbled through a mouthful of something caffeinated.
'Perhaps you'd better think about getting some sleep,' suggested Dax.
Bashir looked at her in exasperation. 'Well, strange as it may seem, I'd like to get some sleep, but it's not really an option at the moment,' he retorted, then sighed. 'I'm sorry, Jadzia. It's just chaos down there, not even remotely under control. The state of some of the new arrivals...' His voice trailed off. 'Terrible, just terrible.'
Dax looked with distress at Sisko. 'Benjamin, this is indefensible. When is Starfleet going to do something about this?'
He looked at her and shook his head. 'There's nothing we can do, old man. Chancellor Gowron has refused all offers of assistance in removing refugees, insisting that they are involved in no more than 'temporary setbacks'. And the combined fleet is the most powerful the quadrant has ever seen - do we really want to get involved in a war with them?'
'So we just sit back and watch while the Cardassians and the Romulans carve up Klingon space, leaving millions of people homeless?' Dax said bitterly.
'Some of us don't have the luxury of watching,' Bashir pointed out very quietly.
Into the awkward silence, O'Brien cleared his throat. 'Strikes me we're making a mistake. After the Cardies have taken Qo'Nos, who're they going to turn on next? Us. Seems we should have been doing something about that months ago.'
Sisko shook his head. 'The Federation is in no position to take on the combined fleet...'
And so the debate went on. The Federation, thought Kira, wisely keeping her contempt to herself. In the name of the Prophets, they really do make lousy allies.
***
'Commander, I have to speak to you privately.'
Bashir's voice was quiet but urgent; his face, when Sisko looked up, was tired and a little sad. Sisko watched the rest of the command staff leave, and then turned to his CMO.
'What is it, Doctor?'
'I'm resigning my commission,' Bashir replied without preamble. 'I'm leaving Starfleet.' He offered a padd which Sisko took slowly and read the resignation, simple and final.
He gestured to Bashir to sit down and eventually was able to answer. 'Doctor, you've left me speechless. I imagine this decision has not been taken lightly, but - why?'
Bashir looked down. 'You're right; it's not been an easy decision.' He sighed. 'Over the past few months, you know that most of my time has been spent working with refugees.'
'You've done an remarkable job,' Sisko said urgently. 'You've been faced with an extraordinary challenge and you've met it courageously.'
Bashir shook his head. 'I've done a limited job. And I've been constrained in what I can do because of Starfleet regulations. Each refugee we receive carries with him or her an enormous burden of paperwork - alien resettlement forms, permission to treat forms, you name it. If we could reduce that just a small amount, we could help more than double the number of people we're doing now.'
'Julian, you know that we're in an awkward position. We have to respect the wishes of the Klingon government. But if you want, I'll find ways that we can work round that bureaucracy. If it will keep you here on DS9, in Starfleet, I'll cut every piece of red tape between here and Earth.'
'It's more than that, I'm afraid.' He looked Sisko directly in the eye. ' I just don't believe any more.'
'I don't think I understand you, Julian.'
'What we're looking at is the worst crisis the quadrant has ever faced. And Starfleet is failing to rise to the challenge. We should be out there, Commander, protecting these people - fighting to help them, if necessary. Instead we make sympathetic noises and use the excuse of not wanting to offend Klingon honour to avoid committing troops.' He shook his head. 'I didn't join Starfleet to hide behind regulations. I joined so that I could practice medicine where it was needed.'
Sisko didn't answer. If the truth be told, he agreed. 'Have you talked to Dax about this?'
'She's been rather sympathetic,' Bashir said quietly.
'I bet she has.' There was a pause. Sisko looked at the tired but determined face of the younger man and knew that he would not be able to persuade Bashir to stay since it was unlikely he could summon up sufficient conviction on his own part. 'Well, then, what are your plans?'
'I've approached a charity that puts medical personnel into crisis areas. They're anxious to have my services. I want to be out in the field by the end of the month.'
Sisko sighed deeply. 'We worked so hard to keep you here, Julian. After all you went through - all your parents have gone through - I can't believe you can give up your commission so easily.'
Bashir flushed. 'I've been given unique gifts, Commander. And this is a unique time. I'd be failing myself if I didn't put them to their best use. And Starfleet isn't the place to do that any more.'
There was no more to say. Sisko rose and offered his hand. Bashir stood up and took it.
'Good luck, Julian.'
Victory Square; Qo'Nos; January 2373
Today he had stepped out irrevocably from the shadows. He had walked out behind Tain into the full glare of publicity. For years, he had kept his identity as secret as he could; after today the whole of the Cardassian Union would know his name and his face. This speech was going into every home in the Union, because this was no ordinary day, and this was no ordinary speech. They stood looking down on the main square of the capital, on Qo'Nos. The Klingon Empire was no more. This was now Cardassian territory.
It was a good speech, Garak thought with satisfaction. Rich in historical allusion, well-phrased - and Tain delivered it with his usual brilliant showmanship. He and Brun had worked on it for the best part of a fortnight. It was one of their finest.
He frowned slightly, suddenly puzzled. Tain had wandered off topic.
'A new dawn has arisen for our people...'
He groaned to himself. What were these dreadful platitudes? Tain, he thought, there is a very good reason why Brun and I do this for you. From the corner of his eye, to his left, he saw Brun sigh very slightly. Garak knew what he was thinking. The old man's off again.
'I see a new age for Cardassian society...'
Absolutely abysmal. He stopped listening, knowing from years of listening to debates from the Council Chamber that he would pick up again when Tain got back on message. He looked out across the Square, at the ranks upon ranks of Cardassian and Jem'Hadar squads, the smaller number of civilians brought in for the occasion. Then, perfectly attuned to his old friend, he noticed that Brun had stiffened almost imperceptibly. He began listening again.
'... a new project for our people, with the family at its heart...'
This was nothing new. What was Erak fretting about?
'... with no place for deviancy, for the type of moral decay which has left our society so fatally weakened in the past...'
Again, platitudes. Politicians had been spouting this sort of cant on Cardassia for time immemorial. It was true that Tain had more of an obsession about the Cardassian family than most, but -
'... a concerted effort to eradicate these elements from our society. Illegitimates, sexual deviants, those whose actions strike at the very fabric of our society - we have tolerated their presence among us for too long; we have allowed them to grow like a tumour at the hub of our nation...'
This was most certainly not in the script, and not just because of the mixed metaphors.
'... today I swear to the people of Cardassia that we shall stand for it no longer. We shall remove these abominations; Cardassia will be pure again...'
Et cetera, et cetera. And then rapturous applause. The speech was over, the ovation interminable. Eventually, Tain retreated inside, his court clamouring at him what a success it had been, what a truly marvellous speech, how he had absolutely captured the mood of the nation...
Brun and Garak drew to one side, shared a sideways glance. 'So,' said Garak eventually, his face a complete blank. 'I think that went well.'
Brun gave him a look that might have been concerned. 'It could have been worse...'
They stopped talking as they realized Tain was approaching them, the flock of sycophants still trotting and bleating behind him. Tain was bright-eyed, flushed with success. 'Where are my two lieutenants?' he roared above the mêlée. Brun raised an eye ridge; Garak gave a tight smile.
'Not talking to me, gentlemen?' Tain said in mock annoyance. 'And I only changed a few words of your splendid speech...' He grabbed each one by an arm. 'Come and have a drink with me, my friends. Today is the day we've worked towards all our lives.'
***
Garak refused a glass of kanar from the offered tray and continued watching the people in the room, twisting the fingers of one hand round and round as he studied the party. Across from him he could see his wife talking happily to Tain, who laughed as she spoke. He became aware that someone had come to stand next to him and turned to see Brun. 'Since when did you give up drinking?' Brun said, swigging from his own glass.
'Headache,' he muttered curtly.
Brun cleared his throat, lowered his voice. 'Well, the old man did go on a bit.'
Garak didn't answer. Across the room, Tain nodded at something Lyssa said and glanced over at his two deputies.
'Surprised to see you here with Lyssa,' Brun murmured.
'We've had a reconciliation,' Garak replied dryly, looking sideways at his old friend.
Brun nodded his understanding. 'I imagine Tain's pleased. Bit conspicuous his chief lieutenant was sorely lacking a wife, I suppose.'
'I suppose so,' Garak said noncommittally, knowing that Brun would read between the lines. It had, indeed, been Tain's idea that he and Lyssa get back together.
Brun didn't comment. His mind seemed to be somewhere else. Garak glanced back across the room and realized what the distraction was. Memad had joined Tain and Lyssa in their conversation, his striking face a picture of attentiveness towards Garak's wife; suddenly it creased in laughter at something she said.
'You think very highly of him, don't you?' Garak said, nodding towards their new colleague in Command.
Brun smiled into his glass. 'I most certainly do. I think his... intelligence is a great asset to the Order.' He laughed, but Garak didn't join in. He looked at their new associate through half-closed eyes. Suddenly Memad turned to look towards him and Brun. He smiled, raised his glass, and jerked his head at Brun, clearly suggesting that he join them.
As they made to go across, Garak touched his arm. 'Just... be careful, Erak,' he whispered, his voice laced with concern. 'Be discreet.'
Brun smiled his large, handsome smile. 'Always have been, always will be. No need to worry about me.'
'Times have changed.'
'So I'll change with them. Done it before, I'll do it again.' He smiled. 'Relax, Elim! You worry too much!'
'Somebody has to,' Garak muttered as they went across the room; and even when he placed a distant kiss on Lyssa's offered cheek, he watched anxiously as Brun approached Memad, all under Tain's attentive eye.
Ministry of Information; Cardassia City; Cardassia Prime; June 2373
It was a bitterly cold evening, when the wind from the plains cut through the Keteral Pass and sliced through the city like a knife. Garak wrapped his coat more tightly around him, shivering slightly, only partly from the cold. They stood - he, Tain, Memad, and about ten members of the upper echelons of the Obsidian Order - in a grey yard. The Ministry building stood behind - offices where power was wielded at the top, interrogation rooms where lives were broken in the basements. They had just watched the execution of a young man of twenty-three, a junior Order agent.
Two soldiers, followed by an official, now pulled out another, older man, who could barely walk. Garak could see that the man's once handsome face was ravaged. As they drew near, the prisoner looked up directly at him, his expression one of agony and betrayal.
'Garak...' he whispered desperately. One of the guards promptly hit him across the face and his mouth started bleeding. 'Fucking faggot,' the guard said, and he landed a blow to Brun's stomach.
Garak felt Tain stir slightly at his side, and he fixed his gaze on a small point on the wall opposite, away from Brun's desperate face. After a few moments, his nerve returned and he watched as Brun was dragged across the yard and tied to a chair, his arms pulled behind him. His eyes didn't leave Garak's face. Garak looked back at him unflinchingly.
'Erak Brun,' the official said, 'You have been found guilty of deviancy, gross personal misconduct, repeated corruption of other citizens, and attempting to undermine the Cardassian state. You have been sentenced to death.'
There was no more ceremony. One of the soldiers stepped back and, with a single disruptor blast, took out most of Brun's chest. Garak remained motionless. Tain gave a murmur of satisfaction. Memad smiled. Behind them, the sun set, bleeding crimson across a burnt sky.
They turned to go back into the building, Memad leading the way. Tain waited to walk with Garak and started talking. The sound seemed to be muffled, Garak noticed faintly, and then realized that he was trembling, and that his chest had constricted. The building ahead of him seemed to loom menacingly, the red rays of the sun fading behind it as his vision blurred. Oh no - not here, not now...
'Dreadful business, wouldn't you agree, Elim?' Tain said.
'Indeed,' he managed.
'And at such a level in the Order. It just goes to show one can never be sure. Wouldn't you say?'
Garak was conscious that Tain was observing him closely. 'Oh, absolutely,' he murmured, feeling sweat on his brow. I think I'm either going to faint or be sick. I wonder which is more likely to get me shot?
'Are you all right, Elim?' Tain asked, touching his arm. Memad had turned back to wait for them and looked keenly at Garak, the faint smile still flickering across his mouth.
Normally Garak would stop and take deep breaths until he had controlled himself. This wasn't an option. There were far too many people watching to show even a flicker of vulnerability - particularly not here and now. Legate Garak collapses after watching the execution of his lifelong friend and convicted homosexual Erak Brun. Precisely how long do you think you could survive that, Garak?
It was a supreme effort of will and perhaps the greatest performance he ever delivered. Within a split second, Garak turned to face Tain, all smiles, a model of self-possession. 'I'm absolutely fine, Enabran,' he replied, his voice completely even. He glanced at his other colleague. If I went for your throat now, would I have managed to throttle you before someone shot me? I'll kill you for this, Memad - I won't rest until I've seen you screaming for mercy... All he said was, 'You're shivering, Memad. Shall we go inside? It is a little cold out here.'
***
Sleep was an impossibility. Brun's tortured, begging face haunted him; it was constantly in front of his eyes, whether open or closed. Worse, old memories came back but tarnished now with a sickly patina from the events of the day.
I was nineteen, he was twenty. We lay on our backs on the bed in my loft; the heat of a summer night drenching us with sweat, his hand playing through my hair, mine stroking his chest. We were both still tingling from the delicious knowledge that we were now lost, beyond the pale, more outcast than we had ever been... exhilarated by the frightening but wonderful fact that we were now inextricably bound up together...
'Well,' he said eventually, breathing out contentedly. 'We're fucked.'
I snorted, and then we were both in fits of laughter. It was five minutes before either of us could hope to speak. Then I turned to face him.
'How did you end up here, Brun?'
He smirked at me, tugged my hair. 'I threw myself at you, and you just couldn't resist my charm.'
I shook my head, suddenly serious. 'That's not what I meant. In the Order - how did you end up in the Order?'
'Time for confidences, is it, Garak? And what makes you think I'd tell you anything?'
'Because you want to,' I said urgently. 'Because despite everything, you actually trust me.'
He sighed, stroked my face. 'Yes, I'm afraid I do,' he said. His face was more transparent than I had ever seen before. 'Usual story, I suppose. No father. Mother threw me out when I was seven. Got caught pickpocketing on the streets when I was twelve. Morning after I was picked up, two men from the Order arrived, gave me a bunch of tests... Next thing I knew I was packed off to a boarding school.' He laughed shortly. 'They certainly know how to make you loyal. Well, the Order's family, isn't it?' he said dryly, looking at me sideways.
'Some of us more than others,' I whispered to myself.
He hadn't heard. His voice had gone very quiet. 'That night in custody, the two officers on duty fucked me - twice each. I was terrified. When those men from the Order arrived, I'd have done anything for them. Which is what they want, isn't it?' He gulped for air. 'I've never told anyone that, you know.' He drew my face round to look at him, a smile playing on his lips. 'You've had my secrets, Elim. How about you tell me yours?'
I dropped my gaze. What he had told me was a great secret, something that could ruin him in years to come. We don't have victims of rape on Cardassia, just accessories. I swallowed, and my mouth opened slightly. Then I couldn't bring myself to say it and tried to move my head away from his clasp.
He spoke again, quietly but passionately. 'We're both alone, Elim, and that's the way it's always going to be. This life we lead - that we're going to lead for the next thirty, forty years - we can either face it by ourselves or with allies. I know I'll be able to count on you when it matters, Elim. And I'm telling you now - you can count on me.'
Against my better judgement it came out, almost a sigh. 'Tain's my father,' I whispered and looked deep into his eyes. It was the first time I had ever said it out loud.
He blinked, couldn't answer me straightaway. 'Well,' he said eventually. 'Now that's really screwed up.'
We were both idiots, of course; inexperienced children who thought they were worldly-wise, but who didn't yet have the sense not to tell the truth to lovers; who could each have ruined the other as a result of that night - but who somehow got away with it. We chose the right person to trust, and it was as Brun said: that trust gave us the edge over all our enemies - as we knifed our way up to the top of the Order, we both always knew there was someone who, when it mattered most, would help us. But, in truth, it was the hollow alliance of two essentially disconnected people. We may have loved each other, but it was a reduced love - not shallow, but damaged. We gave each other all that we were able, but it wasn't complete. Neither of us was capable of that. Later that night we shared a final confidence.
'I'll never be faithful,' he said, looking up at the ceiling.
I nodded. I'd already guessed that. 'And I'll always pick Tain over you.'
He looked at me a little sadly. 'Yeah,' he said. 'I'd worked that one out.'
Garak gave up on sleep. At least I told you the truth, Brun, he thought as he sat on the side of the bed with his head in his hands. Not many people got that from me. But I doubt it's much of a consolation.
He got dressed and went across the city to see Odo.
The shapeshifter sat in his usual seat, reading, and looked up in surprise through the force field when Garak came in. 'What brings you here so late?' he said warily.
'An old friend died today,' he said, looking at the wall behind Odo's ear.
The shapeshifter didn't answer immediately, then said quietly, 'Was it your fault?'
'No!' he said - too quickly - but his face betrayed a massive internal struggle. 'Yes... No... Oh, I don't know any more,' he finally admitted, shaking his head.
Odo got up and came closer to the force field. 'Why are you telling me this, Garak?'
He shrugged. 'Because there's no-one else to tell.'
Odo nodded. 'I see.' They looked directly at each other, face to face, the force field between them. 'It's not proven to be a happy homecoming after all, has it, Garak?' he said softly.
Garak breathed in very sharply.
'How long before you're asked to murder another of your friends? How much guilt can you really bear?'
'I didn't come here for guidance, Odo. Nor for absolution,' Garak said heatedly.
'And I am neither your counsellor nor your nestor. I am your prisoner, you may recall.' Odo said, equally angry, hitting his hand against the force field to reinforce his point, and Garak flinched as if the blow had actually touched him. 'Why did you come here?'
Garak turned from him, walked a few steps away. 'I wanted to let you know that I'll be spending some time away from Prime,' he replied eventually. 'Inspecting our newest colonies. Security on many of them has been problematic.'
'Given how defeated peoples tend to feel towards their conquerors, I'm not entirely surprised. Have you learnt nothing from the occupation of Bajor?'
'If you have nothing to offer but blame, I had better leave.'
'You have given me no chance to offer you anything else. I rather think it's what you came for.'
They stared again at each other through the force field, each man struck at the absurdity of the conversation, that Garak could speak reproachfully, that Odo could speak generously.
Garak dropped his eyes first. 'I should be back in about three months. I'll come to see you on my return.' He turned to go.
'Garak,' Odo said, and the man looked back at him. 'Unless you have something to say to me - don't come back.'
Garak nodded slowly and left. Odo watched him leave and sank into his chair in despair. I don't believe this will ever end...
Cardassia City; Cardassia Prime; June 2373
From below the bridge, Garak watched the lights along the embankment thread down the curve of the river towards the distant glow of Parnassa on the coast. The river sweated oil and tar; it was the strong brown god at the heart of the city. He watched its sinewed course silently, patiently. The old clock above the Council building rang the hour, a dead sound on the final stroke. A water vole caught his eye; it blinked at him, then slid into the river with a quiet splash. Garak stayed motionless, listening to the sounds of the night, watching as the reflection of the moon's light flickered and broke on the ripples of the river.
After ten minutes, he was content and moved out of the shelter of the bridge. The second he had stepped outside of the Ministry building, he had been aware that Memad was having him followed. He had shaken off three footpads between the Tozhat Memorial and the Veterans' Bridge; a fourth had proven more competent, forcing him to weave through the little alleys crowding around this part of the river. In the end, Garak's instinct for the city and its shadows had given him the edge he needed.
He climbed the steps up the bridge two at a time. She was already there, as still as one of the statues that lined the bridge. They stood straight, proud of their achievements and sacrifices. She leaned on the railings, shoulders down. It was a good meeting place, one he had used on many occasions; just outside of the city centre, deserted. The barges crept along the other bank, close to the main landing points. Over here on the south bank, the docks were mostly derelict, the buildings of a long-gone way of life empty and crumbling.
'Miss Rekelen,' he said, his voice low, but carrying.
She turned with a gasp, and pointed a disruptor at him. He raised an eye ridge.
'I do hope you're not planning to use that,' he said. 'It would be a distressingly messy end to a beautiful friendship.'
'I know who you are!' she hissed.
'That's not information I'm going to find useful.'
'I saw you on the broadcast from Qo'Nos! You were standing right next to that monster!'
He raised his hands to placate her, to show that he was unarmed. Her face contorted with anger, her hand holding the disruptor at him unwaveringly. 'That would be because I'm his right-hand man.'
'You betrayed us. All that time, we thought you were on our side!'
'I am on your side. I want what's best for Cardassia.'
'Don't try that one! Is that why you work for that butcher? For the good of Cardassia? Do you know how many civilians he's put in front of firing squads, how many of my friends?'
'Miss Rekelen,' he cut through, impatience creeping into his voice, 'We have been aware of your activities and your organization at the highest level of the Order for years. Have you not stopped to consider why you have never been arrested? Why your little group has never been simply wiped out? We could do it like this,' and he snapped his fingers to emphasize the point. 'Only last month, the Order removed eighteen members of staff from the University on charges of treason. Your friend Hogue is still there. Does this not suggest to you that someone, at a very high level, has been shielding you?' He let the implication hang in the still night air. She was sharp enough to work out what he meant.
After a pause, she said rather uncertainly, 'Are you saying that you have been protecting us?'
He nodded.
'Why?'
'Because if you want to destroy something, you first have to control it from within. That's all I've been doing.' He put his hand to the side of the disruptor. 'I wonder if you could put that down. It is making me uncomfortable.'
Her hand wavered and then the weapon dropped. She was on the brink now. He spoke very softly. 'I have risked a lot to come here and see you, Miss Rekelen. Every time we make contact, I put my life on the line, and in your hands. Have you ever suffered from my association with you? Has it ever brought you anything but safety? Surely you can trust me?'
She nodded very slowly. 'All right,' she said.
He kept watching her face closely. 'Shall we get down to business, then? What do you have to tell me?'
She hesitated, conscious that this information was now going straight back to the heart of the Order. He breathed out in annoyance. 'Let me say it again, Miss Rekelen - I am risking a lot more being here than you are. Whatever the Order interrogators might find to do to you, can you imagine how much worse it would be for one of their own that they found out was a traitor?'
She licked her lips. When she did speak, she would not look from him, but gazed out east to the lights of the port at Parnassa. 'I've made contact with a man who was a glinn in the old military. His name is Damar. He and some former colleagues have formed a resistance outfit. They're short on people and on weapons, but they're very angry and very committed. They're looking to regroup and regain at least some of the military's former power. They hate the Order, and they want you all dead.'
Garak's mind was already working on overdrive. 'Damar... I remember him... He was an associate of Dukat's.' Another swaggering thug. Just the sort of mindless brute I wanted out of power... Now what am I going to do about this...? 'Thank you, Tela,' he said a little absently, staring down at the ripples on the water, lost in thought.
'What are you going to do with this information?' she asked wretchedly.
He pulled his gaze away from the river and smiled at her warmly. 'For the moment, absolutely nothing.'
'Nothing?' She was puzzled.
'That's right.' He roused himself. 'I'm going away, Miss Rekelen, so I'm afraid our little meetings will have to cease for a while. But a colleague of mine is going to make contact,' he threw her the little data file containing Memad's details. 'You can trust him - work with him as you've worked with me.'
She nodded.
'But don't discuss this Damar with him. That's serious, and it's my responsibility. If Damar feels so confident, it's likely he has allies on the inside of the Order. I'll want to make contact with these people myself. It's too dangerous for anyone else in the Order. Do you understand?'
Again, she nodded her agreement.
'Then goodbye, Miss Rekelen. No doubt we'll be in touch on my return.' He slid off into the night, turning back to look at her briefly before climbing down from the bridge. She had her head in her hands. I have corrupted her, and she knows it. Poor Tela; cursed with sufficient intelligence to see that she is now on the side of her enemies. It comes to us all, in time, he thought.
He walked softly along the river's edge, reaching the next bridge down. He crossed the river here, to head to the north side, towards home. As he cut along through the city centre, he spied Memad's more capable footpad blundering along the old plains road and let him pick up his trail again. He took a malicious pleasure in leading the man through some of the more colourful parts of the north side, before turning west and heading home, walking up the foothills rather than taking the transporter, savouring his city and its warm, still night.
Ministry of Information; Cardassia City; Cardassia Prime; June 2373
They sat facing each other, each lizard gaze matching the other, blink for blink. Suddenly Garak smiled and relaxed back into his chair. 'Thank you for coming to see me, Memad.'
'You are my superior officer, Legate.' He smiled back. 'So I turn up when you request it.'
'I'm glad to see you're so concerned with maintaining the chain of command. Such humility becomes you.'
'Naturally I respect those of my superiors who deserve it, Legate.'
'Then I shall sleep easy in my bed.' They glared at each other across the desk in loathing. Garak pulled himself up and reached out for a file. 'No doubt your sources have already told you of my imminent trip to the new colonies,' he continued.
'I had imagined you would be going.' Memad responded calmly. 'You always had an affinity with the races we conquered. I can think of no-one else better suited to deal with the losing side.'
Garak held out the file just a small amount, forcing Memad to lean forward. 'Whilst I am away, I want someone to continue monitoring the civilian dissident movement here on Prime. Needing someone both duplicitous and savage, my thoughts naturally turned to you.'
'You flatter me, Legate.'
'I'm aware of that, Memad,' Garak said softly.
The younger man resisted the urge to swallow. 'What do you want me to do?'
'Nothing.'
Memad looked up sharply. 'I'm sorry?'
'Leave them alone. They come in very useful. Just keep on watching them.'
Memad frowned. 'Legate Garak, am I to understand that you are the architect of the civilian dissident movement on Prime?'
'Well done!.' Garak gazed at him, recognizing the younger man's obvious good looks, but inwardly recoiling from them. You are rotten to the core, and Brun should have caught your stench before you came within miles of him... 'You look concerned,' was all he said. 'Surely I don't have to explain to you the benefits of such an arrangement?'
'I don't understand why the Order is propping up an organization which spreads anti-Order and un-Cardassian lies.'
'As I said, they're very useful.'
Memad didn't answer immediately; then: 'May I speak freely?'
'I hope that you will always feel you have that luxury with me.'
'Your association with this organization is very... courageous. Your, er, somewhat atypical track record would make it very easy for someone to blacken your name with the material contained in this.' He waved the file at Garak.
Garak leaned in across the desk. 'Are you threatening me?' he asked, sounding fascinated at such a notion.
'Of course I'm not.'
'Of course you're not.'
They stared at each other across the desk again, separated by rank, fifteen years - and the death of Erak Brun.
'Was there anything else you wanted?'
'No. You may go.' Garak watched the man stand before adding, 'Don't get any clever ideas while I'm away.'
Memad's lip curled in contempt as he left the office. Yes, it's unimaginable that anyone in the Order should prove himself cleverer than you, Garak. But it's going to be easy, nonetheless.
Resettlement Camp 962; Cardassian New Territories; September 2373
Across sector after sector of space he wandered, in the limbo of a self-inflicted exile, removed again from his home, this time by choice. Each night he would speak to Peyta, and sometimes Carissa, and promise he would be back quickly, but he was not sure how soon he could stand again on Cardassia Prime without feeling sick from sorrow, without thinking of nothing but Brun.
Instead, he watched from the bridges of ships as the combined fleet wiped out the last, sorry remnants of the once proud Klingon fleet. He signed orders authorizing the execution of all able-bodied Klingon adults; other orders enabling the removal of the remaining population from their homeworlds into resettlement camps, overseen by the Jem'Hadar. He visited some of these camps: sad collections of children, old men and women, the crippled and the infirm. He remembered that Klingons deprived of all hope of entering Stov'okor could become dangerously desperate; he noted this in one of his reports to Tain as worth consideration. He himself would recall mainly the sad, subjugated faces, the sickly smell of defeat.
Turning away in disgust, he visited instead new settlements of Cardassian civilians; robust, healthy people in little townships, some even veterans of the Bajoran settlement; farmers and herders. He met them in tiny town halls, beneath the portrait of Tain, styled as the Father of the Nation, that was displayed, by law, in every public space in Cardassian territory. He joined in as they recited the Precepts of Our United Society, as they were required to, by law, before every public meeting, even (especially) here on the edge of the Empire. He listened to their concerns about raids from the displaced but not yet captured former residents, authorized the placement of Jem'Hadar troops to protect the fragile little communities and round up the resistors. Three months away from Cardassia Prime, he still dreamt of Brun and woke sweating and shaking as his ship touched down at his latest destination. It was in this unsteady frame of mind that Garak at last made the final journey from limbo straight into hell.
He had been asked by Tain to report on new security arrangements at a resettlement camp which had been implemented since his first visit there at the start of his odyssey. He recalled the camp only vaguely from the dozens he had seen but was struck as he arrived by the difference. The air crackled with a strange anticipation; the place seemed energized. He commented on this to Deyos, the Vorta administrator of the camp.
'The new regulations have certainly made a great deal of difference,' the Vorta agreed.
'I would like to see them in action,' Garak replied, impressed once again at the administrative capabilities of the Vorta - even if unable to overcome his visceral dislike of these strange, antiseptic creatures. Deyos nodded and gestured Garak to follow him along a corridor.
They came out into a large hall, the centre of which was given over to what appeared to be some sort of arena. Gathered round, in a circle, were about twenty Jem'Hadar soldiers. Garak strained to see past them and Deyos gestured to two of them to get out of their way.
Inside the arena, an ancient Klingon wrestled pathetically with a Jem'Hadar who threw him away as if he were no more than a mild irritation. Within two minutes the old man had been flung against the wall. His back clearly broken, he gasped, spluttered, and died.
'Bring in the next challenger,' Deyos called out.
Very slowly, Garak turned to face him. 'Can you tell me what is happening here?' he murmured.
Deyos looked slightly surprised. 'Of course, Legate. We offer all prisoners the opportunity to be released, if they can win in combat against our best Jem'Hadar fighters.'
'And if someone wins?'
'Then we give them what they want - and release them to Stov'okor, of course,' Deyos answered.
'Of course.'
'Although with such sorry specimens as these, this rarely happens,' Deyos added.
'Indeed,' said Garak dryly, 'As I recall, we have executed most able-bodied Klingons of fighting age.'
They turned their attention back to the arena. A teenage boy with a bad limp hobbled in. They watched dispassionately as the Jem'Hadar took just under four minutes to kill him.
'You seem to have no shortage of willing victims,' Garak said quietly. 'Is no-one refused?'
Deyos shook his head. 'Of course not! These Klingons appear to consider it a matter of honour. For us to refuse a challenge would apparently be a great source of shame for the challenger.'
Garak watched as a little girl of about eight entered the arena. She shook like a leaf, but her face was set in determination. The Jem'Hadar soldier was at least twice her height.
'Dying with honour is of great importance to these people,' Deyos said. 'And the system has proven a great success from the point of view of our security. Since we have offered the prisoners the chance to fight and die honourably, we have had no escape attempts. The Klingons have devoted themselves entirely to fighting our soldiers. It's been a most successful distraction.'
The little girl was on the floor now. Garak turned his face away but still heard the crack of her skull as the Jem'Hadar soldier brought down his boot on her head. 'I think I've seen quite enough,' he said and started to leave the hall.
Deyos followed him, his face showing mild confusion. 'You seem dissatisfied with the arrangement, Legate. Is there a problem?'
Garak turned on the Vorta, his eyes flashing. 'Your soldiers are systematically slaughtering the injured, the old, and children! Yes, Deyos, there is a problem! This 'arrangement' is an obscenity!'
The Vorta now looked completely mystified. 'Legate, I don't understand. The orders for this came directly from your own office.'
Garak's eyes widened. 'What did you say?'
'These orders came from your office. When I confirmed the instructions with Legate Tain, he assured me that this was your idea, that he trusted your judgement in this respect, and that all queries should be directed to your staff in future.'
'Did he...?' whispered Garak. He realized that the Vorta was looking at him keenly. I must remember that these people are only our allies under duress, Garak thought. He looked back with cool composure. 'That will be all, Deyos. I recognize the efficacy of this system from a security point of view, but the casualty rate is unacceptably high. I shall be back on Cardassia Prime within seven days - on my arrival I expect to have from you a report on the new system you intend to introduce.'
He could contain himself no longer. He turned and went back to his ship, ordered its immediate return to Cardassia Prime, fled to his cabin - and spent the first part of the journey retching uncontrollably until exhaustion and grief finally allowed him to collapse into sleep.
Bridge of the Pelosa; en route to Cardassia Prime; September 2373
I feel as if I have dropped into a pit, and that I am still falling... He felt his breath shortening, his chest tightening, and pressed his fingers against his temples, forcing himself to breathe out slowly.
'Sir? Are you all right?'
He started. The glinn who had brought him the reports looked at him anxiously. I shouldn't imagine he wants me to collapse on his watch.
'I'm fine, thank you. Perhaps you could get me another bottle of kanar?'
The glinn glanced uncertainly at the two empty bottles that already stood by Garak's left arm.
'Don't offer any comment, just bring me another bottle,' Garak said in a low voice and the glinn fled.
I should be happy. Memad was dead, had proven a trivial challenge after all, had risen to the bait that access to the dissidents was, and had performed just as Garak had predicted. Attempting to trap Garak, Memad had immersed himself in the dissidents' activities and left himself so badly implicated as a result that when Garak, from one of the colonies, had ordered an apparently impulsive (actually long planned) investigation into the movement, Memad was so deeply entrenched that he was under arrest within hours. The civilian dissident movement had been shattered, its main leaders brought in for interrogation.
Garak played back the first interrogation report. Even after three weeks, Memad had continued to plead innocence, had begged for mercy. Garak watched the final few moments of the recording with a growing sense of foreboding. These days it seemed even victory tasted like defeat.
The glinn arrived with the new bottle of kanar. Garak eyed it thoughtfully then opened it, poured, and drank very deeply. Then, with a trembling hand, he put the glass down, and started the second recording. Unlike Memad, Rekelen had accepted her guilt with pride. They had both been shot the previous day.
Her voice was coming through clearly, her eyes feverishly bright, her face lividly bruised. 'I have done nothing to harm Cardassia. I have only worked to protect her. You can do what you want to me... You'll never destroy us...'
The recording ended, and Garak found himself looking straight into Rekelen's eyes. Shining, fearless, unyielding - and it seemed that her reproach hung heavy in the air between them. I stand accused...
Shivering suddenly, Garak reached out clumsily to turn the image off. His hand, shaking wildly, knocked the glass of kanar to the floor, its contents spilled. He ignored it as he fumbled desperately to switch off the recording. Then he brushed his hand across his eyes. What have I done?
You used Rekelen as a means to carry out your revenge. This was not for the good of Cardassia. Finally you prove that you are no better than any of those avaricious, murderous guls who nearly strangled the life out of the Union. You are no better than Dukat.
Memad was a menace, he pleaded with himself. His ambition was limitless and his appetite for power insatiable. He would have destroyed the Union. And he murdered Brun.
Don't try to justify yourself, said his other voice scornfully. You've never needed to justify your actions before. At the very least you can avoid being a hypocrite. You went after Memad and you murdered Rekelen as a result.
It was the best choice... A civilian resistance could never succeed - but a military resistance...
His other voice was shocked into silence. Garak blinked.
Did I just think that?
Cardassia City, Cardassia Prime; October 2373
He took the transporter into the city, watching the familiar villas and gardens of the western district flit by. His mood was perversely buoyant. He sat in his usual spot, at the rear with his back protected but his view of the rest of the carriage unimpaired. The other passengers were mainly civilians, but four stops from the city centre two Order officers got on and began checking identification chips. He monitored their slow approach towards him through half-closed eyes. They seemed very young, he thought, and very taken with the authority which their uniforms and status afforded them.
They stopped for a long time with one passenger. He could not quite hear their conversation but from their persistent questioning and the young woman's anxious deference, he suspected that her identification chip marked her as an illegitimate. He could imagine the questions. Why are you travelling alone? Do you have permission to travel alone? Where are you working? Where are you being housed? The other passengers in the carriage were looking away with careful indifference, at the floor, out of the window, anywhere but at the girl and her two questioners.
The episode was beginning to depress him. He got up and walked forward, coming to a halt at the elbow of one of the officers and continued watching the proceedings. The studied disregard of the other passengers had turned into a muted curiosity.
The young man eventually noticed him and turned round. 'What do you want?' he said impatiently. 'Don't you know it's an offence to interfere with an Obsidian investigation...?'
Garak folded his arms and looked back at him.
'Don't be an idiot, Lokor,' the other man hissed. 'Don't you know who this is?'
'I'd listen to your colleague if I were you,' Garak advised conspiratorially.
The young man licked his lips and frowned. He obviously had no idea who Garak was.
'Are either of you going to salute me?' Garak enquired.
They both snapped out a prompt salute. 'Legate Garak,' said the second officer pointedly. A murmur, hastily suppressed, went through the carriage. The first officer's eyes widened in shock. Garak smiled at him, then reached out to straighten his collar.
'Do make the effort to look smart when you're in uniform, Lokor,' he murmured and then glanced down at girl, who was trying to be inconspicuous. 'And don't terrorize the powerless,' he added. 'There's really no need.'
The transporter came to a halt. 'My stop,' he said and smiled pleasantly at the girl. She smiled back weakly. 'Carry on, gentlemen,' he called over his shoulder as he stepped out onto the platform. He could feel his good mood returning.
Cutting along a back street, he entered the Ministry by a side door. He took a turbolift down four levels and came out in front of a solid security door. The chip implant in his wrist gave him access and he passed through into a well-lit, antiseptic corridor. As he reached the far end, the two security guards stationed there saluted him and he nodded in acknowledgement. They opened the final door, and he went into the Special Operations Section.
Behind the force field Odo watched as Garak approached but he stayed deliberately seated in his chair. 'I see you've made your decision then,' he said, when Garak finally came into earshot.
Garak looked back at him in amazement. 'What makes you say that?'
Odo nodded at his jacket. 'It's the first time you've worn something other than black in nearly a year.'
A faint smile crossed Garak's mouth. 'I do believe you're right, Odo. Whoever would have expected you to notice that?'
'I have far too little to occupy my time.'
Garak dropped his eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was hushed and urgent. 'Odo, I hope you will accept my sincere apologies for all this...'
Odo blinked. 'A bit late, isn't it?'
'Nevertheless.'
Odo looked at Garak's earnest expression. I do believe he means it. It's ridiculous, obscene even... but I do believe he means it.
'It isn't over yet, Garak. Not by a long way,' was all he could say.
Garak nodded, even seemed satisfied with the reply. 'Then it's a good thing I'm expert at bringing things to a satisfactory conclusion, isn't it?' he said with something approaching his old levity.
'That remains to be seen,' said Odo dourly, firmly suppressing the hope which was suddenly rising in him.
Garak caught his eye and held it. 'Yes,' he said quietly. 'It does.' He turned to go. 'I'll be in touch, Odo. Soon.'
Garak walked slowly down through the main corridors of the Ministry, nodding automatically at juniors as they saluted him. He left through the large front doors, the sudden midday sun blinding him for a moment, and he hesitated on the steps of the building to gaze round Obsidian Square. It was a scene so familiar he barely noticed it any more, but today he stood and looked at it as if for the last time. To the left, the elegant curves of the Union Gallery stretched gracefully up to the sky, banners advertising an exhibition of late Hebitian artifacts that he would not now have time to see. Behind him he could feel the weight of the Ministry; without turning to look he could picture its white stone facade, inlaid with obsidian panels that glinted sharply in sunlight, making passersby avert their eyes as if in deference to the power the building contained. Around the other two sides of the square lay row after row of office buildings, spilling out their workers into the noon heat, their conversation and laughter carrying up to him. Already the benches in the square were full; some people were sitting on the steps of the statue of Tain that now dominated the centre of the plaza. And directly ahead lay Victory on Qo'Nos Boulevard, its broad straight line slicing through the city to the river.
Watching this scene he felt wash over him again the deep love for his home that had both sustained and tormented him throughout the times he had been compelled away. He closed his eyes, as if to take a snapshot of this moment - of Cardassia City as he would always remember it - then opened them and sighed.
Where shall I go?
He walked down the steps and into one of the side streets.