“Agreed.” I was also thrilled. Other than in combat this was the first time I had physically come into contact with another student. We stood for a long moment in the bowered and darkened pathway holding each other’s hand. Aside from Palandine and Eight, this was the only other person I was able to look directly in the eyes. Charaban broke the contact.

“I’ll communicate with you through Nine Lubak about our planning sessions,” he said. I was surprised. Why Nine?

“He’s my cousin.” Charaban again read me.

“Nine?!” I was incredulous. “But he’s . . .” I caught myself before I finished.

“He’s . . . a true Nine,” Charaban replied with a diplomatic smile. “But he can carry a message, and in war we have to use every soldier according to his strength. We’d better get back. I’ll have you excused from the evening assembly.”

It wasn’t until Charaban mentioned the assembly I had missed that I realized how late it was. We made our way to the entrance, and he parted without a word. Once I was alone I felt like I could breathe again. I began to doubt this agreement. This Charaban had a powerful presence, but how did I know he was telling me the truth? This could be some kind of test . . . a trap. After all, this was the person who had had me beaten in the storeroom. As I stumbled through the darkness on the edge of the training area I was in a daze. Yes, I wanted to prove that I was not a Ten, and Charaban knew that. What student doesn’t want to make his mark? But my doubts only increased.

“Elim,” the voice whispered. I was so wrapped in my competing thoughts that I didn’t see Palandine standing at the edge of the pathway. In the darkness she was more like the apparition I first saw.

“You have the strangest friends.” I strained to see her face, but I could hear the amused irony in her voice. “It’s not every evening we find Barkan Lokar strolling with a murk through the Grounds.”

“Lokar? My father buried the Legate, Turat Lokar,” I said without thinking.

“Did your father kill him?” Palandine joked. But I didn’t laugh. The Lokars were a legendary family, and the old man’s funeral was the largest I had ever seen.

“Barkan is the grandson and the shining light of our generation. So what’s he doing with you, Elim?” There was a grating quality to her irony.

“I . . . should get back. It’s late.” I started to leave.

“It’s the Competition, isn’t it?” Palandine’s question stopped me.

“How did you know?” Again I wasn’t thinking, only reacting. I winced at how my training evaporated in her presence.

“Elim, it’s my business to know. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here.”

“I think I know why I’m here, One Ketay.” There was an energy building up in my stomach that was making me nauseous. I wanted to end this conversation. Palandine looked at me for a long moment with her half‑smile, which observed everything and revealed nothing.

“It’s a great privilege to be recruited by Barkan. He’s as talented as he is ambitious. He’ll most likely get what he wants–he usually does,” she added with a tone of familiarity.

“I don’t even know if I’m going to do this Competition,” I admitted.

“Really?” She was mildly surprised. She moved closer to me. Her face, softened by the darkness, was now visible. “Why?” she asked tenderly. “What are you afraid of?”

“Who said I was afraid?” But as soon as she asked the question I knew that I was.

“Elim, why do you think we have these ridges?” She stroked the scalloped cords of cartilege and bone that ran along her neck and down her shoulders with a delicacy that stopped my breath. The energy had turned into molten liquid that was now flowing into my groin. The rest of the world was swallowed by complete darkness and I was back inside the tunnel.

“Because . . . we do,” I replied stupidly.

“Because we need them. Not to support a weak spine as some aliens assume, but because we’re a warrior race and we evolved these ridges as a defense against predators. But if we relied solely on these ridges to protect us in battle, we’d be no better than Klingons. That’s why we’re here, Elim–to develop our minds . . . and our hearts.” She splayed her long, tapered fingers across her breast. For the second time tonight I was spellbound by another’s passion. In very different ways, Charaban and Palandine held me in their orbit, like powerful suns. “To be a great warrior is to be a great strategist, and Barkan is offering an opportunity.”

Again that word. But here in this tunnel, with the rest of the world cut off, opportunity had a different meaning. I was learning something new about myself–an emerging desire for power, but a power that had less to do with mastery over others than it did with connecting tothem. The way I felt the connection to Charaban . . . and especially to Palandine.

“You seem to know Charaban,” I said.

“I know that he can help you achieve your goals here. The fact that he’s expressed interest in you . . .” She smiled and shook her head. “Usually he walks around here as if he breathes the air of a higher plane.”

“He said the same thing about you.”

“Really? What?” She laughed with that sudden delight.

“That you treat people like they don’t exist,” I managed to remember.

“Really?” she repeated. “Well, it will do him some good. An oversized head is not attractive on a man.”

The night horn signaling return to quarters blew in the distance like an ancient call. The walls of the tunnel dissolved; I had reentered a different world.

“Goodnight, Elim. I know you’ll make the choice that’s right for you.” She ran off. It took me several moments before I could put movement back into my body. When I did, I realized that for the second time in my life I could fly.

14

Entry:

Still no word about the impending invasion. I didn’t want to return to the shop after lunch so I lingered at my Replimat table, strategically placed opposite the airlock doors to watch the comings and goings of the station. There wasn’t much activity, mainly Klingons coming from or going to the war front. I soon grew bored and decided to move to my other observation post, the second level of Quark’s.

When I entered, I was surprised to see Rom serving the lugubrious and lumpen Morn at the bar. A spirited dabo game involving several Klingons and a serious‑looking dabo girl I hadn’t seen before caught my attention. If Quark had been present he’d be giving her one of his congeniality lectures. I truly sympathize with the young woman; if I had to spend all day with these drunken dolts. . . .

“Can I help you, Garak?” Rom asked.

“What brings you back to Quark’s? Don’t tell me you miss being abused by your brother.”

“N‑no,” he replied blushing. “He’s away on business and I agreed to look after things while he’s gone.”

“Ah, how kind of you,” I nodded. “If I could have some kanarupstairs.”

“Certainly,” Rom replied. I smiled at Morn and moved past the dabo game, which was heating up. The new dabo girl, however, maintained an appealing coolness and calm.

My favorite table was occupied, as were most of the tables on this level. I was evidently not the only one taking a break from work. Finally, I found one from where I could observe the first level as well as the upper Promenade. Rom soon appeared with a small container of kanar. He was wearing an outfit I had made for him.

“H‑here you are, Garak. I hope you enjoy it.” Ever the gracious host.

“Thank you, Rom. And please, try not to let your collar lie there like a dead targ.” I adjusted the offending fabric, and Rom sweetly tolerated my fussing.

Rom returned downstairs, and I realized as I took a sip of my drink that I was in a dangerous mood. Drinking in the middle of the day. The Doctor would be quite disappointed with me. When I’m unable to immerse myself in work my mind becomes occupied by an invading army of thoughts intent upon conquering all equilibrium and peace. Kanaris a valuable if unreliable weapon I employ against this army. The pills the Doctor gives me are a poor substitute.