This morning I went to the Tarlak Sector and attended the memorial service for Legate Damar, and the dedication of a simple marker to his memory. When Kira and I were first assigned to work with Damar’s resistance group, I had every intention of killing him at the first opportunity in revenge for his murder of Ziyal. But as we worked together, I came to understand that he was a true product of Cardassian militarism and devoutly believed in his duty. When Ziyal “betrayed” her father, Dukat, and chose to remain on the station, Damar saw that his superior officer was becoming unhinged and believed it was his duty to kill her. But Garak, you’ll say, there’s noexcuse for killing a defenseless woman. And there isn’t . . . unless you’ve been brought up in our system.

I also came to admire Damar’s idealism, which led him to renounce his allegiance to the Dominion. If he had one weakness it was his propensity for long‑winded speeches. But given the fact that none of us are perfect, the man would have made a fine leader.

As I stood at the memorial service, I thought about all the grand affairs I had witnessed here when I was a boy. None of our famed heroes and statesmen has ever had such a humble service–and none of them, from Tret Akleen on, deserved more than Corat Damar.

I also thought about this Cardassian sense of duty and how it is largely responsible for bringing those of us who are left to these current circumstances. I asked Dr. Parmak how an entire people can come under the sway of this duty and blindly give allegiance to a state that goes mad and murders its own children.

“Poisonous pedagogy, Elim,” he replied. “We believe what we are taught.”

4

Entry:

The Bamarren Institute is located in the highlands adjacent to the Mekar Wilderness, a hot and arid area with sublimely beautiful rock formations and an endless network of subterranean caverns. At first the landscape was foreign, even threatening to my city mind and body. The seemingly endless skies and empty vistas–empty, that is, of man‑made incursions–made me anxious.

The Institute itself also made me anxious. Every waking moment was planned and accounted for. The Cardassian educational system is dedicated to the ideal that each generation needs a coterie of leadership, an elite in every segment of society. Artists, soldiers, politicians, scholars, and business and tradespeople all have appropriate Institutes where they are sent at the age of emergence. At that point, he or she is “identified” and assigned to live and study apart from family and home for nine years.

The course of study is divided into three progressive levels; every three years, one either advances from one level to the next or returns to serve society in a necessary but relatively humble position. If a person makes it through and completes the Third Level, he or she is then placed in the ruling vanguard of that segment.

My first day set the tone for my new life. After the orientation for the incoming students at which the First Prefect, the head of the Institute, likened us to the “missing pieces of the mosaic of Cardassian civilization,” the adults handed us over to upper‑level students who promptly separated us according to gender, stripped us of all personal possessions, gave us our scratchy, drab uniforms (Swamp green and black; is it any wonder I ended up a tailor?), and assigned us to living quarters consisting of ten narrow beds each connected to a private compartment for our few belongings, and an adjoining tiled room for hygiene. For the next three years, with the exception of our instructional docents, we rarely came into contact with adults. My childhood was indeed over.

I was assigned to the Lubak Group, Level One, and my numerical designation was Ten. From that moment I was no longer Elim Garak but Ten Lubak, and we were sternly warned never to refer to ourselves or to each other by anything other than this number/group designation. We were the “missing pieces”–and in order to find our place in the mosaic of civilized society, we had to be broken down and reconstructed from the bottom up.

“Ten Lubak!”

And the person who began this restructuring process was our section leader, One Tarnal, a physically powerful Third Level individual with a thick neck and close‑set eyes.

“Y‑yes?”

“Yes, section leader!”

I was instructed to go to the stockroom and bring back implements for cleaning the hygiene chamber. After he gave me directions, he told me that I could take as many of my section mates as I wished to accompany me. I was somewhat confused by the offer, but I thought it was a test of my self‑reliance and replied that I could handle the errand by myself.

“Then go!”

After wandering through what seemed like a labyrinthine maze, in which I saw other new students on similar errands, I finally found the stockroom. The door opened, and a student my age came stumbling out with cleaning equipment, looking very untidy. He gave me a quick and fearful glance before he disappeared down the corridor. He should be punished for his appearance, I thought.

“Next!” A distinctive and gruff voice shouted from within. I entered and was surprised by the enveloping darkness.

“Hello . . .?” I hesitated, afraid of stumbling into something.

“Did you come alone?” The Gruff Voice asked.

“Yes, I came for the . . .” Before I could finish, a hand grabbed me by the hair and the lights went on. Facing me were three older students, perhaps Level Two.

“Why did you come alone?” The Gruff Voice was behind me, along with the owner of the hand that held my head facing front. When I tried to turn, the hand painfully tightened its grip.

“I thought that . . .”

“You thought only of yourself. You didn’t think of the group. From now on you are going to learn neverto think of yourself apart from the group.”

At which point I was punched and kicked several times. I tried to resist, to fight back, but there were too many of them. I went down on my knees, trying to catch the breath that was knocked out of me. Clearly overpowered, I refused to cry and I refused to concede defeat. I would die before I did either.

“Enough!” the Gruff Voice called out. One of my attackers pulled me up and another handed me two buckets filled with cleaning solutions and implements.

“Take them and go back to your section. And remember, Ten Lubak, this is what happens when you separate from your group. All individuals are hunted and punished. By yourself you’re pudding. We’re going to be watching you.”

I was pushed toward the door and the lights went out. The door opened, and as I stumbled through with the buckets I nearly bumped into another student who was waiting to go in. We looked at each other and I recognized the disapproval on his face. I thought of warning him, but something told me to return to my section. I hurried past him and heard the Gruff Voice call out, “Next!”

5

Entry:

“Tell me, Mr. Garak,” Captain Sisko said, as he intently studied a viewscreen diagramming the Cardassian Union. “Where do you think the Cardassian defense perimeter is most vulnerable?”

I laughed. How do you explain to an alien that’s the one place where Cardassians are not vulnerable? The good captain gave me one of his bemused stares.

“The likelihood of any exploitable weakness,” I replied, “would be in the chain of command between the Founders’ orders and the execution of these orders by the Vorta and their drug‑addicted Jem’Hadar soldiers. If it’s a perimeter put in place by the Cardassians, it won’t be vulnerable.”

The Captain gave me a skeptical look. “That’s a very confident assessment.”

“Captain, Cardassians come into this life with an awareness of their protected perimeters–what the doctor calls our ‘reptilian brain dominance’–and die defending them.”