“You used to come here with Ziyal, didn’t you?”

“We both enjoyed the experience. It was like a haven from the storm.”

“Yes, it must have been difficult.” Remara shifted her body, and I could see that she was perspiring profusely. Her skin began to meld with the rock.

“What was difficult?” I asked.

“Your relationship with her father. It must have affected you and Ziyal,” she replied.

“She knew who he was,” I said.

“Did she know who you were?”

“Of course,” I smiled. “A plain and simple tailor who craved a friend to sit with on the rocks.” Remara smiled back, but she was not to be deterred.

“Did Ziyal know that you had played a part in the death of her grandfather?” Her smile was even more radiant because of the effects of the heat. The longer she endured, the more beautiful she became.

“I’m glad to see the heat agrees with you, my dear. I had no idea that Bajorans had this kind of tolerance.”

“We’re very fond of our solar baths,” she said, shifting again to another graceful position. “Did she hold his death against you?”

“If she did, she never shared it with me.”

“Weren’t you at all curious to know?”

“Not nearly as curious as you are about me. When Colonel Kira asked me why you were making inquiries, I joked that perhaps you were writing a book. Perhaps it’s not a joke. You’re very well informed.”

“Nerys asked you that, did she?”

“And she found it curious that you wouldn’t address these questions to me directly.”

“I’m not surprised.” Now she was fully reclined on the rock with her face up. It was getting difficult to breathe. How ironic if I were the one to call off the program because of the heat. “Nerys and I have had our difficulties in the past,” she said, her voice seeming to come from a great distance. Her eyes were closed, and she was totally integrated with the rock

“Oh?”

“We knew each other on Bajor.”

“Really? Were you in the Resistance as well?” I watched her raise her right leg and flex her foot, which made the lean muscles along her thigh ripple. I forced myself to breathe deeply. Perhaps it was the heat, but even with the distance between us her physical presence was crowding and overpowering me.

At one point Kira and I became quite close,” she said dreamily. I wondered if she were about to fall asleep.

“And now you’re not.”

“Our lives took very different paths. No,” she finally answered, “I didn’t join the Resistance.” Remara opened her eyes, sat up, and gave one last serious stretch. “You know, Elim, I think I’ve reached the limit of my tolerance.”

And not a moment too soon, I thought. In one easy motion, she slid off the rock and led the way to the exit. I lingered for a moment, to savor her movement and wondered how an artist could capture the exquisite harmony of her physique. I also wondered how a man could continue his relationship with her knowing full well the danger involved. The major’s question echoed in my head: What doesshe want from you, Elim?

4

Entry:

The next morning I was surprised to find that Father had left for work without me.

“You’re coming with me this morning,” were Mother’s first words. When I began to ask where we were going she cut me off.

“You’ll find out,” was all she would say. I quickly ate something while she waited. Neither of us spoke; the heaviness in the room said everything.

Out in the street I followed as she set a brisk pace. She was a sturdy, compact woman with prematurely graying hair and strong features that were now leading the way. She was always very patient with me, but I was under the impression that she had something of weight and consequence on her mind that discouraged everything but essential interaction. As we moved through the busy, crowded streets I was struck by the way she appeared to be unaffected by the activity surrounding her. On a Cardassian street there is a lot of jostling and bumping and competing for lane space, but Mother set a fixed course and everyone moved out of her path. She behaved–and appeared–as if she were utterly isolated.

“You’re going to work today, son.” She remained true to her course and didn’t look at me when she spoke.

“I’ve been going to work every day,” I responded, out of a childish loyalty to Father.

“That’s notyour work,” she stated. “You’re a man now, and you’re being given a great opportunity. I want you to behave like a man and submit to the path that’s opening up before you.”

“Have I ever opposed your wishes, Mother?” I probably imagined the slight crack of a smile on her face. My name as a child was “Sleg” after the sleg corgan,a huge crawling beast that in certain seasons would barely move at all. I was oddly diffident about what this path would be. Perhaps this was a defense against this new “opportunity”–a word I now associated with betrayal.

“I’ve been told that you showed aptitude at the Institute,” she continued. “I’ve also been told that you had lapses . . . of a sentimental nature.”

I said nothing. For some reason it made me uncomfortable to think that she knew about Palandine.

“Your father has ideas I don’t agree with . . .that are best left unexpressed. I advise you to forget them. They’ll only make your work more difficult.” She stopped and looked at me for the first time. “Understand, Elim–you are being given the opportunity to move above the service class.”

I recoiled from both the word I mistrusted and the implication that the work Mother and Father did was low and demeaning.

“I was taught that the service class was an irreplaceable piece of the Cardassian mosaic,” I replied with crude irony.

“Listen to me!” she said with a passion that startled me. “You are my son and you are a Cardassian. Not a Hebitian. Look around you!” she commanded. I did. We were in the great public area which is surrounded by the buildings that house the power of the Union. “Hebitians did not build this. Cardassians did. Your father and I serve and maintain, but we do not influence or guide the destiny of the Union. You could. That’s why you must submit right now! Do you understand me, Elim? Once we walk through that door,” she indicated the one that led to the subterranean levels of the Assembly building–to the Obsidian Order–“you must submit to your fate.”

Mother’s eyes were burning with an intensity that communicated a care and passion that was every bit the equal of Father’s. I nodded dumbly. She took a deep breath and composed herself. Unconsciously, she smoothed my hair and tugged at my tunic.

“You’re a good boy . . . Sleg.” This time the smile was real. She led the way and we entered the building. What I understood was that I had no choice. Father, I’m sure, understood that–which was probably why he was gone this morning. The rest was a mystery.

And the mystery deepened when the man who greeted us was Enabran Tain.

“A pleasure to see you again, Elim. Thank you, Mila.” He dismissed Mother, who left without returning my look, and fixed me with that long and disconcerting smile of his. Did his eyes ever blink? “Sit down.”

I obeyed. Submit, Mother told me. And don’t ask to what. I tried to orient myself: the room was small and cluttered. My first impression of Tain in these circumstances, reinforced by his portly figure and shapeless clothing, was that he was not an important person. But I now knew better than to trust any first impression, especially one calculated by Tain.

“Everyone has an opinion, Elim.”

“Excuse me?” Had I missed the beginning of this conversation?

“Was Bamarren the right place for you?” he asked.

“I. . . .” Listen to him and answer truthfully, a voice said. “Yes. I would have liked to complete the course.”

“You and the First Prefect. He was not happy losing you.” Tain studied me in silence. Listen, the voice reminded me. Don’t turn away. Breathe. It’s Calyx, I thought. Instead of a sandy pit, it’s a dusty office.