“I’m glad you’ve come to me here. We can . . . express ourselves in a way that’s not possible elsewhere.”

Indeed, the dark room with the piled scrolls and their musky smell, the artifacts and ancient wall hangings with their glyphs and symbols–was any of it Hebitian, I wondered?–was a world far removed from the cold efficiency of the Order. We were sealed away in an ageless cavern.

“Tolan and I shared a love of classic beauty, the old aesthetics that guided and revealed. He was a visionary, Elim. All those designs at Tarlak, the way the green‑swards and plantings contained the monuments, never allowing them to brutalize us with death. Mothers and children are as welcome there as the guls and legates. All were based on classical designs. Oh, yes, he was a dedicated man. You were fortunate to be able to work with him.”

I sat in the chair, holding the red box as if afraid it would fly apart. I wanted to cry, to speak from a deep place, to reveal my dreams and desires to this smiling older man who was my father. But I could only sit there and hold the box tighter.

“You’re at a crossroads, Elim. You’re no longer the young probe we threw into the fray with almost no preparation to see how you would think and react. You’re a skilled operative, and ready for the next stage–if you’re willing.”

I remembered one of the few times Tain had taken me outside the city, when he’d put me on a Cardassian riding hound. He’d held the bridle and walked me around the course. Then he’d given me the bridle and had walked next to me as the hound panted and slobbered. Then he’d said, “It’s time.” He’d slapped the hound hard, and it had taken off at full speed. But I’d hung on, though frightened by the sudden speed and surging power beneath me. Gradually I’d begun to adjust and learn to roll with the hound’s concussive undulations.

“I was never happier in my life,” I said out loud. “I turned around to wave to you, and I fell.”

Tain studied me for a long moment and nodded. “And you pulled yourself up and continued to ride. I remember.”

“But why the secrets?” I asked.

“Without them there’s no security. It’s as simple as that.”

“But that’s our work,” I protested. “Why the other secrets?”

“It’s allour work, Elim. To be effective our lives must be the most closely held secrets of all. We’re the night people. While the rest of our compatriots sleep that’s when we’re working the hardest, dealing with the anxieties and fears that would otherwise destroy us. We have to keep the secrets, and store them, and hold them tightly–just like you’re holding your red box.”

I realized that my hands were cramped from holding the box. I wanted to relax them, but they wouldn’t move.

“It requires sacrifice. And each stage of the work requires a renewal of that sacrifice. We have to give up our lives, bit by bit, to these secrets so that people will feel the security to go on with theirs–and do their work. If we tell them everything, if we give them all the information about the threats and dangers that surround us, they’ll hate us for disturbing their peace and their ability to function. This requires great strength of character on the part of the operative–to be able to hold these secrets and not let them overwhelm us.”

This was the first time I had ever seen Tain possessed by a passion. His eyes were open and alive with his desire to communicate. His facial muscles were unguarded, working naturally as they registered the meanings of his words.

“The truth is, Elim, these secrets must become the source of our strength, the strength that enables our people to withstand their fears, the strength that enables Cardassia to withstand its enemies. Every citizen deserves security, and it’s up to the night people to provide it.”

I continued to sit for a long time, listening to the sounds of the house. I heard nothing from downstairs, nothing from the outside. I rose and looked at Tain. His face had returned to the controlled half‑smile. His jowls seemed to grow larger every time I saw him, and I wondered if I would ever look like that. He remained in his chair as I walked out of the room. I walked out into the night with my red box and all the way to the Tarlak Sector. I went to the children’s area and sat across from where Tolan and I had planted the Edosian orchids. At some point I opened the box and took out the mask. I studied the eyeless face and half expected it to talk to me, to explain why my life had become so complicated, so beyond my control. But it was obviously another “night person,” guarding its secrets. There were hooks that went over the ears, and I attached the mask to my face. I sat there and waited . . . but nothing was revealed. Finally the tears came.

11

Entry:

“According to my contact on Bajor, Mr. Garak, this woman is not just another pretty face.” Quark had that conspiratorial gleam in his eyes, and his voice was ripe with the potential drama. “I should charge you double for this information.”

“Really? What have you found?” I tried to minimize my interest, but Quark knew better.

“Why are you so interested in Remara?” He was going to squeeze everything he could out of this situation. I sighed and looked around.

“Will you solemnly promise you will keep this to yourself?”

“Absolutely. You have my word.” As children, we were taught that such a bald‑faced lie was an occasion for the Mogrund to appear and punish the offender.

“As you know, I lead a solitary existence, and I’ve been looking for a mate to share my humble existence.” Quark’s eyes had reached nova intensity; he could barely control his quivering body. “Of course,” I continued, “you can’t be too careful these days, can you?”

“You certainly can’t.” Quark slammed his hand against the bar. “You’ve just given me an idea!” He was positively hopping up and down. “I could broker pairings, Garak. I’d have dabo girls who were looking for mates and match them with clients here on the station who agreed to pay me upon a successful pairing.” He looked around to see who could be signed up immediately. “Of course, since you helped me form the idea, this one’s on the house.”

“That’s very generous of you, Quark. Now what about that information?”

“Ah, yes . . . let me see.” He punched his padd. “Yes, it seems that she was an art student from Dahkur Province . . . sent to the capital to study . . . married her teacher Tir Karna. . . . They had a child–a son, Berin. . . . Ah, this is where it gets interesting: Tir and the boy were killed when Cardassians destroyed the shuttle they were in as it was taking off. . . .”

“What shuttle was that?” I asked.

Quark punched the padd. “The Taklan. . . it was one of their own, bound for Terok Nor. Why would the Cardassians destroy their own shuttle?” Quark asked.

“Go on.” I took a sip of my kanarand was amazed that my hand remained steady. Is this my hand, I wondered?

“Shortly after this, Remara joined the Resistance. You can’t hold that against her.” Quark looked up as if he’d just discovered a reason for the deal to unravel.

“Forgive and forget,” I said, taking another sip of kanar.

“A man after my own heart.” Quark refilled my glass.

“Is there anything else?” I asked.

“Not much . . . went back to school after the withdrawal . . . works as a counselor at the Mihan Settlement House in the capital . . . became a part‑time dabo girl. I don’t know what it is, Garak, but the Klingons love her. And she now works for one of the great entrepreneurial minds in the Alpha Quadrant!” he concluded, with a positively radiant look on his face. I could see that he was itching to embark upon his new business. I drained my glass and declined the offer of another, as Quark’s hand snaked toward the bottle.

“No, thank you. I appreciate the help. You’ve been most helpful.”