“Where are you going?” the sentry demanded.

“To the Torr Sector,” I replied.

“Why don’t you take the peripheral shuttle?”

“I want to walk.”

“You can’t walk here,” he stated. “You have to go around.” He pointed the way and I took it. I decided to return to the Periphery, to bypass the rest of Akleen and the adjoining Munda’ar Sector, which consisted of cavernous storehouses. I entered the Torr Sector, the largest and most populated and the place Cardassians come for food, entertainment, artistic displays, and public performances of music, dance, and spectacle. It was originally designed to house the service classes, and over the course of time it became the center of our cultural life. The streets were crowded with young men and women coming to and from the various restaurants and attractions. I thought I could lose myself in the crowds that filled the thoroughfares at all times of the day and night and enjoy the anonymity, but the jostling and the noise only made me more aware of the loathsome self‑pity I was feeling. I wanted my life to be arranged without need, to be totally self‑sufficient, able to do my work for the Order and find fulfillment wherever I could–to accept my life as enough. But how could I, when my deepest involvement was with orchids?

I moved away from the crowds, and into a quiet neighborhood of modest homes that reflected the Cardassian ideals of cleanliness and frugality. The walkways were narrow and immaculate; even the smallest homes were carefully maintained. Cooking smells filled the air, and I realized that I hadn’t eaten since morning. I also realized that I was not yet prepared to leave for Tzenketh in the morning. But what was there to prepare? Decide on my wardrobe, pack it, and close the door when I leave. The archon and his lady friend would be more than happy to tend the orchids. I’ll feel better, I decided, when I’m on the shuttle and immersing myself in the assignment. Then I can forget about her and do my work.

A group of people caught my attention. They were entering a larger building on the corner, and trying to maintain a low profile. I had witnessed this before . . . and in this sector, I realized . . . in this neighborhood. It was after the first cell meeting and the encounter with Ramaklan/Maladek. I shivered as I thought of him. Two people were behind me, and I was sure they were also part of this group. On an impulse I “withdrew” my presence, blended into the lower vibrating energy of this group, and entered through the rear of the building. Once inside, we walked down a flight of stairs to a darkly lit but surprisingly spacious basement that had twenty‑five chairs facing a slightly raised dais, empty except for a table. I took a seat at the back, and when I had settled I saw the sole decoration on the wall behind the dais: it was the winged creature from the stone carving. The face had the same features as the recitation mask Tolan had given me. I shivered again and wanted to leave immediately. I felt an irrational sense of danger, but the room had quickly filled up and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I also felt like a fool for following my initial impulse to come here. I looked around. The man next to me smiled. I tried to smile back, but my face was frozen. I couldn’t locate the source of my anxiety–there wasn’t the hint of a threat in the room–but my stomach was churning and my throat felt tight. I had to use all of my techniques to stem the rising fear.

The door closed from the outside and the lights changed to feature the dais. Two people rose from near the front and stepped up to the table. Without a word they each picked up a mask and held it a long moment, as if studying the mask’s neutral expression. They looked at each other, nodded, and fastened the masks to their faces. They took another long moment, now studying each other. Then they turned to us and moved to the edge of the dais, where they stood and made contact with every person in the room. I don’t know how long this went on, but a palpable feeling of expectation was growing in the room. Finally, the woman (or, rather, the person who had been the woman, as the masks had transformed them both into variations of the creature behind them) began to chant.

“The power that moves through me

Animates my life

Animates the mask of Oralius

To speak her words with my voice

To think her thoughts with my mind

To feel her love with my heart:

It is the song of morning

Opening up to life

Bringing the truth of her wisdom

To those who live in the shadow of the night.”

The man responded.

“It is this selfsame power

Turned against creation

Turned against my friend

That can destroy his body with my hand

Reduce his spirit with my hate

Separate his presence from my home:

To live without Oralius

Lighting our way to the source

Connecting us to the mystery

Is to live without the tendrils of love.”

There was another long moment of silence as the two people, their stature and the power of their presence somehow enhanced to the status of iconic figures, maintained their vibrant contact with each other and with us. Then they moved back to the table and reversed the opening ritual. As they took their seats, I wondered how two such ordinary people were able to expand their presence in such an extraordinary manner. The irony of my withdrawn presence did not escape me.

Someone began to hum a simple melody. After several repetitions, others joined in with haunting contrapuntal harmonies. The intensity of the sound gradually built in strength and insinuated itself throughout every part of my body. Every cell was being massaged by the sound, and without any conscious effort I began to hum harmony that was my own and that somehow fit in with the others. My body began to feel the benign warmth rising along my spine that only occurs with enough kanar.My anxiety had evaporated, and I felt connected to this group of strangers. The intensity kept building, and my whole being vibrated with such rhythmic insistence that I found myself swaying in a circular pattern. I was not the only one; the entire room was swaying. Occasionally a voice would shout out the name of someone and the others would forcefully repeat the name. When there were no more names the energy began to subside until we were silent again. I had never felt so in touch with every part of my body.

A woman simply but elegantly dressed in a white doublet, blouse, and culottes stepped up to the dais. Her bright eyes were set wide apart, and her look was somehow stern and at the same time kind. It was difficult to tell how old she was. When she spoke, her voice had an unstudied resonance, slowly and softly projected. She had the engaging talent of making you believe you were the person she was primarily addressing.

“I am your guide tonight,” she began. As she continued to speak the room was absolutely still. Her simplicity commanded, without any effort. She told us that the people had been healed, and to make sure that we had more names for the next healing. Looking directly at me, she welcomed the newcomers. I tried to deflect the look, but she was powerfully focused, and easily contained me.

“It takes courage to come here, to look at things the way they once were. And while they can never be that way again, we can extract an essence that will nurture and amplify our own lives. We can strive to be better friends and live with ourselves and others with respect and the recognition that each soul desires to be reconnected with the source. To enslave or prey upon each other is not how we began. We were connected to each other. We did not experience hunger, deprivation, or loneliness. We were connected, and we cared and nurtured and loved. No, friends, it’s not how we began. But if we end in isolation and hate, not even a monument in Tarlak will ease the agony of our lost soul.”