I had lost track of the voice. When I was able to exercise some control I began to pull myself together before someone saw me. I used my dirty tunic to wipe my eyes, looked around . . .and there she was. The young woman from my vision in the Pit. Except that I knew from her look of concern that this was not a vision.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

I wanted to hide, I wanted to say yes. I just looked at her. How could her eyes be both so clear and so unfathomably black?

“Thank you,” I managed.

“For what?” She was confused, concerned, but I could see the hint of amusement in her look.

“I . . . you have a . . . pleasant voice.” Pleasant! I think I actually cringed. But she laughed at this. She had such a delighted look on her face.

“Then was it something I said?” she asked.

“What?” I had no idea what she meant.

“If my voice didn’t make you cry it must have been my speech,” she continued to laugh. “I don’t blame you. The establishment of the Habburitic Code and its relevance to covert intelligence missions is enough to make the angels weep.”

“What are angels?”

“A human religious tradition. You get all that in Second Level. It’s a lot more fun than Foundations of Cardassian Law. Are you alright?”

Yes . . . uh, I’m . . .” I shook my head, embarrassed.

“Homesick, I know. This can be such a cruel place. But you know the secret, don’t you?” She asked this with exaggerated confidentiality, looking around as if there might be spies. I was still getting used to her manner, and I looked around as well in case there really were.

“No . . . I don’t think so.”

“Your sense of humor. Without it you’re lost.”

I wasn’t sure I understood.

“You strike me as being very serious and ambitious. That’s fine, most of the students are,” she patiently explained. “But it’s pretty funny around here.”

“I don’t know.” I was dubious to say the least.

“No, really. You study with Calyx, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I glumly answered.

“I know. The Pit wasn’t my favorite place either, but look at his eyes when he’s instructing or when he watches the others. There’s a glint. He’s enjoying himself. What’s your name?”

“Ten Lubak.”

“No, your real name.”

“But we’re not supposed to . . .” I stammered, truly shocked.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. My name is Palandine. What’s yours?”

“Elim.” It barely came out of my mouth.

“Our secret. Agreed?” Faced with her smile I would have agreed to anything.

“Agreed.” Suddenly she was running off.

“I have to deliver this silly thing for next class. Remember, it’s all funny. Think about it . . . Elim.” She whispered my name, laughed, and disappeared behind the barrier. I didn’t even say good‑bye. I didn’t even know what her proper designation was. I looked around and saw the Pit. I tried to see what was funny about it, but my mind wasn’t yet ready for this concept. I wasn’t even sure that I had this mysterious sense of humor. Suddenly I felt angry. How dare she? She broke two rules that could get us both in serious trouble. And like a fool I’d told her my name. The use of our real names was a serious transgression. From the beginning it’s drummed into us that the less security operatives know about each other in any given unit, the less they can divulge if they fall into enemy hands. I felt like I’d given up a precious secret to someone I didn’t even know. Someone who seemed almost frivolous. There’s nothing “funny” about Bamarren. As I walked off, I considered telling someone about this encounter. But how would they interpret my part in it? And what about the secrecy agreement I had made with Palandine? I didn’t know what to do . . . but I did feel much better.

9

Entry:

“Doctor Bashir is with Chief O’Brien. He should return at fifteen hundred hours. Unless it’s an emergency.”

I assured Nurse Jabara that it wasn’t, nodded my thanks, and walked back out to the Promenade. I stood there for a moment, trying to deny that I was upset. This was the umpteenth time I had come to invite the doctor to lunch, only to find that he was already engaged with the Chief. Playing darts. Building models of old wars. Battling ancient enemies in ancient flying machines in some holographic fantasy. Or the latest diversion, listening to the insipid “lounge” music at Vic Fontaine’s. Child’s games. That’s it, I decided, if he wants to have lunch he can damn well ask me.

A Bajoran lout nearly knocked me into the perfume display and continued on his way without so much as a glance back. I controlled my temper and followed him. The Promenade was crowded, and I quietly negotiated the crowd until I made my way directly behind him. I slipped my left foot between his two legs, hooked his right ankle and pushed him hard in the small of his sweaty back with my left hand. He went down like a demolished building, taking two or three innocent pedestrians with him, and I peeled off to Quark’s bar. As I entered I could hear a fight erupting. My action served a double purpose; not only had the lout been dealt with, but Quark’s now emptied out as the fight escalated. Louts and buffoons–and we’re going to war to save them from the Dominion. Bajorans find it difficult to believe they can ever be on the winning side; more and more they seem to prefer the dark side. I wonder if the Kai’s actions on the Promenade haven’t brought the entire society closer to the abyss.

I sat down at the end of the bar instead of going to my usual place on the second level. I wasn’t sure how long I wanted to stay; I just had to get out of the crowd and a grip on my feelings. I was in a dangerous mood. Ever since that ridiculous holosuite program, I thought. The spy game. Well of course it’s a game. It’s all a game. But it’s not a holosuite program. And yet, the moment Julian wounded me with his ridiculous weapon, everything changed. I thought it was a magnificent moment. He showed me that he had the spine to play the game as it ought to be played. But why then did he back off? Why couldn’t he go beyond that moment? Why did our relationship end?

“Garak!”

Odo’s voice was sharp enough to pull me out of my musings. He was standing next to me, with that mask of detached hauteur he wore when he’d decided you were the culprit. A mask upon a mask.

“Constable. What a pleasure. Have you had lunch yet?” I asked. He just looked at me. “Yes yes, I know, you don’t eat lunch–but join me anyway.” I gestured to the stool next to me. He didn’t move.

“Someone witnessed you creating a situation in the Promenade,” he said.

“A situation? Really? I so rarely create anything these days. What with the impending invasion. . . .”

“Did you attack a Bajoran by the name of Londar Parva?” Odo’s sternness could be impermeable.

“I assure you, I am not in the habit of attacking people I don’t know in public places. We got our feet tangled in the crush, and he went down–just as, moments before, I nearly wiped out the scent display when he ignored the fact that I was standing in his path. I trust he’s not hurt.”

“I expect more from you, Garak,” Odo lectured. “We’re all under a great deal of strain.”

“As am I, Constable. Please, sit down at least. I feel like a schoolboy being disciplined by the docent.”

Odo sighed and awkwardly perched on the barstool next to mine. I waved off the approaching Ferengi barkeep, no doubt another “relative” of Quark’s working for slave wages.

“I can’t stay long. I have to finish dealing with this . . .”

“. . . situation,” I finished. “You’re very fortunate, Odo.”

“How so?” he asked.

“These people have come to trust you. They rely upon you. You’ve made a real connection here.”

Odo merely grunted. I was careful not to mention Major Kira, knowing how reserved he was on the subject.

“Do you still want to go home?” I asked.

The question startled Odo, and for a moment the mask of official reserve dropped from his face. This was the first time I had brought up the subject since his admission to me during the “interrogation” in the Romulan warbird and Tain’s ill‑fated attempt to destroy the Founders’ homeworld.