“I was.” I waited for him to explain, but I had forgotten that maddening habit he had of leaving questions half answered and hanging. This time I was going to press him.

“What changed your mind?”

“Your friends, Elim. Very impressive people . . . and persuasive.”

“What had you expected?” I asked.

“The usual amateurs who never understood what was at stake . . . the hard choices that had to be made,” he explained. “To be honest, I had thought your attachment to this Reunion Project was. . . .”

“Sentimental,” I finished. He smiled knowingly at the reference.

“But when I heard Ghemor–someone I have always respected–and especially this Dr. Parmak speak, it became clear to me that we were fighting a rearguard action and calling it leadership. Parn and Hadar tried to dismiss what he said as Federation propaganda, but Evek and Ocett were also affected.” With the help of his stick he lowered himself carefully to a sitting position. “As I listened to him speak of the responsibility that we had as survivors to the life that remained, I also realized how bitter and hardened I had become.” He stopped and looked back to Nal Dejar, as if he were making sure she was still there. She met his eyes with a communication I couldn’t decipher, and he nodded. “Nal nursed me back to where I could function . . . part of me wished she hadn’t. Until your doctor spoke about healing . . . on every level. It’s what the body wants, he told us . . . unless we choose otherwise.” Pythas sat with his head bowed for a long moment. “I’d become very bitter, Elim.” I sat on a rock across from him and gently put my hand on his. What was it about this place, I wondered. And I remembered Parmak saying that if we couldn’t mourn, we couldn’t move ahead.

“Healing on every level,” I repeated. After another long moment Pythas turned and nodded again to Nal Dejar who stepped forward.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said.

“To vote?”

“Whatever you call it,” he replied. Dejar helped him up. I began to understand how difficult movement was for him. Judging from his hands and the way he moved, his entire body was certainly covered with terrible burns.

“You were in the grounds that night, weren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “I wanted to warn you.”

“But Tain wouldn’t let you.”

“Does it matter, Elim?” Pythas’s voice was less hoarse and more like his own.

“Do you know where Palandine is?” I asked. He just looked at me. “Is she still alive?”

In the darkness, it was difficult to read the expression in his one good eye. The silence that followed my question was broken only by his rasping breath. Behind her mask of disinterest Nal Dejar was studying me carefully. Even when she was a probe I was impressed by the strength of her focus. Pythas was fortunate to have her care and devotion.

“The group you took her to . . . .” Pythas cleared his throat. “The Oralian Way. Look there.” Slowly they made their way back through the shadowy memorials. Movement was not only difficult for Pythas, it was painful. Had he followed me there as well? Had Tain assigned my friend to be my shadow all these years? And does it matter now?

“Thank you, Pythas,” I called after their retreating outlines. Without turning, he partially raised his free left arm in farewell.

I looked up. The Prime Taluvian Constellation and the Blind Moon were barely visible. It was unusual to see any light beyond the dust clouds that still hovered over the planet. I remembered that evening in the Bamarren Grounds. Just enough light, I thought. Just enough light for lovers. I squinted to make out the faint pulse of the Constellation. I tried to measure its rhythm, to decipher the hidden code. Following a sudden thought I put my hand over my heart . . . and the two pulses began to synchronize. As they came together as one, I felt like the child who made no distinction between his dreams and his waking life. For those brief, eternal pulses . . . .

Cracks of early dawn opened throughout the darkness, and the Constellation and the Blind Moon were absorbed into the growing light. I heard voices, and when I looked in their direction I could see people beginning to gather at the edge of the memorials.

Just enough light to begin, I thought.

EPILOGUE

“. . . it’s just Garak. Plain, simple Garak.”

My dear Doctor:

Again, forgive my further tardiness in sending this–I don’t even know what to call it. Memoirs of a Cardassian tailor? I suppose that’s as accurate a description as any. You see, Doctor, I seriously debated whether or not I should send this to you. As I went over it I wondered who this mawkish and self‑serving person was. Grow up! I wanted to tell him. Get on with your life.

Well, I am; and sending this to you is going to further that cause. As I said, I’m an unfinished man reassembling the pieces of a broken world, and I have asked you to be a witness because you would never judge me as harshly as I judge myself. You would never deny me the opportunity of a second chance.

Someone once said that democracy was the flawed solution to a perfect mess . . . and I absolutely agree. The Reunion Project won a majority in four of the six sectors, and instead of being able to impose their will on the political situation, everything is discussed endlessly . . . and then put to yet another vote! Is this your vaunted democracy, Doctor? To be subjected to the opinion of any person who has the breath to utter one? How does anything get accomplished? If this is–as some fervently believe–a Federation plot to diminish Cardassian involvement in the quadrant, then it has succeeded ingeniously. We’re much too involved in discussions over power grids and waste disposal to care about anything else.

But I am getting on with my life. And oddly enough my home is somehow emblematic of my progress. It ends up being a true memorial to Mila and Tain and Tolan, but the paradox is that I have never felt so free of their influence. Wherever I am along my fateline, Doctor, I no longer feel that my life is a reaction to the choices other people have made for me.

I live with my orchids, which have unified and softened the increasingly popular grounds of my home. Their beguiling blooms, and the presence of children who come to play among the structures (as I did in Tarlak), help to dispel the somber mood that initially hung like those clouds of dust over our world. The sounds of their voices as they play function as a music that never fails to lighten my work. The children call it the “tailor’s grounds,” and the name has caught on. Yes, Doctor, I continue to work at my “new” profession. As you can imagine, there’s a good deal of mending to be done.

And what of Paladine? I went to the Oralian Way in a state of anxious expectation. As we filed into the makeshift meeting room, I tried to be discreet as I searched for her face. The ceremony began and a young woman, whose eyes and strong features looked disconcertingly familiar to me, stepped onto the dais and began to read form the Hebitian Records. It was her voice, Doctor. It wasn’t Palandine, but it was her voice.And then I realized–it was Kel. She had grown into a powerful young woman with a sturdy beauty that was a harmonious blend of both parents. I was totally disoriented, and when the meeting was over I didn’t know what to do. It was clear from her behavior and conversations with the other people that she was deeply involved with both the Oralian Way and the rebuilding process. I wanted to introduce myself and ask her about Paladine–but I didn’t dare. I was afraid that if she knew the truth, she’d only be able to see me as the man who killed her father and destroyed her family.

I’m sure it doesn’t come as a big surprise, Doctor, when I tell you that I attend the Oralian Way meetings on a regular basis. Now that the group is no longer outlawed, the meetings have become quite popular with the people curious to learn about the Hebitians and their culture. Kel has become one of the Guide’s assistants, and her work with the recitation mask is deeply moving. Palandine, however, is nowhere to be seen, and all my attempts to gather information about her are fruitless. Kel would be my only source, but there’s a distance between us I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to bridge.