STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE ®

by Andrew J. Robinson

  “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.

  “I . . . can’t say,” he replied ambiguously.

  “Well, I can. There’s certainly nothing here to keep me.”

  “I never told you how sorry I was about Ziyal’s death.” Odo could be quite sensitive in such matters.

  “You did, actually,” I nodded. “But thank you.”

  “Still, you and Dr. Bashir have created a strong bond.”

  “Not really,” I answered quickly. “I’m afraid that what I have to offer has run its course. It’s certainly no match for darts.” I heard the bitterness of my tone, and so did Odo. We sat in silence for a moment.

  “I understand you’ll be involved in the invasion. You must be pleased.” Odo steered us away from the heaviness that had descended.

  “Yes,” I replied, grateful for the change of subject. “It’s very gratifying to know that I can be of some use to the effort.”

  Odo was about to say something when he saw Quark approaching. He rose abruptly from the bar.

  “I have to get back to work,” he stated.

  “When do you want to schedule your consultation?” I asked. Odo—no doubt influenced by his budding relationship with the Major—was about to branch out sartorially. But it occurred to me that Quark was the last person he wanted to know about it.

  “We’ll talk,” he replied, nodding to Quark as he briskly marched back to the Promenade.

  “What’s his hurry?” Quark asked.

  “He has a ‘situation’ out on the Promenade,” I said.

  “A big fight. Sorry I missed it. What was that all about?”

  “The usual,” I replied. “People rushing to get home.”

  10

  Entry:

  My solitary confinement was agony. The only way I got through it was to rethink all my attitudes about the Pit and the Wilderness and to focus on how I could make my strategems more effective. Just as I had learned to do when Uncle Enabran locked me in that suffocating closet. Was this the universal torture for failure, I wondered? I also thought of Palandine, constantly replaying our meeting in my mind. I felt more able to keep my despair at a distance, which in turn allowed me to breathe. When I returned, even the sessions in the Pit weren’t quite so disastrous. I did, however, notice the twinkle in Calyx’s eyes when he was teaching, and that somehow helped ease my fear.

  The next time I was assigned to evade capture in the Wilderness I decided to wait until darkness before I made any effort to find my way back. I was left on the edge of a long, narrow rock formation that sloped down to the southern part of the Mekar, where it was said that the last of the honge still lived. The honge were nocturnal flying predators whose medium size belied their strength and ferocity. Their swooping attacks were known to kill and carry off large canids. They lived in subterranean nests during the day, and as I burrowed into an escarpment that offered a depression large enough to conceal me until night I was trembling at the prospect of meeting one. The vision of wild honge, the intense heat, and my growing claustrophobic discomfort filled me with a choking anxiety. Not only would I fail again—I’d probably die horribly.

  I stayed absolutely still, counting my breaths. Just as I began to stem the rising panic, I noticed a movement in the earth in front of me. My first thought was the honge, and my heart thumped against my chest as if it wanted to flee my body. But the movement was more like the wind stirring the loose sandy soil. I was able to discern that it was being caused by a colony of desert regnars, reptilian creatures that are rarely encountered—and for good reason. They blend in with their surroundings with such transforming facility, that only by remaining still for so long was I able to detect them. They knew I was there, I’m sure, and they were attempting to move away from me. But they never panicked. They only made their moves when the wind or the shifting shadows masked their progress.

  I was totally absorbed and fascinated by these creatures. They moved in silent concert, fanning out multidirectionally so that the surface of the sand would just look as if a slight wind were rearranging the grains. It was the most elegant choreography. I observed how changes of color tone rippled across their skin as they moved between light and shadow, rock and soil. I counted five of them. They moved toward a deeper recess, which most likely led to a safe retreat. Somehow, I knew intuitively that they were my answer to this incredibly difficult situation.

  I also knew that in the dying light I would soon lose them forever—which felt the same as losing my last hope. I moved my right hand very slowly toward the closest regnar, amazed that I was able to maintain a steady control. With a sudden move I was even more amazed that I was able to grab hold of it, careful not to do it any harm. With my left hand I took the sun cover from my hat, filled it with the sandy soil, and placed the regnar inside. Before I closed it up, I noticed that although the creature had eyes, they didn’t focus. This beautiful, magnificently adaptable creation of the Wilderness was blind, and yet it had more sensory awareness than any technology we could ever imagine or invent. I closed the sun cover and placed the regnar in a safe pocket where it would not be crushed. I apologized to the others for disrupting their family; I explained that I had great need of this creature. Not only was Mila (as I eventually called him) the answer to my current problem, he was as important as any of the docents at Bamarren, with the possible exception of Calyx.

  When night came, I emerged from my lair. I was fortunate that none of the three moons were shining. Quietly, carefully (the hunting parties had already fanned out across the Wilderness), I stood and allowed my cramped muscles to expand in the desert night. The Taluvian Constellations were pulsing their complicated rhythmic patterns—indicating, according to Docent Rilon, an advanced intelligence that astrophysicists were still attempting to decode. After hours spent buried alive in the suffocating heat and dust, the freshness, the clarity of the smells and sounds and feel of the
night air against my skin was overwhelming. I was a new person, no longer intimidated by the task at hand. Unlike the last time, I had preparation and an ally.

  Thanks to Calyx and the recent work in the Pit I was finally learning how to sense an opponent’s energy, to anticipate his attack and choose or change a stratagem in the moment. Everything gives off energy signals, he told us, and these signals were organized according to the electromagnetic field that undergirds all creation. The same is true with our intentions: they, too, are organized along these energy lines.

  “If you train your awareness to be sympathetic, to tune into the interdependence of energies, then you can anticipate your opponent.” Calyx told us that anticipation was just the beginning, and that as we grew stronger we would be able to “foresense,” by which he meant that we would be able to know who our opponents were before they appeared. Calyx then gave me one of his long looks, which included the unsettling twinkle.

  As I stood in the darkness of the Wilderness, I first made certain that no one was near. Satisfied that I was not being observed by my hunters, I then used the Prime Taluvian Constellation to orient myself directionally. Once I determined the direction of Bamarren, the hard work began. Between the rock formations lay great expanses of flat desert. During the day anything that moved in that expanse was exposed to the naked eye from a great distance. Plus the midday heat severely punished anyone foolish enough to be traveling out in the open. The Mekar sun was a challenge even to heat-tolerant Cardassians. I had to cover as much distance at night and find rock cover by sunrise. Of course the hunters knew this, and while one had to be careful traveling at night, the real danger was not finding an undetectable niche during the day. And then there was my greatest fear: the more effective the hiding place, the worse my claustrophobia would flare. My earlier confidence began to ebb. I felt a slight movement from the pocket where Mila was. Whether or not that was one of Calyx’s signals, I knew that I had to be on my way.

  I made good progress that night and early the next morning. Toward dawn I felt the presence of a night probe and flattened myself on the ground just before its faint beam knifed over me. I judged the direction it came from and adjusted accordingly when it felt safe to continue. I had sensed the signal before it appeared. That was a good sign.

  There was still perhaps an hour before light, when I encountered what looked liked the dark outline of a badly constructed outbuilding. It was a tall rock formation that narrowed at the top. I was debating with myself whether to continue in the hope that I would find another formation before light when I heard the barely audible but unmistakable whistled signal and response of a hunting party. I scurried into the first opening I saw, a cranny that appeared to offer enough invisibility in the predawn darkness. I entered and curled very quietly against the dead end. Above me was a slight overhang, and to my left the rock was depressed just enough for me to conceal most of my torso. My legs, however, no matter how tightly I pulled them against me, were visible to anyone standing outside and looking into the cranny. I also knew that the sun rose on the other side of the rock, and that this position would become untenable when it crossed over to my side and exposed me. Either I would be easily spotted or, if I weren’t, baked to death.

  As the sun came up, the otherworldly beauty of the Wilderness was gradually revealed by each succeeding gradation of light. I was deeply moved by the presence of so much color in what had initially looked like a dead world to me. Beginning with a cold pale gray, the dawn flowed through a range of blues and into the softest rose and pink and then to a hot red that soon gave way to the merciless bleached bone-white of midday. I was able to see how much territory I had covered the previous night.

  Unfortunately, the hunting party I had overheard decided to use this rock formation as a base during the day, and sent out brief search expeditions in shifts. There were three of them, and they had found shelter in a place above the cranny and to my right. As I listened to their boring and desultory conversation I realized, ironically, they were part of the Furtan group who had captured me in my last pathetic attempt. Judging from their voices, they were fairly close. I prayed, not only that they would stay where they were, but that before the sun shifted to my side they would move on, so I could look for a less exposed haven.

  The morning wore on, and the hunters made no sign of moving. I became increasingly concerned; the sun was getting higher, and the overhanging ledge was now my last source of shade. At one point I took Mila out of his wrapping to check on his condition. At least that’s what I told myself. I was afraid that if I was honest and admitted that the real reason was to solicit help from a regnar, the slide into total insanity would be swift and sure. I was getting desperate. Just then one of the hunters decided to have a last look around before settling in for the blistering afternoon. As he detached from the group, I could hear that he was coming my way.

  Holding Mila to the side I scrunched myself into the space as tightly as I could and dug my feet into the sand. I didn’t know what else to do. I looked at Mila, who was absolutely still. As he sensed my attention his coloration subtly adjusted to the exact color tones of his immediate area. I heard the crunch-crunch of approaching steps and closed my eyes in a childish attempt to disappear. All I could hear was my heart beating like a drum, and I was afraid that if it didn’t give me away my ragged breathing would. I tried to hold my breath, but that only made each heartbeat more furious. I began to panic, and again looked to Mila, who was now barely visible. How did he remain so still, so self-possessed? I studied him as if my life depended on it; it was then that I noticed that his flanks moved ever so slowly as they filled with air, and slowly as they released. Then there was a long moment of no movement at all before the cycle began again. I surrendered to the same rhythm, and the pounding of my heart began to subside.

  The steps came to a stop just outside my cranny. I continued to breathe with Mila. Silence. I could now hear the hunter’s breath struggling with the heat, and feel his directed energy as he inspected the opening. He must have been looking directly at me. I knew that somehow I had to depress my energy, avoid locking into his focus. Like Mila. Think of Mila. Blending from one moment into another. Moving at the edge of shade and light. Transforming with shifting hues as light changes angle and moves across surface. My focus flattened; my energy, slowed by the rhythm of my breathing, seeped out around me and was absorbed by the surrounding surfaces. I surrendered Elim Garak—Ten Lubak—all identity—to the sand and rocks. And all the while I felt clear, calm . . . and guided.

  After what seemed like forever the hunter moved away. I remained in this suspension, this utter peace, until I became aware that the sun had lowered and was exposing me to its full force. I knew that I wouldn’t last long, and that a move had to be made. My calmness, however, prevailed, and I knew what to do. I placed Mila on the ground in front of me and waited. His coloration again subtly adjusted to the change. Wherever he went I would follow, even into the depth of the rock formation if necessary. He moved to the opening. After a few more moves I painfully unwound myself, got as close to the burning sand as was possible and followed. Every time Mila made a soundless scurry I went with him. The ground heat was suffocating and my hands were screaming. It was a shock to experience my body again. We moved to the left, away from the hunters, who had obviously found shade. We stayed close to the rock and out of their sightline. I began to anticipate Mila’s moves, and for a while we moved as one. How ridiculous this must have looked, a grown man scurrying after a regnar in the sand. But how liberating to discover resources and a teacher beyond the limits of conventional wisdom and pedagogy.

  Three more members of the Furtan group were on the other side of the rock formation, but Mila had found a hidden depression that required some quiet digging to get into, and we avoided detection. We settled in and resealed the opening with sand and loose rocks. After an indeterminate period, the Furtan hunters left. As we waited for nightfall I fell into a deep sleep. My dreams were a jumbled mes
s of images and actions, at the center of which Palandine was laughing at something or someone I couldn’t see. At one point I was awakened by the sounds and voices of another group. They were probing our immediate area. I was confident that we were secure.

  “Take out your grapples and probe the higher opening, Three! If this murk is not caught, everyone shares the punishment.”

  My heart jumped into my throat. It was the Gruff Voice. It took me a while to calm myself. But by then the group had passed. What murk? Me? Have all the others been captured? Surely not Eight. I couldn’t believe that was possible. I poked through an opening when I was certain it was safe. The last gray streaks of light were fading on the horizon. By the time I tucked Mila safely away it was time to continue. I reoriented myself, chose the direction and set off. I was determined not to be captured—especially not by the Gruff Voice.

  It was a long, nerve-wracking night. The beams of night probes were constantly criss-crossing the darkness. We eluded two other groups, including the Tarnal. I could hear our section leader, One Tarnal, urging on the others with the same threats of punishment. Were there this many hunting groups the last time? And were they as advanced as the Tarnal? Since I’d been captured so quickly I couldn’t know. And I refused to allow these questions to interfere with the task at hand. I walked, I ran, I crawled, I curled up into a ball, I dug myself into the sand; I did whatever was necessary. On one occasion, passing hunters should have detected me. I was amazed when they passed within feet of my crouched and curled body. Perhaps they thought I was a rock. Mila’s lessons were making the difference.