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Physician, Heal Thyself.

...Unnatural deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
More needs she the divine than the physician...

(Macbeth 5. 1)
 

I suppose it was rather a novelty, being the subject of an
interrogation.  In the past, the places have usually been reversed but
now I had been summoned here, to this bright, chilly room, to deliver
information about a close friend.  I would have to watch my step;
consider each answer with care.  The consquences could be critical.
  'So,' my interrogator said, settling the padd on his knees.  'Your
opinions, please.'
I blinked.
  'About what, precisely?'
  'Why, about the subject,' my interrogator said, surprised.  'What else
would I wish to discuss with you?'
  'Well, you never know.  I've been privy to all sorts of
information...'
My interrogator, I was pleased to see, struggled to control his
patience.He said, primly:  'Now, I have a great many interviews to do so
if we could get on...What were your initial impressions of the subject?'
I looked back into the past.
  'He seemed a very intelligent, sensitive young man; perhaps a little
insecure, for which he tended to over compensate.'
  'Over compensate?  In what way?'
  'Perhaps he tended towards a confidence which he didn't really feel.
A common enough trait, in the young.'
My interrogator looked vaguely perplexed; I imagine it was a trait with
which he had little sympathy.
  'And might I asked when your acquaintance with him started?'
  'About five years ago, now.'
  'I see.'  My interrogator glanced up from his notes and frowned.  'A
slightly unorthodox friendship, if I may say so.'
  'Oh? In what way?'
If he caught the slight mimicry, he did not show it.
  'Surely it's a little unusual for an ambitious young officer to
befriend a - well, someone of such a different background and
circumstances.'
  'I was under the impression that his culture celebrated diversity?'
  'Diversity, yes, but - I'm curious, Mr Garak.  How exactly did you
meet?'
  'We found ourselves sitting at the same restaurant table.  We got
talking, discovered we had similar interests...the usual sort of thing.'
  'What sort of interests?'  His eyes narrowed.
  'Literature.'
  'How elevated,' he said.  He seemed vaguely disappointed.
  'Indeed.'
  'And have you ever been a patient under his care?'  He leaned forward
in anticipation.
  'Yes, once or twice.  His bedside manner is impeccable.  And there's
no limit to the lengths he goes for his patients.'
  'I'm pleased to hear it. Well, Mr Garak, I think I have all I need
from you.  Thank you for your time. Good day.'
  'Thank *you*, Doctor Zimmerman.  If there's anything else you wish to
know, don't hesitate to ask me.'

I hoped I had made a good impression.  Bashir's success in this
holographic medical project meant a great deal to me.  I suppose any
teacher wants a promising student to do well.  Perhaps it was a little
vain of me to take this approach, and there was of course rather more to
it than that, but it seemed an interesting project.  I did not precisely
take a liking to the good doctor Zimmerman, but that was beside the
point.  Returning to the shop, I thought nothing more of the matter
until later that evening, when I grew tired of my usual four walls and
sought company in the Replimat.
 
 
Rather to my surprise, Bashir was sitting by himself, nursing a mug of
tea.
  'Good evening,' I greeted him.
  'Oh, it's you.  Hello,' he replied, without looking up.
  'Well,' I said, seating myself opposite him.  'This is quite an
accolade, isn't it?  This holo project?'
  'I suppose so.'
  'Isn't Doctor Zimmerman celebrating with you?'
  'He's over there.' Bashir glanced up at the gallery where Dr Zimmerman
was taking a doubtless purely sociological interest in the local Bajoran
culture.  Perhaps this was the reason for Bashir's bleak mood, although
I was under the impression that he had long since got over Leeta.
  'So tell me,' I said.  'How is the project progressing?'
  'Fine.'
Our conversation began to resemble the proverbial pastime of extracting
blood from stones.
  'You don't seem very happy about it.'
  'Garak, it's been a long day and I'm very tired.  If you'll excuse me,
I think I'll go to bed,' he said abruptly, and left, leaving me to stare
after him in bewilderment.

A day or so after that, I had the pleasure of seeing Commander Dax in
the shop, wanting a skirt taken in.  She seemed to be losing a good deal
of weight lately; I imagine that Worf is an energetic companion.
  'But I'm afraid that it won't be ready until tomorrow,' I told her.
'I'm dining with the doctor tonight and there are a few other things I
have to do...'  Dinner was not a fixed arrangement, but we'd mentioned
it a week or so ago.  Dax expressed surprise.
  'Oh, so he's asked you to meet his parents?'
  'I beg your pardon?'
  'They arrived yesterday morning. Didn't you know?   I had coffee with
them earlier.  Very nice people.'
  'He didn't mention to me that they were coming,' I said.  I must have
sounded a little hurt, for Dax hastened to say
  'Oh, I'm sure he was planning to tell you, but they turned up
unexpectedly and he's been so busy with this holo project...'
  'Quite understandable,' I said, briskly, picking up the skirt.  'Well,
leave it with me and I'll have it with you by tomorrow afternoon.'

If he did not want to involve me in his life, I thought, then that was
his choice and I must abide by it.  I remembered him then, sitting
patiently and in silence while Tain lay dying and I opened the door to
the past and let my friend look through.  I had never regretted my
decision to let him stay and hear the final act of the play that had
been my old life.  The way he spoke my name, when Tain had gone, was
reward enough.  Yet I could not blame him, after all that had happened
between us, if he chose to shut me out of his own past.

I fully intended to steer clear of Bashir's quarters, despite a certain
sense of curiosity.  Fate, however, dictated otherwise.  I ran into the
Bashir clan outside the Replimat.  The doctor mumbled a hasty greeting
and avoided my eyes.  So, he was ashamed of this 'unorthodox
friendship,' then.  I would not stay to embarrass us both; I had the
rags of my pride.  I turned to go, but Bashir's father was regarding me
with undisguised interest.
  'Who's this then, Jules?'
The doctor's voice was so low that I could barely hear him.
  'This is Mr Garak; he's our tailor here on DS9.  Garak, these are my
parents: Richard and Amsha Bashir.'
  'Oh', Amsha Bashir said, smiling.  'Perhaps I should think about a new
wardrobe now that I'm here...'
  'Mrs Bashir, I'm sure that won't be necessary; you look quite lovely
already,' I told her, summoning gallantry.  She smiled and blushed.
  'A tailor, eh?' Richard Bashir said.  'And how do you find that?
Lucrative, is it?'
  'Father, I'm sure that Mr Garak's very busy,' the doctor mumbled,
edging towards the entrance of the Replimat.
  'Perhaps we'll have the chance to speak again,' I said, and made my
escape.
  I did not return to the shop.  I went back to my quarters and sat
wearily down on the edge of the couch.  It seemed to me that if I kept
very still; if I tried not to breath too deeply, I could keep the pain
at bay.  The dead can feel no longer, I thought, and wondered where that
quote had come from.  It seemed suddenly alluring.   I was so
preoccupied that it was a moment before I realised someone was at the
door.
  'Come in,' I said.  Breaking the habit of a lifetime, I did not even
look round.
  'Garak?'
He was standing in the doorway.
  'Why are you sitting in the dark?' he asked, with an effort at
cheerfulness. 'I can hardly see you.'
Just as well, I thought.
  'I was just dozing,' I said.  I hoped my voice did not betray me.
  'Garak - I came to apologise, for earlier on.  It's a difficult
situation and I-'
  'It's all right, doctor.  You don't need to explain.  I'm well aware
that I'm hardly the kind of connection one would wish to introduce to
one's proud parents, after all.'  I rubbed my temples; I had not meant
to sound so bitter.
  'What?  What are you talking about?' he said.  He sounded utterly
bemused.
  'You have plenty of bright young Starfleet friends to show off without
an ageing enemy spy hanging around to lower the tone.'
He sat down beside me.  I could sense his eyes upon me but I did not
dare look up to meet them.  Whatever the nature of one's courage, there
is always a point at which it fails.  I felt his hand come to rest on my
shoulder; he was very close.  He said
  'Not you.  Never you, Garak.  I'm ashamed of them - well, not my
mother.  Of Richard.  Of my father.'
  'Your father?' I said, baffled.  Richard Bashir had seemed perfectly
pleasant to me over the course of our brief encounter.  'Well, Tain was
hardly the perfect parent, you know.  You don't have a monopoly on
trying relations.'
  'You don't understand,' he said.  He sounded beaten, defeated in a way
that I could not comprehend.  He reached out, tentatively and took my
hand, and before I knew what I was doing I pulled him against me.  He
was right, I thought in despair. I would never understand humans.  His
father might give the impression of a second-hand vehicle salesman, but
this hardly seemed to justify such an extreme reaction.  Julian's
proximity was having a disastrous effect on me, but I had the sense to
realise that he was searching for comfort and not anything more.  Dimly,
I realised that he was shaking.  We sat like this for some time, and
then he drew back and leaned against the couch.
  'Tell me,' I said softly, prompted by the interrogator's instinct.
You can always tell when a subject is withholding information.  So he
told me, all of it: the remedial child, and the ambitious, unscrupulous
father; the illegal genetic enhancement; discovery and the resentment
growing with the achievements down the years until he had fled here, to
the edge of space, to escape and atone for an imaginary sin.  I said
nothing, only listened.
  'I can't tell anyone else,' he said, simply.  'Miles, Jadzia - they're
all Starfleet, you see.  They'd be under an obligation, and it's not
fair to force someone into that sort of dilemma.  They'd have to go to
the authorities.  Quite rightly, too...I deserve everything I get.'
  'I don't see why.'
  'Don't you?  I'm unnatural, Garak.  I'm a fraud.'
Humans are strange creatures, I reflected.  So much shame, such self
contempt, over some trivial modification.
  'If you had a patient who had been in an accident,' I surmised 'and
who had lost the use of their limbs - someone who was paralysed, say.
Wouldn't you try to help them?  Repair them?'
  'Sentient beings are not, by definition, machines.  Who sets the
standard as to what is acceptable, and what is defective?'
  'I agree, any such criterion would be subjective and, to a degree,
arbitrary.  If it's set at all, it's established by the context.  Do you
advocate nature or nurture, doctor?  What is it that makes the self?'
  'They didn't give me a chance.  The person who I was then died on the
operating table,'  He gave a humourless smile.  'Ironic, isn't it?  All
my talents, all my accomplishments, all of it's based on a lie.  Like my
father, after all.'
*Like me*, I thought with a pang of guilt.  The thought that this was
the basis of his interest in me was indeed too ironic to contemplate.
  'You must think I'm despicable,' he said.  'Well, at least we've
confirmed one hypothesis: self righteousness always has something to
hide.'  He glanced at me.  'Do you despise me, Garak?  Now that I'm no
longer the person you thought I was?'
I hardly liked to say that it only added to his charm.  Instead, I said
  'All identity, doctor, is contingent, and based on largely random
factors: environment, upbringing, education.  I could say the same of
Tain; he created me, made me, as much as your father ever did.  Only the
modus operandi differed.'
  'Sophistry,' he said.  Clearly, he was in no mood to listen to
reason.
  'Maybe so, but the point is this: we have come a very long way from
nature and it is no longer possible to say, and perhaps never has been
possible, to define what is natural and what is not.  In a sense, the
very category of the natural is socially defined, a product of the
culture which generates it.  We do not live natural lives - look at your
own life, look at mine.  The rules that are set on practices such as
genetic enhancement are pragmatic stipulations; they are not dictated by
metaphysics, or ethics.  It's forbidden not because it's unnatural, but
because it results in social disorder. I think your father's actions are
justified - legally unwise, perhaps, but understandable.  If you were my
son, I'd probably have contemplated a similar course of action.  Such
children in Cardassia are modified as a matter of course, or killed if
they are too far beyond hope, were you aware of that?  The gene pool is
regarded as too precious to risk; much of our society is founded on
eugenics.  Anyway, that anthropological insight aside, the main issue is
that you're now in a somewhat invidious position and I think you must
act on the assumption that secrets will come out: they tend to do so.'

Bashir was staring at me.  He glanced down, and flushed; I realised that
our hands were still linked.
  'Oh God, Garak, I'm sorry,' he said, embarrassed.
  'Don't be,' I whispered, and before I could stop myself I leaned
towards him and raised his chin so that our eyes met.  I don't know what
he saw; his dark gaze seemed to fill the world.  I was close enough to
kiss him. Then the doorbell rang.  Bashir and I sprang apart like a
couple of gazelles.
  'What?' I snapped.  The door opened to reveal a small, nervous
figure.  I think my jaw may literally have dropped.
  'Can - can I talk to you?' Rom said.
  'No, you may not!'
  'It's all right,' Bashir said, hastily.  'I was just leaving.  Garak,
I'll call you in the morning.  And thank you,' he added, just before he
walked through the door.

Once more I found myself dispensing advice, this time to the lovelorn
Rom.  I was beginning to wonder whether I should charge consultancy
fees.  I suppose that it was a measure of his desperation that he should
have approached me; he had given me a wide berth after my demonstration
of assassination techniques to his brother.   When he had gone, I lay
back on the couch and closed my eyes.  Pain, and relief, and unsatisfied
desire had all taken their toll; I was exhausted.  When I awoke, it was
morning and, unbeknownst to me, Bashir's secret had already flown.

I learned this from Dax, whom I ran into in the corridor not far from
Bashir's quarters.
  'Garak!  I've been looking for you,' she said.
  'Your skirt.  It's not ready yet, I'm afraid.'
  'I don't care if you've embroidered it with the Cardassian national
anthem and are flying it from pylon three,' she snapped.  'Did you know
about this?  About Julian?'
I paused for the reflexive lie, then said
  'Yes.  He told me last night; he came to see me.'
  'Zimmerman's found out.'
I'm sure it was against Starfleet regulations to submit all this
information voluntarily to a known spy, but I was disinclined to argue
the point.
'He's taking the matter directly to the medical council.  Sisko's trying
to intervene at Admiralty level.'
  'How important is Zimmerman's report?'
Dax considered.
  'The medical council has a certain degree of autonomy from the rest of
Starfleet: medics are a law unto themselves.  If they decide to make an
example of him -'
  'Very well.  Where's Zimmerman now?'
  'Down in the holodeck.  What are you up to, Garak?'
  'I merely wished say good-bye.  He has been a most stimulating
presence on this station,' I said, and left her standing in the
corridor.

Zimmerman was nowhere to be found.  Instead, Bashir sat glumly in the
centre of the room.  I put my hand on his shoulder.
  'Don't worry,' I said.  'We'll see what can be done.'
  'Please state the nature of the medical emergency,' said the doctor.
For a fleeting second I thought that the strain had been too much and he
actually had taken leave of his senses; then I realised that this must
be the hologram.
  'No emergency, my dear doctor,' I said, comfortingly.  'Now tell me.
Where's Zimmerman?'
  'Dr Zimmerman is otherwise engaged.'
  'Oh good.'
Going across to the programming console, I made a cursory inspection.
So far, so good.  One holoprogram is very much like another; the
technology is of necessity fairly standard.  I opened the front of the
console and began some artistic rearrangement.
  'Reprogramming of the subsidiary protocols is not permitted -' the
doctor's alter ego began.
  'Isn't it?  Oh, then I do apologise,' I told it, and severed a wire.
From the corner of my eye I saw him shiver into the air like a ghost.
After a few small but vital improvements, a few encoded embellishments,
I decided that it was time to conjure him back.  He stood impassively in
the middle of the room, gazing at me.  The likeness was perfect.  I felt
my heart contract.  For a brief, involuntary moment, I wondered whether
it might be possible to obtain a copy of the program, but dismissed this
as being beneath even me.  I stalked behind my friend's doppelganger and
murmured into his ear.  After a startled pause he, like Bashir on the
previous evening, proceeded to tell me everything he knew.

When Zimmerman returned, I was standing idly by the console, admiring
the specifications.  I can't say that he appeared precisely delighted to
see me.
  'Oh, it's you,' he said.
  'I wonder if I might have a word,' I asked him.  I could feel the
words like silk in my mouth.
  'It's hardly the most convenient moment - oh, very well.  If you
must.'
  'It's about Doctor Bashir.'
Zimmerman gave a rather theatrical sigh.
  'You can be assured that I am well aware that Doctor Bashir is (a) a
very dedicated and talented young man, that (b) he is more sinned
against than sinning, and (c) if I inform the authorities I will be
blighting not only a promising career but also depriving Starfleet of
one of its more useful officers.  Chief O'Brien, Commander Sisko and Dax
have all seen fit to inform me of this, at various stages throughout the
morning.'
  'Then am I to understand that you'll consider very carefully the
recommendations that you submit to the medical council?'
  'I would have done so in any case; however, I've no intention of being
browbeaten by the admiralty.  Functionally, if not theoretically, the
medical arm is an autonomous part of Starfleet and it is there that my
allegiances lie.'
He bestowed a benevolent smile upon me.  Clearly he felt that he had
done me a favour by deigning to explain himself.  I remembered what
Bashir, wiser than his elder, had said: self righteous always has
something to hide.  I said
  'I understand completely and your integrity does you credit.  It does
seem a pity, however.  Such a promising young man, as you say.  Of
course, he should have confessed at the start of his training, and then
a way could be found around the problem.  But there we are.  It's easy
for the young to make mistakes, especially if they feel passionately
about something.  Don't you agree?'
I could not be sure if I detected a slight unease behind his eyes.  I
continued
  'After all, once a secret is out in the open, it becomes easier to
remedy any unfortunate consequences.  It becomes possible to give
someone a second chance.  And as you've implied, it wasn't as though
Doctor Bashir actually committed any personal transgressions...No unwise
financial commitments, or sexual misdemeanours...'
In the Obsidian Order, we were trained to read the language of the
body.  Zimmerman had become very still.
  'But then, life is a harsh mistress, sometimes.  Thank you for your
patience,' I said, for they also taught me to know when a subject has
broken.  It doesn't necessarily take very long, if one has the right
sort of information.  I left him there, staring at his creation; his
betrayer.

  'So apparently Doctor Zimmerman has explained to the Admiral that
there are mitigating circumstances, and it was as a result of his
intervention that Starfleet let me off the hook,' Bashir said, when it
was all over.  His parents had departed for home and prison; Zimmerman
had gone back to Jupiter Station.
  'That's good news,' I said.  He was looking at me, narrowly.
  'What did you do?'
  'What do you mean?' I asked.
He reached out and in full view of everyone, curled his fingers around
my hand, so tightly that it hurt.
  'Dax said that you went to see Zimmerman.  What did you say to him?'
  'I merely wished to provide some balance to the situation.  You see,
Zimmerman's an arrogant man, and such people can be reckless.  And
reckless people always have secrets.  Having decided that he had
secrets, it only remained to find them.' I paused.  'Doctor Zimmerman is
a very bright man but his social skills leave something to be desired.
Particularly, it seemed to me, where women are concerned.'
  'And?'
  'Put the two together, and you have the beginnings of a suspicion.'
  'Are you telling me that Zimmerman - what? Got himself in trouble at
some point?'
  'It was a sexual harassment case, very early in his career.  It was
settled out of court, but there were elements of doubt.  It doesn't show
up on his official record, but it happened, no doubt about it.'
  'Well, how did you find this out?'
  'You told me.'
  'What?' said the doctor.
  'Or your hologram did.  You see, Zimmerman had downloaded the original
holographic doctor with all the salient details of his career, so your
alter ego possessed significant amounts of information about him,
including the protocols for entrance into his personal logs.  It's all
there; the case, the outcome, Zimmerman's thoughts on the matter - which
were somewhat revealing.  I imagine he refines his simulations later on,
to edit anything incriminating or personal, but in these preliminary
stages the hologram needs access to the logs so that the development of
its personality can continue apace.  Since Zimmerman was starting out
with his persona, with your own still in the development stages, the
relevant information was still there.  Having confirmed my hypothesis, I
approached Zimmerman.'
  'Garak,' he said, reprovingly.  'You are a very devious man.'
  'Thank you.  It's nice to be appreciated,' I replied.
  He was staring at me again.  He said
  'Garak -' then paused.
  'Yes, doctor?'
  'Last night, just before Rom interrupted us, did you - I mean, were
you going to say something to me?'
I have said that the Obsidian Order teaches its students to read the
language of the body, but he was a closed book to me then.  Besides, the
moment had passed.  I said dismissively
  'I don't remember.'
  'Don't you?'
  'No, doctor, I don't think I do.  It can't have been anything very
important,' I said, but then, because I could not resist giving him the
clue he needed to pursue, I added
 'Would I lie to you?'  and waited for his smile.

THE END