This is another one in the line of 'people Garak should meet, but doesn't.' If anyone's done this before, they have my apologies: I scoured the various archives, but I may have missed something. The first and last parts are Garak speaking; the middle section isn't. Whether you like it, may depend on what else you like - and those are the only clues you're getting. Please see the end for the DISCLAIMER.
Shadow Cabinet
I had lunch with the doctor today, as usual, but even though I took care to introduce various sparkling discursive opportunities, it was something of a one sided conversation. I tried to draw him out on the latest Osian Tath, which I'd borrowed from the station's library and gave a short discourse on the dining habits of the Plethari, all to no avail. I might as well have addressed him in 4th century Pargelian. When he did bring himself to reply, it was in monosyllables. Eventually I reached across the table and put my hand over his. He leaped like a startled deer; really, one would think I'd bitten him.
'I only wanted to ask you if you were feeling quite well,' I told him, with some asperity.
'I'm perfectly all right, thank you,' the doctor replied. He passed a weary hand over his eyes.
'I'm sorry, Garak. I'm just a little preoccupied. The latest spatial readings came in to Ops an hour ago, and they confirm Jadzia's latest hypothesis. Apparently, the wormhole goes through some kind of cyclical turbulence: quite normal, even though it only happens once every eight hundred years or so, but it could badly disrupt us here on the station. Sisko's wondering whether to stage an evacuation.'
'What sort of turbulence?'
'It's temporal. It's to do with the tachyonic drift within the wormhole's core - it's a little like a tide. We don't really know enough about it yet to start making concrete plans. If it does affect us, it won't be for a few days, Dax says. So you see, I'm a bit distracted at the moment.'
'I'll leave you in peace, I think,' I said, pushing my plate aside. He'd hardly touched his food. I sighed. And now there was the afternoon to look forward to, with little hope of excitement. At least if they did have to evacuate the station, it would entail a trip outside these dreary walls, but apart from that, I thought, there would be very little to divert me. I was wrong. I had hardly reached the exit of the Replimat when there was a great roar of sound and air and I found myself - well, I suppose I'm not really sure *what* happened to me...
Ah, I should never have let him go so easily. You see, I thought it would be a golden opportunity to get him out of the way; not just to keep his fingers out of my affairs, but also for his own good. They shouldn't allow people like that in politics. It always ends in tears. He was always so shocked by it all: the endless trades and compromises. I can still see him standing there, twisting his hands, his plump face trembling in bewilderment. Every time I criticised him, I felt as though I'd slapped a child for no reason. Sometimes, I used to wake up in the middle of the night and think: what did I do, to deserve you? What could I possibly have done to acquire such a naïf as my personal aide? I used to wonder which of the many gods had it in for me. Now, I realise. Divine retribution certainly works in mysterious ways. Cause doesn't necessarily precede effect, after all. The gods must have put that moron here as my conscience, to stop me from doing a dark, bleak thing. But because my conscience was endowed with a face like a current bun and an utter inability to understand realpolitic, did I listen? No, of course I didn't. I went ahead with what I believed to be a brilliant plan; a decision which, I have come to believe, will lead either to my promotion or my death, and most probably to both. The strange thing is, you know, I miss him. He might have disapproved of me, feared me, but at least he cared. And now, I find myself - the word is lonely, I suppose.
Gods know, however, that there's plenty to fill the time. There's all the incessant paperwork that comes with a diplomatic post, for a start. I've got a whole sea of reports to wade through, and I'm not the most organised man. That's why I needed an aide in the first place, to stop me from drowning beneath a great wave of bureaucratic tedium. I tried to make some progress with it this afternoon, but my concentration was completely destroyed.
I've still no idea what happened. One minute everything was peaceful, and then there was a huge, soundless blast, as though a vacuum had imploded. The station rocked as if it had been clouted by some enormous hand, and all the alarms went off. I tell you, I thought we were under attack. I opened the door and peered out, and there were people running in all directions. Then the announcement came to tell us that it was only some spatial anomaly, and nothing more to worry about. Well, I thought that was plenty to be going on with. They're so blasé, these scientists. After a fright like that, I needed a drink to steady my nerves, so I locked the door to my quarters and set off down the hall towards the nearest bar.
When I stepped out of the elevator, I met *that man* - I can't even bring myself to speak his name. We glared at each other for a moment, before I remembered that, to me, he didn't officially exist. A dreadful person. A sanctimonious old hypocrite, who blames me for all his woes. A plague on him and all his scaly race. As luck would have it, there was another one sitting by the bar next to my favourite stool. I didn't recall seeing him around before, but then, they all look alike to me: all those scales and ridges and things, totally without charm. This one had very blue eyes, I noticed, which is unusual in his species. Perhaps he came from another part of his planet.
To my surprise, he gave me quite a civil smile and moved his stool to make room for me. I was so startled by this that I actually found myself smiling back. Warmed by this, I thought: here's my chance to make amends, spread a little inter-racial sweetness and light in the best way I knew how.
'Let me get you a drink,' I said. The blue eyes widened.
'Thank you. I - I seem to have come out without any money.'
At least he was honest about it, though I've always found that it looks better if you pretend you've made a genuine mistake.
'Don't worry about it, my dear sir,' I said. 'Now, tell me, what are you having?'
'I'll have whatever you're having, since you've been kind enough to supply it.'
I ordered a bottle of the house wine, and we sipped in silence.
'I must say,' I told him 'I'm a little surprised that you're even talking to me. I don't suppose you'd be a spy, by any chance?' and I laughed, heartily.
After a moment, he smiled.
'No, nothing so exciting, I'm afraid. I'm a tailor.'
'A tailor! Well, that's an honest enough profession. But what are you doing abroad in these troubled times? Are you a refugee?'
He paused for a moment before answering
'You might call me that, yes. Actually, I'm in exile.'
'Ah, well, aren't we all, these days? Far from our homes and families, incarcerated in this orbiting tin box...'
There was a definite flicker of interest in those surprising azure eyes.
'So perhaps you are in a similar position to myself? A political exile, maybe?'
I knocked back the last of my wine and indicated his empty glass.
'Another one?' I asked.
'Why not? If you're paying.'
I sighed.
'What were we saying? Yes, a political exile, yes, that will do very well. It wasn't always the case, mind you. I come from a good family, I had excellent prospects. But you know how it is. You only enjoy the limelight for a little time, and then you say the wrong thing to the wrong person and that look comes into their eyes. *Got you at last*, they're thinking.' I snapped my fingers. 'That's what happened to me, you know. They offered me my current post as if the entire homeworld had been pursuing it with their tongues hanging out.' I snorted. 'Sent me here to get me out of the way of their political machinations, with an imbecile for an aide.'
My drinking companion gave me a small, thin smile.
'Personally, I could have done with the idiot aide. They didn't even give me that luxury. I offended too completely to win anything other than isolation.'
'You affronted someone in your government? A tailor? What did you do, cut their sleeves too short?'
He stared into the golden heart of his wine, then said
'Well, what can it matter now, after all? I wasn't always a tailor. My father was the head of the secret service. I suppose I followed in his footsteps. I was involved in interrogation, investigation, counter intelligence. I had a role to play in the occupation, of course.'
'Naturally,' I chuckled. 'The occupation...well, everyone did things they're not so proud of, eh? Occupiers as well as occupied. We ought to form a government of our own, you and I. A government in exile, of the world of nowhere. A shadow cabinet. I must say, you're very free with your confidences. I'm the last person you should be telling all this to. I didn't even know your people had a secret service.'
This won me a genuine smile. He said
'It must have been a good one, then. But as for telling you, well, it was a long time ago now as far as real politics are concerned. My father is dead, the occupation's long over, and there's a new dark star rising on the galactic horizon now.'
How true that was, and I had a part in that rising. I felt a thread of unease run down my spine.
'Tell me, my unlikely friend,' I said. 'Have you ever taken a decision that you deeply regretted? And there seemed no way to reverse it, but only a path leading into a shadowy future where no good can ever come again?'
He laughed softly.
'Oh, yes. Once. And that was all it took. Now, I live in those shadows, and you're right.'
He added, lightly
'I believe you have the makings of a poet.'
'Only tragedy can make a poet.'
'If that's the case, I might rival Shakespeare.'
'Shakespeare? Oh, that human bard. Yes, I've read a few of his musings. Very quaint.' I looked around the bar. That security chief of ours strolled past, acting as if he hadn't seen me. I continued
'They all hate me, you know. They despise me, for what they think I've done. But they don't know; ach, they haven't the slightest idea what manner of man I really am.'
I think I might have become a little sentimental at this point. I put my hand on his sleeve and said
'Look at us. You're the closest friend I've got in this bar tonight. The only one who understands. Even my wife doesn't understand me, you know. Are you married?'
'No. But there is someone I care about.'
'And is she beautiful? She must be, from the look in your eyes.'
'He's a man. And he doesn't return my affections, I'm afraid.'
'Ah, so you prefer men? I don't blame you. I've had my moments. The diplomatic corps is full of svelte young things, quite irresistible.'
Unbidden, my former aide's face rose before my sight like a full moon.
'Some of them, anyway.'
'My only preference is ambivalence. At the moment, it's a man, but I've loved women,' he replied, draining his glass as though taking medicine. 'As a matter of fact, there is a young lady who regards me with something more than affection. And she is beautiful, and kind.'
'Then what are you waiting for? Console yourself with this paragon and forget about your ungrateful catamite!'
'And she's also the daughter of my greatest political enemy, who's already dangled me over a balcony on her behalf and who would be only too delighted to see me dispatched to the most frigid reaches of hell at the slightest provocation.'
I choked slightly on my wine.
'Why, my dear good friend, you're a miracle worker! You've almost managed to convince me that someone else has more problems than I do! Well, since we're exchanging such frank confidences, you may as well know that I've thrown in my lot with the devil, too. A strange, sinister gentleman, very accommodating. Never mind, eh, never mind. What's done is done.'
The blue eyed alien clapped a comforting hand to my shoulder.
'Someday, all of this will end. Never forget that. It's not a great comfort, but it's a philosophy in which I place great store.'
The expression on his reptilian face betrayed genuine sympathy. I turned to two of his compatriots who were eyeing me disdainfully from the other side of the bar and said
'Take a good look, my friends. Can the universe have reached such a black pass when this gentleman of your own species and I can sit down and have a civilised conversation over a convivial glass of wine?'
'You fool, Mollari,' one of them said with contempt. 'That's not a Narn. I don't know what he is.'
In momentary confusion, I turned back to my companion. There was again that silent, massive shift I had felt in my quarters and he was, quite simply, gone. Around me, Babylon rocked once and then was still. I gaped at the place where the alien had been. Were it not for his half empty wineglass, and the corresponding hole in my personal finances, I might have imagined the whole thing, and that would have been a pity, because he was a most sympathetic individual. That little interlude had almost reconciled me to the loss of that imbecile Vir. The rest of the bar sat immobilised in shock, apart from the pounding footsteps behind me as Garibaldi rushed up to see what was the matter.
'What the hell happened to him?' the security chief demanded.
'You tell me! I'm as baffled as you are!'
Garibaldi shook his bullet head in wonder.
'The things some people will do, Londo, to get out of buying the next round.'
'Garak? Are you all right?' The doctor was kneeling by my side, his hands gripping my shoulders. I was lying against the wall of the Replimat. There seemed to be more than one of him. I blinked.
'What happened?' I whispered.
'Good question. I've just spoken to Dax. Seems that the tachyon wave just rolled right over us. No-one expected it to move so fast...it's caused havoc throughout the station. People catapulted into the past, the future, even Terok Nor in our mirror universe.'
He paused, and uncertainty filled his dark eyes.
'When were you?'
'I've no idea. One minute I was leaving here; the next, I was somewhere else entirely, drinking wine with a very pleasant alien with an absurd hairstyle and dreadful clothes. I'm sure he mistook me for someone else.' I shook my head to clear it. 'I think I'm a little drunk.'
Bashir grinned.
'Half the station's battling with post traumatic shock, and all you get is a hangover.'
He placed a gentle hand against my cheek. It must have been the wine. I leaned my head against his shoulder, not caring who might be looking at us. Into my ear, he said
'You're a lucky man, Elim Garak.'
I thought of that brief, strange encounter in that unknown place; a man with darkness at his shoulder, and then I looked up into the doctor's worried face.
'Yes,' I murmured. 'Perhaps I am, after all.'
THE END
DISCLAIMER: I fully acknowledge that Paramount has exclusive rights to the Star Trek universe, and that all characters are the uncontested property of Paramount television. In the case of Londo Mollari, Michael Garibaldi and the denizens of Babylon 5, all characters and locations are the uncontested property of Warner Bros.