Текст книги "A Stitch in Time "

Автор книги: Andrew Robinson

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Foot traffic was minimal, and I realized that I was too close when Kel looked back and almost made eye contact with me. I stopped, pretending I had lost my way while they went on further. Finally they came to their building, a three‑storied newer version of the early Union style, but with the same classic angles and high windows. They entered, and suddenly I was alone on the street, a conspicuous loiterer. Determined that I would never do this again, I continued in the same direction. As I passed the building I glanced at the heavy door, which gave no promise or sign of opening for me. My plan was to take my next left and cut through the Barvonok Sector, the center of business and commerce, on my way to the Torr and yet another new home. It was a trained habit never to retrace my steps.

“Elim. Elim Garak!” Her voice came from behind, and I quickened my step. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to look at her. My mind was desperately looking for a way to slip off, to lose her. But the whole enterprise was a fiasco. Of course, she had spotted me. It was almost as if I had begged her to.

“Elim!” Her voice was winded, exasperated, and amused. She was a magnificent athlete, and her long legs had very quickly caught up with me. I turned.

“Palandine?” I winced at the utter woodenness of my feigned surprise.

“First you follow me, and now you’re trying to run away.” Her frankness was as disarming as ever. “Still the same bundle of contradictions, aren’t you?” I could see that she was trying to measure the Elim she knew from Bamarren against the one who stood before her.

“I assure you, I just happened to be walking in this sector,” I struggled to reply.

“And the screech crake has a pleasant voice.” She was still catching her breath. “But I suppose the fact that you were also at the Grounds and the Assembly building could be an extraordinary coincidence,” she said with a look that challenged me to come up with an answer. I couldn’t. I felt exposed and ashamed.

“I’m . . . sorry. I tried to be discreet.” There was no point in pursuing the deception.

“Elim, you forget–I studied with the same teachers. Old habits die hard,” she added with a self‑deprecating laugh.

“I was not going to do it again,” I assured her.

“Let’s walk,” she suggested, noticing a couple coming out of a building. We continued in the direction away from her house.

“You’ve changed,” she said.

“It’s been a long time. Would you expect me to stay the same?” I asked.

“No,” she replied softly. She had changed, too. Close up, her face was thinner and faint lines were drawn around her eyes and mouth. It was more than just middle age. As genuine as her pleasure was in seeing me again (a pleasure that relieved me enormously), the old delight that would always animate her face instantly was a thing of the past. There was a sadness about her, as she led me through an area of Coranum I’d never walked before. The streets narrowed and the houses were older.

“I love this area. This is the earliest settlement in the city. Turn here,” she instructed. A narrow passageway, almost hidden by an outer wall, led between two houses and opened up into an unexpected public grounds that was remarkable for the mature size of the shrubbery and plantings. It was a small grounds, but the profusion of growth gave it an insularity that reminded me of another place.

“This is extraordinary,” I said.

“Yes. Kel and I spend a lot of time here. Or we used to,” she added with that same softness as if she were talking to herself. “I feel safe here.”

“It reminds me of the enclosure at Bamarren,” I said. She laughed, and the old delight momentarily flashed.

“Yes! That’s why I love it here.” But her expression changed and she gave me a look that creased the lines in her face. “We treated you so terribly.”

“Please. . . .” I started to say.

“We did, Elim. You know that. We believed . . . or at least Ibelieved. . . .” she stopped herself with a bitter laugh. I didn’t ask her what it was she had believed.

“That’s finished now,” I said.

“Is it?” she asked with a wry smile. “Well, that’s good news.”

“We were children, Palandine.”

“Yes, we were. Aspiring to be grownups.” She gave me that creased look again. “You were the grownup, Elim. We were only pretending.”

“Please. . . .” I tried to stop her again.

“No! I lost you as a friend. I think you understand this . . . unless I’m very much mistaken.” Her look made me uneasy. “Why were you following me? Why’ve you been watching me and Kel all this time?”

“You knew?” I was incredulous. I had come to believe that I was virtually undetectable in these situations.

“Of course I did. I may not have a career, but I learned my lessons well.” She said this with a bitterness that took me out of my own feelings of failure. “At first I didn’t know what to do. There you were, sitting like your regnaramong those magnificent orchids. It unnerved me at the beginning, but after a while I looked forward to your being there . . . watching us.” As we held each other’s look I didn’t try to hide my conflicted feelings.

“Why did you decide to follow me today?” she asked. I struggled to find an answer. She nodded as if confirming something to herself. “Tell me, would you have ever . . . declared yourself to me if I hadn’t?”

“No,” I replied. She nodded again, this time with a sad acceptance. “You keep your own counsel now, don’t you? This must be very dangerous for you.”

“For us both. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” I added.

“No,” she smiled. “Where do you work?”

“At the Hall of Records.”

“Doing what?” she asked.

“I’m a research analyst,” I answered.

“What kind of research do you analyze?” She was not going to be put off with vague answers.

“I’m a bureaucrat, Palandine. I no longer try to make my work sound interesting. The best part is that I travel a great deal to gather data on population shifts–births, deaths. Most of my work is statistical analysis–making sure the facts match the reports we receive.” I delivered this with appropriate flatness.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“I like the travel,” I answered. Her face was now a grimace.

“Was Barkan the reason you left Bamarren?”

“I was asked to leave.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“I was never given a reason. When I got home I was placed in the Civil Service Institute.”

“Well, you certainly don’t look like a bureaucrat who sits in a chair all day.”

“I walk as much as possible. I know the City as well as I knew the Mekar.” Palandine forced a smile and walked to a low bench set amid the shrubbery. I could see that she was upset by what she perceived as my fall from grace. Promising young man forced by circumstances to live the life of a lonely functionary.

“What about you?” I asked as I sat on the ground across from her.

“Barkan and I were enjoined. For a while I worked in security at the Ministry of Science. I enjoyed it. Lots of intrigue and bad liars. But women dominate the Ministry, and I did very well. My prospects were encouraging.”

“What happened?”

“It’s complicated, Elim,” she shrugged. “Do you have a family?”

“No.”

“You really do keep your own counsel, don’t you? Part of me envies you.” She made an abrupt gesture with her head as if shaking off a pest. “Barkan progressed more rapidly than we’d expected. He established himself on Bajor, and we began spending a lot of time apart. He thought that we should work together, but before I could work out a transfer Kel was born.” She shrugged again. Such uncharacteristic diffidence.

“Why aren’t you living on Bajor now?” I asked.

“Too dangerous. By the time I felt Kel was old enough to make the move, the Resistance was targeting Cardassian families, and Barkan insisted that we stay here until they could control the situation.”

I immediately questioned his motives and tried to hide my thoughts, but the effort was as futile as trying to hide my presence from her.

“Do you still hate him?” she asked.

“Hate’s a strong word.”

“But we’re all capable of feeling it, Elim. How do you feel about me?” she asked with a direct simplicity that went through my body like electric shock. The churning I experienced earlier at the Tarlak Grounds returned. I was afraid to answer. She nodded again with resignation. This time she had completely misread my thoughts. I realized that she not only expected my hate, but accepted it. She stood up and seemed smaller.

“This wasn’t such a good idea after all, was it?” And when had she ended so many of her sentences with a question?

“What happened to you?” I asked sincerely. “You were the most confident person I’d ever known. Even when you made the decision at Bamarren there was no doubt–no apology.” Her eyes suddenly fractured and tears filled the cracks. “Do you think I followed you because I hate you?”

She couldn’t answer. She just stood there shivering. I moved to her to hold her, and she didn’t resist. She didn’t move. She let me put my arms around her and draw her vibrating body to mine. The touch, the feel of her against my body was something I had never expected to experience outside my imagination. For the first time since Bamarren, I wanted to expand my presence, to feel everything that was coming through this moment and joining us. Inexplicably, I had a sudden vision of the Guide, the woman from the meeting.

“This is our secret, Elim,” Palandine whispered.

“Yes,” I answered. “Our secret.” Another one. But it didn’t feel like it would poison me.

15

Entry:

The encryptions were getting harder to decode, but the information being pieced together indicated that a significant resistance was beginning to form on Cardassia itself. I had anticipated this happening, and wondered why it had taken so long to coalesce. Unless the entire planet had somehow gone mad, there were too many good and intelligent people who would be able to see the Dominion promises for what they were and take an action to forestall the inevitable betrayal. Odo confirmed my belief.

“After Tain’s attempt to destroy the Founders’ home‑world, there’s no chance the Dominion will allow an autonomous Cardassian state to exist.” It was the middle of the night, and we were finishing up the last transmissions in Odo’s office. I was exhausted. Sometimes we’d work through to the morning, but thankfully tonight I’d be able to return to my quarters and get a few hours sleep.

“But surely, Odo, the Founders must know that this was the action of a few desperate people,” I reasoned.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that you were one of those desperate people,” he reminded me. I was too tired to argue. “Besides, Garak, this action only confirms their belief in the treachery of the solids. They’ve seen what Cardassians have done to other races; it’s not as if their fears are without foundation.” Odo looked as if he could use a spell in his bucket; I had rarely seen him looking so run‑down.

“No,” I sighed. “We have not inspired the confidence of our neighbors.” I began to push myself away from the computer when a rescramble suddenly formed into a coherent communiquй.

“Look at this, Odo,” I said. The renewed energy in my voice brought him over. “It’s from the Vorta–Weyoun.” We studied the message in silence.

“He doesn’t know where Damar is?” Odo was as perplexed as I was.

“Yes. And judging from this, he’s quite eager to find him.” I wondered, could it be possible? Odo was thinking the same thing.

“Do you suppose–?” he began.

“Yes. Damar’s broken with the Dominion. Either he’s on the run . . .”

“. . . or he’s gone over to the Resistance,” Odo finished.

“This would be significant. Damar’s a dedicated soldier who commands the loyalty of much of the army. He’s not a politician who changes sides like coats.” I hated the man, but I knew that he lived by a strict military code of honor: The Cardassian Union, right or wrong. How else could he have followed that psychopath Dukat for so long? And how else could he have justified his murder of an innocent like Ziyal?

“Unless it’s a trick to expose the rebels,” I added.

“I’d better get this information to Captain Sisko,” Odo decided.

“Would you rather I tell him?” I offered. Odo looked positively drained; he needed to return to his liquid state.

“No,” he declined after a moment. “There are certain protocols. . . .”

“I understand.” And I did. They had codes that I was not privy to, and they wanted to keep it that way. “In that case, Odo, I’m going to get some sleep. You know where to find me.”

“Thank you for your help, Garak,” Odo said, with his sincere formality.

The Promenade was empty at this hour. I made my way up to the second level, to spend a few moments in the observation lounge before retiring to my quarters. It was the one place on the station where I felt a sense of expanded space. The ironies of the situation both amused and irritated me. Here I was, the invaluable decoder of Cardassian encryptions containing life‑and‑death information for the Federation–and they won’t trust me with the code to wake up Captain Sisko. Ah well, it was never easy being a Cardassian on this suspended chunk of desolation. And then I laughed out loud. But what about Odo? The last time I looked he was a changeling, a member of the race of Founders that was determined to destroy the Alpha Quadrant. Not only did he have the captain’s wake‑up code, he also slept with the station’s second‑in‑command.

I found myself staring at the escape pods that had recently carried the Defiant’s crew to safety before that noble vessel was destroyed. They were temporarily tied to a docking arm and looked like small, vulnerable orphans waiting for another home. A noise at the other end of the level reminded me to pay attention, in case Londar Parva and his friends were looking for another opportunity to put the “spoonhead” in his place. The turbolift was nearby, and I made sure it was empty before I entered.

But if Damar had thrown his support to the rebels . . . if it wasn’t a ploy . . . I wanted my revenge on him, yes, but not at the expense of liberating Cardassia. And it wasn’t just liberating the planet from the control of a foreign power. It was closer . . . more personal. I wanted something that was even more difficult to attain–redemption.

The doors opened, and once again I was alert as I stepped into the deserted corridor and moved past the sleeping quarters to my own. It was time, I kept repeating in my head. It was time to take our place among the planets and peoples of the Alpha Quadrant as a civilized and open society. It was time to repair the damage. “A stitch in time saves. . . .” What? What was that expression?

As soon as the doors to my quarters closed, I felt her presence. Smelled her. She was standing against the window behind the desk. This was not the first time she had come here and waited while I worked late into the night. But something was different tonight. The distance between us had opened up again. I gestured to raise the light level.

“Don’t,” she said.

“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” As my eyes adjusted, I saw the phaser in her hand. “Who were you expecting, Remara?”

“You, Elim.”

“Am I in some kind of danger?” I looked around to make sure we were alone.

“Sit down,” she said quietly. I tried to maneuver around so that my back would face the window.

“Over there, Elim.” She indicated the chair in the corner near the door. “And don’t be foolish.”

“I’m afraid your warning comes too late.” She came around the desk and perched on the edge facing me.

“Is this an interrogation?” I asked.

“I was instructed to kill you without questions,” she replied flatly.

“Obviously people who don’t value the art of conversation.” She just looked at me. The distance had never been greater.

“And you lied to me about Bajor. You know my homeworld very well.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I was there only for a short period.”

“Long enough to kill my husband and son.” Everything about her–her hair, face, the clothes she wore–was stripped down, severe. No one who knew her as a dabo girl would recognize her at this moment. I’d always known that spinning the wheel at Quark’s was a cover . . . and I’d chosen to ignore it. And I knew enough about myself and my craft to know that my lapses could no longer be considered accidents.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Elim?” Her eyes burned with an anger that would never subside in this lifetime. She wasn’t a collaborator; Kira had gotten that all wrong. She was a terrorist.

“You’re Khon‑Ma, aren’t you?” She didn’t respond. “Being the only Cardassian on this station, I expected you a long time ago. What kept you?”

“They were on the Taklanwhen you ordered it to be destroyed. With seventeen others who were just trying to free themselves from being sent to work as forced laborers here.”

“In a time of war, when you commandeer an enemy ship and attempt to escape. . . .”

“That wasn’t a war!” she snapped. “It was rape. Murder. Genocide. One day we had our lives and the next Cardassians were taking them away!” Remara’s anger dared me to deny this. I wondered what it had cost her to constantly bridle her true feelings as she was passing herself off as the remote and desired sex object. Perhaps the Klingons were unconsciously attracted by what was underneath the makeup and skimpy costume. Usually the experiences that drive a person into any kind of resistance movement are also ones that can anesthetize all feeling. But Remara’s passion appeared undiminished. Of course, this passion was my opening, my chance for escape from her revenge disguised as Khon‑Ma justice. But I was weary beyond caring. Moments before, I had been fantasizing about redemption, and now I was about to be executed for the Cardassian Occupation of Bajor. And all along I had been clearly setting myself up, ignoring every sign like an inexperienced probe. Perhaps this was the redemption I was looking for.

“I was on Bajor a short time to interrogate possible Resistance members. The occupation was a strictly military affair and they brought in . . . my group. . . .”

“What group?” she interrupted.

“It’s not important–it no longer exists. We were given children to interrogate. They were starving, dressed in rags. It was a disgrace, beyond the usual incompetence of the military. The guls were out of control, grabbing anyone they thought was Resistance. I took one look at them and saw that they were just angry rock throwers. I gave them latinum and threw them back onto the streets. We told the military that either we do things our way. . . .”

“Which way is that, Elim?” she sneered. It was one of the few times that I found her unattractive.

“The right way, Remara. Find the right people, get the right information that can be used effectively against the Resistance. But that meant the military had to give up control, and of course that was out of the question. So we were sent home.”

“You were seen at the shuttle!” she insisted.

“We were at the terminal when the Bajoran prisoners overwhelmed their captors and took over the shuttle. They had hostages and wanted to negotiate. I could see that Gul Toran was over his head–making ridiculous threats to people who had nothing to lose.”

“They had everything to lose,” she said, shaking her head at my assessment.

“In that situation, my dear, they had everything to gain and nothing to lose,” I wearily explained. “The trick is to give up as little as possible and make them believe that they’ve won a great victory, but that was beyond Toran’s ability. I volunteered to negotiate. The people inside seemed reasonable. The fact that they hadn’t tried to escape immediately or begun executing prisoners told me they were looking for a way out. An exchange. . . .” I stopped. What’s the point, I thought. All the stories were beginning to run together and they all had the same ending.

“What happened?” she asked softly. The sneer was gone; she, too, was probably weary of the burden of these stories.

“You know what happened, Remara. Gul Toran wasn’t going to let me negotiate. And he certainly wasn’t going to do it himself. ‘Never with terrorists,’ he announced; but the truth was that he didn’t know how. They had no choice but to try to escape.”

“And they were all killed,” she said even more softly.

“End of story, Remara.” I considered telling her how I had exacted my own revenge upon Toran, and that my only regret was that his death hadn’t come sooner . . . but what was the point? Another treacherous opportunist dies after tearing another hole in the fabric. What’s gained except the potential for more damage? I rose. The station’s gravity felt like it had increased threefold.

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. One way or the other I’d like to go to sleep.”

“Who gave the order?” she asked.

“What difference does it make? I did, if you like.”

Remara just looked at me. She lowered the phaser. Part of me was deeply disappointed. “I was at the terminal,” she said in that soft voice. “I was in line to get on the Taklan,but I was delayed and got separated from Karna and Berin. We had been assigned as a family to Terok Nor. I was just a few people from the door when the guards were overwhelmed and dragged inside. The door closed, and I was left behind. I panicked. I screamed and banged on the door along with the others. Cardassian soldiers started beating us away, and I was thrown to the side, where I hid behind a barricade, hoping that the door would open and I could rush inside. It was from there that I watched you and Toran argue. I couldn’t hear you, but it was clear what was happening. You knew each other from before, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“I could tell you hated each other. When you walked away I knew that they were all going to die.” Remara walked to the window and looked out. How much of my life, I thought, had been spent at that window, longing for release from this sad and deadening place.

“Tahna Los told us you were here. He’s still in a Bajoran prison, and believes that you were somehow involved in his capture. It certainly wasn’t a secret, but nobody knew who you were or why you stayed after the Cardassian Withdrawal. You were very low on the list for termination.” She turned and smiled apologetically. “It wasn’t until I came here and saw you . . . and recognized you. When I went back and told the others, they put you at the top of the list, and I was assigned.” She shook her head sadly and slipped the phaser inside her tunic. She moved away from the window to where I still stood.

“You’re going to have to leave this station. They’ll keep coming after you until someone succeeds. Good‑bye, Elim.” She put her hand against the side of my face, and I felt the heat coming through. Perhaps her passion was a curse as a terrorist, but she was a whole person . . . and she had found redemption.

“Why does Kira think you were a traitor and a thief?” I asked as she moved to the door.

“Because I was.”

“Did you collaborate at the refugee center?”

“Nerys told you about Singha.” Remara sighed and looked past me as if seeing something that only deepened her sadness. “Her father, Taban, let me live with them in their part of the cave. In return I betrayed him.” She looked at me with that distant smile I found so attractive when we first met. “No, I didn’t collaborate, Elim. I thought Taban was the collaborator. I discovered that the reason he was able to take me in was because he received extra food and medicine from the Cardassian authorities. At the time I had a friend in the Resistance. When I told him about the supplies, I was instructed to keep an eye on Taban’s activities . . . and to steal whatever I could to pass on to people who were in need. One day, Taban caught me in the act. I think if I’d just admitted what I was doing and why, he would have forgiven me. He was that kind of man. Instead, I accused him of betraying our people and ran away.” Her voice trailed off, and we stood in the vibrating silence of the station.

“You were very young,” I observed.

“It was later when I found out why Taban received extra supplies. His wife, Nerys’s mother, was a comfort woman for the Cardassians. Did Nerys tell you that?”

“No.”

“In fact, she was the mistress of your old friend, Dukat, before she died.”

“Dukat,” I repeated softly.

“So they gave up their extra rations. Either that, or be hounded as collaborators. I don’t blame Nerys, Elim. In her position, I’d be just as unforgiving.”

She turned and went through the opening door. A part of me wanted her to stay, but in my weariness I could only watch her leave.

16

Entry:

Gray, humid, and lush. Sometimes I’d stand up from my gardening work and feel my head bump against the low Romulan sky. Tain told me this was an ideal assignment for me, and when I disembarked on Romulus I partly understood why. Vegetation thrives in this climate. Everywhere you look, shrubs, trees, flowers all grow in a profusion I’d never seen before. And it’s that very sight that produces the most amazing reversal of expectation. At first I was convinced there was something wrong with my eyesight: instead of being predominantly green, Romulus is gray.

My cover at the Cardassian Embassy was master groundskeeper. The regular groundskeeper was sent back to Cardassia for an extended leave, during which time I would introduce Cardassian plantings. Tolan had prepared me very well for this cover. My name was Elim Vronok, and my deep mission was very clearly stated: eliminate Proconsul Merrok, Tain’s nemesis in the Romulan Empire. No one knew–or would say exactly–why this antipathy between Merrok and Tain existed, but it was fierce and abiding. I knew that part of the reason was that Merrok had previously urged a Romulan alliance with the Klingon Empire to contain the Cardassians, and he had even gone so far as to share cloaking technology with the Klingons. It was this technology–arguably Romulus’s most important scientific achievement–that we still coveted; specifically, the improved interphase generator that rendered the interphase scanner (the device developed by Federation scientists to detect cloaked phenomena) virtually impotent. Romulans and Cardassians were tentatively exploring an exchange–cloaking technology for advanced Cardassian weaponry–but any progress in those negotiations was constantly thwarted by Merrok, the prime defense minister.

But there was something else: the rivalry between the Obsidian Order and its Romulan counterpart, the Tal Shiar, an intelligence organization led by the implacable Koval and sponsored by Merrok. The rivalry had become so intense that a virtual state of war existed between the two organizations.

“Vronok!” And my biggest surprise on Romulus was the identity of the embassy’s first secretary: Nine Lubak, the instrument of my Bamarren betrayal in the hands of his cousin Barkan Lokar. Krim Lokar had obviously been left in the dust of Barkan’s rapid rise, and had found another liaison position, this time dispensing appropriate and carefully prepared “information” to the Romulan Bureau of Alien Affairs. He was a puppet: his mouth moved whichever way it was pulled. When I first saw him, I thought the mission was compromised. Only the ambassador and my contact knew who I was. But thanks to Lokar’s arrogance and self‑involvement (which had deepened over the years) he didn’t recognize me.

“The ambassador wants to see you,” he announced from his lofty position.

“I’ll be right in,” I assured him with all due deference.

“Make sure you clean yourself before you do,” he instructed me, as if I were a child.

“Certainly.” I bowed my head.

“First Secretary!” he corrected.

“Excuse me?” I knew what he wanted.

“You will address me as First Secretary,” he explained. He was convinced that because I was a gardener I was also a dolt.

“Of course . . . First Secretary.” I smiled.

“Do people know what you’re doing here?” he asked with distaste.

“I beg you pardon, First Secretary?” I felt a slight twinge. He’s not supposed to know anything.

“Out here. The grounds,” he gestured impatiently to the plot I was preparing. “Do you have permission to do this work? It seems rather excessive. The grounds were perfectly acceptable with Kronim,” he said, referring to the former groundskeeper.

“I assure you, I have the authority . . . First Secretary.”

“Well, hurry up!” He actually clapped his hands. “We haven’t all day.” He turned and entered the building. I marveled how the years had turned him into a fussy middle‑aged androgyne. I wondered if anyone would really mind if I put him on the list after Proconsul Merrok.

When I entered the ambassador’s office, he was sitting at his desk with an older Romulan woman. Neither of them rose.

“Elim Vronok, this is Senator Pelek.” I bowed and waited respectfully to be addressed. The senator completely ignored me, and the Ambassador continued. “The senator has created a renowned arboretum, and she’s curious about the native Cardassian plantings you are introducing to the Romulan climate. Especially the Edosian orchid.”

I nodded. My expression betrayed nothing, but here was my “contact”: a Romulan senator. That Tain managed to turn such a high‑ranking official was a feat, considering the hermetic nature of Romulan society. These people regarded aliens as lower forms of life, and the condescending attitude all Romulans reserved for the outsider was never covert. Indeed, as I stood there in a work uniform identifying me as an Embassy service drone, the senator looked right through me. I wasn’t even worthy of her disdain.

“Send him to my residence,” she commanded the ambassador as she rose. “My groundskeeper will meet with him and get the necessary information.” The ambassador started to bow, but Senator Pelek was already on her way out the door. I began to wonder if she was indeed the contact. Could her interest in my orchids be a coincidence? This felt more like indentured labor than an undercover assignment.

“I’ve been posted here for two cycles and I still can’t get used to their arrogance.” Ambassador Bornar was a massively overweight man who appeared to be constantly falling asleep. This time, however, when I looked at him he was awake and very present. I wondered how much he knew about my mission. When he saw me studying him he quickly went back to sleep.