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Old May 1 2012, 11:56 AM   #1
Rear Admiral
lvsxy808's Avatar
Location: London
DS9 Season 10, ep 10x18 - "The Calling"

Previously, on DS9 Season 10:

Review threads:

Episodes 1 to 7
Episode 8
Episode 9
Episode 10
Episode 11
Episode 12
Episode 13
Episode 14
Episode 15
Episode 16
Episode 17

Direct links to the PDFs of episodes 1 to 17:

10x01 - "Emancipation"
10x02 - "Brave New World"
10x03 - "Steppin' Out"
10x04 - "Easy Come, Easy Go"
10x05 - "Deep Down"
10x06 - "The Dream Box"
10x07 - "Instinct"
10x08 - "Property Values"
10x09 - "Blank Slate"
10x10 - "In Two Minds"
10x11 - "Harmony" (part 1 of 2)
10x12 - "Heresy" (part 2 of 2)
10x13 - "The Case of the Flamping Flurble"
10x14 - "Against the Odds"
10x15 - "Inside Out"
10x16 - "I Will Survive"
10x17 - "Reservoir Ferengi"

All episodes are also available at the Ad Astra fan-fic archives, link here.

Next up is 10x18 - "The Calling"

Similar to the previous episode, this is of course also an already officially published story, Andrew J Robinson's direct sequel to the rightly lauded A Stitch in Time (which I had previously adapted as part of season 8). Again, I chose to adapt an existing story because it fit my plans for the season perfectly. In fact, much of the Cardassian storyline over the entire season has been written with the knowledge that I was coming to this point.

This is also the reason why I chose to upload two stories at once just this time - because they are both adaptations of existing stories rather than new works, and therefore it wouldn't be fair to ask readers to wait again to read something they may well have already read.

When this story was first released, I think it confused some readers. I have tweaked a few small aspects, hopefully made some things clearer. I also dug in and found the way in which this story slots seamlessly in with the larger developing arc of the season, as you'll see in the final act.

Unlike with "Reservoir Ferengi," I do not have official permission to upload this story, mostly because I do not have the ability to ask for that permission. The same caveat applies: I lay no claim to the original storyline, dialogue or scene descriptions, which come almost entirely from Andrew's story and are his intellectual property. If anyone objects to my uploading this, please tell me and I will happily remove it with apologies. No offence is intended. I also heartily recommend that everyone buy the book in which "The Calling" first appears - the excellent DS9 collection Prophecy and Change, available here.

All that said, onto the episode. As usual the PDF can also be downloaded here.


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Old May 1 2012, 12:00 PM   #2
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Location: London
Re: DS9 Season 10, ep 10x18 - "The Calling"





Open on the station’s infirmary, dim and quiet. It’s night shift, and the only person around is a CLEANER polishing the floor with a beam of light from a large and clumsy device. We don’t even need to see the Cleaner’s face – that’s not the point. As he or she goes about their work...

GARAK (v.o.)
My dear Doctor... I have had to
send this communication through
a rather circuitous route to
prevent it from being exposed
to anyone but you. If some
unfortunate soul does manage to
get his hands on this, it’ll be
the last thing he’ll ever hold.

We move gradually around the room, observing the bio-beds, the instruments, the surgical suite, the pharmacy.

GARAK (v.o.)
All this sounds extreme, I know.
But I assure you, I’m not simply
sending a poison pen letter
because I got up on the wrong
side of the bed this morning.
I count myself fortunate to
have gotten out of bed at all.
But more about that later.

The Cleaner moves on to casting the light over the walls, removing grime from simple wear and tear.

GARAK (v.o.)
Despite the fact that you have
disappeared without a word, I’m
hopeful you’re still alive. And
though I know you wouldn’t
abandon me without good reason,
I have to admit I’m a little
piqued. The last time we met,
you promised you would be there
to help me. And yet you are
nowhere to be found.

The cleaner moves to the CMO’s desk, upon which a padd sits. He or she begins polishing the surfaces with a cloth.

GARAK (v.o.)
It’s not a question of blame,
Doctor. Such a childish word.
No, it’s about responsibility.
If one is encouraged by a dear
friend to take on a dangerous,
indeed life-changing course of
action, and is promised support
for this action, how is one to
react when that dear friend and
his promised support vanish?


Garak’s vision of the cocktail party in the Ward Room, hazy and strange. Everyone is happy, smiling, mingling in peace and companionship. Bashir pushes forward out of the crowd and embraces Garak like a long-lost friend.

GARAK (v.o.)
There are those who have tried
to convince me our encounter in
the Vinculum was nothing more
than a dream I had.


Garak sits inside his shack, looking out at the devastation outside with depression and doubt. The Cardassian doctor Parmak is in the doorway, trying to buck him up.

GARAK (v.o.)
Doctor Parmak among them.


At the cocktail party, Garak watches the mingling figures, curious, intrigued.

GARAK (v.o.)
I can’t fault him for it. If one
has never been in the Vinculum,
one can never understand a place
where past, present and future
combine. Where the neat lines we
draw between dream and reality,
between the living and the dead,
have no more meaning than spices
in a karalian stew. I don’t claim
to know the how and why. But I
believe it was you I encountered
in that place. And that’s why
I’m writing to you now.


Doctor Parmak’s isolation room. Ferric lies dying on the bed. Ekosha sits by the side, praying over him.

GARAK (v.o.)
When I came to the Vinculum, I
was a man on an errand. To find
a cure or vaccine to the virus
we had unwittingly unleashed
upon ourselves by opening the
Hebitian ruins at Gardat. You
gave me that cure, Doctor...
and something more.


After the vision, Garak walks back up the hill into the light, with the answer to his questions.

GARAK (v.o.)
So when I left the Vinculum, I
was a man on a mission. I was
determined to step out of the
shadows as you advised me, and
guide Cardassia back to the
light of civilization.


Garak gazes out of his shed to the destroyed memorial in which it sits...

GARAK (v.o.)
But that light faded. The harsh
reality of trying to bring order
out of Cardassian chaos brought
me back to the Vinculum on two
further occasions. But I found no
healing or relief. No Federation
support... and no Doctor Bashir.


Back to the Infirmary. The cleaner polishes the surfaces... and knocks the padd off the top. They lean down to pick it up, and as they place it back on the surface, we focus on its screen... which shows a headshot of GARAK.

GARAK (v.o.)
Whatever has happened to you,
my friend, my fervent hope is
that this communication will
find its way to you one way
or another.

The cleaner moves off to carry on their work, giving the padd no more thought. But we continue to slowly close in on the padd and its image of Garak.

GARAK (v.o.)
But I still wonder... where
are you, Doctor?



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Old May 1 2012, 12:08 PM   #3
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Location: London
Re: DS9 Season 10, ep 10x18 - "The Calling"





As he stands, gazing out across his view. His face hangs slack, energy-less. He seems empty, emotionally hopeless. As grey and colourless as the clouded sky behind him.

WIDEN to reveal...


The large public square where we have seen meetings and rallies held before. Garak stands on a small stage at the front, a microphone stand before him. He stares out at the gathering crowd of Cardassians that is slowly filling the broken, rubble-strewn space. As he watches...

GARAK (v.o.)
They came from all over Cardassia.

Focusing on one group, wearing worn and scuffed leather working clothes...

GARAK (v.o.)
The Sabutahim, callused and
sturdy farmers from across
the southern provinces.

Garak’s emotionless gaze shifts to another group, thin and wiry, malnourished but maintaining their pride.

GARAK (v.o.)
The gaunt and ghostly Kasmoc,
herders and breeders from the north.

Moving to a third group...

GARAK (v.o.)
Ragged, half-mad fundamentalists
from Lakarian City, rebuilding
among the Hebitian ruins in a
desperate attempt to return to
simpler times.

And a final group, standing tall and proud in the nearest things they can find to a uniform. They are determined to act like they’re in charge, whatever the reality.

GARAK (v.o.)
And of course, those die-hard
Imperialists, the base support
of the Directorate, from their
protected enclaves in Rogarin.

As Garak stares out from his podium...

GARAK (v.o.)
All survivors. Exhausted from
the death and destruction. Or
demented by loss and grief,
looking for a scapegoat for
their rage. Since the failure
of the Reunion Project to build
a Cardassian democracy, our
world has divided itself into
countless tribes, each one
ferociously defending the tiny
borders of its pathetic realm.

Suddenly a voice raises in panic and fear.

No! No! Stop! He’s blind!

Garak turns to his right, and sees a WOMAN trying to defend an older man as two younger men beat him with fists.

He fought against us at Begata!

(between punches)
And I’d do it again!

Doctor PARMAK stands off to the side of the stage. He directs two of the dozen or so military OFFICERS, who had been guarding the stage, to move into the crowd and try to stop the fight. Meanwhile, Garak watches blankly. He can’t seem to muster the energy to care.

Garak finally speaks. Not any great speech, more as if he’s thinking out loud and the mic just happens to be there.

I wonder... what would happen
if we all went blind.

The crowd stops a little, realising he’s spoken.

What? ... What did he say? ...
Quiet! ... Listen...

How do they exact revenge in
the land of the blind? What
do they take next?

You take until there’s nothing left!

“Until there’s nothing left.”
Then let me ask you this. Let me
ask you all – how do they exact
revenge in the land of the dead?

For the first time, the crowd has no response. In the quiet, the mournful call of a bird echoes across the sky.

If there’s nothing left, how
do we go on?

As Garak continues to gaze out, and the gathered crowd considers his question...

GARAK (v.o.)
It has been six months since
Alon Ghemor was assassinated,
and since then, nearly as many
have died from the fighting
and the plague as did during
the Dominion occupation.


A run-down room, tent or warehouse. It’s being used as a makeshift medical centre. Nothing too technologically advanced – just a case of downtrodden Cardassians standing in line to receive cursory medical checks and injections.

GARAK (v.o.)
Parmak has done excellent work
taking the data you gave me
and turning it into a vaccine
to stem the tide of the disease.
Now it’s only a matter of us
getting to the people before
the disease does.

One line of patients moves on, rubbing the skin of their arms, injections given. The next line moves up to take their turn with the exhausted clinic workers.

GARAK (v.o.)
And still, one in three die in
agony. A pitiful few actually
recover from the infection. I
imagine they wish they hadn’t.


The crowd gathering in the square. To one side, there’s a group of Cardassians gathered on their own. No-one else wants to stand near them. They’re wearing heavy cloaks that completely hide their features.

GARAK (v.o.)
How brave of these people to
come here today. To risk the
resentment and fear of the
others, just to hear me speak.



What!... do you think you’re
doing, Ereket?

One of the Cardassian nurses, a young male named EREKET, jerks in fear at the knife-edge in Garak’s voice. He was preparing to inject an older man, CRONAL, with the vaccine. But he stops as Garak stalks over to him. The lines of people waiting for their turn stretch off to the distance.

Excuse me, Docent?

These people need the vaccine.
They don’t need to be impressed
by your wisdom and expertise.

But Docent, I was just trying to
explain –

Administer the drug as you’ve
been taught. We have to finish
this group before we lose the
light. Do you understand?

Garak is being harsher here than the situation really calls for. His nerves are obviously frayed. Ereket flushes with shame at being yelled at, and gets back to work.

Yes, Docent.

The older patient, Cronal, has been watching Garak closely all this time, much more interested in him than Ereket’s procedure. Garak moves on. Cronal’s eyes follow him.

GARAK (v.o.)
To correct the behaviour of a
small man like Ereket was a
momentary distraction. But if
my peers and those in positions
of real, actual power should
need correction...

Excuse me - Elim Garak?

Distracted by his own thoughts, Garak hadn’t noticed Cronal approaching him. Now Garak turns to him, and something in the old man’s intense gaze puts Garak on his alert.


My name is Cronal Gys. I want
to thank you for the good work
you’ve been doing here... and

Thank you. And I apologise for
the behaviour of –

No no, not at all. He’s young,
he has to learn how to work.
Unfortunately all the schools
these days are real life.

You’re very kind.

Garak isn’t sure what to make of this man, the clear eyes that never stop looking at him, measuring him.

Your work has a particular
significance for some of us
here in Lakarian City.

My... work?

I think I can help you find
the person you’re looking for.

Garak stops, his eyes going wide in shock and amazement.



Garak gazes out of his shed to the destroyed memorial in which it sits. He has the padd O’Brien gave him, that contains the instructions of how to access the Vinculum.

GARAK (v.o.)
You see, Doctor, on those other
times I went to the Vinculum,
searching for you, the times you
were not present as promised...
others did appear to me.


The Tarlak Grounds as they used to look many years ago. A rare park of green grass and colourful flowers among the grey of the city. Garak sits on a bench with his secret love, PALANDINE. On the grass before them, Palandine’s young daughter NEL plays happily to herself.

GARAK (v.o.)
I was young again, enjoying
my secret assignations with
another man’s wife. Palandine,
the woman who had held my
attention since childhood.

Then we blend into NEW FOOTAGE... a shadow passes over the scene. The bright sun turns to darkness, only the light of the Blind Moon to see by. At first Garak cannot see Palandine in the dark. But then she leans slowly forward into the light...

...and reveals a disfigured face, a horror mask burned and warped by the disease. Garak recoils in fear...

GARAK (v.o.)
I tried to believe that her
disfigured appearance in the
Vinculum was a hallucination.
Just as Parmak had tried to
convince me you were. But I
couldn’t deny that she was
not the only dead soul I had
encountered in that place.

Careful, Elim. Your enemies are
looking for a way to hurt you.


In answer, the disfigured Palandine turns to look at the child playing at their feet. Garak looks at Nel too... and as they watch, the young girl slowly fades from view.

Nel? They’ll kill Nel?

You will kill her. In revenge
against Barkan. Or so it will


The moment where Garak and Barkan struggle to the death in a military interrogation room.

GARAK (v.o.)
Barkan. He and Palandine used
me, then betrayed me. I killed
him. And now they were going
to discredit me by claiming I
had killed his daughter too.


Present. From his position on the stage, Garak glances over to the gathered Imperialists, standing smug and superior.

GARAK (v.o.)
Idiots. Didn’t they know by now
that if I had wanted anyone
killed, no-one would have ever
found the evidence to prove it?
But no-one ever needed proof of
a thing to believe it was true.
I promised Palandine I would
search for Nel. Protect her.


All of the above goes through Garak’s mind as he processes what Cronal has said to him.

When it’s convenient for you,
you can meet me in the grounds
adjacent to the Citadel. I’m
sure I don’t have to tell you
how delicate the situation is.

With that, Cronal turns and walks away. Confused and thrown off guard, Garak calls after him.

It won’t take me long to finish
up here.

(walking away)
I’ll be there.

And then the old man is gone. Garak watches the lines of waiting patients shuffle forward a step at a time for their treatments. He has other things on his mind.

GARAK (v.o.)
Only when he was gone did I
think to wonder how he knew I
was looking for Nel at all. I
hadn’t yet had the chance to
enquire about her in Lakarian.

Still thinking, worried, Garak turns away and goes back to his work. As he potters around, guiding and instructing the nurses, comforting the patients...

GARAK (v.o.)
When I returned from the Vinculum
that third time, I took what
opportunities I could to look for
her, as I had promised Palandine
I would. Always making sure to do
so discreetly, of course, so as
not to raise the alarms of these
hidden enemies.


The secret Oralian Way room, hidden away in a basement. The walls are painted in a frieze depicting the lives of the Hebitians, and Nel herself stands on the dais at the front.

GARAK (v.o.)
The Oralian Temple in Cardassia
City where she had performed her
duties as Guide had disappeared
without a trace. And there was
really no-one else I could ask.


The rows of dishevelled, downtrodden Cardassians continue to plod forward a step at a time. Garak continues to guide the nurses and comfort the patients.

GARAK (v.o.)
I knew Lakarian was a stronghold
of what was left of the Oralian
Way, so I purposely volunteered
for the mission so that I could
make enquiries as time allowed.
Somehow this man Cronal had
anticipated my intentions.

Garak looks back over his shoulder, in the direction Cronal had left...

GARAK (v.o.)
But how? How did he know?



TrekLit/DS9-R fans! Want a different vision of the Ascendant conflict and the DS9 time gap?

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Old May 1 2012, 12:16 PM   #4
Rear Admiral
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Location: London
Re: DS9 Season 10, ep 10x18 - "The Calling"





Very dark, since there is little in the way of artificial light. A large and imposing building, like a mansion or castle, looms in the darkness, crumbling from damage and disuse. Surrounding it are sparse and crabby attempts at grass, again blasted and ruined by fire and destruction.

Garak stands in the even darker shadow of one of the few remaining trees. He looks up at one of the towers of the Citadel, pondering whether to emerge from hiding.

GARAK (v.o.)
Before Cardassia City was built
to be a more appropriate seat of
power for the empire, Lakarian
served the role of centralizing
planetary government in a more
subtle and aesthetic manner. Many
of the buildings dated back to
the early Republic, and there
were even Hebitian ruins that had
somehow survived the almost total
eradication of that culture. The
old Republican Citadel was one
such, itself partly constructed
from the ancient volcanic rock
the Hebitians used to build with.
I couldn’t think of a more
suitable place to conceal the
remnants of the Oralian Way.

Finally, Garak steps forward out of the deepest shadow of the tree, and towards the stone walls of the Citadel.

GARAK (v.o.)
But was that really what was
going on here? Or had I just
walked, willingly and innocent
as a child, into an elaborate
trap? Damn it, Elim – has your
caution and common sense died
along with everything else?

Garak gently, reverently lays a hand on the stone of the Citadel’s walls.

CRONAL (o.s.)
The first people also touched that.

Garak looks to the side – Cronal stands in the shadow of another tree, just as he himself had. He’s been there all along. Garak isn’t surprised - it fits the situation.

It has an almost plasmic quality.

We’ll never find a better
building material.

Why wasn’t it used for everything?

It’s not as imperial looking as
obsidian stone from the Toran

But that’s on the other side of
the planet.

Yes, but they had plenty of...
expendable labour.
Please, Elim Garak, come with me.

Cronal emerges from the shadows and begins to lead Garak through the grounds, around the building.

GARAK (v.o.)
The gardener in me wanted to stop
and study what was left of the
plantings. It would take time to
restore the soil, but it could be
done, and well worth the effort.


Cronal leads Garak through dark, beaten down city streets. Buildings jammed together in cramped, hive-like fashion. Despite the many buildings, the streets are deserted.

GARAK (v.o.)
Of course. They wouldn’t hide in
the Citadel itself. If I knew
that was the obvious place,
others could figure it out just
as easily. Honestly, Elim, you
really are losing your touch.

Cronal notices Garak’s glances around at the dead streets.

The plague was especially cruel
here. Almost no-one remains...
except, of course, for those
who have no choice.

The dead.

Not just the dead.

Cronal stops at a door that looks just like all the others. They cross the threshold, there’s a HUM and Garak shivers – he’s just passed through a forcefield of some kind.

Cronal goes to another door among many – the door opens as they approach, despite there having been no signal. Garak gasps slightly as he sees who is there – NEL. She smiles at him openly, no artifice or judgement.


Elim Garak. Please. Come in.
We’ve been waiting for you.

Garak and Cronal both enter the room, and Nel closes the door behind them.


The room is small and dark, empty and bare except for half a dozen low stools. The walls and floor are built of the same volcanic rock as the Citadel, which almost seems to flow and move in a visual illusion, forming shapes which dissolve again before they can be identified. Garak, Cronal and Nel all take seats.

You’ve become an Oralian Guide.

When it’s not a danger to others.
It’s difficult for people to
gather and celebrate the Fates.

That’s my fault, isn’t it? You’re
being caught up in a stratagem
that’s directed against me.

What a strange man you are, Elim
Garak. I assure you, you don’t
have to take responsibility for
our problems. You have plenty
of your own.

But I was under the impression –

I know. But even if you never
existed, those people who hunt
us now would still be doing so.
Of course, Cardassian efficiency
would dearly love to eliminate
us both at the same time.

Nel chuckles, wryly amused at the very idea. Garak gazes at her in wonder.

You have so much of both your
mother and father in you... I
feel so...

You loved my father, didn’t you?
Obviously I know you loved my
mother... but him too.


Nel turns to Cronal, as if pondering a hypothetical.

Has it ever occurred to you,
Cronal, that we seek out that
person who... how shall I say
this... gives us our death?

There are precedents in nature.
The balteen, at the end of its
cycle, offers itself at the
lair of its greatest predator.
Even Garak’s pet regnar chooses
its time.

Nel turns back to Garak, smiling and clapping with glee.

Mila! Your tiny lizard friend
at Bamarren Institute, named
after your mother.

What don’t you know about me?

It’s only information.

My father would have disagreed.

But he waited for you, before
he died. Just like the regnar.

Garak cannot breathe – Nel is saying all the things he has never dared to admit to himself. Nel seems to understand.

My father had been looking for
the person who would give him
his death. He also chose you
for that moment.

Men who want to lead are often
conflicted. Does one have a
calling? Or merely a lust for
power? And if it is a calling,
how does one answer?


At the cocktail party, Bashir hands Garak the padd with the vaccine information it, urging Garak onwards...


Garak looks at Nel in wonder...

You know about the Vinculum.

Of course we know. It’s a great
gift, Elim. A source of wisdom
few are allowed to experience...
and be able to return and share.
And surely you must know by now
the reason you were sent there.

Garak looks back at her blankly. She chuckles again, amused and exasperated at his naivety.

Before an ancient Hebitian
could be appointed as leader,
he had to make a pilgrimage to
it. The Vinculum is a place
where the living and the dead
find common ground. After all,
unless you’ve made your peace
with the dead, how can you
lead the living?

I don’t understand...

You made the pilgrimage, Elim.
You have been called.

If that’s the case, why would a
human – Julian Bashir – be the
one to encourage me to lead the
Reunion Project? Shouldn’t that
message – that call – have come
from one of our own?

Are you sure it was really him?

Once again, Garak has the breath knocked out of him.

But... why –

Elim, you’re an extraordinary
person. You’re also a stubborn
one. Perhaps you received the
information from someone who
appeared to be Julian Bashir
because you wouldn’t accept
it from anyone else.

Then who was it?

Only you can answer that.

When I was in the Vinculum, your
mother – or someone who appeared
to be her – told me to save you.

Am I in danger?

I think we all are.

Then you have to save us all.

As Garak sits, gazing at the shifting patterns on the stone walls, trying to absorb what she’s telling him...


Present. Garak is on the stage, looking out at the gathered Cardassians from all over the planet.

GARAK (v.o.)
And so I called for the speech.
To attempt to reconcile all the
scattered tribes of our world.

The crowd is still, prepared to listen for the moment.

My fellow Cardassians...

He trails off, looking at their faces, at the various groups still separate and distrustful.

GARAK (v.o.)
As I prepared to thank them for
coming, urge them to lay aside
their differences, the faces of
the past intruded even more. In
the Obsidian Order, we are taught
to operate on two or more levels
of conscious intent at once. The
mind has complete control over
each level. But I had no control
over the imagery now flooding my
mind. The speech I had wanted
to give, the words of healing
and hope... wouldn’t come.

He is blank and emotionless, speaking without inflection.

We’ve all gone mad.

They all look up at him, confused...

GARAK (cont)
Or we’ve reached the final stage
in our evolution, where we’ve
outlived our reason for being
here at all. Perhaps all that’s
left is the final implosion.

Some in the crowd don’t like this. They begin to shout and protest. Garak shouts over them...

No no no no! Not your fault!
You were only reacting to the
circumstances that he created,
and the injuries and insults
that she committed. And every
one of us is so wronged and
insulted and inflicted with
the deaths of those closest to
us that we righteously believe
we have the right to strike
the last blow!

Yes! We do!

Alright. But let me ask you
a serious question, my fellow
long-suffering Cardassian. Have
you thought about what this
world will look like if you
do strike the last blow?

Silence. They are actually thinking about what he said.

GARAK (v.o.)
Suddenly I hated them. I hated
them all. I hated what we had
become. The best of us had
already been sacrificed, and
the sooner the end came for
the rest of us the better.

Garak looks down at them, sneering with his distaste.

Think about it. It’s very simple.
Whichever one of you does strike
the last blow, imagine the satis-
faction as you stand all alone
in a wasteland of dead bodies.
All the barbarity and madness
of our civilization devolves on
you. And at that point, all I
can wish for you is that you
have the strength to bury the
rest of us. That is, if there’s
a shred of decency left in you.

The crowd is starting to respond, and they are not happy. On the stage behind him, Parmak murmurs a gentle warning.


GARAK (v.o.)
This was not the calling Nel had
spoken of. I knew that. Perhaps
it was exhaustion... perhaps I
was seeking my death. But I was
facing a reality that defied
all political idealism... and
it had finally driven me mad.

The crowd boils over. The people surge forwards, ready to attack. Garak stands there, not caring anymore as they push towards him, baying for his blood...



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Old May 1 2012, 12:21 PM   #5
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Re: DS9 Season 10, ep 10x18 - "The Calling"





Where we left it. The crowd is fighting amongst themselves, but a significant number have targeted Garak himself.

Death to Garak! Death to the traitors!

Garak watches them approach, barely present. At the last he’s grabbed from behind by Parmak and quickly hustled out of the way. It’s not unlike when Jartek did the same for Ghemor. Will it have the same result? Garak doesn’t care.

As what pitiful security there is futilely holds back the crowd, Parmak quickly drags Garak down behind the stage. There’s an old grate in the building walls that once led into a sewer. Parmak pulls it aside, drags Garak into the opening with him, and pulls it closed. They’ve escaped.


A hidden square-cut passageway through the bowels of the city. Cold stone, damp walls, barely any light. Parmak and Garak dash along it.


A door opens and Parmak shoves Garak through it. As Parmak makes sure the door is securely closed, Garak goes to take a seat at a table. He sits, and looks down at the table, not looking at the other people in the room.

Sat behind a fairly large and ornate desk is PYTHAS. He sits in a primitive wheelchair, and his face is disfigured and warped – not with the disease like Palandine’s, but with burns from the original Dominion attack. His voice is calm and measured, despite the enormous pain he must be in.

Standing behind him is LIMOR, Enabran Tain’s former aide as seen in 8x09 “A Stitch in Time.” Thin and wiry, the kind of man who barely ever moves or speaks, so that when he does, you know he has a purpose.

What was that all about, Elim?

I couldn’t give the speech.


I’m tired of them. They behave
like children.

So you scold them like children?
Did you think that would bring
them together? They’re afraid.

I’m sorry. I couldn’t control myself.

Garak looks up, still empty. Limor is staring back at him. The door opens again, and DEJAR enters (last seen 10x07 “Instinct”). She’s been listening to a comm chip in her ear, and reports to Pythas, as if Garak isn’t even there.

It’s getting worse. The battle
is raging throughout the Tarlak
Sector. It seems the Directorate
had planned on breaking up the
rally in any event. Garak just
made their task easier.

Send the Paldar and Akleen units.

That will exhaust our reserves.

What else can we do, Dejar? Give
them the coordinates and stay in

Dejar accepts the instructions and leaves the room again.

How many more fires can we put
out, Pythas? This happens every
time. Whenever we make some kind
of progress, negotiate a truce,
a reconciliation... some act of
violence destroys it all again.

(quiet, sympathetic)
He’s not wrong, Pythas. Mondrig
is still out there somewhere,
whipping up paranoia. And who
can blame them for listening?
There has to be a reason why so
many have died, and Federation
genocide makes as much sense
as anything else.

It’s a stalemate, Pythas. There’s
no productivity, our resources
are at a critical low –

Yes, I know this, Elim. And the
fact that you know it as well
makes me wonder all the more
why you weren’t able to control
yourself and follow through with
our plan to reconcile those
groups out there.

Because it’s futile. All you
had to was look into their eyes.
They want revenge, someone to
blame. The thugs were waiting
for the opening to attack us,
Dejar said so herself. The only
people who want reconciliation
are the plague survivors, and
who’s going to listen to them?

Then what, Elim? You must have
had something in mind when you
delivered your lecture today.

We have to contact the Federation.

Nobody expected him to say that. In the silence that follows, Dejar re-enters the room again. She notices the awkward silence, but chooses not to break it. Finally, Pythas clears his throat.

I quote you, Elim. It’s futile.

Futile to return to the Vinculum,
perhaps. For whatever reason,
Doctor Bashir was not able to
maintain our contact there.

(patient, said
it all before)
If Bashir was ever there.

Garak glares at him, but Parmak stands his ground. In the silence again, Dejar finally speaks.

The Directorate is pinned down.
They want to negotiate a truce
that would let them return home.

A truce.

Kill them.

No. They don’t need any martyrs.
Keep them isolated. I want to
talk to their commanders.

Dejar nods her acceptance again, but before she can leave, Garak brings it back to his favourite topic. He’s a dog with a bone, and he won’t let it go.

Maybe Bashir was never in the
Vinculum. Maybe it was a dream.
But the vaccine I came back
with wasn’t a dream. Parmak and
I have travelled this planet
administering it, and it works.

Again, I can’t deny what Garak
is saying, Pythas.

And the Federation approved our
receiving the formula. Anyone
who says that they would try
to murder us all with disease
doesn’t know them the way I do.
If I can somehow explain to
them what our present needs –

Must I remind you, Elim, why
Ghemor was assassinated?

He was assassinated because he
trusted the wrong people!

Precisely. Mondrig wanted him
dead because he was friendly
towards the Federation. That’s
part of the reason we rejected
their support afterwards. If
the Reunion Project formally
allied with the Federation,
what’s to stop the Directorate
from allying with the Klingons
or the Romulans in response?
And then where would we be?

What is to stop them doing that
anyway? We cannot let fear of
what they might do stop us from
doing what we know is necessary.

The risk is too great, Elim. To
many of our people, Ghemor was
a traitor for even speaking to
the Federation, and for all we
know it was one of our own
people who killed him.

Garak keeps quiet – he hasn’t told anyone the truth about that. Pythas continues, getting almost irate.

PYTHAS (cont)
And what are you going to do,
Elim? Announce your departure
for Earth with the intention of
standing before the Federation
Council, and leave us to face
the reaction to your treachery?

Pythas is making good points. Garak is a bit petulant about that. But he already has a plan. Quietly, confidently...

No-one will know I’ve gone.

Pythas goes quiet. His scarred face gazes at Garak.

You’re serious about this.


Fine. But when you turn up in
Paris, who is not going to know
you’re there? You’re no longer
some anonymous operative in the
Order. You’ve become the public
face of the Reunion Project.

No-one will know.

Garak looks at Limor. The way the old man looks back at him implies he knows precisely what Garak is suggesting.

How is Mindur Timot’s health
these days?

He’s well enough. But I’m not
so sure about you, Garak.

What’s this about?

I believe Garak wants to go
to Earth... as a hew-mon.

That’s impossible.

No. Pythas, do you remember when
Entek abducted the Bajoran, Kira
Nerys, and had her transformed
into a Cardassian?

Pythas looks back at him blankly. Limor takes pity.

Timot devised and performed the
procedure to make a member of
one species appear as another.
A Bajoran as a Cardassian... a
Cardassian as a hew-mon.

Was this done often?

A number of occasions. But the
procedure lacked... precision.

I’ll tell that to Kira the next
time I see her.

But why would you want to take
the chance, Elim?

Because we’ve run out of other
solutions, my friend. And if we
don’t find one soon, you’ll be
able to add Cardassians to the
interplanetary list of extinct
species. And because I made a
promise to someone.

And how would you explain your

After today’s behaviour? Easily.

The room goes quiet as everyone ponders the idea, weighing up the pros and cons. Pythas looks to Limor and Dejar. Limor gives him an almost imperceptible nod. Pythas sighs.

How would you present yourself?

How else, Pythas? As a plain
and simple tailor.



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Old May 1 2012, 12:30 PM   #6
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Re: DS9 Season 10, ep 10x18 - "The Calling"





In Earth orbit. The great mushroom-shaped Starbase hangs in space. But we’re looking at a shuttle that has just left the station, and is travelling down towards the planet.

Faded, hasn’t it?


Bright and clean and advanced, a comfortable Federation passenger shuttle, filled with happy travellers sat in rows like a standard commercial airliner. We are looking out of one of the portholes towards the approaching planet.

Then our POV turns in response to the voice speaking to us, and we see an ATTENDANT smiling down at us, as we sit in one of the rows. He noticed us gazing out of the window.

GARAK (o.s.)

According to the accounts of the
first astronauts, the intensity
of the blue was almost too much
to bear. But I think the more
often you see it, the more you
get used to it.

GARAK (o.s.)
Yes, I suppose so.

We’ll be landing at Charles de
Gaulle in just a few minutes,
Monsieur Tranger.

With a polite smile, the attendant moves on. Our POV moves back to the window. Reflected in the glass, superimposed over the planet, is a human face. Our focus shifts to look at the reflection...



Our POV turns back to look at another smiling face - the affable and chatty older Cardassian surgeon TIMOT. He pulls off his surgical mask, and smiles with pride at his work.

Now, Elim, relax. Everything
has worked out fine. But before
you look at yourself, just
remember that humans have an
entirely different sense of,
how shall we say... physical
attractiveness. Now I’ve taken
as a model someone I’ve been
assured is a perfectly average
example of the human male.

GARAK (o.s.)
But what am I? There are so
many types.

Elim, with these humans, there
is no such thing as a pure
racial type. Regardless of how
repellent the idea of mixing
races is to us, on Earth any
given mixture is possible...
especially with the French.

Friendly and cheerful, Timot turns away and grabs a mirror. He holds it up, but Garak doesn’t really want to look.

Come now, my boy. You’re going
to have look at your new face
eventually. I’m eager to know
what you think of my handiwork.

Grudgingly, Garak looks closely at his reflection, and we finally see Garak’s new face clearly.

Oh Mindur... where am I?

You’re right here, my boy! But
you look like Emile Tranger of
Paris, France, Earth. Thankfully
I’ve ironed out some of the
kinks since I did this for Gul
Dukat. You look marvellous!



Among the surging crowds of humans and other species, Human-Garak emerges into the arrivals hall. He’s a little thrown by the sheer numbers of people rushing back and forth. He spots a name-card with his name, held by a young female chauffeur, MILA. Garak approaches her...

Monsieur Tranger?
(Garak nods)
Please follow me.

The chauffeuse turns away and leads Garak through the crowd. NOTE: This is the same actress who played Nel earlier, although Garak doesn’t seem to recognise that.

I hope you don’t mind, Monsieur,
but the fastest way into town
is the Metro. I’ve arranged for
your baggage to be picked up and
delivered to your apartment.

What is your name?


Garak stops in the crowd, amazed. After a moment, Mila realizes Garak is not with her, and turns, surprised.

Monsieur? Are you alright?

Garak fumbles and fakes looking for something in his coat.

Yes... for a moment, I thought
I’d forgotten... ah, here it is.
(awkward pause)
We haven’t met before, have we?
...Perhaps it’s just that you
remind me of someone.

Giving him a curious look, Mila turns and carries on. Off balance, Garak follows through the throng as best he can.

GARAK (v.o.)
Mila... the name of my mother.
The name of my first pet, my
first friend. And now, this
strangely familiar young woman
guiding me through the tumult
of my first trip to Paris. I
couldn’t believe how clumsy I
was. It was as if I’d never
known something unexpected to
happen before. Political life
had made me obvious and stupid.

Under the above, Mila slices a straight line through the crowd with no problem. But following her, Garak is buffeted from all sides. A native Parisian man bumps into him in one direction, swearing at him MOS to get out of the way.

As Garak gapes in astonishment he’s knocked again the other way by a woman with a baby carriage, who doesn’t bother to even acknowledge his existence. Realizing he needs to keep moving or be trampled, he chases after Mila as best he can.


Mila and Human-Garak are now outside, standing by the taxi rank outside the shuttle port. The crowd are just as heavy and chaotic out here as inside. Garak is sweating and breathing in short gasps – even outside, the claustrophobia is kicking in. With one hand out to hail a taxi, Mila notices Garak’s distressed state.

Do not worry, Monsieur. It’s the
beginning of the holiday, and
everyone wants to get away.

A taxi finally stops for them – one of a line of individual pods that swing below a monorail track. The door opens and Mila clambers in. A little bemused, Garak follows her.


Garak collapses into one of the seats, with Mila perched primly in another. The DRIVER looks through the partition.

Votre destination?

Menilmontant, s’il vous plaît.
Près de la Gard du Nord.

The driver pulls away, jerking Garak back into his seat. NOTE: the driver is played by the same actor as Cronal earlier, although again Garak doesn’t recognise him.

Garak resettles into the seat, the air conditioning calming his claustrophobia. As they travel on, he looks out of the window at the city passing by. Mila stays quiet, trying not to look like she’s watching him.

The city is a motley collection of old stone buildings and modern glass and metal constructions, seemingly totally random. And yet the people filling every square inch seem to be able to move through it all smoothly and easily. The golden sunlight makes the chaos seem warm and happy even. Garak watches all of this, intrigued and spellbound.

It’s not how you remember it?

Yes... for the most part. But
I’m always surprised at how
different it is from... some
other places I’ve been.

The Americans and Germans call
us obstinate. They call Paris
the ‘museum city,’ because we
wouldn’t make the changes they
have made to their cities.

The driver turns in his seat and looks directly at Garak with piercing eyes. The taxi continues to drive itself.

But they keep coming here, don’t
they? And do you know why?

Uh... because they like museums?

Au contraire, m’sieur! They live
in sterile boxes. But they don’t
want to forget what real life
is like. So they come and eat
our real food and walk our real
streets and begin to feel real
feelings again. They remember
what it is to be a human being!
Why do you think the Federation
chose us to build their centre?

Uh... because they want to be
in a real city?


Satisfied, the driver turns back to his job. A little baffled, Garak goes back to looking out of the window.

GARAK (v.o.)
I remember you once describing
the French to me, Doctor, as
“different.” I saw that I was
being introduced to a diehard
culture that wasn’t featured
in Federation propaganda.


The taxi glides to a halt on its monorail, outside a block of apartments, housed in a fairly old building of classical Parisian design. Not exactly crumbling, but far from 24th Century Federation modern. The kind of place that you can imagine hasn’t changed in centuries.

Garak clambers out of the taxi and gazes up at the building while Mila handles the fare. Then she joins him on the pavement and the taxi zooms off.

Garak stands there, absorbing what to him is an astonishing experience. People just going about their lives. The sounds of children happily playing. Washing hanging out on lines. Neighbours greet neighbours with a warm kiss-kiss and chat openly about their day. Garak almost can’t handle it.


Garak opens the door to enter the apartment, finding a room that suits the building’s outside perfectly. Wooden floors, white painted walls, wrought iron fittings, stucco in the corners. As Mila carries in his bags behind him, Garak goes to the already open window.


There’s a courtyard in the centre of the apartment block. All the other apartments open onto it, and most of their windows are open too, allowing all their neighbours to see inside, into their lives. People go about their business in their apartments, enjoying each other’s company.

Looking down to the ground several floors below, there’s children tossing a ball about among the plants and flowers. The delicious smells and happy sounds echo up to him.


Garak is astonished at all of this. It’s almost enough to make him cry. He turns back to Mila, only see to see that she has been watching him closely. He clams up a little.

Who arranged for these living

Monsieur Sharib. I thought –

I know who my contact is. I just
want to know who he used as an

Ah – an estate agent, you mean.

Yes, whatever you call it.

I only know of Monsieur Sharib.
His information is on the data
padd, just there. He told me to
tell you welcome, and he’ll be
in touch.

She points across the room to a sideboard, where a standard Starfleet data padd sits. Garak nods, trying to bring his jittery behaviour under control. Mila just waits politely.

GARAK (v.o.)
I tried to repress my anger at
my own ineptitude. I was losing
my control. I had to be more
careful. I knew that Mila was
picking up everything. She was
too good to be just a tourist
guide. And she was too careful
to reveal any kind of reaction
to my ridiculous behaviour.

Well... is there anything else,

No. Thank you, Mila. You’ve been
very kind. How do I find you...
if I need you for some reason?

That information is also on the padd.

She gives him a sly smile, and leaves.

Alone now, except for the sounds of life going on outside, Garak stands in the middle of the room, pondering. He looks around at all the old architecture, the old fittings. Opens his suitcase, begins to move things, organise his space.

GARAK (v.o.)
Mila had said that the building
was nearly five-hundred years
old. A conservative estimate, I
thought. Never in my life did I
imagine I would be living in an
alien culture’s ancient history.
I wondered if I hadn’t died and
been transported to some bizarre

Garak pauses in his thoughts...

GARAK (v.o.)
Then a more frightening question
took shape. What if I had come
to this place to die? What if
this was me... seeking my death?
A few days before I would have
welcomed the thought, but now,
with new hope on the horizon...

Shaking off the thought as ridiculous, Garak moves to the sideboard and picks up the Starfleet padd. He looks at its screen, which features a picture of BASHIR. Garak frowns at this, somewhat confused...

Around him, the sounds of life, of conversations and food cooking and children playing, begin to grow louder. They echo, swirl, blend and separate. Garak looks up, confused.

The walls of the apartment have begun to move. Patterns play over the surfaces, like in Nel’s basement hideout. Shapes form and dissolve. The entire apartment seems to be moving around him, flowing, circling.

He looks back down to the padd in his hand, and it MELTS. The padd and the hand both flow like liquid, like a Dali painting. They are caught up in whatever is happening to the rest of the room.

Garak is terrified. The noises and sights and colours swirl around him. The padd has become a tiny black hole, and everything orbits it before being inevitably sucked in.

Garak finds himself bent into impossible shapes, his belly being sucked towards the black hole in front of him as his head tries to pull away. Eyes flared, confused, panicking.

As all the room swirls tighter and tighter, disappearing into the ever growing black hole at its centre, Garak is the last to be pulled in. He has nothing to grab on to. He’s falling down the hole, like it or not.

And then, he’s gone. The blackness is all there is.


Gradually, and slightly FADE UP...

Until we recognise the face of Garak, gazing out at us. Not the human version, but the original Cardassian. The face is ghostly in the darkness, watching, confused but curious...

What is going on here?



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Old May 1 2012, 12:39 PM   #7
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Re: DS9 Season 10, ep 10x18 - "The Calling"




37 ON GARAK the darkness, watching, more confused and curious than afraid. Voices drift to him across the darkness...

PYTHAS (o.s.)
How would you present yourself?


The shadows and nothingness form into the shapes of people standing or sitting – it is the meeting in the dark room after Garak’s breakdown at the rally. But the room itself has gone – it is just the people in the dark, replaying the last few moments of that conversation, unaware of anyone watching them. Garak, Parmak, Pythas, Dejar and Limor.

How else, Pythas? As a plain
and simple tailor.

Pythas accepts with a sigh. Garak smiles, satisfied with the deal made. Parmak guides Garak to the door...

Come along then, Elim. If you
insist on going to Earth, I’ll
find you some kind of... guide
book or something.

Garak lets himself be guided out, and then he’s gone. But the scene continues. Pythas, Limor and Dejar look among each other, none willing to say what they’re all thinking.

What do we do with him?

He can never come back.

From Earth?

At all. He’s no asset to us now.


...watching, listening, absorbing...


The three Cardassians talk in the darkness...

I’ll arrange it.

I want him to live.

I don’t understand.

Let him live, Limor. Just as
long as he never comes back.

How can this be done?

...The Vinculum.

Listen to me, Pythas. Garak has
many enemies. It would be a
simple matter to kill him. To
spare his life is no solution.
Nor is it mercy. His life has
run its course!

Pythas thinks about what Limor has said...




Focusing on Pythas, as he ponders. He doesn’t speak out loud, but we HEAR his thoughts, ghostly and indistinct.

PYTHAS (v.o.)
He’s right. Elim is exhausted.
He has no more resources to
draw on. His inability to give
the speech shows how depleted
his morale is. Perhaps it would
be a kindness to kill him.

Garak’s focus shifts to Limor, tall and thin and cold.

LIMOR (v.o.)
This is the sentimentality that
Enabran allowed into the Order,
and that nearly destroyed us.
I taught Pythas to be harder.
But the chain of command must
be preserved. So be it.

Finally, Pythas makes his decision.

Arrange it with Mindur Timot so
that Elim goes to the Vinculum
and never returns. Parmak assures
me the controls are easy enough.

Should we worry about Parmak?

He’ll never find out, Dejar. Elim
will disappear, and it will be
revealed that he was assassinated
while trying to make a deal with
the Federation. I don’t think I
have to explain to you how this
will work to our advantage.

I’ll arrange it with Timot.

The scene over, the players fade back into the darkness.


Sad, disappointed that his friends and compatriots could dispose of him so easily. After a moment, gentle light intrudes on the darkness, and Garak looks up to see...


A full-length mirror now stands in front of him, revealing Garak’s own image, standing there in old, Hebitian-style dress. He gazes at himself, intrigued...

Reflected in the mirror, Garak sees a door open in the darkness behind him. Bright light and cheerful sounds creep through it. He turns and walks towards the door. But at the threshold, he pauses and looks back over his shoulder...


...and sees his small shack, the only home he has now. The small cot he sleeps on, the primitive stove he cooks with. No mirror, but an ORALIAN MASK hanging on the wall.

(to self)
Is this a dream?

Does it matter?

Garak realizes with a start that Palandine sits calmly on his bed, having blended in to the point of invisibility. Now she stands and approaches him in the doorway.

Really, Elim. Does it matter
if this is a dream or reality?
(re the shack)
Because if you want to get out
of here, you’re going to have to
learn to live in both worlds.

She walks past him into the bright light beyond the door, holds out her hand for him to follow. Lost in wonder and confusion, Garak takes her hand, and follows her into the light. But as they walk on, Palandine turns to smile at him, and it’s not Palandine anymore. It’s Nel...

As Nel leads Garak by the hand into the light, shapes form out of it, as if Garak’s eyes are simply getting accustomed to the brightness that Cardassians instinctively dislike. Those shapes gradually resolve into...


It’s a party, a pleasant gathering of seemingly hundreds of happy, civilized and friendly people. All Cardassian, but no sign of the militarism or arrogance one would expect from Cardassians. Because these are Hebitians.

Garak looks around at the people mingling and chatting. Flowers bloom, chandeliers glitter, happy voices drift.

Go ahead, Elim. Feel free.

Garak steps into the crowd, tentative at first, not sure he should be here. But he wants to be one of these people. In the distance is a familiar face, laughing with friends.

BASHIR turns, smiles in recognition. Beckons Garak to join him. Elated, Garak wades into the crowd. But the closer he gets, the further away Bashir seems to be...

TOLAN (o.s.)
Elim. I’m so glad you came.

Surprised, Garak turns and sees TOLAN (“A Stitch in Time”), dressed in the robes of an Oralian Guide. Nel stands behind him, observing happily. Garak gapes in amazement.

Father... I’ve missed you.

The room around them changes again, almost imperceptibly. It darkens, the others disappearing, until the three of them are alone, standing in Nel’s basement hideout.


The black stone walls shift and blend, shapes shimmering and not quite forming. Garak steps closer, watching the shapes as they begin to coalesce.

They form a procession of figures. It’s the Hebitian frieze that was painted onto the walls of the Oralian temple in “A Stitch in Time,” but the figures are moving.

We slowly ZOOM IN on the animated people, cave drawings of Cardassians, walking one behind another along a path. They all seem comfortable, content, in harmony. They are dressed as farmers, hunters, ironworkers, priests, and so on.

The path loops gently around the walls of the room, until it disappears into the top corner. Garak watches the path re-emerge from the bottom corner, and continue.

If they are able to understand
how connected they are... if
they can accept the connection...
the tribes can come together...
they can celebrate...

Garak watches the procession. The image shifts slightly, a ribbon appearing connected to each figure at the chest. A pinkish thread that leads from their heart up into the sky.

We FOLLOW the pink thread from one Hebitian as it rises up. Slowly, slowly... until the thread reaches its source. A hand-drawn representation of ORALIUS.

A winged figure, almost angelic, as seen on the paintings in the Oralian temple, and on the statue in the ruins at Gardat. The figure has countless similar pinkish threads leading out of its body, connecting to the people below.

We are all connected, Elim. All
of us. Oralius came to teach us
this, help us to understand and
celebrate that connection.

Our focus moves to Oralius itself, wings spread wide. We close in on its semi-Cardassian face, seeming to smile with grace and love. And then we move closer, focusing on the indentation that adorns its forehead, like all Cardassians.

And then the “spoon” shape... blinks. Like an eye.

PULL OUT gradually - we see the indent has indeed become an eye. A large single eye, set into the face of an EAV’OQ.

PULL OUT further - we see the Eav’oq’s body, white and warm, gently soothing, the single eye smiling.

Garak watches all of this, on the verge of understanding. He has never seen an Eav’oq, doesn’t know what one is. He just sees this strange alien figure, hovering peacefully over the Hebitians below. He smiles, comforted.

The Hebitians are now closer to the Eav’oq, gathered around it. The pink ribbons thicken and strengthen, until it becomes clear that they are the Eav’oq figure’s multiple limbs. They curl around the Hebitians, as if hugging them.

And he was right to. Because...
watch, Elim. Watch what happens
when the connection breaks.

The procession of figures continues. But one or two of them stumble, fall to their knees. The happy, peaceful feeling gives way to grey dullness. More Hebitian figures collapse in hunger or fatigue or choking. Garak watches in horror...

New figures arrive, dressed in black, carrying knives and guns. They attack the weakened Hebitians, laugh over their dead bodies. These are Cardassians, dark and ominous.

Above, the Eav’oq still hovers. Its pink ribbons are now snapped, the connections broken, its eye no longer smiling. It draws away, the image diminishing and growing smaller, pulling back until it is a mere dot... and then gone.

No... come back... please...

He will, Elim. Oralius... is of
Cardassia. You are of Cardassia.
You are the Hand of the Fates.
Bring Oralius back to them.

Garak turns away, tears in his eyes...


...and finds himself back in the shack. Tolan is with him, as he was in “A Stitch in Time,” showing him his gardening tools. Outside, it’s normal daylight, before the Dominion. Inside, it’s a boy and his father.

Are you still working with the
orchids, Elim?

Not for a long time.

Cultivate what’s left. And teach
someone else the method.

I will.

Tolan smiles up at the wall, where the Oralian mask hangs.

You still have the mask! Wear
it next time you speak, Elim.
It will help to remind them.

Tolan stands directly in front of Garak, reaches out gently and touches his son’s forehead, right on the spoon shape. Then the older man FADES from view, until he’s gone.

Garak looks at the Oralian mask. It begins to GLOW with a warm, gentle white light. The mask seems to move, smile. Pink ribbons stretch out from all sides of it, reaching to make a connection. The light grows and grows until...


Then FADE IN to...


...Looking into camera, concerned and nervous.

Elim? Can you hear me?


Garak lies on a thin, rattling pallet in a small and ordinary room – nicer than Garak’s shack, but not by much. He opens his eyes hesitantly, as if recovering from a hangover or psychedelic experience.

Yes, Doctor. No need to shout.
Where am I?

An old family home. But... What
happened to you, Elim? And how
did they know to bring you here?

Garak sits up, wincing at the pain behind his eyes.

They? Who are they?

I have no idea. A young woman
and an older man. I’d never seen
either of them before. But they
told me there was a situation
involving you, and somehow they
knew this house was deserted.
They made it very clear that I
wasn’t to tell anyone you were
back. What happened on Earth?

Yes... Earth...

Garak climbs slowly off the pallet and stands, testing his limbs, stretching out his fingers. He feels the ridges on his face and neck, as if confirming that he is Cardassian. He looks up at Parmak, smiles. He seems happier and more energised than he has in months.

Never mind about that. What
matters is that I’m here now.
At long last. And we have
much work to do.

We have?

Garak smiles affectionately at Parmak’s confusion.

GARAK (v.o.)
I looked at him, wondering how
I could ever explain. Parmak is
a man of science, Doctor, like
yourself. He believes that we
can reconstruct a society based
on a purely rational model. I
had believed that myself, before.
I had thought that was the very
message you had been trying to
give me when we met in the
Vinculum – that you represented
the Federation, giving me their
blessing to lead Cardassia in a
new era of rationality. But I
understood now that I was wrong.

Oh yes, my friend. It’s about
the connection, you see. That’s
what’s important.

All very mysterious, I must say.
Perhaps I should contact Pythas –

No. Don’t tell anyone I’m here.
No Cardassian, anyway. However,
I would like to send a message
to your Federation contact.

Parmak’s eyes go wide, his mouth drops in shock.

How... did you know...

That you’re still in contact
with Yevir? I know, Doctor.

You were the one who convinced
me we could work together with
the Bajorans, Elim. I hope you
understand, I meant no...

I do understand, my friend. I
know you were the one who helped
smuggle the Vedek off Cardassia
and back to Bajor, despite the
quarantine. And I’m glad.

I only didn’t tell you because –

Because you were afraid to tell
anyone, I understand. Now I need
you to get a message to him. And
from him, on to someone else.
But them only. No-one else must
know I’m here. Can you do that?

But surely Pythas –

No-one. It’s also vital that I
find a way to Lakarian City as
quickly and quietly as possible.

(what now?)

There’s much work to do, yes.
But more importantly, it’s work
that we’ve never done before.
Or not for a long time, anyway.

Parmak nods, not having the tiniest idea what Garak is going on about but trusting his friend.

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Old May 1 2012, 12:40 PM   #8
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Location: London
Re: DS9 Season 10, ep 10x18 - "The Calling"

Act Five continued:


Garak stands again in the darkness, feeling the ancient and pliable black stone of the Citadel. The Blind Moon peeks out from behind the clouds, casting a ray of silver light.

GARAK (v.o.)
So that’s how I began my new
mission, Doctor. Not as some
political leader standing on
the galactic stage as the
respectable face of the new
democratic Cardassia. But as
the Hand of the Fates, trying
to rebuild the links between
us, helping us to understand
that we are connected, however
much we try to deny it.


The deserted streets of the old city. Our POV travels slowly down them, seeing the numerous dead apartments crammed in tight.

GARAK (v.o.)
It’s strange – I feel the need
to apologise for breaking our
initial agreement, even though
I misunderstood it at first,
and it was not even really you
whom I made it with. But I do
hope you won’t be offended that
that agreement has now been
superseded by another.

As we get to one apartment in particular, we see a candle shining in its window. One singular spark of light in the dark, deserted streets.

We slowly CROSS-FADE INTO...


One of the standard establishing shots of the surface of Bajor, bright and sunny and peaceful.

GARAK (v.o.)
I’ve tried my best to explain as
clearly as I am able everything
I experienced, and the effect
it has had on me. It’s entirely
possible I failed on that score.
I’m not at all sure I understand
it myself yet.


The same office seen in 8x20 “Twist of Faith.” YEVIR sits behind his desk, in an outfit rather simpler than the usual elaborate Vedek’s robes. The jevonite figurine has pride of place on his desk. He’s reading from a Bajoran padd.

GARAK (v.o.)
But if you find anything of use
in it, I’m glad. I just wanted
you to know. After all... we
are connected, you and I. And
as much as I can’t help worry
that you’re safe, I think I’d
know, deep down, if you were
not. If you have any need to
contact me, you know how. In
the meantime I send my warmest
regards. Be well, Doctor.

Having finished reading, Yevir places the padd back onto his desk and sits back. It’s all running through his mind, and he’s trying to process it. He’s absolutely amazed. He reaches out and picks up the jevonite figurine, traces the Cardassian neck ridges, the Bajoran nose lines.

We’re all connected...

He places the figurine back down and calls out.

Mika? Mika!

A young woman opens the door and enters. It’s MIKA, the former pagh-Wraith cultist and current Ohalavar, last seen in “Twist of Faith.” She is working as Yevir’s assistant.

Vedek – is there a problem?

I need you to arrange for a
secure delivery to Deep Space
Nine – I have an important
message I need to pass along.

Yes, Vedek. Is that everything?

No. Contact the monastery at
Ashalla. I need to speak with
your uncle as soon as possible.

My uncle? The Kai?

Yes, Mika. While you’re at it,
send a message via the station
into the Gamma Quadrant. Ranjen
Opaka should hear this too.

Hear what, Vedek?

Oh, Mika... we are connected.
Connected, Mika! ...Go.

Mika nods and leaves the room. Yevir sits back, full of wonder and revelation at what he’s figured out...



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