Garak saw the final cut of his interview with Mayrat at home, in the company of Parmak. He watched his friend covertly throughout. It was, he thought, rather like watching a dust storm gather. When they reached the part where Garak announced his candidacy for the castellanship, Parmak made a soft hissing noise, which he swiftly cut off, and listened to the rest of the interview in stony silence. [...]
The piece ended. Garak waited.
“Well,” said Parmak, putting down his glass with a clatter. “I think I can guess whose side he’s going to be on throughout the upcoming cavalcade of speeches and meetings.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Garak said. “I want to assure you that this is not a decision I came to lightly.”
Parmak stood up and walked toward the window. The memorials were just about visible in the dusk. “You know your own mind best, of course. I doubt there’s anything I could say to stop you doing this. Besides, it all seems well under way already.”
Garak put down his glass and stood up. He walked over to join Parmak. Slowly, hesitantly, he put his hand on the other man’s arm. “Don’t be angry with me. I don’t think I could bear that.”
“Why would I be angry with you?”
“Why would you not?”
“I’m not angry . . . !” Parmak shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’m truly not. But I am worried about you. What I want to know is—are you sure about this, Elim? Are you sure that this is the best choice for you?”
Garak didn’t reply for a while. He turned to look out of the window at the battered city that lay before them. Eventually, he said, in a low voice, “I’m less sure of this than I have been of anything in my life, Kelas. You know the kind of man my father was. You know what power did to him. He was monstrous. As monstrous as Dukat—no, more so, because of how long he was able to indulge his excesses. And for years I molded myself in his image. I tried to make myself like him. You know that better than anyone. . . .” He took a deep breath. “Nobody died this time, Kelas. At least, not by my hand. I played the game, yes—but I did not initiate it, and I did not . . . I did not do all that I might once have done.”
Parmak turned and put his hand upon Garak’s shoulder. “You’re not like him now,” he said. “You haven’t been for a long time.”
“I hope that’s true. I’m terrified it might not be true.”
“I know it’s true,” said Parmak, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Do you think you can win?”
Garak gave him a crooked smile.
“Do you want to win?”
“I certainly don’t want to lose.”
“You mean to Temet?”
“I mean at all.”
“Will you feel safe out there, out in the public eye?”
“With all that security surrounding me? I’ll be the safest I’ve been since I joined the Obsidian Order. And . . .” Garak swallowed. “And there’s the scrutiny, Kelas. The checks and the balances. Most of all, I’ll be safe from myself.”
“I see. So you’ll be safe, from everyone up to and including yourself. Good. But will you be happy, Elim?”
“Probably not. Have you met the kind of idiot who gets elected to the Assembly? I imagine I’ll spend most of my time infuriated. But I certainly won’t be bored.”
Parmak sighed. “I suspect you won’t. And I suspect I won’t get bored watching you.”
A slow smile curved across the lips of Cardassia’s most irrepressible son. “Who knows? It might even turn out to be fun.”