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The Caretakers
The Keep, 2385
At the very end of the very first day, Parmak mapped his way down through the residence towards the Keep. It was late enough that even Akret had gone. The only other person still in this part of the building, it seemed, apart from the ubiquitous security and a couple of cleaners, was the man in charge. The ambassador – but, no, he could hardly keep on thinking of him as that, could he? Whoever he was now, he was sitting behind the big desk, hands behind his head, looking terribly smug. There was a real danger, thought Parmak, closing the door behind him, that he might soon become insufferable.
Seeing Parmak, he jumped up from his chair and came round from behind the desk to join him. He moved lightly, quickly. Wasn’t he tired? He’d been awake since before dawn. He was going to have to rein this back in at some point, surely. He couldn’t keep that up for five years. Still, though, early days…
“Hello,” he said, warmly, brushing his fingers along Parmak’s wrist. At some point during the day he’d loosened his collar, which gave him a slightly disreputable air. Parmak liked it, but he wouldn't mention it. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“I might say the same thing about you.”
“Oh,” he said, all nonchalance. “I have a mandate. Have I mentioned that?”
“I think I heard something about it on the news.”
At his companion’s direction, they sat together side-by-side on the desk, legs dangling, like two boys on the lookout for mischief. Parmak, contemplating the absurdity of their situation, thought, Are we really allowed to be in here? For some reason, it felt faintly illicit.
“Haven’t I done well for myself?” said his companion.
“Jury’s still out,” said Parmak.
“If my mother could see me now…”
“What would she say, your mother, if she could see you now?”
“She’d tell me to get off the furniture.” His expression hardened, ever so slightly; his eyes narrowed. Was he thinking about what his father might say?
“How was your first day?” said Parmak, breezily. “Now it’s over?”
He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. Chalk up yet another successful intervention. “I think it went rather well,” he replied. “Did anyone die? No. Was anyone shot, maimed, buried alive, or otherwise injured? No. Are we at war? No—”
“A low bar you’re setting yourself, I see.”
“All right, then. Was my inauguration speech perfectly crafted and delivered? Yes.”
“That was yesterday.”
His companion pressed on, untroubled by this minor detail. Insufferable.
“Is every member of the Assembly scrambling for my attention and approval?” he said. “Yes. Are the guls in apoplectic disarray? Yes. Am I about to make a series of appointments that will rid half a dozen institutions of the people who have been set on reversing everything we’ve achieved since the end of the war? Yes.” Slowly, he breathed out, and relaxed. “I think, on balance, I’ll call myself content.”
Parmak covered his mouth with his right hand and smiled down at the carpet. The past few months – the candidacy, the campaign, the election – had blasted the capital’s entire political scene to pieces. Nobody quite knew yet what had hit them. Something of a signature move, and it made Parmak laugh every time he thought about it. But you shouldn’t encourage him, or, at least, not too obviously. What might he do, with a little encouragement?
“And that’s just today,” Parmak said, instead. “Imagine what tomorrow will be like.”
“Mm…”
They both looked round the big room. Not everything was unpacked yet, but the essentials were in place. On the wall opposite hung a black and white abstract painting, beneath which stood a vase of perek flowers. Next to the vase was a tiny model Eiffel Tower, very cheap, which Parmak had given him before leaving for home after that first visit. Something to remember him by. On either side of the painting were two portraits: one of a man in uniform, stiff and formal; the other of a man in civilian clothes, arms folded, cheerful and easy. They were very different, except they both looked like they meant business. So this was what he’d decided he wanted facing him, every day. Bon courage, eh?
“Last chance, Kelas,” said his companion. He was looking at the door.
“I beg your pardon?”
“This is your last chance to get out. I understand, if all this—” he gestured round, “—is too much. So if that’s what you decide, I understand. But I need to know. By which I mean tonight. By which I mean now. So that…”
“So that what?
“So that I can recalibrate.”
Recalibrate. What was he, a machine? He didn’t let much slip, if anything, but sometimes his choice of words was revealing.
“What do you need to know?”
“Whether you’re committed to whatever comes next.”
“Which is?”
“Kelas,” he said, staring at the wall opposite. “I told you what the plan was.”
Oh yes. Something about remaking their souls, wasn’t it? Quite the undertaking, and one did wonder what he meant, and how that might be achieved. Should he be frightened? Was ‘all this’, as he called it, a good idea when you thought about it? And Parmak had thought about it. He’d been thinking about nothing else for weeks now.
The other man was studying his shoes. Parmak tapped him on the shoulder. No reaction. Drawing on some near infinite reserve of patience, but with a slight edge to his voice, Parmak said, “Don’t look at your feet. Look at me.”
And let me have a look at you.
For once, the other man did what he was told. Parmak, unblinking, looked straight into his eyes. What went on in that too-clever head? He saw ambition, yes, but he caught a glimpse of something else too. If pressed to give that a name, Parmak might say ‘atonement’. Who or what was this all for, exactly? Cardassia? Himself? Something – or someone – else? As Parmak looked, the other man’s expression became steadier, more resolved. The line between reality and artifice blurred. Something different, something new - something substantial - started to form and come into focus. Whatever this might be – whoever this was for – it was wholly irresistible.
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Parmak. “This promises to be far too entertaining.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had today. And I’ve had a marvellous day.”
“Of course it’s good news,” said Parmak. “You’d be lost without me.”
“Truer words were never spoken.” He took Parmak’s hand in his and, very gently, placed a kiss on the palm. Parmak closed his hand to capture it. “I love you,” said the castellan. “And if you stay where you are – right there, right next to me – we will change the whole world.”
Parmak believed him. Oh, he was such a persuasive man… “Truer words,” he said back, “were never spoken.”
They moved closer to each other – practiced, in concord, both leaning in at the same time for the kiss. Parmak felt the castellan’s hand – as it always did – entangle itself in his hair. His own hand – as it always did – rubbed gently up and down the other man’s back. The world they made together between them grew steadily warmer. Parmak felt a firm press upon his shoulder, pushing him down towards the desk… His eyes shot open. Not here, he thought, absolutely scandalized. He wouldn’t, not in here—
The castellan broke away. “Best not,” he muttered, when he’d caught his breath. “Think of the furniture…”
They stood up. Parmak wiped his hand across his mouth and smoothed his hair. The castellan tugged his collar straight. Both of them were trying not to laugh and neither of them could quite meet the other’s eye. After a moment, and composed, they made their way out of the Keep and into the residence. They hadn’t gone far when the castellan stopped in his tracks. He looked round, uncertainly. “Which way is it?”
“Don’t worry,” said Parmak, calmly, taking his hand. “I know where we’re going.”
14th April 2026