Garak glanced down at the doctor seated at replimat table. "I thought you might be avoiding me."
"No, Garak, I've just been very busy lately." Bashir looked up and smiled. "I hadn't realized how much time had gone by since we last had lunch."
"Then I'm sorry I'm late." He sat across from the doctor and looked into the soft eyes he'd missed so much. Since his first and only sexual overture had been politely but firmly rejected, Garak had been keeping a discreet distance from Bashir, hoping he'd change his mind. Thus far, that had not happened.
"Are you? I'd hardly noticed."
"What is so interesting about this novel? Is it Terran?"
"No, it's translated from Vulcan..."
"Pre-reform? That might be interesting. Some of their legends are quite violent."
"No, it's not pre-reform, it was published only a month ago."
"A modern Vulcan novel hardly seems possible. What use do they have for fiction?"
"I think the Vulcans don't care about Vulcan novels. It was written in Vulcan but the author is not Vulcan, although he was..." Bashir paged forward until he found the author's bio and read: "'educated on Vulcan and writes mainly poetry, nine volumes, and one play, _Skolta_, in that language. SaLing has 41 novels to his credit, the most recent in Klingonese...'"
"Ah, now there's a language for novels," Garak observed.
Bashir ignored the sarcasm. "'...but also in Standard and Mnririan...'"
"A linguist."
"'His early works were primarily erotic and violent..."
"Why don't you read one of those?"
"Oh, I plan to." Bashir smiled and continued: "'...SaLing has progressively moved his writings toward more philosophical and metaphysical subjects over his 110 year career. He lives on Dhrgestera with his spouse, they have three sons.'" Bashir clicked the reader off and looked at Garak thoughtfully. The tailor seemed his usual playful self but somehow tired and on edge. "Are you well, Garak?"
"Never better, Doctor. What is your fascinating Vulcan novel about?" Garak asked.
"You'll scoff."
"If so, I will do it discreetly."
"It's about a group of Terran monks - Rishis, they were called - who left Terra in the previous century to fast and pray in the forests of Xria 8."
"And what happens to them?"
"Well, the story is only about one of them, Rishi Baba, who attains such a high level of enlightenment that he becomes unmoored in his spatial reality and starts to have experiences in other realities. The premise being that reality is branching off and progressing into uncountable possibilities every moment of existence. So, perhaps in another reality, I'm not sitting here, across from you..."
"Perhaps we don't even know each other."
"Perhaps. Anything is possible in this story."
"Ah. Please continue."
"So, Rishi Baba has all these bizarre and terrible and wonderful experiences and dreams, as far as I've read, but his mind is fixed on the one reality of god so everything is the same for him, because he's surrendered and experiences everything as god."
Garak paused to think about this for a moment. "What an utter waste of time."
"Reading this?"
"No, finding all experience the same. Why have any experiences if you've no discrimination, no contrast, no rewarding sensation. This is obviously one of the dangers of undertaking a spiritual life; it wreaks havoc on your palate."
"I don't think that's the point..."
"Then what is the point?"
"I'm not sure yet. It's a very complex story. I'll lend it to you when I'm done, perhaps you'll understand it better."
"I shall look forward to it."
"I'm sorry, Garak, I must go," Bashir said rising and collecting his dishes. "I'm short handed in the infirmary today and..."
"I quite understand, Doctor, I'm feeling the press of work myself," Garak said, rising as well.
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