"May I help you?" Garak asked the stranger standing in his shop.

"Perhaps."

Somewhat taken aback by such a vague answer in Klingonese (it was a language for many things but was seldom ever vague or ambiguous), Garak merely nodded and examined the customer while he waited for him to continue. Tall and lean, the stranger had vulcanoid features and although his long wavy hair was brushed over his ears and pulled into a long black braid, Garak felt sure there were pointed ears under there. A pair of dark eyes set above an aquiline nose studied him. It was a plain face, thin lipped and pale, the paleness setting the black staring eyes into sharper relief. The man wore a long black cloak that covered him from shoulder to ankle. Well worn black hide gloves covered his hands and scuffed boot toes poked out from the hem of his skirt. The ensemble looked like had seen quite a bit of wear and travel. The stranger's gaze was serene and contemplative, as if he were assessing the worth, not the value, of everything he looked at. This was someone who'd lived outside of civilized discourse, beyond the petty concerns of manners and polite conversation. Someone used to being obeyed, perhaps even before he'd spoken. Here was something Garak had not seen in many years, not since Gul Xriet's departure: a powerful, brutal force unto itself. At rest, for the moment but ready for anything. And, to Garak's trained eye, this was not the sort of person who usually shopped with him. It was a slow day, so he waited for the creature to continue.

"I would like to have a duplicate of this cloak made," the stranger said quietly.

"I'm sure I can do that for you," Garak said, moving around to look at the simple construction. "I won't be able to duplicate these... these insignia..." he pointed to the small rectangular bronze plates on the shoulders of the cloak.

"Runes."

"I beg your pardon?"

"These are called runes, not insignia; runes. You need not duplicate them." Shrugging out of the cloak he handed it to Garak, who almost collapsed under its weight. "I will need to remove a few things from it before I can leave it with you."

"Please." Garak slung it over his sales table and watched his mysterious customer remove the runes. His customer was wearing a long sleeved, full length black gown belted at the waist. The design was pleasingly simple and looked incredibly comfortable. It suited the tall, lean frame perfectly, disguising some of the power in the stranger's body and making him somewhat less intimidating. Until he moved, like a stalking predator; graceful, frightening and potentially deadly. Garak found it disconcerting and speculated that the stranger moved slowly and as little as possible, so as not to be alarming.

"The lining will require duplication as well." Lifting his skirt, he drew a stiletto from his boot and carefully cut the seams of the lining, turning it inside out. He removed various papers and cases from the multitude of compartments cleverly constructed into the thick silk lining. Then he slit the wide hem at one end and poured a handful of gold coins out. "Can you take payment in bullion doubloons?" he asked.

"Not really," Garak said, eyeing the exotic currency and wondering what kind of person carried pirate loot in the hem of his cloak.

"Is there someone here who can change it for me?"

"Oh, I think that can be arranged." Garak commed Quark, who was also having a slow day, and who, after a brief tussle, agreed to come and change the doubloons to latinum. He could hear Dabo girls arguing in the background and was startled when Quark suddenly asked if Master Ghet was in his shop.

"I doubt it." Garak looked back the stranger. "Are you Master Ghet?"

"Yes," the Master drawled. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'm honored." Garak relayed this news and heard a series of sharp Dabo girl squeals before Quark cut off the connection. "Let me show you some wools and wool blends." The tailor ushered his illustrious client into the workroom and they began to discuss fabrics.

'Ah. If they could all be like this,' Garak thought as Master Ghet refused to consider anything but 100% black herbivore wool and 100% black silk and, with such narrow choices, the selection was quick and painless.

Quark arrived and took Master Ghet into a corner to negotiate. A very animated discussion was in progress when every Dabo girl on the station swarmed into the shop carrying armloads of flowers, real replicated flowers, and singing a Klingon hymn so famous even Garak knew the words. Ignoring Quark's orders that they return to work, the girls, still singing, heaped their floral tributes around Master Ghet and draped him with flower garlands.

The Master graciously accepted these tributes as if they happened to him all the time. They did; Garak did not know this. But the Dabo girls knew it and when one of them shyly whispered in Ghet's ear and received a nod and a smile, there was much rejoicing among them. So much so, that the arrival of General Martok and Worf was nearly lost in the swirl of dancing, singing and joyously departing Dabo girls.

Ghet and the Klingons exchanged greetings.

"You honor us," Martok said, almost with awe. "We were unaware of your visit until your luggage arrived at my office a few moments ago."

"Fortunately, one of Quark's employees was able to tell us where you were," Worf said, with a hint of disapproval that they had not been properly notified of this annoying, or rather, vast and auspicious honor they were to be subjected to.

Master Ghet stared at Worf until the Klingon lowered his eyes. "I am concerned with the spiritual life of Klingons everywhere," he intoned. "Even in such odd corners of the universe as this. Please excuse me." Bowing, he turned back to the Ferengi money changer. "Really, Mr. Quark, I think you should at least buy me a nice dinner before you try to FUCK me," he snarled savagely.

"That's the exchange rate today," Quark snarled back. "You want better; go find better."

"And what kind of Ferengi hell is reserved for cheating innocent travelers, Quark, answer me?"

"This is a business transaction..."

"It's ROBBERY!"

"I AM AN HONEST BUSNESSMAN!"

"AND I WAS NOT BORN YESTERDAY!"

"Is there a problem, Master?" Martok asked.

"NO. But I need to pay the tailor for the cloak he's making for me and all I've got is perfectly good currency that Quark wants to cheat me out of for that stuff you like to use here." Master Ghet kicked some flowers out of his way and folded his hands.

"Ah." Martok kicked a bouquet off his boot and looked at Garak. "Send Master Ghet's bill to me. I will be responsible for it."

"You're very kind, General," Ghet said urbanely, pointedly ignoring Quark. "When will it be ready?" he asked Garak.

"Three days." Garak watched Quark storm out and wondered how much he could overcharge Martok for the 'simple' cloak.

Ghet nodded and pulled off some of his garlands. He picked out three nice bouquets and told Garak to get rid of the rest. And with Martok and Worf in his wake, Master Gozine Ghet of the Gozshedrefreingin Commune of the Most Holy Klingon Church, sometimes called Saint Gozine, but better known to his brothers as Maja Talljet, swept out of Garak's shop without even looking at Dr. Bashir, who was on his way in.

Bashir looked at the flowers, then at the receding Klingons and Vulcanoid, then at the flowers again, and then at Garak. "Ready for lunch?"

The next day, Captain Sisko himself came into Garak's shop to deliver Martok's invitation to Master Ghet's sermon and to demand that Garak attend. Garak refused.

"Mr. Garak, Master Ghet's visit is an incredible honor for the Klingons of this station," Sisko said seriously. "Master Ghet has let Martok know that he especially wants you at his sermon; why, I do not know, but he does. You will embarrass the Klingons very much if you are not there."

"And this is important to you, Captain?" Garak asked, oozing concern.

"Yes."

"How important?"

"Very."

"Two months of free shop rent important?"

"One month."

"Done. What time and where?"

"Come on, Garak, we're going to be late," Bashir was trying to ease out of the Cardassian's arms the next morning.

"Let's make love again. Life is short!"

"This afternoon, when the sermon is over."

"Let's not go."

"You promised Captain Sisko, Garak."

"He'll understand."

"That you missed Master Ghet's sermon because you were making love to me?"

Garak thought about it for a moment and agreed that, no, Sisko would not understand that and reluctantly rose from his bed. He lured Bashir into the shower but the doctor was very strict with him, so one thing did not lead to another at that time. But his young and energetic lover promised him many pleasures for later, and that, at least, would get Garak through his worst nightmare: an entire sermon in Klingonese.

Dressed in a modest suit of sober chestnut hues, Garak drank some coffee and contemplated diversionary tactics while smiling and mentally undressing Dr. Bashir. Alas, neither fantasy came to fruition as Worf, Dax and Sisko, with Jake, who looked annoyed, in tow, arrived to 'escort' Garak to the make-shift chapel in the Klingon diplomatic area.

Catching sight of the placard outside the chapel, Garak groaned inwardly and said he thought he'd left the iron on in his shop. Sisko commed Odo to go look and guided the tailor into the hall.

"What does that say, Worf?" Bashir asked, gesturing to the Klingon script on the placard.

"It says, 'the subject and title of today's sermon by Master Gozine Ghet of the Gozshedrefreingin Commune of the Most Holy Klingon Church is _God's Ambush_'." Worf translated.

"Oh." Bashir hurried in to comfort his lover.

The assembly rose at Master Ghet's entrance. He waved them to be seated and eased himself into the ornate chair the Klingons had found somewhere. A tense silence gripped the hall as the Master sat, hands resting on the chair arms, gazing at them.

"What's on his hands?" Bashir whispered to Garak.

"Tattoos, human, tattoos," Master Ghet said in his low sermon-giving voice that carried over great distances and was terrifyingly intense. Leaning back, he began to speak:

"In ancient Terran history, possibly this is a myth and did not happen, it does not matter, there was once a great conflict between cousins of a noble house for the throne. The issues could not be resolved through negotiation and the opposing forces faced each other on the battlefield.

"This was unpleasant for all involved as relatives, friends, teachers, mentors, et cetera found themselves on the verge of killing each other. These things happen everywhere, all the time, and they are never pleasant.

"And at this crucial moment, one of the greatest warriors of the ousted nobles had a crisis and threw down his weapons, choosing not to kill his loved ones over mere power.

"Now, one might say this warrior is a coward and a fool; but if you think about it for a moment, is it not more courageous, more honorable to renounce the prize at hand rather than kill for it? Of course it depends on the prize, but in this case, the warrior has decided he does not wish to kill his friends and mentors to restore his brother to his rightful throne, which his brother lost due to being an idiot; and, in many ways, this appears to be a good decision.

"Fortunately, this warrior's charioteer is a manifestation of god, who explains to him that his puny desires are not the issue here and to go out there and be victorious.

"Why god is driving a chariot for a Terran who might or might not have existed is an interesting aspect of this story. For reasons only known to the unknowable mind of god, god has decided to manifest in human form to act in the cosmic play in corporeal form. Unlike another, less fortunate later Terran incarnation, this manifestation chose to be born as a powerful prince where he would have some real impact, married a beautiful woman and died in his sleep, as opposed the short life and horrible death the later incarnation experienced. We cannot know the workings of the unknowable mind of god; you just have to accept it and move on.

"So, when the pre-battle negotiations being conducted by god break down - again I don't know why even god, the beginningless, endless, infinite source of all illusion and reality could not bring peace to warring factions; it's a Terran story, not even they know. However, when this occurs, god offers himself or his army to the opposing side and they, seemingly sensibly, choose his army, which leaves god to drive a chariot for this confused and somewhat petulant but mighty warrior, Arjuna.

"So god tells Arjuna to stop acting like a eunuch and fight. And Arjuna says that he's going to become a monk and this is his first non-violent act. He's not going to fight, it's wrong.

"And god asks him how does he know it's wrong. And Arjuna says, it's wrong to deprive another of their life for any reason.

"And god says, is zat so? A lengthy conversation takes place, wherein god, using wonderfully compelling arguments, convinces Arjuna that he must fight, must act, to re-establish the dharma, which means 'that which holds your true nature' and which Klingons call honor, Vulcans call logic, is the state of being in the cosmic flow, god's grace and will acting through us. That Arjuna must act to re-establish the true nature of the political culture which has become corrupted by the usurper who must be removed.

"This is what Arjuna tried to turn away from, because he could not see past his puny love for his friends and mentors. Oh, I have sympathy for the Terran but the lesson is bigger than him and all of us, really: we must learn to listen to god.

"And to listen to god, we must be able to hear god over the cacophony of our own little minds. We must simply stop, and turn our minds to god when making what we think are good decisions, and quietly, humbly ask for god's opinion. And because god is everything, you will always receive an answer. You might not like it, but you'll get it.

"Also, if you truly want god's insight into your actions, renounce the fruits of your labor, devote the rewards and defeats of your actions to god and you will soon realize what is and is not important to you. If your actions do not begin to feel like prayers, then you are still clinging to the idea that what you, puny little you, get out of it is still important and, I'm here to tell you, it's not.

"So, this is god's ambush; you think you're right but you're not. Arjuna believes he can escape the consequences of actions by ceasing to act. Ha! The truth revealed to him by god is that he must act to re-establish the right order of things, that unpleasant as it is to kill your friends, it's necessary when they have chosen the wrong side of the fight. Too bad for them.

"Oh, and by the way, as long as one draws breath, it is never too late to realize that you have been wrong or done wrong and move into alignment with god's will. Quiet your mind and open your heart and god will not fail you. This is the reliable and inevitable mercy of the unknowable mind of god that you will get whether you want it or not.

"I will hear Klingon confessions for one hour." Master Ghet concluded his sermon by drawing the traditional veil over his head (it is unseemly for a priest to see the face of the warrior confessing to him) and becoming very still.

Except for the Klingons, the assembled company fled.

"Kanaar, Mr. Quark, and bring the bottle," Garak said in a hollow voice.

"We're not exactly open..." Quark began.

"Please, Quark, have some pity. And bring Dr. Bashir whatever he wants as well." Garak implored and the Ferengi went off to get him a bottle and the doctor a mineral water.

"Did you understand a word of that sermon?" Bashir asked.

"Unfortunately yes."

"It didn't seem to make much sense..."

"That's because you were listening to it through the translators. I had the misfortune of understanding the Klingonese."

"Okay, my Klingonologist, tell me what it was about."

"Surrender, Doctor. When Klingons can't understand something, and they can't kill it or eat it, they surrender to it. In this case, that fiend Ghet has made a compelling argument for surrender to god's will, whatever that is, through self doubt or doubt of an established truth."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Is this how you live your life, Dr. Bashir?"

Julian thought about it for a moment. "Well... no, not really."

"Do you wish to examine your life in the light this shocking idea throws upon it?"

"... no..."

"That is exactly what's wrong with Master Ghet's sermon. Fine if you can ignore it; terrible if it collapses a lifetime of belief."

"Has it collapsed a lifetime of belief for you, Garak?" Bashir's eyes were full of concern.

"Not yet." Garak accepted the bottle from Quark and poured a hefty portion for himself. "Did you say you were closed, Quark? You're never closed."

"Special day. Master Ghet is going to preach to the Dabo girls." Quark nodded to the flower-strewn platform near the entrance. "In fact, here he is now."

It was true. Master Ghet, accompanied by several Klingons, including Worf and Martok, and Dabo girls singing another famous hymn, was making a magnificent entrance. His eye fell on Garak before sweeping the crowd of Dabo girls, janitors, waitresses, technicians, shop assistants and clerks. It seemed as if every civilian employee on the station was in Quark's for the sermon.

Martok and Worf seemed to be arguing politely with Master Ghet about something. They were being ignored, too, as Ghet seated himself on the dais. The Klingons, looking annoyed, found chairs nearby.

Garak might have made a break for it but Master Ghet's escort was blocking his escape. He poured himself more kanaar and avoided Bashir's questioning gaze.

"Garak, why...?"

"I've no idea, Doctor. I suggest you ask Master Ghet why he's preaching in Quark's today." Garak braced himself for another ordeal in Klingonese.

But Master Ghet began to speak in Standard, which was the common language of the station since the Cardassian withdrawal, and Garak found himself listening to what he could understand and the rest in the translators.

"Brothers and Sisters on the path to god, I thank you for your most kind welcome and your sincere desire to hear what a poor artisan monk has to say.

"It is true that I have come here to see the Klingons but I will speak with any who wish to hear what I have to say. And then I shall leave and return to the Gozshedrefreingin commune and my work there.

"But is this not a strange place to be?" Ghet waved vaguely with his tattooed hands. "This Deep Space 9 station: this is no one's home, you have all come from somewhere to be here for various reasons. Some by choice," he turned his gaze to Garak. "Some not," and then away.

"It does not matter how you are here or why you are here. You live, you act, you work, you think, you have a future, a present and a past. And in all of this you have lived in the mercy of the unknowable mind of god whether you were aware of it or not.

"We all have lived in the mercy of the unknowable mind of god whether we were aware of it or not.

"We are all busy people, we must be busy to survive in this existence. But if we can spare one or two thoughts a day for god, this will be our worship.

"I have been speaking of Terran religion today and will continue here because sometimes even the Terrans get it right. One of their avatars counseled his devotees who did not live in the ashram, but lived and worked in the world, to think of themselves as the housemaid who works for her employer all day but part of her mind is always on her child at home. Let part of your mind be always on god as you work and live and god's mercy and peace will be with you always.

"I will answer questions if there are any."

A hand went up: "How can I be closer to god?"

A: "Want it more than anything else."

Q: "How can I believe in something I can't see?"

A: "Do you believe in gravity?"

Q: "Yes."

A: "Can you see it?"

Q: "No."

A: "But you can see its actions, can't you?"

Q: "Yes."

A: "Then know that god is everything and this is all the active mind of god."

Q: "Is god male or female?"

A: "God is everything. Take your pick."

Q: "Don't you think life is pointless?"

A: "No, but even if I did, what can one do about it except live it as best one can?"

Q: "How can I improve my life?"

A: "Pray for a better one and then go get it."

"What is evil?" Jake asked from the doorway.

"Evil is..." Ghet began but Quark hustled over to throw Jake out of his bar. Closed or not, Jake was minor. "Leave him, Ferengi," the priest snarled.

"Can't. Against the rules."

"Like hell!" Ghet advanced on Quark and everybody, except Garak, was on their feet, trying to intervene. The pushing and shoving never got to riot level, but Odo arrived before it could become a brawl.

Sisko appeared and took Jake home. Much anger was expended at Quark, by Quark, at Ghet, by Ghet, by the Klingons, by the Dabo girls, by the civilian employees before Odo dispersed the crowd and Garak had finished his bottle of kanaar. Master Ghet left with the Klingons and everybody, including Garak and Bashir, went home.

"What do you think he was going to say about evil?" Bashir asked.

"That it is an illusion in the realm of illusion, and exists as an illusion only to teach us how to be better aligned with the unknowable mind of god's will and live in the unknowable mind of god's mercy," Garak said, tugging at the fastenings of Bashir's uniform.

"How do you know?" Bashir was impressed.

"It was in his sermon to the garrison called _God's Shock Troops_. I believe the title in Standard is _The problem of the illusion of the problem of evil_."

"Is it done?" Master Ghet asked in Garak's shop the next morning.

"Almost, Master Ghet, almost," Garak said. He was weary from too much kanaar and sex the previous day and not really up to much more Ghet.

The Master drew back the work room curtain. "May I hide out here? I'm very tired of talking to troubled beings and would like some peace and quiet."

"Be my guest, Master." Garak waved him into the room and finished reading the shop's comms from the previous day. He ordered three bolts of silk and one of gabardine from a mill he liked that was having a sale. Entering his work room, he found Master Ghet sketching it. "Are you bored, Master?"

"No; I'm restless and crave silence. Pray do not let me disturb your work, Mr. Garak," the priest said, not looking up.

Garak nodded and pulled out the Master's cloak to work on. He had two customers come in but they were quick sales: an off the rack dress for one and a suit for the other. Mostly the tailor sat sewing in companionable silence with the sketching priest, the only sounds in the room were the rustle of silk and the soft scratch of graphite on paper.

The Cardassian rose to turn on the iron to press the seams of the completed garment. Returning to his seat, he found Ghet studying him.

"Jir is right," Ghet said softly. "You are cute."

Garak laughed self-consciously. "You're very kind, Master. How do you know Jir the Dancer?"

"He's my elder brother."

"Oh." Garak was nonplused and took the cloak to iron to cover his confusion.

"That's why I'm here, Garak, because Jir said you're cute," Ghet continued. "And when Jir says someone is cute, goes on and on about him, in fact, that is something to see." The priest had resumed sketching so he did not see Garak's puzzled look.

"I thought you came to preach to the Klingons?"

"That was subterfuge."

"And the Dabo girls?"

"Oh, that was pleasant. The Klingons were not amused."

"I noticed. Why did you do it? To annoy the Klingons?"

"No, not entirely. Many years ago, someone put my picture up in the casino in a whorehouse on Yrtra 7. The story goes that an off-duty Ando girl (they don't play Dabo there) saluted my image, went to a table and proceeded to have the most amazing streak of luck. She cleaned out the bank and was able to set up her own casino and live happily ever after. I've been the patron saint of whores and gamblers ever since." Ghet glanced at Garak to see how he was taking it: amused as far as the priest could tell. "That's why the Dabo girls asked me to preach to them. And they asked so nicely, I would have to be much crueler than I am to have refused."

"I think I enjoyed their sermon better than the Klingons'," Garak said, smiling.

"That's because they have simpler lives than you and the Klingons. Fewer issues to wrestle with and no dark corners."

"Perhaps I should ask Quark for a job at one of his Dabo tables."

"You'd look silly in the outfit, Mr. Garak, and you cannot unknow what you already know." Ghet's mild gaze bored into him. "You can only progress, or stagnate and die."

There was an uncomfortable silence, wherein Garak thought he might like to confess to Gozine the Confessor but merely said, "This is done," and held out the cloak.

"Thank you," Ghet said, parading before the mirrors to check the fit, which was perfect. "You may have these sketches of your room, Garak, and also these four I did from memory of your Dr. Bashir in Quark's. I hope you won't soak Martok for too much. He's a good soul, General Martok, as Klingons go."

"You're very kind, Master, thank you. What do you think of Worf?"

Ghet smiled evilly. "He's very tall," and listened to Garak laugh. "He introduced me to his Trill girl. She tried to impress me by telling me that when two hearts beat as one... I laughed at her; in their case it would be more like when three hearts beat as one."

"I take it you don't like Trills."

"I find them useless. If I want that much experience, I'll seek out a long lived species, like the Phol or Cvomis. Someone who's had all their experience in one body."

"Oh? Why?"

"So there's no messing about trying the new body out or getting it into shape. Seems like a waste of time to me."

"But, then again, you're not a Trill."

"No, and thank the unknowable mind of god for that." Ghet closed his sketch pad and put it under his arm. "Well, thank you, Mr. Garak. Godspeed." He left without another word.

"Godspeed, Master Ghet, Godspeed," Garak murmured, looking at his sketches and smiling.

Onto the Ling part or back to the index.
By Karmen Ghia, © 2001
See index for notes, disclaimers, etc.
Page graphic décor compliments of the amazing Enchantress.net

Click here to see a drawing of Master Ghet by the fabulous Skazinetilnsky.