By Andrew J. Robinson
For almost a decade Garak has longed for only one factor -- to move domestic. Exiled on an area station, surrounded by means of extraterrestrial beings who detest and mistrust him, going again to Cardassia has been Garak's one dream. Now, eventually, he's domestic. yet house is an international whose panorama is full of demise and destruction. Desperation and mud are consistent partners and comfort is a tumbler of fresh water and a hot position to sleep.
Ironically, it's a letter from one of many extraterrestrial beings on that area station, Dr. Julian Bashir, that evokes Garak to examine the material of his existence. Elim Garak has been a pupil, a gardener, a undercover agent, an exile, a tailor, even a liberator. it's a existence that used to be charted through the forces of Cardassian society with little or no realizing of the individual, or even much less compassion.
But it's the tailor that knows who Elim Garak was once, and what he may be. it's the tailor who sees the ruined textile of Cardassia, and who is aware how one can deliver this ravaged society again jointly. this is often unusual, simply because a tailor is the only factor Garak by no means desired to be. however it is the tailor whom either Cardassia and Elim Garak desire. it's the tailor who can placed the items jointly, who can take a sew in time.
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Additional resources for A Stitch in Time (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Book 27)
Já andam os lavradores lavrando, vão para o campo mesmo debaixo de chuva, a leiva cresce da terra húmida como saem as crianças lá donde vêm, e, não sabendo gritar como elas, suspira ao sentir-se rasgada pelo ferro, e deita-se de lado, luzidia, oferecendo-se à água que continua a cair, agora muito devagar, quase poalha impalpável, para que não se perca a forma do alqueive, terra encrespada para o conchego da seara. Este parto é muito simples, mas não se pode fazer sem aquilo que os outros primeiro requereram, a força e a semente.
Dão, se calha, estas e outras notícias a D. Maria Ana, mas ela está flutuando, indiferente, no seu torpor de grávida, dizerem-lhas ou calarem-lhas tanto faz, e até da sua primeira glória de ter fecundado não resta mais que uma ténue lembrança, pequena brisa do que foi vento de orgulho, quando nos primeiros tempos se sentia como aquelas figuras que à proa das naus se põem e que, não sendo as que mais longe observam, para isso lá está o óculo e lá está o gajeiro, são as que mais fundo vêem. Uma mulher grávida, rainha ou comum, tem um momento na vida em que se sente sábia de todo o saber, ainda que intraduzível em palavras, mas depois, com o inchar excessivo da barriga e outras misérias do corpo, só para o dia de parir têm pensamentos, nem todos alegres, quantas vezes aterradas por agoiros, mas neste caso vai ser de grande ajuda a ordem franciscana, que não 42 quer perder o prometido convento.
Mas, sobretudo, porque um infante macho daria maior contentamento a el-rei. D. João V vai ter de contentar-se com uma menina. Nem sempre se pode ter tudo, quantas vezes pedindo isto se alcança aquilo, que esse é o mistério das orações, lançamo-las ao ar com uma intenção que é nossa, mas elas escolhem o seu próprio caminho, às vezes atrasam-se para deixar passar outras que tinham par tido depois, e não é raro que algumas se acasalem, assim nascendo orações arraçadas ou mestiças, que não são nem o pai nem a mãe que tiveram, quando calha brigam, param na estrada a debater contradições, e por isso é que se pediu um rapaz e veio uma rapariga, vá lá saudável e robusta, e de bons pulmões, como se percebe pela gritaria.