The BLTS Archive - The Never Ending Sacrifice:
The Fourth Garak and Bashir Mystery
by JA Chapman (cjjingram@localnet.com)
and
Charlene (watsondog@shaw.ca)

---

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek; we own this story.

Summary: Third installment of the Garak and Bashir Mysteries.
Garak is settling into his new role on Deep Space Nine and
looking forward to formalizing his relationship with Julian
Bashir. Problems arise after Garak begins to notice some
inconsistencies and he starts to suspect that life isn't
going to be handing him a happy endingafter all.

Author's Note: Charlene was the driving force behind
Sinless, the second installment in this series, so I asked
her to co- authorNeverEndingSacrificewith me. Her stories
featuring Julian have always impressed me. Her portrayal of
him as being strong yet sensitive and masculine yet yielding
is a theme she brings to every story she writes. I wrote the
Garak moments, she wrote the Julian ones and we met in the
middle when they came together. I want to thank her first
off for her help and friendship. I also want to dedicate my
part in this story to two other people: First, to Judith,
a.k.a. OdoGoddess, whose expertise in Founder canon gave us
many ideas for the plot of this story. It was much
appreciated. Secondly, to Fred. He passed away while we
wrote this story and I would like to take a moment out to
remember him. IDIC, my friend. Into infinity.-Jen

Author's Note: I hate writing author's notes. Ineverhave
anything to say. Okay...thank you to Jen for creating the
Garak and Bashir Mysteries, and thank you for writing Elim
Garak so well. She has a knack of making the enigmatic,
nebulous Elim Garak into a real, tangible, sympathetic
character who still carries that air of mystery and
dissimulation. She's also brilliant with plotting, and has a
knack of kicking me in the arse from 2,222.22 miles away.
I'd like to dedicate my part in this to Fred as well.
I never met you in person, you old dawg, but I wish I had.
-Charlene

---
Chapter One: Everything You Ever Wanted
---

He huddled under the thin blanket and willed himself not to
shiver.

It wasn't because he was freezing in the cramped, dank,
bitterly cold isolation chamber, he told himself, or even
because he had been dragged away from his cell and pitched
into the tank like a bale of hay.

Simply put, Julian Bashir was terrified.

He had spent his first ten weeks in the camp trying to keep
Enabran Tain alive long enough for him to complete the
modifications to the life support module that would let them
get a distress signal out to the Alpha Quadrant. Ten weeks
of arguing with the man, fighting with him, forcing him to
take the drugs Bashir had stolen from the Jem'Hadar. Ten
weeks of praying Tain would finish the modifications before
he died. Now Bashir had been locked away for almost a month,
unable to steal or administer the drugs Tain needed to
remain alive.

And Tain was their only hope. Kalenna, the Romulan pilot,
had told him that her planet had given the Romulan prisoners
up for dead. Bashir knew that the Klingons had suffered far
too many losses to afford the luxury of a rescue mission. So
it had to be the Cardassians or the Federation, but without
Tain's transmitter there was no way to let either know they
had even been captured. And if Tain didn't survive long
enough to finish it, they'd likely spend the rest of their
short lives in this prison.

The only escape is death, the Hadar First had said.

He wasn't about to let that happen.

As he looked up at the patch of light shining through the
hole in the steel door, he wondered idly if anyone on Deep
Space Nine had noticed the substitution. Nobody had told him
that a shapeshifter had replaced him, of course, but after
meeting General Martok it didn't take a genetically enhanced
genius to figure it out. Perhaps Odo had noticed, or maybe
Garak...

He sighed. Tain kept repeating that Garak would come for him
if only he could get a message out. 'Garak will find us', he
kept saying, as if it were a foregone conclusion that the
man Tain exiled and almost let die from the wire would drop
everything and run to save him. He couldn't not come, Tain
had said, but he hadneversaid why, and Julian wondered what
hold the old man thought he had on Garak.

No, what scared him the most wasn't dying here. His greatest
fear was that his very survival depended on two men he
couldn't trust.

Not for the first time, he wished that he could have allowed
himself to become closer to Garak. He'd wanted to get to
know him better when they'd first met, had even thought
about approaching him - but at the time it had seemed
impossible. The tailor was a sharp man, a deviously
intelligent former operative who wouldn't have allowed
himself to initiate a relationship with Bashir without
investigating him thoroughly. It likely wouldn't have taken
Garak more than a few days to learn about his enhancements,
and then where would he have been? Would Garak have tried to
blackmail him? Would he have told Sisko in hopes Bashir
would become an exile dependent upon him? No, he had
thought: no matter how attractive the Cardassian was, no
matter how much he longed to know him as more than just a
casual friend, he couldnevercross that line.

Or that was what he had told himself when he was safe, warm,
and comfortable. Now Bashir lay in an isolation cell in a
prison in the depths of Dominion space, wondering if the man
he hadnevertrusted enough to let into his life was his only
hope. Maybe Garak cared enough about Tain enough to risk his
life on a rescue mission, but he doubted Garak would bother
if he had been the sole prisoner.

After all, who was Julian Bashir to Elim Garak?

---

"Have you asked him yet?"

"No."

"Do you want me to ask for you?"

Garak gave his lover a withering glare. "I am perfectly
capable of asking the man myself, Julian."

Julian shrugged. "I was just offering. Besides, it's been
over a month since we announced our engagement and you've
seen him how many times since then and you haven't asked him
yet."

Garak gritted his teeth. "I'll ask him today."

"After the staff meeting?"

He sighed. "Fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes!" Garak said, irritated. "You're going to make us
late."

Julian hurried ahead of Garak as they walked toward Ops.
"You're just mad because you don't want to do it."

"I want to do it, Julian. I just..."

The doctor looked at him curiously. "Just what?"

"I just have no idea how to...go about it," Garak admitted
reluctantly.

"And you kept saying I had cold feet," Julian snorted.

"I don't have cold feet! I just-!"

"Doctor, Garak."

Garak looked at Odo as he walked past them into the
conference room. "Good morning, Constable."

"Morning, Odo." Julian smiled.

The changeling nodded at them both then took his seat at the
table. Julian turned to Garak and whispered, "Go ask him."

"Not...now," Garak said hesitantly. "After the meeting."

"You're sure?"

Garak rolled his eyes. "Yes, Julian, I'm sure. Now may we
please go sit down?"

"Yes, gentlemen, can we? And I would prefer we do it sooner
than later."

Julian and Garak looked behind them to the captain who was
staring at them with a slightly disapproving expression on
his face.

"Sorry, sir," Julian apologized; they took their places next
to one another at the conference table as the rest of the
senior crew filed in for the morning meeting.

As the staff meeting got under way, Garak looked around the
table in fascination. He still had a hard time believing any
of this was really happening. Just 115 days ago he was a
Cardassian exile who was reduced to knocking on the door of
his one friend on the station so he could borrow the
doctor's replicator. Now, not only was he a member of
Captain Sisko's staff, but he and Julian were going to be
married.

If someone had told him that he'd be sitting here three
months ago, he would have accused them of being insane. It
was strange how drastically life could change from one
simple decision. What if he had just gone to the Replimat
that night? None of this ever would have happened.
Absolutely mind-boggling, Garak mused.

Major Kira was giving her report and Garak looked at her
uniform critically. She had given birth just two weeks ago
and was quickly getting her figure back but still had to
wear the modified maternity uniform which was rather
unflattering. Perhaps after the meeting he'd offer to don
his tailor persona once more and design something a little
less hideous for her to wear. They weren't really friends
but if he had to look at her in that burnt orange and
crimson monstrosity much longer he would tear his own eyes
out.

Garak sighed. And to think that he had once thought the
Starfleet uniforms were bad. For that matter, who could have
predicted that eventually he'd be required to wear one
himself? Not for at least another seven to ten months, he
conceded silently, but as soon as his final hearing was
scheduled he'd be given a rank comparable to the position he
occupied now as a civilian contractor and his very own
Starfleet uniform.

Oh joy.

And it was going to have a mustard yellow undershirt, he
grimaced.

He had lobbied for the command burgundy, but technically his
job was designated as tactical so he was stuck with the
yellow that made him look sallow and slightly green.

The Starfleet officer assigned to his case told him that
given his military background and expertise in intelligence
and counter-intelligence, he would begin his rank as a
lieutenant, the lowest grade comparable to his experience
level. That at least was something to be grateful for. He
also would not be required to go through the Academy. He was
given exemption status because of his age and because he had
already been a member of the Cardassian military. This had
been especially welcome news to Garak. The idea of being the
universe's oldest living cadet did not appeal to him in the
slightest. He and Julian were going to be the same rank, yet
another bonus, but it also made him even more determined to
rise within the chain of command as quickly as possible.

The idea of his lover having to salute him and say 'sir' in
bed was an extremely motivating concept. He hadn't had a
whole lot of time to dwell on such pleasant daydreams,
however.

A lot had happened since he and Julian had gotten back from
Bajor after investigating the murder of a young woman named
Kel Sinles. Odo had lost his shapeshifting ability for a
time before getting it back the same day the Major gave
birth to Miles and Keiko O'Brien's son, Garak had gone on an
impromptu away mission into the past with Odo, Dax, and
Captain Sisko, and the Cardassian-Klingon War was in full
swing.

In the midst of all that were the numerous meetings and
interviews with Starfleet Intelligence and Bajoran Social
Services, as well as three criminal proceedings in which he
was a key witness. Colonel Ranol, the military extremist
turned drug kingpin, had been sentenced to 30 years in a
Federation penal colony for trafficking followed by another
25 years on Bajor for the attempted assassination of one of
the Bajoran civilian leaders. Krath Rushka, the (now former)
wife of Representative Krath Milnar, had received 15 years
in a Bajoran prison for her part in the conspiracy that led
to the death of Kel Sinles. Hali Tafan, the woman who
actually killed Sinles, had been found guilty of
second-degree murder, conspiracy, evidence tampering,
assault, and a slew of other charges that had earned her a
life sentence without the possibility of parole.

He'd hardly seen Julian in more than a month. He certainly
hadn't been able to find time to help plan their wedding.
Despite Julian wanting to get married quickly without a long
engagement to worry about, it was not turning out that way.
The closest they had come to scheduling an actual date was
some time after he was officially a member of Starfleet,
which meant they might have to wait as long as a year. If
his schedule remained this hectic, even with a year to plan,
he'd still be behind on his share of the wedding
preparations. Meanwhile, every time Garak had found just a
little time to rest and relax, Julian came up with yet
another thing for him to do.

If he didn't know better he'd swear that Julian was trying
to drive him to distraction.

He stifled a yawn as Chief O'Brien started his report on
station repairs and maintenance schedules. Oh well, he
thought, better get used to it. This is your life now. They
had gotten word last week that his Federation Citizenship
might be approved within the next month or so; now all he
had left was two dozen more PADDs of information to fill out
before he was officially a member of Starfleet.

It wasn't an exaggeration.

Every spare moment of the day and night had been spent
tapping on a damned PADD. Between that and his duties as a
civilian contractor with Starfleet Intelligence, there were
the staff meetings, the briefings on Cardassian military
strategy, and the psychological and medical evaluations
needed to prove he was fit for duty.

To make matters worse, Julian was still insisting that they
maintain separate quarters until after the wedding. He had
spoken with Julian's mother a few times by subspace but they
had yet to meet face to face. Personally, Garak thought that
what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, but he understood
that maintaining separate living space was a way of honoring
her beliefs so he didn't say anything.

Also, there was the matter of Lewin and Kela's first visit
to the station next month. It was the policy of Bajoran
Child Services to have the prospective family spend time
together before the final adoption proceedings. He had moved
into the married quarters that Julian and he were going to
share after the wedding with the intention of using his
spare time to get the children's rooms ready but he hadn't
had any time yet. He hadn't even had time to make them any
clothes since he sold his shop. This weekend he intended to
take some time off, barring any unexpected complications
such as time-travel, hostile alien forces, or oversexed
pheromone-spewing women overrunning the station and wreaking
havoc.

Again, not an exaggeration.

Every once in a while, though, Julian would come over to his
quarters and spend at least part of the night making it all
worthwhile. They rarely even had time for their lunches
anymore, but at least once a week Julian would come to his
door with a smile and an armload of take-out from one of the
restaurants on the Promenade and he'd set all of his worries
and responsibilities aside for a while. Soon, very soon,
they'd be past all of this and life would settle down.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

On this station one couldneverbe sure.

"Mr. Garak, do you have anything to add to Mr. Worf's
report?"

Garak looked up at Sisko and pasted a friendly smile on his
face, which he hoped would give the Captain the impression
he had been listening to every word that was said. He'd been
so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed that
the Chief had sat down and Worf had finished talking about
the upgrades he'd made to the Defiant. "No, sir. The only
thing I have to report is that Starfleet Intelligence is
asking me to continue monitoring transmissions and
deciphering code from the sector of the Gamma quadrant where
the Cardassian ships disappeared even though nothing has
come of it. Just some faint garbled transmissions, which for
all we know could be from something as innocuous as an old
Cardassian planetary survey." Garak rubbed the bridge of his
nose tiredly. "Frankly, there's nothing out there and
Starfleet knows it but they want us to keep looking just in
case."

"It's not like you to give up so soon, Garak," Julian said
pointedly. "If Starfleet thinks there's even the slightest
chance of finding survivors we need to keep looking."

"Julian's right, Garak," Commander Dax broke in. "We don't
know what happened to them. They could still be alive."

"Doubtful." Garak shook his head. "Even my handler at
Starfleet Intelligence sent down word that they are
officially closing the investigation next week. I can't see
the use in monitoring the transmissions if there's no
ongoing investigation. Frankly, Captain, my services would
be put to much better use if I just concentrated on the work
I'm doing concerning the Cardassian/Klingon hostilities.
I've also been monitoring some interesting communiqués from
the Romulans. This-" and he waved his hand over his PADD,
"-garbled mess is a waste of time."

"I tend to concur with Mr. Garak," Worf said. "We need to
concentrate all of our resources on the situation between
the Klingon Empire, Cardassia and the Romulans and what role
the Dominion has in all of it."

"I'm still conducting weekly blood screenings for all the
crew and there's no sign that any Founders have infiltrated
the station, Captain," Julian said. "It could be that
they've decided to concentrate their focus elsewhere for the
time. If that's true, then it means the security measures
we've put into place are working. I can see Commander Worf's
point but I'd still like to see us try to find those
survivors if there are any. It just - I hate to give up so
soon, sir."

Sisko paused for a minute before speaking. "As much as I
hate to concede defeat, Doctor, we have more important
matters that concern us now. Keep monitoring the signals for
a few more days and I'll talk to Starfleet Headquarters
about rescinding the order early. Commander Worf, try to
boost the signal by taking the Defiant out as close as you
can to our listening post; maybe something will come out of
it. In the meantime, Mr. Garak, consider this assignment low
priority until we come up with something a little more
substantial. Does anyone have anything more to add to the
meeting?" He looked around the table carefully. "In that
case, I would like to be the first to congratulate Mr. Garak
on becoming a citizen of the Federation."

Garak looked up in surprise.

Sisko continued with a smile, "I was sent word this morning
that your application was finally approved and that we can
schedule the swearing-in ceremony at our earliest
convenience. I hope you don't mind me taking liberties, but
I thought that this Saturday would be perfect."

Garak looked to Julian who was grinning from ear to ear,
then turned back to the captain. "I don't know what to say.
This is...I just...does this have any effect on the
scheduling of the final hearing for my Starfleet
commission?"

"I imagine it will," the captain nodded. "Command wants to
see you in a uniform just as badly as we do. When I asked
about your hearing they told me it was already on the fast
track. You'll be wearing tactical gold before you know it."

Julian reached under the table and squeezed his hand
silently.

"At least now you won't be able to bitch about the uniforms
any more," O'Brien snickered. "You're gonna be stuck in 'em
with the rest of us."

"They're starting to grow on me," Garak conceded. "Of
course, I will be having mine altered a bit. A little fine
tailoring goes a long way."

"Neverthought I'd see the day when I'd have to salute a
Cardie," O'Brien said without rancor. "I still say they
should have made you an enlisted man. I could use someone to
swab the lower pylons."

"I'll keep that in mind." Garak said in a mildly threatening
tone.

"So I guess this means you'll be moving up the date of the
wedding?" Jadzia asked with sparkling eyes.

"Looks like it," Julian said, giving Garak a pointed look
and thrusting his chin toward Odo slightly.

Garak sighed. Damn.

"Well, with that out of the way, let's bring this meeting to
a close. Have a good day, everyone," Sisko said as he got up
from his chair.

As the meeting began to break up, Julian poked him a little.
"Do it now before you lose your nerve."

Garak tightened his mouth in a thin line. "You say that as
if you think I'm afraid of him or something."

"Are you going to do it or what?" Julian said, not taking
the bait.

"Oh, very well," Garak snapped peevishly. The things one
does for love. "Constable, a moment please?"

"What is it, Garak?" Odo asked in his patented growl which
could mean he was bored, irritated or both. Garak guessed
that in this case it was both.

"I...have to ask you something," he said reluctantly.

"What is it?" It wasn't said as a question as much as it was
an implied accusation.

"Are you familiar with Terran nuptial practices?"

Odo stepped back a little and looked at Garak as though a
bug were crawling on his uniform. "No. Should I be?"

Garak glanced over at Julian who was holding his thumb up in
some absurd attempt at encouragement. He turned back to Odo.
"Apparently, they require that you provide a witness to
the...event."

"Like in a court proceeding?" Odo asked dubiously.

"I believe it's more along the lines of the second at a
duel," Garak answered with a grimace. "Julian informs me
that if we are to be married that I must ask someone to
become something called the 'vested man'."

"I would have to wear a vest?" Odo asked, his eyes narrowed
in confusion.

"Everyone does, I think. He showed me a holoimage once. I
believe the witness wears one of a different color or
something." Garak shook his head and rolled his eyes.
"Anyway, Julian has asked the Chief to be his vested man."

"And that has what to do with me exactly?" Odo asked slowly.

"I'm supposed to ask someone as well."

"You want me to be a witness at your marital duel?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Garak gritted his teeth. "I'm supposed to ask a friend
to...wear the vest."

"And you're asking me?" Odo looked at him as though he were
insane.

Which I will be if I have to go through this much longer,
Garak thought to himself. "Frankly, yes."

"We're not friends."

"I know."

"In fact," Odo said coolly, "we're probably the furthest
thing from friends."

"I realize this."

"So why me?"

"Because," Garak said as patiently as he could, "other than
Julian, you and Quark are the only two men I know who I
could even remotely consider 'friends'."

"Me and Quark?" Odo repeated. "And of the two of us I'm the
least likely to ask for payment for services rendered as a
'vested man', correct?"

"I considered that fact, yes."

Odo paused, "Are any weapons involved in this nuptial duel?"

Garak thought about that for a moment. "I don't know.
Possibly." He scratched behind his ear, "I'll have to ask. I
doubt it, though; Terrans are a lot less bloodthirsty than
Klingons."

"And what exactly do the duties of the vested man entail?"
Odo ventured.

Garak glanced over to Julian who was in an animated
conversation with Lt. Commander Dax. Just when he could use
some real help...

"I don't have all the details but I believe that you are
supposed to stand beside me and hand me a piece of jewelry."

"Jewelry." Odo took a moment to absorb that information. "Do
I have to purchase it myself?"

"No. Julian buys my ring and I buy his," Garak answered.

"Why can't you buy your own?" Odo asked.

"I don't know. I think it's a gift like a Bajoran betrothal
earring."

"And I take this ring and hand it to you. Then what?"

"I hand it to Julian."

"Why can't you just hand it to him all by yourself?" Odo
asked in confusion.

Garak blinked. "I'm not really sure. It must have some
cultural significance I'm not familiar with. It does seem
rather inefficient, though."

"So that's all there is to it. I hand you a ring that you're
just going to hand to the doctor. Does he then pass it to
Chief O'Brien?"

"No," Garak said, searching his memory. Julian had seemed a
bit fuzzy on the details himself and he hadn't been able to
research it on his own. "He keeps the ring I give him and
then the Chief hands him the ring he purchased for me and
after we repeat some ancient phrase or another, we wear the
rings to signify that we are legally bonded."

"Nothing else?"

"I believe the vested man is required to give a speech or
something and then there's some sort of ceremony between
both the vested witnesses."

"What kind of ceremony?"

"Well, you have to place a tourniquet around Chief O'Brien's
leg, I believe."

"I thought you said there were no weapons used in the
ceremony," Odo asked sharply.

"There aren't as far as I know."

"Then is there a ritual bloodletting or something?" he
asked.

"No, they just place the tourniquet around the witness's
thigh for decorative purposes, I believe," Garak answered.
"Odo, I really have to get to work. Do you want to be the
vested man or should I ask Quark?"

Odo appeared to consider it. "Very well, I will be a
witness, I suppose. I will ask around and research the
matter myself and get back to you on the particulars."

"Good." Garak breathed a sigh of relief. He'd had wounds
that were less painful.

"Good day, then," Odo said, nodding as he moved toward the
turbolifts.

"Good day," Garak returned grimly. If planning for the rest
of this wedding was this excruciating he was going to
suggest that they just elope.

"Did he say yes?" Julian said, walking over to him with a
cheery grin.

"He did," Garak answered glumly.

"Great! I have to go to the Infirmary." He gave Garak a
flirtatious wink. "I'll see you later then."

Garak perked up. Perhaps today wouldn't be a total loss. "I
can't wait."

As Julian headed off Garak walked over toward Commander
Dax's console.

Maybe he'd ask the captain if he could start his weekend
early. He smiled slightly; he had a feeling that the day was
only going to get better from this point on.

---

He startled awake as the door to his cell suddenly clanged
open. "Get in," the Jem'Hadar Second snarled; Bashir rolled
backwards just in time to avoid being crushed by a falling
General Martok.

The Second threw in a dermal regenerator and a bone knitter.
"Fix him. I will return in thirty minutes." The door slammed
shut.

Blinking his sleep away, he sat up and assessed Martok. His
left ankle was bent backwards unnaturally, and he was (as
far as he could tell in the dim light) holding his right arm
at an uncomfortable angle. "I see the shoulder and the leg,"
he told Martok. "Is there anything else?"

"My jaw," the Klingon replied through clenched teeth.

Bashir felt for the fracture then went to work on the
mandible, holding the bone in the correct position as he ran
the knitter over it. "Any news?" he whispered after he
tested the bone and found it sound.

Martok glanced up at the window in Julian's door, then
nodded. "Tain's still alive," he said under his breath.

Bashir nodded. "I have to set the leg. Prepare yourself."

The general grunted but didn't flinch as Bashir yanked on
his foot to straighten the leg, then twisted his ankle until
the bones were aligned. He must be in agony, Bashir thought
as he ran the knitter over the fracture, but trust a Klingon
to ignore the pain and let the doctor get on with the job.
"And the work?" he asked quietly.

"Kalenna tried to complete it," Martok replied, "but her
wiring was wrong, or something...I don't have a clue-"

Bashir smiled in the dark.

"-but Tain thinks the message was garbled," Martok
continued. "He's working on repairing it as we speak."

That was good news, but he needed to get a message to the
station. "Tell Tain," he whispered into the general's ear as
he moved up to his shoulder and palpated the injury, "to
include in the message the fact that I've been replaced. God
knows what that Founder's been up to."

"I'll tell him," Martok said, unable to hold back a groan as
Bashir popped the head of his right humerus back into the
shoulder joint. "He's still muttering that Garak will come,
that he has to come. Who is this Garak, and who is he to
Tain?"

Julian ran the knitter over the shoulder (for all the good
it would do; he really needed a cartilage regenerator to
repair the damage). "A friend. He lives on the station. How
long have I been in here?" he asked as he looked up at the
window.

"Twenty-eight days."

He snorted. "Seems longer than that." He was about to ask
something else when the door opened again.

"Get up," the Second snarled at Martok as another Hadar
snatched the tools from Bashir.

Martok rose to his feet, his face fixed into a sneer as he
glared at the Second, then passed by him into the hallway.
The Second returned his glare before slamming down a bowl
and cup in front of Bashir.

He slowly reached for the food, famished but not willing to
admit any weakness to the Hadar. As the door closed behind
Martok and as Bashir began to shovel in the tasteless gruel,
he thought of Garak, and hoped Tain's message would get
through.

---

The Defiant was running well that day and the Romulan
cloaking device was no longer causing as serious a power
drain on the energy reserves as it had been before he made
the repairs.

As Worf piloted the ship toward the listening post, he
subdued the bit of frustration he felt at having to carry
out such a fruitless task. Personally, the loss of the
Cardassian soldiers didn't really disturb him that much. War
was war, and in battle lives were lost. If they had been
taken hostage by the Dominion, so be it. It wasn't his call
to make, however. He had his orders and he'd carry them out
to the letter. That didn't mean he'd have to like it.

Cardassians had no honor, Worf thought to himself not for
the first time. Garak was the closest thing he'd seen to an
honorable Cardassian and even that was questionable at
times. He still found the idea of Garak becoming a member of
Starfleet more than a little disturbing. Again, though, this
was his personal opinion and not something he cared to share
with anyone, not even Jadzia. She knew, of course, that he
wasn't enthused about having to work with Garak on a daily
basis, but she was convinced that once the former-spy donned
the Starfleet uniform they would become brothers-in-arms.

Perhaps. He would show Garak the respect he deserved and
earned, but it would always bother him somewhat. When Jadzia
pointed out to him that many of his fellow officers had
similar feelings about working with a Klingon, he had said
nothing. There was a difference, he argued internally. He
had been raised on a Terran colony by humans. Yet, he was
still a Klingon and very proud of his heritage. Jadzia had
even accused him on more than one occasion of being a
conservative version of a Klingon, all honor and nobility
and no passion: he was what he was, though. Garak, however,
was a Cardassian raised by Cardassians. A man loyal to the
military state for many years, and despite being an exile he
had proved over and over again through the years that he
still loved his home and would die for it.

That a man could suddenly change his mind and accept a new
home and adopt new loyalties so quickly bothered him. It
didn't seem, for lack of a better word, honorable. He
understood the concept behind it; Garak was supposedly in
love with Dr. Bashir but he didn't quite accept that. He
loved Jadzia but he wasn't going to declare himself a Trill
and be fitted for a symbiont. If Garak was doing this then
there had to be some sort of dubious reasoning behind it. If
he was genuine, then he still wasn't comfortable with it.

A man who could change his loyalties so quickly and
completely was not to be trusted.

As he neared the listening post, he began to pick up a
message. He looked at it. It was a text in the same code
Garak had unsuccessfully attempted to decipher earlier, but
this one wasn't garbled. The signal wasn't very strong, but
it was just strong enough. He increased the gain on his
sensors and downloaded the message. Suddenly, it cut off.

Worf attempted to regain the signal, but it was gone.

After an hour of attempting to figure out a way to recapture
the signal he turned the Defiant back toward Deep Space
Nine.

He couldn't read what the code said, but he had a feeling it
wasn't a Cardassian planetary survey as Garak had
facetiously hypothesized.

Whatever it was, he had to get it back to the station as
quickly as possible.

---

"What does it say?"

Garak looked at Sisko, who was examining his reaction to the
transmission curiously. He hadn't bothered to hide his shock
to the other men. Perhaps this meant he was beginning to
trust them, he thought muzzily, then pushed the thought
aside. It wasn't the time for introspection.

Tain.

Tain was alive and a prisoner of the Dominion.

"It's...from Enabran Tain, my mentor from the Obsidian
Order," Garak said slowly. "He sent it specifically to me."

"Are you sure?" the Captain asked. "I thought he died in
when his ship was destroyed."

"If anyone could survive under those circumstances it would
be Enabran Tain. This code is only known to two people and
Tain is the one who taught it to me." He swallowed,
remembering the last time he had seen the complex code. He
was ten years old and sitting in Enabran Tain's office. He
made Garak practice the symbols over and over again until he
dreamed in code.

He hadn't seen those particular symbols in forty years, but
he could read the message as easily as he could read Kardasi
or Standard.

"What does it say?" Worf asked in his low baritone.

Garak took a breath. "It says, 'ALIVE', and then it is
repeated several times as though the message was in a loop
or stuck."

"That's all?" the captain asked, his eyebrows knitting
together in deep thought.

"No." Garak's eyes grew hard. "At the tail end there is some
garbling and then the message clears up again. It says that
a Founder has replaced someone here on the station."

"Who?" Worf asked in a near growl.

"It just reads, 'Founder-DS9-Replaced-' then nothing." Garak
looked Worf in the eye. "You couldn't get any more of the
message?"

"I remained at the listening post for more than an hour but
there was nothing," Worf said gravely. He turned to the
captain, "I will go back. Perhaps there is more to the
message."

"No," Garak said, his expression troubled as he turned the
information over and over in his mind.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Worf asked, his face dark with
outrage. "This Tain is your teacher. You would just abandon
him?"

"I have no intention of abandoning anyone, Mr. Worf," Garak
responded coldly. "I do, however, believe in using my brain.
If you rush off again to that listening post in the Defiant
you'll alert the Founder that you've discovered something
and that could create a scenario which could lead the
Dominion to initialize a pre-emptive strike."

"What do you want to do, Garak?" Sisko asked.

Garak turned toward the captain. There was genuine respect
behind the way the question was asked. These
humansneverceased to surprise him. "This message, even
though it is only four words long, tells us several things
about our current situation. First, Tain is alive and being
held somewhere with a member of our crew. We know this
because he wouldn't have wasted what little resources he had
by placing it in the message if it wasn't true. Second, we
know the Founder is a member of the senior staff."

"How can you surmise that from a message that consists only
four words?" Worf asked skeptically.

Garak raised an eyeridge at the Klingon while adopting the
expression of a professor speaking to a particularly dim
student. "It's a question of tactics and logic. If you were
a Founder and could emulate anyone on this station, you
would choose someone who was within the power structure.
This means that the Founder is either you, me, the captain,
Kira, the Chief, or Julian."

"You're leaving off Odo and Dax," Sisko pointed out.

"Founders won't harm their own and Odo would not allow a
fellow changeling to infiltrate his offices without a fight.
Commander Dax is a Trill. Founders seem to have trouble
understanding the complexity of her species," Garak answered
brusquely. "I know I'm not a Founder, obviously. You know it
as well because I translated this message for you. Worf
brought the message back so I'm willing to take a gamble and
say he has not been replaced."

"And me?" Sisko asked, eyeing Garak warily.

"For some reason the Prophets have a particular attraction
to you," Garak said after a pause. "I suspect that if a
Founder attempted to kill or capture you they would
intervene as they have in other situations."

"I understand what you are saying and your logic appears
sound," Sisko said, his voice hard. "Then again, if you were
the Founder you'd, of course, come up with a logical reason
as to why I should trust you. I don't know that you really
translated that message correctly, now do I?"

"True," Garak said easily, "Just like I can't be sure the
Prophets haven't decided to abandon you or just like neither
one of us can be sure that Mr. Worf didn't fake his flight
path and pretend to collect this text stream from our
listening post."

Worf looked from one man to the other, his eyes guarded. He
reached for the ceremonial blade in his sash and cut open
his hand, allowing the blood to drip to the floor. He held
out his hand to both men. "I am not a changeling." He handed
the blade to Garak, eyeing him with distrust. "Prove
yourself."

Garak met Worf's gaze steadily. Without breaking eye
contact, he took the blade and sliced open his hand. He
resisted the urge to flinch and showed him the wound. "Not
red like yours, Mr. Worf, but still blood. Disappointed?"

Worf didn't answer him, instead turning his gaze to the
captain. Garak held out the blade silently.

Sisko looked at them both for a long moment then took the
proffered weapon, cutting into the fatty part of his palm.
He hissed, "Damn," holding up his hand for a moment then
walking around to his desk to open the bottom drawer. He
hauled out a small first-aid kit and tossed out a box of
gauze after grabbing a few for himself. "Do me a favor and
try not to bleed on the carpet."

The men staunched their wounds as the captain passed around
the small dermal regenerator. "Well, since we've settled
that, now what?"

"We surmise who is the most likely candidate to be the
Founder from our suspect pool," Garak answered, rubbing the
red, itchy skin where the cut had healed.

"The major gave birth two weeks ago," Sisko answered first
out. "A Founder couldn't gestate and give birth to a human
infant, I suspect."

"Two weeks is long enough for her to have been replaced,"
Worf argued.

Sisko considered that. "Still, Dr. Bashir and Chief O'Brien
seem to be the most logical targets for the Founder to
choose from. Dr. Bashir conducts the blood screenings and
the Chief has access to every system on the station."

"It's not Julian," Garak said in a voice that was hard and
definite.

"Garak, we have to keep an open mind..." Sisko began.

"It's not Julian," Garak repeated. "I know because-" he
flushed slightly, "-in our intimate moments together Julian
has proven time and time again that he is very human."

"Oh," Sisko said simply, averting his eyes.

"I do not understand." Worf frowned. "What do you mean he
has proven himself?"

Garak rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. Klingons. "He
has semen and sweat. I've seen and 'examined' both of those
fluids personally."

"Oh." Now it was Worf's turn to be embarrassed, not to
mention a bit green around the gills.

Sisko cleared his throat nervously. "I don't doubt that you
truly believe the doctor is himself, but other than those
particular...'fluids', have you ever seen him bleed?"

Garak gave him a scathing look. "Contrary to the rumors you
may have heard, not all Cardassians need to bite chunks out
of their partner's flesh in order to complete orgasm."

"I meant no disrespect," Sisko said calmly. "I merely have
to ask; have you seen him bleed?"

Garak paused. "No."

"He's still on the suspect list."

"How many Founders do you know that have sweat or semen?"
Garak argued. "If they can't bleed then obviously they can't
do those things either."

"I'll admit that it's a low possibility that the doctor is
the Founder, but it is still a possibility," the captain
answered in a tone that would brook no further argument. "He
stays out of the loop on this and that's an order."

"Understood," Garak said stiffly.

"And Jadzia?" Worf asked.

Sisko shook his head. "No one but us three can know about
this. It stays between us."

Both men gave their assent.

"We are all in agreement that the doctor is a suspect, but
not a likely candidate for being the Founder. He should be
watched but we should concentrate our suspicions elsewhere.
That means the Founder is either Kira or the Chief, with the
Chief being the more likely of the two to have been
compromised. How do you want to play this?"

Garak took a breath. "I have a few ideas about that,
actually."

"Mind sharing them with the rest of us?" Sisko asked in a
droll tone of voice.

"How long before the afternoon staff debriefing?"

---

He winced as yet another body slammed into the other side of
the wall.

From what Bashir could figure out, the Jem'Hadar were
practicing the fighting moves they'd learned during their
contests with Martok and the other Alpha Quadrant
inhabitants. From what he had heard, though, it seemed that
although the Hadar were able to pick up the physical aspects
of the combat - the parries, the feints, the attacks -
quickly, they didn't seem to be able to absorb the theories
behind them. The Hadar didn't think during battle, didn't
make decisions on their own; they depended on the Vorta to
direct them.

Their opponents didn't share that disadvantage, though, and
that was the Hadar's greatest weakness. Every Alpha Quadrant
soldier the Hadar would meet, whether Klingon, Cardassian,
Federation, or even Romulan, knew that he or she might be
called upon to lead a charge or even a battle in lieu of
orders from commanding officers. Alpha Quadrant soldiers
were taught strategy from the very first day they joined the
military - even earlier for Klingons - and inculcated in
every lesson of obedience and discipline was the caveat that
one day the soldier might be called upon to lead, possibly
in the most unexpected circumstances.

Bashir suspected that General Martok had noticed that
weakness the first day he had walked into the ring to face a
combatant. But there was something else Bashir had noticed:
Martok he was much less disciplined in the ring than a
Klingon in battle would normally be. Had Martok altered his
style of battle simply to avoid as many injuries as possible
so that he could one day escape? Or was his real intent to
delude the Hadar into thinking that Klingon battle was based
more on raw violence than on intellect and strategy? A
sensible decision, Julian thought, if that were the case. If
the Hadar saw Klingons as excessively violent and
undisciplined, they'd be caught unawares in the heat of a
real battle.

He pushed himself to his feet. It was time for his walk:
three times a day, he circled his cell for thirty minutes.
He hoped the activity would keep his leg muscles from
atrophying, a common complaint of prisoners in solitary
confinement. Luckily, the guards didn't seem to care. Four
steps along one wall, three along the next, then four, then
three again. It wasn't a walk in the Tuileries or in Hyde
Park, but it kept the circulation going. Three days left, he
told himself: three more days and he'd be out of isolation.

He only hoped Tain was still alive when he got out. Then
again, he didn't even understand why he had been kept alive
in the first place. He was no warrior. If they were planning
on replacing him, why keep him alive and in (relatively)
good shape? He was no warrior. Why not just space him?

It was a question he couldn't answer at the moment.

---

The staff all filed into the conference room at 1700 hours
as usual. Garak pasted an indulgent smile on his face as he
listened to the Chief and Julian argue about some holosuite
adventure or another. He examined Miles O'Brien
surreptitiously. If he was a Founder, then he was quite
skilled in his ability to maintain his cover. Every gesture,
every facial expression, every nuance of speech was Miles
O'Brien to the T. He glanced over to Worf who was looking at
Kira with a predatory gaze. The major was too wrapped up in
her conversation with Dax to notice, and if one of them did
catch his eye perhaps they would merely mistake his barely
concealed anger for something more passionate.

Hopefully, Dax would assume it was directed toward her and
not the Major or he suspected there would be a great deal of
heated words exchanged between the lovers before he and Worf
left on their mission.

Worf was obviously not a practitioner of the art of
subtlety, he sighed.

"Are we boring you, Garak?" Julian asked, his eyes dancing
with amusement.

"I'm just a bit tired, that's all," Garak said wearily. It
wasn't a lie. He was exhausted in more ways than one.

Julian gave him a sympathetic look. "You've been working
non-stop for weeks now. After the meeting why don't you go
to bed and rest a bit? After the swearing in ceremony
tomorrow, we should take the day off together."

"That sounds nice." Garak nodded. Oh my dear, if only I
could, he thought glumly.

"All right, let's get down to business." Sisko said, calling
the meeting to order. "First off, I have some rather
unfortunate news. Mr. Garak, Commander Worf, you have both
been ordered to report to Starfleet Headquarters on Earth
for a summit on Cardassian and Klingon Military Tactics and
Intelligence." He paused to address Garak. "I realize this
means we have to reschedule your swearing-in ceremony;
however, the Admiral assured me that they will take care of
it while you're on Earth. I only regret we cannot be there
with you to share in the occasion."

Sisko was an excellent actor, Garak applauded silently.
Every word was said with conviction and just the right
amount of reluctance. "Who will work on tracking and
deciphering the encoded transmissions in my absence?"

"Lt. Commander Dax will take over," Sisko answered smoothly.

It was the best way to keep her off of the Defiant and keep
the communiqués safe at the same time. He had spent the
afternoon teaching the Captain the symbols for each of the
senior staff's names so if they did find Tain and their
missing crewmember the Founder could be subdued. When Dax
got the code she'd alert Sisko; he would be the only one who
knew what it meant without letting anyone else, including
Dax, in on the deception.

"I spoke to Starfleet about your suggestion to drop the
search for survivors and they agreed to rescind the order
early," Sisko continued. "All the other codes should be
familiar to Dax and anything she can't translate, we'll send
to you at Headquarters on a scrambled subspace channel."

Dax nodded and looked at Worf sadly. He and Mr. Worf were in
the same boat at least, he thought. Both of us have to lie
to our partners and leave on a mission that may very well
kill us both.

Sympathizing with a Klingon: Garak cursed himself. I truly
have become a Federation romantic. Next, he'd be advocating
'harsh' prison sentences that consisted entirely of basket
weaving and empathic therapy sessions.

What a hideous prospect.

"What about the doctor? Is there any way he can join Mr.
Worf and me at the conference?" They had discussed this as
well. Although he was positive that Julian was not the
Founder, no one could know about the mission other than the
three of them. It was the only way to minimize the risk to
all of them, the doctor especially. No one thought he would
leak the information, but on the off chance the Founder
suspected Julian knew about the encoded transmission, he
could be targeted. The Founders claimed to haveneverharmed a
member of their own race, but other races were fair game and
Garak was an expert in interrogation methods. Even a man as
stubborn and strong as Julian Bashir could be broken when
the right stimulus was applied.

Before Sisko could say anything however, Julian spoke up,
"I'm sorry, Garak, I can't." He gave him a miserable look.
"I have too much to do here and I can't take the time off.
My staff is overwhelmed as it is. I had to get Dr. Okuna to
agree to take a double shift just so I could have the
weekend off with you."

Sisko gave Garak a hard look that spoke volumes.

Garak patted his fiancé's hand comfortingly, but internally
he was cursing this turn of events. Sisko was now eyeing
Julian with renewed suspicion. Under normal circumstances
Julian was always up for an away mission or a conference. It
probably didn't help his case that he hadneverrefused to go
on a mission with Garak. In fact, it was usually impossible
to keep him away. Although the doctor didn't know it, his
dedicated work ethic was actually making him more of a
suspect in the eyes of both the captain and Mr. Worf. "I
understand, my dear. Hopefully I can use the trip to Earth
to catch up on some paperwork so when I get back we'll have
more leisure time together."

"Captain, I have responsibilities here which supersede the-"
Worf began.

"Those were your orders and they came directly from the
top," Sisko said, cutting him off firmly. "I don't like
losing my two biggest tactical assets for a week or more
either, but the good news is that you have orders to take
the Defiant with you. The engineers at Headquarters have
come up with some interesting modifications they want to
make to its systems, which should come in very handy in the
coming months. Also, and this is for Mr. Garak, your handler
at Starfleet Intelligence contacted me personally and said
that as long as you're down there they've decided to move up
your commission hearing. When you come back, hopefully,
you'll be wearing a uniform and answering to Lieutenant
Garak."

The senior staff members all started giving Garak their
hearty congratulations, and he pretended to be in good
spirits at the news. He looked into Julian's brown eyes
brimming with love and pride and felt his heart break.

He was lying to Julian.

Before they were involved he could have lied and felt no
remorse. That was no longer the case now. Julian had become
the first person he ever wanted to be truly honest to: no
barriers, no lies, just himself. Now he was breaking that
fragile trust.

It was for the greater good, he reminded himself, but it
still hurt. It hurt much more than he ever expected it
would.

Yet another thing for Tain to ridicule him about when they
saw each other again, he supposed. Julian will understand.
He's an officer. If it were he who had to be kept in the
dark, Julian would do so without hesitation.

He believed that now more than ever.

He hadnevernoticed the doctor's darker instincts before they
had become involved, but Julian had proved to possess a
natural talent for obfuscation and manipulation. At times it
was as though he were truly a Cardassian hiding in the
smooth flesh of a human. He could be quite calculating at
times.

He looked at his lover carefully. Thoughts of the odd
conversations, forgotten events, and other inconsistencies
nagged at him even as he attempted to dismiss them from his
mind.

Unfortunately, his instincts won out over sentimentality.
Sisko had a point, he thought, as he accepted the staff's
individual congratulations. The doctor was in a key position
and his method of testing changeling DNA was one of their
greatest defensive weapons against the Dominion. As the CMO
he could fake any blood test he wanted. He cursed himself
for that unbidden thought. He trusted Julian. He loved him.
If anyone knew he wasn't a Founder it was Garak.

Still, the paranoia that had been so deeply ingrained into
his nature reared its black head. He had no choice, he
reasoned. If he were to satisfy the suspicions of Commander
Worf and the captain, he had to investigate Julian before he
left for the mission tomorrow afternoon and prove his
innocence. Once he showed them and himself that Julian was
not a Founder, he could rest easy knowing the doctor was at
least safe from the captain's scrutiny while he was gone.

The rest of the meeting went as usual and Worf and Garak
were given their formal orders and told to leave at 1600
tomorrow.

It was bound to be a long and eventful journey for both of
them.

---
Chapter Two: Especially the Lies
---

Garak sipped at his raktajino and eyed his icoberry torte
with disinterest. He glanced over at Julian who was sitting
on the couch reading reports and making notations on a PADD.
His eyes skimmed over his face, the face that had become so
familiar to him, and tried to compartmentalize his emotions
as a Vulcan lover had once taught him to do.

He forced himself to look at Julian coolly and unemotionally
and truly see him without the blush of affection he usually
felt.

Tall, lean, and lanky with features that could have easily
been considered harsh if it weren't for his eyes that seemed
to broadcast his every emotion, Julian leaned back in the
couch and tucked a stylus behind his ear then yawned loudly.
When he was relaxed at home like this, he could be almost
unbearably endearing. He scrubbed his short, curly hair with
his hand and blinked owlishly at his PADD. "Screw this, no
more work for the day." He looked up at Garak with a smile.
"Let's go out and do something tonight. I'm in the mood for
something different. We've been working so hard lately that
we deserve to have a night out, catch some dinner, then
maybe we can rent a holosuite and I can take you on a quick
virtual tour of San Francisco so you won't be completely
lost when you and Worf arrive there."

Garak rubbed his temples and pretended to consider his
suggestion for a moment. "That sounds good, but
unfortunately I have to finish this report the captain
wanted before I leave tomorrow. I'll be done in two hours at
the most, though. Maybe after that we can do something
together? You could come back later and we'll have a nice
dinner, then you could spend the night here."

Julian gave him a rueful smile. "I hope after your
conference things start slowing down a little around here.
We can't even sit on the same couch together anymore because
it seems like one of us is always working."

Garak got up from the desk and walked over to the couch then
gathered Julian in his arms and held him.

"What's this all about?" Julian chuckled as he squeezed the
Cardassian tightly.

"I love you," Garak said simply as he breathed in the man's
spicy and familiar scent, temporarily abandoning his plan to
remain detached.

Julian pulled away slightly and smiled. Laugh lines appeared
at the corners of his brown eyes, making him all the more
attractive. "Missing me already, I take it?"

"I'm not really looking forward to going on this trip
without you," Garak said. It was the truth. He'd begun to
think of Julian as his partner in all things, especially
when it came to their investigations. The doctor had a quick
mind and had proven on more than one occasion that he could
be quite perceptive, almost to the point of ruthlessness,
when the situation required it.

He forced his emotions back into their box. He needed to
keep his focus. It had been a while since he had to think of
Julian in such clinical terms, but the fact was he had no
other choice but to manipulate the younger man for his own
good.

Julian looked down at his lap and then glanced back up at
Garak. "I know. I don't like it either, but we're both
soldiers, first and foremost, and there will be many times
when we'll have to go our separate ways. The good news is
that it's only for a week or so, and when you get back we
can go ahead and plan the wedding. In fact, I have a little
surprise for you on that note."

"Oh?" Garak tried to keep his tone casual.

"I talked to my mother on subspace earlier and she offered
to come up to the station for an extended visit." He smiled.
"I remember you saying once that the job of the grooms are
to sit back and wait for the mothers to hand them their
clothes and tell them where to stand, well..."

Garak grinned. "No more wedding planning?"

"Nope. All we have to do is sit back and be lazy." Julian
grinned as he stretched his arms over his head and then
draped them back over Garak's shoulders.

"When is she coming?" Garak asked, thinking of the
sophisticated woman of Indian descent he had spoken to many
times over the comm unit. Amsha Bashir was witty, urbane,
and quite delightful in her mannerisms. He could see a lot
of her in Julian.

"She'll be here when you get back," Julian answered with a
raised eyebrow. "If what the captain said turns out to be
true, when you get back we can go ahead and have the
wedding. Why wait, right?"

Garak forced his smile to remain relaxed. Sisko had lied
when he said his commission hearing had been moved up. Damn.
Garak weighed the risk against telling Julian the truth with
the possibility that he would be angry to see that not only
wasn't Garak an official member of Starfleet, but that he
had lied about his mission altogether. Oh well, Garak
thought; if Julian plans the wedding and can still manage to
accept why he had to leave, then they'd just get married
ahead of schedule and damn the consequences. Married
officers who served together in deep space were normally
required to go through premarital counseling and then meet
with a host of other requirements before they were issued
their marriage license. Let Sisko deal with it, he thought.
As long as Julian was happy he could care less about having
to deal with yet more damned forms.

How these Federation people managed to grow into such a
great power was beyond him. When exactly did anyone have
time to actually explore space when every second of the day
brought more paperwork to fill out? "Sounds good to me.
Perhaps while I'm gone your mother can supervise the
decoration of the children's rooms as well?"

"Like you have to ask!" Julian chuckled. "The first thing
she wants to do is go down to Bajor to meet the kids, then
she's going on a shopping spree. I told her she can stay
here in your quarters if that's all right?"

"That's fine; after all, she will be family," Garak said
easily. "On Cardassia, the whole family often lives in the
same home, in-laws included. Having her here will be most
welcome, even in my absence."

"Did you grow up with a big family?" Julian asked curiously.

Garak's smile faltered. "No."

Julian gave him an assessing look. "If you don't want to
talk about it, I understand."

Garak warred internally with himself: logic battled with
sentiment until at last he came to a decision.

He could not share the truth with Julian about why he was
really leaving. Perhaps, though, if he shared some of his
past with him, Julian would later look back on this
conversation and see that he really did trust him.

He took a breath. "I didn't have a family."

"You were an orphan?" Julian asked in surprise.

"Not...exactly."

"What does that mean, 'not exactly'?" Julian said, giving
him a steady look.

"I was..." He tried to keep the shame out of his eyes, but
he could tell Julian saw it anyway.

"Illegitimate?" Julian asked softly. The doctor was familiar
enough with Cardassian traditions to know exactly what that
meant. "But you had a position with the military. How is
that possible?"

"It was a unique situation," Garak explained. "My birth
documents had been forged and I was raised by my true father
as his ward. He allowed me to get an education and make a
place for myself within society but he never acknowledged my
parentage."

"And your mother?" Julian asked carefully.

"She lived with us as well, as a servant.
She never acknowledged me either."

Julian winced. "Your own parents treated you like you
weren't theirs?"

"They felt it was for the best." Garak shrugged. "I had
everything I needed; clothes, food, and an education. As
long as society accepted that I was the child of some other
couple who was taken in by my 'guardian', I could obtain a
respectable position within society. Had they decided to,
they could have sent me to the workhouses or treated me as a
servant. The position of someone born under those
circumstances is similar to that of an indentured servant or
slave. They cannot even marry unless the master of their
house gives them permission and all of their progeny belongs
to the master of the home to sell or put to use in whatever
manner they see fit."

"That's barbaric!" Julian exclaimed in disgust. "How could
someone do that to their own child?"

"A child with no name," Garak pointed out. "There is no
advantage to having a child who cannot continue your
bloodline. Some are even put to death at the moment of birth
if their father feels that they are of no use to them."

"Did your parents...hurt you?"

Garak paused. "No, not really. I understand now what they
were grooming me for and the reasons they chose to raise me
as they had. You have to understand, as cruel as this sounds
to you, for a Cardassian, it is a matter of survival."

"How can you justify child abuse as a survival tactic?"
Julian asked angrily.

"I'm not justifying anything. I'm merely explaining to you
the reasoning behind it." He turned to the doctor and looked
him directly in the eye. "You've heard the term 'culling the
herd', have you not?"

"People are not animals, Garak," Julian bit out.

"We are all animals, my dear. Some of us have merely evolved
beyond swinging from trees or crawling the earth." He took
Julian's hand in his to soften the impact of his words.
"When a Cardassian marries it is rarely for love. Marriage
is a business contract negotiated so that both families may
benefit from the union. Sometimes, the couple in question
are incompatible so one of them, usually the male, takes a
lover. If the male produces issue with his lover this could
affect the position of the children born within the
marriage. It also endangers the entire family by splitting
inheritance issues and whatnot. It is for this reason that
any children born of the husband outside of the marriage
become the property of the man's wife to do with as she
pleases. A woman who has children outside of the marital
contract can no longer marry; she can only aspire to become
a bound concubine with a limited legal status. Her lover is
required to provide for her, but she forfeits all rights to
her children."

"Who would do that?" The human's eyes were dark with anger.

"A woman of a poor house with no prospects might find the
idea of living a life as a kept woman very attractive." He
shrugged. "Again, it's a business arrangement and her
children are either a liability or an asset. If she bears
strong or unusually beautiful children, the matriarch of the
clan may 'adopt' them as her own, claiming that she is their
birth parent, or sell them to another house so that her own
children will not be looked on with disfavour by her
husband. The weak who are more of a burden than an asset are
sent away or put to sleep."

"Like a sick animal?"

"Again," Garak said pointedly, "we are all just animals in
the end. We just justify our actions by designating them
with the terms 'good' or 'evil'. If an animal kills its
young then it is merely nature correcting an imbalance, when
a sentient being does so, they are seen as monstrous."

"That's horrible," Julian spat out in disgust.

"For the Great Houses, it is a matter of the survival of the
fittest. Only the best of their bloodline may represent
their House and those children are treated as if they were
treasures beyond price. I have given you a harsh impression
of my people, but contrary to what you may believe, in most
homes, servants are treated with respect. Very few of them
are outright abused." He smiled without humor. "A servant
often has more power than his master when it comes to the
running of the house. There are no secrets he is not privy
to, no skill he does not possess, especially if he is good
at his job. The servant has a vested interest in seeing that
his master is kept safe and his home runs smoothly and a
master knows that a mistreated servant can never be trusted
again to prepare his food or wander through his house as he
slumbers." He shook his head. "No, using their illegitimate
offspring in this manner is not cruel as much as it is
pragmatic. After all, who would you trust more to serve you;
a stranger or your own kin whose survival is directly linked
to your own?"

Julian absorbed this, his face dark and inscrutable, "Were
you a servant?"

"Yes, but my job was not to peel tubers or mop floors."
Garak leaned back into the cushions of the couch and forced
himself to relax. "I was groomed to be my guardian's right
hand, his most trusted, most loyal asset who could aid him
in maintaining his power base but who could never succeed him.
It was in this way that he kept me under his thumb. As long
as I was dependent on him, I would never dare to overthrow
him."

Realization dawned on Julian's face. He contemplated
everything he had just learned then said, "I don't need you
to finish the story, Garak."

He looked at the doctor. "Are you sure?"

Julian nodded. "You once told me that if you love someone
you don't have to know all of the answers. You merely accept
the person for what they mean to you."

"But you do have questions," Garak stated.

"I will always have questions, I just don't need you to
answer all of them. Not anymore." Julian cupped Garak's
cheek. "You are not those people. If you were, you wouldn't
be adopting two children who have no family, no 'name'. I've
seen how you look at Kela and Lewin whenever we visit. You
are affectionate and loving, and you act that way with all
of the orphans at the Ministry of the Forgotten Children."
He bit his lip. "I always knew you felt a connection to
them, but now I know why."

"Julian..." Garak stopped himself. Whatever he had started
to say would have been a grave tactical error. He gathered
his emotions and placed them back behind the wall he had
built. This may be the man he loved more than life, but he
had a duty to maintain his cover.

Julian kissed him, his lips gliding over Garak's own as
their tongues caressed and made love to one another. Part of
Garak tried to memorize every sensation he was feeling,
every taste. He breathed in Julian's scent and lifted his
hand so his could slide it in his short, dark curls. The
rough texture of his lover's hair imprinted itself on
Garak's fingertips. In the days to come, this memory would
be all he had of him so the Cardassian made sure to relish
it.

"Let's go to bed," Julian breathed against his lips.

Garak groaned. It had been more than a week since he'd lain
with Julian. His shaft hardened to the point of near pain
from just thinking about it. Gritting his teeth and forcing
himself to remain strong, he said, "I want to, you know I
want to, but I have to finish my work." He took at deep,
shuddering breath and looked into Julian's passion-filled
gaze. "Go do what you have to do, and when you get back
we'll have the whole evening together. I'll go ahead and
pack while you're gone so we'll have the morning as well."

Julian blanched. "I promised Miles I'd stop by in the
morning to work out some bugs in the new holoscenario we
were building. I assumed you'd be busy – I can cancel it."

"No," Garak said, more than a little disappointed as he
caressed Julian's hand with the pad of his thumb. "You're
right, I do have some other errands that need to be taken
care of, especially if your mother is coming. I need to
speak to Ajaz about the clothes I wanted to have made for
when they visit next month. Maybe if he can finish them your
mother can bring the clothes down to Bajor during her
visit."

Julian grimaced in obvious frustration. "This is so unfair.
Here we are, set to be married soon, and we can't even
manage to take even a morning off to be together."

"Go do what you need to do and I'll finish this report and
pack," Garak said, rising from the couch and pulling Julian
up with him. "Go pick up a gift for your mother and the
children, and then bring back some dinner. Nothing spicy,"
he requested, giving Julian a crooked grin. "I'm going to be
trapped in a ship with Mr. Worf for several hours – the last
thing I need is indigestion on top of having to deal with a
Klingon."

"I'll hurry back," Julian promised, as he bent his head to
give Garak a quick kiss. He headed for the door then paused.
"Did you want me to pick something up for you? Something
specific that you wanted to give my mother or something for
your trip?"

He thought about it. "Just pick up a nice present your
mother would like and sign the card from both of us. I trust
your judgement."

"More like you don't feel like picking it out yourself."
Julian waved. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. Comm me if
you need anything." And then he was gone.

Garak returned to his terminal and began to punch in the
codes to access Odo's security footage.

As the screen filled with images of his lover heading toward
the Promenade, Garak tried to suppress his turbulent
emotions once again. If he was right and Julian was
perfectly innocent, then he was betraying Julian's trust
just do he could show the captain something he already knew
to be true. It didn't matter that it was in Julian's best
interest, it still made him uneasy. At worst....

Garak tried not to think about that as he continued to
follow Julian's progress on his terminal.

When Sisko had called him into his office after the staff
meeting he ordered Garak and Worf to keep surveillance on
their suspects. Sisko would watch Kira, Worf was assigned to
Chief O'Brien, and Garak was ordered to keep tabs on Julian.

Not liking it, but knowing it was necessary, Garak had
agreed. Sisko was having dinner with Kira that evening; Worf
and Jadzia had made plans to spend time with the O'Briens.
Garak, for obvious reasons, was to watch the doctor and make
note of any suspicious behavior.

He watched Julian make his way into the various shops of the
Promenade, watched him make small talk with some of the
denizens of the station then pop into Garak's favorite
pastry shop for a sinful looking dessert.

Relief flooded through the Cardassian as he accounted for
every step his lover had taken since leaving his quarters.
As he watched Julian juggle his packages with the huge bag
of food he was carrying toward the turbolifts he allowed
himself to voice the truth aloud. "All right, so maybe I
wasn't just doing this to reassure Sisko." He laughed out
loud suddenly, joy and relief flooding his body. "Thank
you." Who he was thanking, Garak neither knew nor cared.

He dismissed all the little nagging doubts that had plagued
him and switched off the monitor then hurried out toward the
turbolifts. The second the doors opened he lunged for
Julian, knocking the packages out of his hands as he grabbed
him in a bear hug and hauled him close.

"Garak! What the-mmph!"

Garak kissed Julian hard, not caring that their packages
were scattered on the floor or that some of their coworkers
who were walking down the corridor had stopped to stare,
some in open-mouthed shock and some snickering into their
hands. When he released the doctor, Julian just stared at
him for a moment in stunned disbelief and then scowled.
"Dammit! It took me two hours to shop for all that stuff and
now look at it!" He reached down and righted the bag of take
out grimacing as some sauce leaked out and ran over his
hands onto the floor. "Great." He gestured to the cake that
was lying upside down in its packaging. "I hope you like the
cake. Turns out having them decorate it was a big waste of
time."

Garak just kept grinning down at him as the doctor gathered
up the scattered packages.

"Are you just going to stand there grinning like an idiot or
are you going to help me get this stuff into our quarters?"
Julian asked irritably. He looked at the Cardassian
suspiciously, "What's wrong with you? Have you been drinking
or something?"

Garak laughed, a full-bodied laugh that was filled with joy
and relief. Julian blinked in surprise and then began to
chuckle as well. "What? What did I miss? Did something
happen while I was gone?"

"Nothing happened." Garak said, bending over to help with
the bags then offering Julian a hand up. "Nothing at all."

Julian shook his head as they made their way to their
soon-to-be shared quarters. "I swear, if I didn't know
better I'd think you were going senile."

---

Julian licked the chocolate off of his fingers and grinned,
"This was a good idea. Messy, but good."

Garak looked up at Julian from his side of the bed and
offered him some of his noodles. "Bite?"

Julian leaned over and allowed Garak to feed him some of his
Chinese food with the chopsticks. He opened his mouth and
laughed as one of the noodles fell from his mouth onto his
bare chest. "Damn it." He grabbed some napkins and scrubbed
off the sauce. He glanced at the sheets. "We're going to
have to change the bed. You've got sweet and sour sauce all
over the place."

Garak grinned and reached over to grab Julian's hand,
licking and sucking at his fingertips. "Mmm, I really was
hungry, I suppose."

Julian rolled his eyes and reached for another carton. "Any
more beef and broccoli?"

"Here," Garak said, holding out another white box. When
Julian reached for it, though, he kept it out of his reach.
"Ah ah." He reached in with his fingers and pulled out a
sliver of tender meat and dropped in on his lover's tongue,
allowing his fingers to linger so Julian could lick off the
thin gravy.

Julian chuckled. "What has gotten into you tonight?"

"You don't remember?" Garak asked with a raised eyeridge.

"Oh, I remember," Julian said, scooting closer to Garak and
pulling his chin close. He kissed him gently, his teeth
nibbling at the Cardassian's lips before opening his mouth
and delving inside.

Garak moaned. He could taste him, all of him. The flavors of
the food combined with the sweetness of the chocolate cake
and that unmistakable essence that was Julian Bashir.

Garak swept the boxes out of the way and pulled Julian
closer.

"You're making a mess," the doctor muttered against his lips
then gasped as Garak moved on top of him. "We're going to
get sticky."

"We'll take a shower," Garak growled as he licked and sucked
his way down Julian's chest.

He licked and nibbled at Julian's flat, brown nipples,
smiling as he heard his lover gasp, then wiggled his hips
until his hardness was nudging the doctor's. "May I...?"

Julian reached up and grabbed the back of Garak's head,
pulling him to him roughly then kissed him hard. When they
broke apart, he said, "Let's get something straight right
now: if you want to fuck me, Garak, you don't have to ask –
just do it."

Garak groaned and reached for the lubricant they had used
earlier in the evening. He quickly prepared them both then
slid inside. "Oooooh, you feel so good."

The men began to thrust together, harder and harder, until
they found the perfect rhythm. Julian clawed at Garak's back
as he writhed beneath him, moaning in pleasure. Garak opened
himself to the sensation of loving and being loved as he
pounded harder and harder inside of the other man.

This is what he would miss the most, he thought muzzily as
he felt his orgasm build. As soon as he got back he would
make this man his, forever. Julian, as though he were
reading his thoughts, began to gasp, "Oh god, I love you, oh
god, oh god."

When Julian's body tightened and spilled that was all it
took to send Garak over the edge. He shuddered and groaned
on top of the other man when he felt the liquid heat of
Julian's semen splash against him, then quieted before he
rolled to the side. "Damn!" he hissed.

"What happened?" Julian asked looked up, then laughed as
Garak tossed the broken chopstick off the bed. "See, now
that's why you're never supposed to fuck on top of serving
ware."

Garak grimaced and rubbed his hip. "I think I have a
splinter."

Julian pressed Garak's shoulder, indicating he should lie on
his stomach, and examined his butt cheek. "Not even a
scratch, you big girl," he said before planting a kiss on
the red mark.

"I'd quote the Chief and ask you to kiss my 'arse', as he
calls it, but that seems redundant now," Garak joked, then
said, "Ow!" when Julian smacked the aforementioned
musculature.

Julian sat up and looked at the sticky mess coating his
stomach, thighs, and genitals. "This is the only part of sex
I hate. Pass me a towel, would you?"

Garak reached for the towel on the floor beside the bed and
began to hand it to Julian then stopped. He scooted toward
him and began to wipe off his stomach slowly then, with his
naked finger, he collected some of the semen from the head
of Julian's cock and rubbed it between his fingers
thoughtfully.

"What the hell are you doing?" Julian asked, looking at him
strangely.

"Just thinking." Garak said as he wiped his fingers on the
towel then finished cleaning off Julian before taking care
of himself.

"I'm a little afraid to ask this, but what exactly were you
thinking about?" Julian asked dubiously.

Garak paused to gather his thoughts. "How do you suppose
Founders reproduce?"

"What?" Julian asked with a raised eyebrow. "Where did that
come from?"

"I mean, they don't have semen, right? Without semen, how do
they reproduce?"

"I have no idea," Julian said with a frown. "Maybe they
just, I don't know, split in half or something."

"Well, if they don't have blood then they can't have semen,
so does that mean they can't have...?" Garak let his voice
trail off.

"Sex? Orgasms?" Julian shrugged. "I imagine they can if they
want to. Odo has had sex before, I believe. I've never asked
him. Also, from what I gather, the Great Link is a kind of
sexual experience. They merge and share pleasure with one
another. Is that what you want to know?"

"Actually, I was wondering if it was possible for a Founder
and a humanoid to mate–reproduce." He looked at Julian, his
face open and relaxed as he kept his tone casual. "Let's say
that if Odo and the Major ever wanted to have children,
could Odo generate sperm?"

"And you're asking this why?" Julian asked.

Garak shrugged. "She and Shakaar are on the outs and she's
been spending more and more time with the Constable. Since
giving birth to the O'Brien baby she's become very maternal.
Just the other day she was talking about how 'Yoshi' seems
to recognize her. I'm wondering; if he chose to, could Odo
father an infant of his own that was half Major Kira's?"

Julian wrinkled his brow as he considered Garak's statement.
"This smacks a little too close to gossip for my tastes."

"Nevermind then; just forget I said anything." Garak
shrugged as he reached for the box of smashed chocolate cake
then looked around for a fork. "I just thought that as a
scientist you'd have an opinion on the matter."

"So this is purely a scientific discussion?" Julian asked as
he handed Garak a fork then pinched a piece of ruined cake
between his fingers and popped it in his mouth.

"Absolutely," Garak nodded.

Julian thought about it carefully. "I'd have to say that
Founders could not produce children with a humanoid because
their physiology is too different, but if you're asking if
they could produce something similar to semen, anything is
possible."

"But if they can't produce blood then they can't produce
semen," Garak argued as he ate his cake.

Julian shrugged and snatched Garak's fork away, stealing his
dessert. "The only Founder we really know is Odo and he's
not exactly an experienced shapeshifter. Who knows how
closely an older Founder could mimic humanoid physiology.
For all we know, an experienced Founder could even produce
blood cells and skin cells that are absolutely identical to
our own. Just because we haven't seen it yet, doesn't mean
they can't do it. So far our blood tests have worked, so
most likely it's impossible for them to do that." He shook
his head, "Even if I'm wrong and they can produce semen,
they'd be infertile. If the Major and Odo ever wanted
children they'd either have to adopt, find a sperm donor for
Kira, or Odo would have to be the only pregnant man on Deep
Space Nine."

"Odo, pregnant." Garak shuddered dramatically.

"It does make one's blood run cold, doesn't it?" Julian said
dryly before setting his stolen fork down. "Let's go take a
shower."

"After you."

---

Bashir wondered for the hundredth time what the Founder who
had replaced him was doing on Deep Space Nine. Had he been
caught? Or had his preparations been thorough enough for him
to blend in?

He was forced to concede that the Founder had likely hacked
into his private logs and might even know about the
enhancements, but he still thought he'd be a fool to go
public with any of it. No, he told himself: the Founder
would likely lie low, do his job quietly and professionally
(or at least for his patients' sake Bashir hoped that was
the case), and carry out whatever subterfuge he was
intending on with the precision and cunning the Founders
were experts at.

The doctor in Bashir worried over whether the Founder had
allowed any of his crewmembers, colleagues, or friends to
come to harm through lack of surgical or medical skills. He
didn't worry about Kira or the O'Brien child; he had decided
that it was unlikely the Founder would attract attention to
himself by causing harm to either of them, especially
considering the fact that Bajoran births were relatively
trouble-free.

He suddenly grinned. Miles had mentioned that Kira had
wanted Shakaar to be with her at the birth. Maybe that would
be enough to hook the man, he thought. He had treated
Shakaar once for some minor ailment - a sequela of
shinglepox, if he recalled correctly - and remembered that
his medical history had contained a reference to a long-dead
daughter. Perhaps by the time he got back, the two of them
would be engaged.

That's the spirit, Bashir, he told himself: when you get
back, not if.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

---
Chapter Three: In-Between Moments
---

"Good morning."

Garak opened his eyes slowly and stretched, smiling at his
lover. "Good morning. What time is it?"

"Late - 0950." Julian smiled. "First time in months that
we've been able to sleep past 0500 hours."

"O950 isn't late," Garak objected, closing his eyes and
snuggling back into his pillow. "1200 hours is late. Let's
go back to bed."

"God, you're a layabout," Julian snorted, then snatched the
covers off of Garak.

"Noooo," Garak whined.

"You have errands to run, remember? I have to go work this
bug out with Miles for a bit, but as soon as you're done I
want you to comm me and we'll spend some time together
before you and Worf take off, okay?"

"But the sheets are so soft and clean." Garak smiled as he
held up the end of the sheet. "See? I even used that new
program for the refresher that makes them smell," he sniffed
the material dramatically, "flower fresh. You sure you don't
want to take off that uniform and slip back into bed? I
could make it worth your while." He wiggled his eyeridges
comically.

Julian rolled his eyes. "If only the rest of the senior crew
could see you now. When I first told them we were getting
married everyone warned me about how cool and distant you
were and that you were some kind of cold-blooded killer or
something." He awarded him with a crooked grin. "If only
they knew that you were the Cardassian equivalent of a pussy
cat."

"Can I have my blanket back?" Garak asked, pointedly
ignoring him.

"A fat, lazy pussy cat!" Julian pronounced. "Get up! You
need to take a shower and get dressed. You didn't pack last
night so you'd best get on with it."

Garak began to mutter darkly as he swung his naked legs over
the side of the bed and headed toward the bathroom. "And who
could have predicted that the minute you got used to the
idea of domestication you'd turn into a harridan?"

"Then it can be you that complains about a nagging spouse in
Quark's instead of me," Julian said, completely unaffected
by Garak's criticism as he straightened out the bed. He
glanced over at Garak who was standing in front of the
commode. "When you see Ajaz this morning make sure to tell
him that I'll be the one picking up the children's clothes
when he's done."

"I will," Garak said grumpily as he shook off the remaining
droplets of urine from his foreskin then flushed the commode
so it slid back into the wall. Garak walked over to the sink
and washed his hands, then picked up his toothbrush. "What's
the problem you're having with your holoprogram? Maybe I can
help?" he offered, turning on his toothbrush then running
the warm, vibrating laser bristles over his teeth and gums.

Julian walked into the bathroom carrying a folded stack of
Garak's underwear in his hand. He leaned against the
doorframe and shrugged. "Halfway through, the program starts
to stick and the characters begin to blink in and out.
Personally, I think it's Quark's holosuites that are
defective, but Miles says it's in the programming." Julian
grimaced. "He's the engineer, so I'll have to go with his
opinion on that, I suppose."

Garak pressed the panel near the sink and then picked up the
small cup of mouthwash as it appeared. He swished his mouth
out then replaced the cup allowing it to be recycled. After
he spit it out and wiped his mouth, he asked, "If you want,
I could join you. I know a bit about programming."

"What about Ajaz?" he asked.

Garak paused, then shrugged. "I'll just send him a list of
patterns along with the children's measurements. He's a
fairly competent tailor so he'll do a good job, I'm sure."

"Please," Julian snorted. "You are the most detail-oriented
person I know. If one stitch is out of place you'll be
miserable to live with for days. Go to the tailor shop and
at least get the process started for him then comm me when
you're ready for lunch."

Garak nodded reluctantly, then gestured at the stack of
clothes in Julian's hand. "Are you packing for me?"

"Are you going to take a shower?" Julian asked instead.

"I just took one a few hours ago," he answered.

"Then hurry up and get out here. I'll help you but I'm not
doing it all by myself," he said with a look. "Here!" He
tossed him a pair of underwear then cocked his head toward
the bedroom. "Let's just get this done and we can both be on
our way."

Garak slipped on the shorts and headed out of the room
toward the bureau.

Garak walked into the closet then brought out an armful of
clothing to go into his travel cases. He doubted he'd need
them, but the whole process of packing was for Julian's
benefit anyway. The doctor thought they were going to Earth,
not the Gamma Quadrant. Garak doubted the Founders would
throw him and Mr. Worf a formal reception when they came
calling, but he grabbed a formal suit anyway. After all, he
imagined if he really were going to Earth there would be
some sort of occasion for formal dress. There was always a
soiree or dinner one was required to attend at such
conferences.

He must have been correct because Julian nodded his approval
when he handed him the stack of clothes.

"Pack some lighter weight tunics as well," Julian said as he
unzipped his wardrobe bag and placed the suits inside. "San
Francisco is hot this time of year, even by Cardassian
standards." He paused, "Well, for a Cardassian who has
acclimated to living on a mostly humanoid space station,
anyway."

"Just one or two though," Garak said, going back to the
closet. "When Mr. Worf sees me with a duffle and a wardrobe
bag he'll make some kind of remark about how a true warrior
should learn to travel light, or something."

"I doubt it," Julian snorted. "Jadzia's packing for him.
He'll probably have more suitcases than you, despite being
able to just replicate a fresh uniform whenever he feels
like it. She once told me that if he thought he could get
away with it, Worf would just recycle his underwear by
turning it inside out if she weren't there to keep him
civilized."

Garak grimaced. "Please, don't say anything else on that
subject. The images and implications of that are making my
stomach churn." He walked over to the bureau and applied his
deodorant and then shook some scented oil out of its bottle
and rubbed it across his chest. He then reached into the
drawer, pulling out a soft undershirt before catching
Julian's reflection in the mirror. "What?"

Julian walked over to Garak and breathed in the clean, spicy
scent before embracing the Cardassian and holding him close.
"Just, you know, enjoying the in-between moments."

Garak squeezed Julian to him, his undershirt still in his
hand as he buried his nose in his lover's thick, dark curls.
He had once said to him that the best part of being with
someone was the intimacy of the in-between moments. How true
that had proved to be, he thought to himself. He pulled away
then slipped on his undershirt. "Keep it up and we'll be
here all day."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Julian complained without any real
heat behind the words.

As soon as Garak was finished dressing, they took his bags
and set them near the door of their quarters. They rode the
turbolift up together then separated when they got to the
Promenade with a brief kiss and Garak promising to comm
Julian as soon as he was done.

Garak headed toward his old shop with a smile. As worried as
he was about Tain and getting to their missing crewman,
whomever he or she was, he was at least happy that he had
put all of his nagging doubts about Julian to rest. He had
considered doubling back so he could continue to monitor
Julian's progress, but dismissed it. It was more important
that he stick with a routine in case the Founder was
watching. Besides, it wasn't Julian he was worried about.

Julian was just Julian.

He smiled.

---

Just a few more hours, Bashir told himself, as the Hadar
guard slammed his meal (if he could call it that) down on
the hard concrete floor and pulled the heavy door shut
behind him. By later that day he'd be out of this bloody
isolation and back into the regular prison population.

As he picked at his gruel, he thought back to the module in
medical school that had discussed the behavior of prisoners
in isolation. A Human could go crazy after a month, other
species in even less time. It hadn't been that difficult for
him, though; his years of isolating himself from the rest of
society had stood him in good stead. But his colleagues and
friends...perhaps he was fortunate to be the one in
solitary. Of course, he was also likely the only viable
candidate.

It was clear to him why the Founders had picked him as their
target. As the station CMO not only did he handle blood
screenings, he also held the safety of the crew in his
hands. Nobody would be surprised to see the doctor in any
section of the station; as he was always being called upon
to tend sick or injured crewmembers, his presence
would never be questioned. Bashir was also the only officer
able to single-handedly remove any crewmember from duty,
even the Captain. He could imagine the Founder drugging
Sisko, O'Brien, or Kira and keeping them away from their
posts, claiming they were unfit for duty. He could even keep
O'Brien and the rest of the Station Services department busy
with minor acts of sabotage disguised as 'needed repairs',
giving the Founder time to perform whatever major sabotage
he was planning.

And he was really the only choice. The Prophets had
protected Sisko in the past from far less perilous
situations than being kidnapped and replaced by a Founder,
he thought, and anyway with Kasidy Yates back on the station
he doubted they'd try, since he doubted it was possible to
hide regeneration from a spouse or partner or even a
roommate. That also made Worf, Dax, and O'Brien less likely
candidates, and Kira - either the Founder would have to
assume the pregnancy or two Founders would have to be
involved, and mimicking the symptoms of pregnancy might be
too difficult for them. And they wouldn't allow a Founder to
come to harm, so that eliminated Odo.

They could have chosen Garak instead, he thought idly. He
wasn't a member of the senior staff, but he was friendly
with some of them. Plus he was a solitary being like Bashir.
There were no lovers (as far as Bashir knew), no friends who
would drop in at inconvenient times. The problem with
replacing Garak, though, was that most of the crew already
suspected him of being a spy. Even a slight change in his
personality or his actions would be remarked upon and he'd
likely end up in the brig again. No, Bashir thought, Garak
wasn't a logical choice either.

The door opened again: the Hadar guard took the bowl, spoon,
and cup and left, throwing a damp towel at him before the
door slammed shut.

It was bizarre, he thought with a sigh as he picked up the
towel and began to wipe himself clean. His captors were more
concerned that he'd smell bad than they were that he might
die. Of course, if the Hadar had been engineered to have a
strong sense of smell, perhaps to hunt down opponents...he'd
remember to mention that if he was rescued.

When he was rescued, he told himself.

---

"You're sure I can't pay you anything?"

Ajaz waved him off as he brought over another bolt of
colorful Bajoran cotton. "Please, after the deal you gave me
on this place and your entire stock? My husband and wives
would disown me if I tried to charge you. Besides," he
added, "I have ten children of my own. I'm happy to help. I
can't wait to meet Kela and Lewin next month."

"They are wonderful children," Garak agreed, thinking of the
mixed-race sibling set he and the doctor had first met
several weeks ago while they were investigating a murder on
Bajor. "We've managed to see them at least every other
weekend on Bajor since beginning the adoption process, but I
must admit, I am looking forward to their first visit here,
myself."

"How long will they be allowed to stay?" Ajaz asked.

Garak smiled at the Bolean tailor. "Just the day for the
first visit so they can get acclimated to the idea of being
alone with us, then they'll begin overnight visits once a
week for a month before we take custody permanently."

Ajaz rolled his eyes. "Seems like a waste of time. Those
Bajoran social workers should just go ahead and let you take
custody now. I can't imagine two more loving parents than
you and the doctor. I've seen the way you act with each
other and the doctor showed me that last set of holoimages
you took at the orphanage of the kids. They looked happy as
can be with you."

Garak shrugged. "I thought the same thing myself in the
beginning, but then when all this business started with the
Dominion I realized that if the children were here we
wouldn't have a lot of time to spend with them. Their
teacher and daycare worker would have seen them more than
us. This way it's a gradual process and the children can get
to know us better first. They've been through a lot and the
orphanage is the only real home they've ever known."

"Too bad you and the doctor's people aren't more open-minded
about your marriage customs." Ajaz said ruefully. "If you
did like the Boleans do, and took on a few more wives and
husbands, you'd never have to worry about childcare or your
children being alone. I mean, our family is small by my
people's standards, but still, not one of my children has
ever so much as needed a babysitter."

"I suppose not all of us are as evolved as the Bolean
people," Garak said as he began cutting out a colorful
romper for Kela.

"Certainly not when it comes to your plumbing, at any rate,"
Ajaz agreed, picking up a sizing tool. "I still can't get
the Starfleet people to understand that we need to install
specialized plumbing in our new quarters. They just look at
me as though they have no clue what I'm referring to."

Garak rolled his eyes. "Good luck trying to explain it to
them. They'll probably make you fill out six PADDs of forms
in triplicate before they even order the first fixture."

Ajaz grunted in agreement as he began cutting the cloth for
Lewin's trousers. "I mean, we're paying rent, we should be
able to – damn it!" The lights in the shop blinked and
buzzed before coming back on. "All week that's been
happening! I've asked them three times to fix that!"

Garak frowned as he looked up at the ceiling. "Have you
talked to Chief O'Brien about that?"

"I certainly have, and he promised–"

"I'm here, I'm here!" O'Brien huffed as he hurried into the
shop and dropped his toolbox on the floor near the conduit
panel. "Sorry about that. I would have had one of my men
here sooner but we've had power fluctuations and outages all
over the station for over a week now and we can't seem to
figure out where they're all coming from."

"Well, it's about time!" Ajaz said, his bright blue cheeks
flushing purple with anger. "I asked your department a week
ago for some assistance and no one even commed me back. I'm
going to tell Major Kira that I want my rent prorated to
reflect the inconvenience this has caused me!" He pointed
out the door of the shop to the other businesses across the
Promenade. "Quark got his power relays fixed the first day
he filed a claim and my cousin-in-law, Bubba, said that when
Duarto told you the power was going out in his shop someone
was there within minutes! What, only the humans and Ferengi
get fast service on this station?"

"It isn't about race, Ajaz! My whole crew has been run
ragged for the past week because of these power drains!"
O'Brien grouched. "I came down here personally because I
know you've been waiting so long, AND I ordered that
plumbing you requested myself. Someone's installing it in
your quarters as we speak."

"Took you people long enough," Ajaz said, folding his arms
across his chest.

"Well, I'm here now so what do you want from me?" O'Brien
said irritably as he scanned the power coupling. "There,
fixed! You're welcome," he said sarcastically. He got up and
glared at Ajaz. "You know, I always heard Boleans were
supposed to be a friendly and free-loving sort of folk. But
you–you're just plain unpleasant." He looked at Garak
ruefully, "You might have always cut the trousers a bit too
long, but at least you believed in service with a smile."
The last bit was pointed toward the Bolean tailor.

"I'm not here to dance and play a tambourine for your
amusement, human," Ajaz said darkly. "Believe it or not, my
people were not placed within the universe to be the jesters
of the Federation."

"Oh Christ, there he goes with that 'blue power' crap
again," O'Brien muttered rolling his eyes heavenward.

Ajaz started to say something but Garak cut him off. "I
thought you and Julian were going to work on something in
the holosuites this morning? Something about a programming
glitch in one of your battle scenarios?"

Miles frowned, picking up his tool case. "He didn't mention
anything like that to me. Maybe you misheard him, besides,"
he said walking to the door, "Julian knew I'd be working
overtime all weekend on these power fluctuations. Maybe he
got Dax to help him."

"That was probably it," Garak said, suddenly feeling very
disturbed. "Now I remember, you're right. It was Dax he was
talking about. I just heard 'holosuites' and assumed it was
you he was referring to."

Miles shrugged. "I'm headed that way now. If I see him do
you want me to tell Julian you're looking for him?"

"No, no," Garak said quickly. "I'll see him later anyway."

"Okay." He turned to Ajaz. "If you have any more problems,
comm me and I'll come check it out." He glared and said
pointedly, "That doesn't mean I'll drop everything and come
running, it means I'll get here as soon as I'm able to." He
narrowed his eyes. "I realize you have this conspiracy
theory that just because you're short, bald, and blue, the
world is out to get you; but, believe it or not, I have a
whole entire station to take care of, not just 'your' shop."

Ajaz snorted. "In that case, as soon as the power goes back
out, I'll comm you and maybe, in a month or so when you
finally drag yourself over here, you can prove that."

Miles shook his head in frustration then turned to Garak.
"Are you sure you don't want to go back to being the
station's tailor?Never thought I'd say this, but I'd much
rather deal with you any day than him." He hitched his thumb
toward Ajaz before heading out the door.

"Yeah, and just make sure to check for pins the next time
you need your inseam adjusted," Ajaz shot back as Miles
waved his hand over his head, on his way toward Quark's Bar.
"Humans," he grumbled, picking up his tool again and cutting
the cloth. "I can usually tolerate most of them but that
O'Brien has a real attitude problem." He glanced up at Garak
who was sitting at the cutting table in silence, his
expression dark. "Something wrong?"

Garak shook his head and got out of his chair, heading out
of the shop. "I just remembered I had to do something before
I left on my trip. Can you finish the children's clothes for
me?"

"No problem," Ajaz said. "Tell the doctor they'll be ready
on Wednesday."

Garak nodded, although he didn't really hear the Bolean's
words, his mind too filled with disturbing thoughts. He
quickly made his way toward the turbolifts and as soon as
the doors shut he slapped his comm badge. "Garak to Bashir.
How are the repairs coming to your holoprogram?"

//It's a little rough, but we're getting it done. Miles says
we'll be through within the hour, why? Are you hungry?//

Garak felt his stomach lurch as he struggled to keep his
tone casual. "Getting there but I want to finish these last
little details on some of the patterns I'm working on with
Ajaz. Meet you in our quarters in forty-five minutes?"

//Perfect. See you then, Bashir out.//

Garak hurried to his quarters so he could track down Julian
on the security monitors.

Julian was lying to him.

Without even stopping to consider the implications of that,
he just concentrated on how he was going to track the doctor
down. As soon as the turbolift stopped and the doors opened
he walked briskly across the hall to his quarters, then
rushed through the door.

What he saw then made him stop cold in his tracks.

Julian was placing a couple of long tapered candles in the
center of the dining table in the kitchen. The buffet bar
was already loaded down with various cold dishes and a small
banner that said, "Congratulations Lt. Garak" hung across
the archway to the replicator. "Dammit, Garak! You scared
the shit out of me!" He grimaced. "This was supposed to be a
surprise. What are you doing here so soon? I just spoke to
you not two seconds ago."

Garak opened his mouth then closed it again as he tried to
come up with a reasonable excuse. "I had a similar idea to
yours, apparently. I was going to fix you lunch before I
left so you could have something nice to remember before I
left on my trip."

The doctor offered him a sweet smile. "In that case get over
there and start up the replicator. I already programmed in
our menu, you just have to hit the start button."

Garak walked over and gave Julian a quick kiss before
heading toward the replicator and punching in the command.
As the steaming hot dishes materialized, he picked up the
hot pads hanging next to the unit and brought them over to
the table.

"I have to say, at first I wasn't so sure about accepting
that replicator from Krath Milnar, but it sure is a lot
nicer than the standard ones everyone else has. Even the
captain is jealous." He grinned and looked up at Garak.
"Good thing I'm not going with you, huh? If we were both off
the station he might be tempted to 'confiscate' it." Julian
stopped then frowned, noticing Garak's troubled expression.
"Is something wrong?"

"No," Garak said, pasting a bright smile back on his face.
"I'm just sad that this is the last lunch we'll be sharing
for a while." Julian turned to embrace him and Garak held
him close, luxuriating in the feel of the doctor's lean
muscles rippling under his hands as he caressed his back.
"You changed your clothes."

Julian pulled away from him and looked down at his sweater
and jeans. "I thought you might like it if I wore the
sweater you knitted me for our last meal."

"You look beautiful," Garak said softly, admiring the way
the bronze knit looked against his lover's swarthy
complexion.

Julian smiled ruefully. "I think you mean 'handsome'."

"No. Beautiful. I meant beautiful."

As they kissed, Garak cursed himself for what he had almost
done. To think, he actually thought–

No matter, Garak told himself. After today he
would never mistrust Julian Bashir again.

---

"You still don't trust me, do you?" Garak asked, not
bothering to look up as he entered some information onto his
PADD.

Worf didn't bother lying. "No, I do not."

Garak looked at him from the corner of his eye. "I can
respect that. I wouldn't trust me either if I were in your
position."

They sat in silence for a while as Worf continued to pilot
the Defiant towards their listening post as Garak continued
tapping on his PADD. After a while, Worf grimaced and nodded
toward the thin handheld computer. "What are you working
on?"

"Some more forms I have to submit for my commission hearing.
I think it would have been easier just to go to the damned
Academy and get it over with," he muttered.

Worf tightened his mouth in disapproval. "I still do not
understand why you wish to join Starfleet."

"What's not to understand?" Garak asked, looking up. "I've
lived on the station for more than five years, I'm marrying
a Federation citizen who is a Starfleet officer, and I'm
working for Starfleet Intelligence – why not take the extra
step and accept the commission they're offering?"

Worf looked at him then back at the viewscreen. "You do not
find that it is disloyal for you to abandon your people so
entirely that you would reject your entire identity in this
manner?"

"Did you reject your identity when you joined Starfleet?"
Garak shot back.

"That was not the same thing," Worf answered gruffly.

"Oh, but I disagree, Mr. Worf," Garak said placing his PADD
on the console in front of him and turning to his companion.
"You are as much an outcast to your people as I am to my
own. Both of us have chosen to serve Starfleet because it is
not only in our best interests but also in the interests of
those we care about. In that one way, we are alike."

"We are nothing alike."

"How do you mean? Because I'm a Cardassian?"

"You are not just a Cardassian. You are a spy. An assassin.
A saboteur," Worf said, disgusted. "You have, on numerous
occasions, betrayed those you would now call comrades. If I
trusted you that would make me a fool."

Garak nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. I know I've done
some unfortunate things in the past, and whether you choose
to believe me or not, although I do not regret the
motivation behind them, I do regret the acts themselves.
Odo, Julian, and Captain Sisko have all accepted that and
because of their ability to get past those misdeeds, I have
decided to join Starfleet." He smiled ruefully. "I
understand that my speaking so plainly on this subject comes
as a shock to you, but I'm looking for a fresh start. I have
been for a long time," he said, thinking of the monastery on
Bajor. "I need to find a way to make up for all the damage
I've done. To prove to myself that I can be better than I
am, if not for me, then for Julian."

Worf seemed to reluctantly begin to accept what he was
telling him. "Why are you saying this to me if you know I
will not believe you anyway?"

"When my commission comes through, you will, technically, be
my immediate superior. We're both assigned to the tactical
department and we both want to see to it that the station is
kept secure. We're going to have to learn to somewhat trust
each another." He looked him directly in the eye. "I'm
having a difficult time accepting that myself, Mr. Worf, but
it is for our mutual benefit that we at least attempt to
try. Don't believe I care about any of you or Deep Space
Nine if you like, but I am marrying Dr. Bashir and in a very
short time I will be the father of two children who will be
living with us on that station. You know enough about
Cardassians to know how we feel about our families. I don't
expect us to become friends – I do, however, expect us to
work together to do what must be done to keep them safe."

Worf's mouth tightened as he considered Garak's words. "If
that's how you feel, I will... consider your request that we
- I - give you the benefit of the doubt." He shot him a
warning glance. "But be warned, Cardassian, the first time I
feel that you are a danger to the security of the station or
our mission, I will kill you and keep your body intact only
so the doctor can identify your remains."

"Fair enough," Garak said easily, picking his PADD back up.
"If you had said anything less I would have accused you of
being the Founder."

"And had you not been so convincing in your statement, I
would have thought the same of you," Worf replied. "Your
sudden shift in loyalties and eagerness to aid us in
defending the station against the Dominion made me suspect
you were not yourself."

"I imagine my relationship with Dr. Bashir didn't help
matters either?"

"It did not."

Garak nodded. "It was a surprise for me as well."

They sat in silence for a long time until Garak got up and
headed for the replicator. "Do you want a drink?"

"No."

"You're quite the conversationalist, Mr. Worf. The is
shaping up to be a long trip already." Garak scowled at the
menu on the small replicator. "The only beverages on this
ship are water, prune juice, and Earl Grey tea. Who
installed this unit?"

"I did." Worf said without preamble.

"Figures," he muttered. He picked up the cup of hot tea as
it appeared on the pad and then grimaced as he took a sip.
"I would like to get my hands on this fellow Earl Grey and
tell him a thing or two about tea leaves."

"If you don't like it, don't drink it," Worf said.

Garak ignored him. He glanced down at his console. "Is the
cloaking device running to spec?"

"It is." Worf glanced at him. "Have you picked up something
on the sensors?"

"There's a nebula near here. We could use it to avoid
detection and get light years closer to the source of the
transmission," Garak answered.

Worf frowned. "Tactically, that would be unwise. Our shields
would be useless inside that nebula."

"But so would Jem'Hadar sensors," Garak pointed out. "It's a
risk, but the answer is probably out there, Commander."

"How do you mean?"

"What better hiding place can you think of to put a
Jem'Hadar base camp than a nebula which Federation sensors
cannot penetrate?"

"True, but we would be left wide open to attacks."

"Would the cloaking device still work in the nebula?" Garak
asked.

"Possibly," Worf answered. "I haven't been able to field
test the device under those conditions since making the
upgrades. It would be a huge risk to both our lives and this
ship. I do not know if the rewards of such a strategy
outweigh the possible risk we would be undertaking."

"We have no choice. We just have to have to take that
chance. Remember, it's not just Tain we're looking for. The
Maryland, the Proxima, the Sarajevo... Starfleet ships that
have been missing in the Gamma Quadrant for years, their
crews unaccounted for. We owe it to them to do everything in
our power to find those men and bring them home." He paused.
"As I have heard you say before under similar circumstances,
it is the honorable thing to do."

"You are trying to manipulate me and I do not appreciate
it." Worf shot him a disgusted look. "You use that word,
'honor', but your very tone proves that you have no idea
what it means."

Garak shrugged, "Maybe not. But you do."

Worf's spine stiffened in reaction to Garak's off-hand
manner as he adjusted his heading. "Setting course for the
nebula."

"We've got a pocket of Toh-maire gas ahead."

Worf carefully plotted his course through the nebula.
"Bringing her to zero-three-one mark three-five-five."

"Steady as she..." Garak allowed his voice to trail off as
he spotted something strange on the sensors. "Now what could
that be?"

Worf leaned over to examine the readout. Within the blue
tinged pockets of Toh-maire gas there were a cluster of
smaller, unidentified objects dead ahead. "Whatever they
are, they're coming straight at us," he said grimly.

"I guess that answers our question," Garak said mostly to
himself. "We're in the right place, but apparently the
cloaking device does not work under these conditions. Can't
wait to get back to the station so we can send in the report
on that."

"Preparing for evasive maneuvers," Worf ordered as they both
concentrated on the battle that lay ahead of them.

The Defiant moved quickly through the nebula, dodging and
weaving to avoid three Jem'Hadar ships in hot pursuit.
"They're firing at us!" Garak said, charging the weapons as
one of the ships fired across their bow.

Worf changed course sharply, the ship shaking from the
glancing shot fired by the closest Jem'Hadar ship.

Garak monitored the readouts. "You still haven't lost them!"

"I know," Worf gritted out as the ship rocked again.

"There are four more Jem'Hadar ships in close pursuit, and
at least two ahead of us on an intercept course!" Garak said
tersely.

Worf hit a series of commands. "We have to warn the station.
There is only one reason for the Dominion to hide such a
large fleet this close to the wormhole."

"You think they're planning to attack the Alpha Quadrant."
It wasn't a question.

"I am certain of it," Worf agreed. The ship rocked again as
Worf hit some controls.

"I'm sending a message in the code I taught the captain.
Hopefully he has good enough recall to figure out what it
says." He looked at his monitor. "I'm transmitting, but
there's no way to know if it's getting through all this
interference."

"Why not just send it in Standard code?" The ship rocked
again and Worf fired phasers, destroying one of the
Jem'Hadar cruisers.

The second cruiser blasted through its comrade's remains and
attempted to complete their deadly attack. Worf fired first
and the ship broke apart, pieces of its metal hull
scattering in the vacuum of space.

"Two down, two to go," Garak said as he quickly typed out
the commands needed to boost their signal yield. Nothing
happened. "Damn. No good. If I send it in Standard then the
Founder might intercept the text and initiate the attack! As
long as he doesn't know we know there's a shapeshifter on
the station we may be able to buy Sisko some time. Can you
destroy those other two ships?" Garak asked. "If we can't
get out a message then, hopefully, neither can they."

"We have to get clear of the nebula; without shields we're
as good as dead," Worf said, switching directions as another
of the demonically fast ships gained on them.

"And I thought your people were the ones who always went
around saying 'today is a good day to die'?" Garak joked
grimly as the Defiant rocked again and one of the panels
sparked, then blew behind them.

"I think Jadzia would prefer I avoid dying today if I can,"
he answered, piloting the ship sharply to the left and
firing off another volley of phaser fire.

"Direct hit!" Garak said as the second ship disintegrated.
"One more directly on our tail – you better move it or we're
both going to be in Sto'Vo'Kor within the next five
minutes!"

"Cardassians don't go to Sto'Vo'Kor." Worf shot back.

"Hopefully not today anyway," Garak returned. "Charging rear
phasers!"

The ship shook violently as the Jem'Hadar weapon's fire
nicked their aft section. The ship shuddered and both men
were thrown forward in their seats.

"What happened? We've come to a dead stop!"

Worf looked down at his console, his face black with
tension. "They have us in a tractor beam."

"Re-polarize the hull!" Garak ordered. "Try to shake us
loose!"

But before either of them could take action, four Jem'Hadar
soldiers materialized with guns drawn, aimed directly at
them.

Garak and Worf looked at each other then slowly rose to
their feet, their hands above their heads in surrender. "Are
we glad to see you." His voice was heavily laden with
sarcasm. "Can one of you gentlemen please point us in the
direction of the wormhole?"

---
Chapter Four: Purgatory
---

"Benjamin?"

Sisko looked up from his desk to see Dax standing at the
door to his office. "Come in, old man."

Jadzia walked over holding a PADD, a disgruntled expression
on her face. "We just picked up another message in that
strange code Garak tried to decipher for us earlier. Do you
want me to go ahead and send it to the Defiant on a secured
channel? I can't make head or tails out of it."

Sisko held out his hand to accept the PADD, schooling his
features to remain calm and relaxed. He glanced at the
message, concentrating hard on the alphanumeric code Garak
had taught him. It was rough going but after a few minutes
he had translated most of it.

The reptilian looking triangle was the symbol they had
worked out for Jem'Hadar. It took him longer to work out the
rest of the message, but when he did it made his blood run
cold. 'Build-up Imminent'.

"What is it? Can you translate it?" Dax asked curiously.

"No, not all of it," Sisko said, handing it back, his voice
sounding hollow to his own ears. "Mr. Garak showed me a
little of the code and from what I can tell it's basically
the beginnings of a love letter. Probably from one of the
men who died in the attack to his wife." He looked up at
her. "Was there any more to the message? Coordinates, maybe?
It would be nice if we could give this poor woman some
closure."

"I think so. There was a lot of static but I can try to
clear it up." She tilted her head and frowned. "Are you all
right, Benjamin? You look a little pale."

"The message just...made me think about Jennifer for a
minute," he said, sending a silent prayer to his wife for
forgiveness.

"Sorry." She started to walk away then paused. "Should I
still send this to Garak?"

If Garak sent this message encoded that means that probably
he thinks there is a chance that the Founder still doesn't
know that we are aware of his presence, Sisko thought to
himself. He tried to put himself in Garak's frame of mind.

Think logically, he reminded himself. Garak wouldn't bother
sending this message in Tain's code unless he figured he
could still buy us some time. After a moment or two of
hesitation, he decided to continue the operation but also
decided that they still needed to heighten security measures
without alerting the Founder as to the reason why.

"No, it's nothing he could help us with now." Benjamin
licked his lips, which had begun to feel very dry all of the
sudden. As Dax started to leave he called out, "Hold on a
minute, old man. Do you happen to remember the last time we
conducted an station-wide emergency drill?"

Jadzia snorted. "Not for a while. We've had so many real
emergencies that we haven't needed to bother with drills,
why?"

"I was just going through my paperwork and realized we
haven't had an emergency drill in, well, long enough that I
have some paper-pusher from HQ screaming for my reports.
Starfleet requires we have at least one drill a month in
forward installations like this one. Since we've missed the
last several months' worth, it's time to shake things up
around here!" He gave her a dangerous grin. "Have the entire
station stay on orange alert for the next thirty-six hours
or until I give the order to stand down. All furlough is
cancelled, all hands on deck, and everyone better be button
bright and shiny in time for the staff meeting at 1700
hours. Tell everyone that although this is only a drill I
want it treated like the real thing." He took a breath. "All
departments are to begin emergency procedures and all the
shops are to go through evacuation drills. If I catch anyone
lag-assing or treating it like a joke they're going on
report and their immediate superiors will be on the chopping
block with them, understood?"

"Aye, sir!" Dax grinned as she snapped to attention. "I love
it when you go hard-ass, Benjamin."

"Expect it to only get harder from here on out, old man,"
Sisko said grimly.

After Dax left, Sisko reached for his baseball that always
sat in its stand on his desk and squeezed it until the
leather made a satisfying squeak of pain. As a captain he
had always borne the burden of knowing that he would have to
stand alone with the weight of his people's lives directly
on his conscience, but now he was risking not just the lives
of Worf and Garak but the entirety of the Alpha Quadrant on
his gut instinct and faith in a man he had only just begun
to tentatively trust.

If he alerted Starfleet headquarters and requested they send
reinforcements, that Dominion fleet would be on the move
within hours. It would take the bulk of the Federation fleet
to hold off a full-scale attack and even at maximum warp it
would take at least two days for those ships to make it to
them.

He thought about that long and hard. As long as the Founder
didn't know they knew about him, they had the element of
surprise on their side, but as they didn't know whose form
he inhabited, so did he.

Stalemate.

Garak was right. Alert the Founder and they would risk a
full on attack on the station and he had foolishly sent the
Defiant with them in the hopes the cloaking device would
allow them to get in and out without drawing enemy fire.

He rubbed his eyes wearily with one hand as he squeezed his
baseball with the other. He needed a back-up plan. He needed
ships with serious firepower to make their way to the
station without alerting the Founder.

He considered his options:

He could arrest Kira, O'Brien, and Bashir, but if one of
them was not the Founder then he would have not only
weakened his command crew, but also tipped off their enemy.

He could alert Starfleet on an encoded channel, but if the
Chief or Kira was the Founder either of them could easily
hack into his comm terminal and intercept the message.
Unlike Mr. Garak, he had never thought about designing an
elaborate code that only he and another member of Starfleet
Command could decipher. Any code he sent would be
standardized enough for either Kira's or O'Brien's
doppelganger to translate. It wouldn't work.

Or would it...

Sisko squeezed the ball harder. Maybe he did know some
private codes after all.

It was risky and not a route he wanted to go, but it was the
only plan he could come up with that might offer them at
least a shred of hope. He punched the command into his comm
terminal and waited.

//Ben? Well I'll be damned! How's it going down in the front
lines? Between the Klingons and the Cardies you got yourself
a real shit-fit down there!//

"Admiral Gilhouly! Good to see you again, sir. We're bruised
but not broken, and yourself?" Sisko said in a booming
voice.

//Admiral? Since when have you ever acted respectable with
me?//

Sisko grinned. "Since that last poker game where you cleaned
me out of a month's pay."

Gilhouly laughed, accentuating the deep grooves around his
mouth. //Yeah, and I don't recall you paying up yet!//

Fitz Gilhouly was a tough, weather-beaten man with
sun-bleached blond hair and the hands of a long-haul
fisherman, coarse and rough with calluses. When he shook
your hand you felt it for days, and, unlike a lot of
Admirals who took to desk duty like ducks to water, Gilhouly
was a warrior through and through. If there was a forward
position in a fight, his ship was the one leading the
charge.

Fitz was enough of a rebel to keep him out of Headquarters
and in the trenches and enough of a fighter to earn the
respect he was due. He'd been Sisko's superior officer in
the Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards and he was a man Sisko knew
he could trust.

Best of all, his ship was Galaxy-class, loaded to the gills,
and only a day or two away.

Now all he had to do was get him out here.

"You up for helping me out with a drill I'm conducting on
DS9?" Sisko asked casually, tossing his ball from one hand
to the other.

//Drill?// Fitz snorted. //Hell Ben, as much enemy fire as
that tin wheel of yours gets, the last damn thing your
people need is a drill! They got it down pat by now.//

"I agree, but you know Starfleet and their regulations." He
shrugged casually. "Anyway, I was thinking about those
drills you conducted back in the shipyard. We have the
defensive down, but they need more experience with offense.
I have the Defiant out on a refit, but even if she were here
it would be nice to have a Galaxy class vessel for the
maintenance crews to cut their teeth on."

//Got 'em green, huh?// Gilhouly asked, rubbing his chin.
//You know I love to kick enlisted ass into shape, but we're
a little busy down here. Wouldn't look good to cut and run
just so we can help a few younguns cut teeth. I hear
Abramson is up for anything. If you can hold up your drill,
I can order him down there for you.//

"Too bad," Ben said slowly. "I was looking forward to
showing you around this place. I heard you just unloaded
your third wife and I happen to know of a redheaded Dabo
girl down in Quark's who reminds me of that little number
you used to go with back in the day."

//A redhead?// Fitz gave him a lecherous grin. //Happen to
know if the carpet matches the drapes?//

Now was the time to go for broke, he told himself. "Reminds
me of that little gal you picked up on Thalos V, Imogene.
That was her name right?"

Admiral Gilhouly's eyes hardened for a moment but his smile
stayed in place.

//Imogene, now there was a girl a man could never forget.//

"I figured you'd say that," Sisko said, nodding ever so
slightly.

Gilhouly gave him a long, searching look. //You tell that
gal to hold on. Her next sugardaddy is less than two days
away.// He smiled dangerously. //If you're really in the
mood for some cutthroat poker, I can invite some of the boys
down and make a real party out of it.//

Thank you, God, Sisko thought silently. He got it. "Who'd
you have in mind?"

//Like I said, Abramson's always up for anything and
Figueiredo on the Venture is a real shark. Good player, just
have to watch how she deals the cards,// Gilhouly said
jovially, but his eyes told Ben all he needed to know.

Imogene was the name Fitz Gilhouly gave a prototype ship
they had designed together in the Utopia Planetia Shipyards,
the precursor to the Defiant. Her first mission was to give
aid to a colony under attack on Thalos V where she and her
entire crew were destroyed before backup could arrive.

He had named her after his first wife because, as he had
joked, Imogene was a redhead and redheads always meant
trouble.

Gilhouly was coming loaded for bear and bringing with him
his ship, the USS Ulysses, Veldon 'Butch' Abramson (who, if
he recalled correctly, billed himself as 'the toughest Jew
in Starfleet') on the Titan, and Gabriela Figueiredo on the
Venture. It was an all-out task force.

"Bring 'em on! I can't trust any of my own crew. Every time
we play together they wipe me out because they don't know
any better. I can't seem to get them to understand that the
superior officer takes the pot." Translation: I have a
confederate on my team and I don't know who it is.

//Aw hell Ben, you just haven't housebroken 'em yet. Take my
crew, for instance. I got 'em so well trained that last
year's poker marathon bought me a week on Risa.//
Translation: Message received. My crew is secure.

"Just get here quick; the drill ends in 36 hours starting
now." Sisko smiled, his mouth tense.

//Winning a couple of weeks on Risa with that Dabo Girl of
yours is as good a reason as I've ever heard lately to go to
Warp 9. I'll get up with Abramson and Figueiredo. I'll let
'em know that first one to dock deals. Let's hope the
Venture blows a nacelle. Fig deals me shit and busted
flushes every goddamn time!//

"I heard the Ulysses got a few upgrades since I saw her
last. Mind if I come aboard to look around when you get
here?" In other words, I don't know if the walls have ears
so DS9 isn't safe for debriefing.

//Mi casa es su casa, mi amigo. On our way; just get ready
to hand me my money. Gilhouly out!//

Sisko leaned back in his chair and breathed a sigh of
relief. The cavalry was on its way and, hopefully, the
element of surprise was still in their favor. When Mr. Garak
got back he was going to treat him to dinner.

Whether he knew it or not, Garak and Tain's private code had
inspired him, thereby (hopefully) enabling him to save their
collective asses.

---

Sisko looked over the senior members of his crew with a hard
eye. One of them was the Founder, but damned if he knew who
it was. Despite what Garak had told him about the doctor,
Julian Bashir was still at the head of his list. If he
wasn't the Founder then that meant the blood test the young
lieutenant had developed was defective. Julian was many
things; brash, idealistic, and even naive at times, but he
was good at his job. Then again, the Founders were a highly
evolved people. Maybe not even someone as brilliant as
Julian Bashir could be expected to prepare for every
contingency, but he had a hard time believing it.

Then again, he didn't want to believe the Chief could be a
Founder either. Keiko surely would have noticed something,
wouldn't she? Or for that matter, what if it wasn't the crew
at all. What if it was a member of their families? What if
Keiko was the Founder, or some other member of the crew?

What if it was Jake?

He shook off that disturbing thought. He'd know if his son
were a shapeshifter. He was at least sure of that.

Then there was Kira. She had changed in the last few months,
but for the better. Still strong-willed and independent, her
surrogacy had added an element of softness to her steel. The
idea...no. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

It could drive a man insane, trying to figure this out.

Sisko cleared his throat. "According to Command, we, meaning
I, haven't been keeping up with my paperwork regarding
battle drills and such. Mostly because we haven't had time
for any." He surveyed the room, examining each person's
expression. "Admiral Gilhouly's ship, the USS Ulysses, and
two other Galaxy-class ships will be docking here within the
next 24 to 48 hours. Each one of you are to treat the next
36 hours as though we were really engaged in a full-out
attack and have your people ready for anything. Chief!" He
turned to O'Brien. "All three ships will be docking almost
simultaneously. I want us to look good out there. Have your
crew primed and ready." He grinned. "You have an added
incentive to shine here, as one of those ships will be the
USS Venture."

"Captain Figueiredo's ship?" O'Brien asked in surprise, then
smiled. "Yes, sir! I haven't seen her since I left the
Rutledge!"

"Dr. Bashir, how are your people doing?" Sisko asked,
turning to his CMO.

Julian tightened his lips a little in an expression of
irritation. "We'll be fine, but I don't have to tell you how
impossible a situation this is going to be. On top of all
our regular duties and the blood screenings, we're already
stretched pretty thin."

"I'm sure the other ship's CMOs can lend a hand," Sisko
answered in a voice that would brook no arguments.
"Integrate some of their medical staff into your infirmary
and let them help with the blood screening process. We'll
also have to have their crews tested as well. You'll be
expected to debrief their medical staff when they arrive and
share your methods with them. Starfleet will want to start
using your test on all their crews which inhabit the space
near the Gamma Quadrant."

"My mother is scheduled to arrive on the station sometime
tomorrow, captain. Will this drill be affecting the normal
trade routes and incoming transports?" the doctor asked.

"Good question," Kira said. "A lot of the merchants are
getting antsy about the mandatory evacuation drills. How is
this going to affect incoming shipments of supplies?"

"We'll suspend all incoming traffic for the next three days
except those already en route." Sisko turned his attention
to Kira. "Make sure all the merchants know that any
shipments they have already scheduled will be allowed to
dock, but no new supplies may be scheduled to arrive before
1900 hours on Wednesday."

"How do you want security handled?" Odo asked.

"I need you to continue to take on Mr. Worf's duties and
integrate the crews as you have been doing. I'm bringing us
up to level orange alert status until Wednesday evening, so
we need everyone working together on this." He leaned back
in his chair and smiled, his posture relaxed and confident.
"When the Admiral gets back to Headquarters I want him to
say that Deep Space Nine is a well-oiled machine, people!
Any questions?"

Dax raised her hand. "Do you want me to continue monitoring
incoming transmissions?"

"Yes. Until Mr. Garak gets back I need you in Ops." Sisko
nodded. "Have your ensigns prepare to debrief and discuss
all issues related to this Dominion situation as soon as our
guests arrive. That goes for you as well, doctor." He turned
back to Julian. "Starfleet wants you to discuss the
Jem'Hadar and Founder physiology with the other CMOs. We're
going to have to get used to having more Federation traffic
come through until things start calming down around here."

"//If// they ever calm down," O'Brien muttered.

"Agreed," Sisko said. He looked around the table, willing
his tone and mannerisms to exude honesty. "I'm not too
thrilled with having to throw this drill either right now.
We're stretched thin as it is, but you have to do what you
have to do. I'm counting on all of you to make us look good.
If any of your people start acting like this is a game, and
this goes for the Bajoran crews and the civilian inhabitants
as well," he added, looking pointedly at Kira and Odo, "I
want their names on my desk." He folded his fingers. "These
drills save lives. We're in a bad situation right now
politically, and this mess with the Dominion isn't helping.
I want this done right." He examined each of his men. No one
appeared overly concerned about the task force arriving so,
hopefully, the Founder would accept what he had said on face
value. Only time would tell. "If there are no other
questions, then? Dismissed."

---

Julian walked toward the Infirmary, his mind replaying the
words of the captain.

Three Galaxy-class Federation ships would be arriving the
same day as his 'mother'. This could make her rethink their
timeline.

He frowned. Until then he just had to behave as though it
were business as usual. He had been monitoring all outgoing
messages from the station for a while and so far nothing
appeared out of place. Still, this sudden 'drill' had him
concerned.

He wondered how it would affect his assignment. He had
intended to discuss with her the idea of–

"Good evening, doctor!"

He turned and smiled at one of his nurses and made small
talk before going to his office to work on some reports. No
use buying trouble, he reminded himself.

He glanced at the holoimage on his desk as he sat down. It
was a picture of himself and Garak during Kirayoshi's naming
ceremony. He caressed the picture of Garak with his index
finger. They both looked so happy together. Garak was
cupping his cheek tenderly and smiling. They hadn't even
realized Keiko O'Brien had taken their picture until she
gave him this the next day. He immediately had it framed.

He didn't even know why he'd done it. It wasn't for his
cover. The real Bashir never kept any mementos or pictures on
his desk. He had no family albums in his quarters or
souvenirs from home. He'd had to piece together his
character from his personal logs and by listening to his
staff. He'd even spent his first week on Deep Space Nine
posing as a woman and allowed Bashir to 'seduce' him in
order to get some insight into his character. Even in bed,
Bashir held himself back emotionally. It had been an
exercise in futility.

Why he kept the picture, he couldn't say. The framed
holoimage was so out of place for the Julian Bashir his
medical staff had known that many of them had commented to
him on it. All positive, but still, curiosity tinged their
voices. Dr. Bashir was changing, and most of them believed
it was for the better. Only he wasn't really Julian Bashir.

He kept having to remind himself of that.

It wasn't easy though. Even he realized early on that he was
living life as Julian Bashir far better than the 'real' one
ever did, and Garak was a big part of the reason why. It
still bewildered him why Bashir had never taken the
opportunities presented to him where the Cardassian was
concerned. Part of him was grateful he hadn't, though. Garak
was an exceptionally skilled observer. Had they engaged in a
sexual affair before he had appropriated Bashir's identity,
he doubted he would have been able to stay unnoticed for so
long.

Then again, the identity of Julian Bashir wasn't even really
Julian Bashir's. It had been fictional before he had even
stolen it. The human who occupied it merely went through the
motions of being the man he wanted the world to see. Wasn't
it ironic then that he, a Founder, a being who had no
identity per se, gained one by inhabiting the life of a man
who could never trust anyone enough to be himself?

He picked up a PADD and began to schedule assignments for
his staff.

'His' staff. Another oddity he had picked up since taking on
this assignment. Pride in a job well done, and he did do his
job very well. The solids, in many ways, still disgusted him
with their penchant for chaos and need to hurt one another,
but he enjoyed the work nonetheless. It wasn't the first
time he'd inhabited the identity of a doctor. He had a skill
for medicine, which is why he chose Dr. Bashir when he
arrived to Deep Space Nine.

He was the obvious choice for many reasons, but he could
have chosen another. Sisko would have been the best choice.
He'd almost decided on either the captain or that Kasidy
Yates woman when Bashir approached him at the bar of
Quark's.

The sex had been perfunctory and vague, just like Julian
Bashir's entire character. He wanted to be better than he
was, but he held back the best parts of himself for some
reason. It was the sex that convinced him to become Bashir.
That and his connection to the Destroyer, Elim Garak.

He had thought through listening to station gossip for that
first week that Bashir was Garak's lover, but he quickly
dismissed it. Julian Bashir was too closed off to ever trust
the tailor enough to be in any type of relationship with
him. He'd specifically said that he was afraid Garak would
discover his enhancements if they ever deepened their
relationship, but he suspected that Bashir wanted Garak to
find out about them subconsciously.

After all, as Garak himself once pointed out, you don't
mention your deepest fears and such in your personal logs if
you never want anyone to find out about them. Maybe Bashir
hoped Garak would read them and take the decision out of his
hands. In his opinion it made the CMO appear cowardly, even
though he knew that wasn't the truth. Bashir might be an
emotional cripple but he wasn't a coward. He just wouldn't
have been able to handle a man like Garak. No, the real
Julian was just another solid hiding from himself. Garak was
far more complex than he could ever understand.

But he understood the Cardassian very well. They were the
same in a lot of ways. Both had learned to shift their
personalities to fit their circumstances
while never forgetting exactly who they were and what their
job was. Garak was, in a word, magnificent.

He smiled and eyed the picture again. He no longer thought
of Garak as the Destroyer. Now he was just Garak, the only
solid he had ever met who could possibly understand the true
meaning of order. It was but one of many revelations he had
had about the Cardassian.

He hadn't meant to get so emotionally involved with his
assignment. Garak was supposed to be just a target. In the
hundred or so years that he had traveled the galaxy,
he'd never allowed a target to get to him like this before
now. He found it both troubling and exhilarating.

The only thing he found even more troubling was the fact
that he was enjoying being Julian Bashir. He'd begun to
think of himself that way, even when Garak wasn't around. He
was even getting used to the little inconveniences of being
solid. He now understood why Odo was so attached to this
world.

Whatever happened tomorrow, he knew the leader would not
authorize him to put their plan into action until she had
talked to the constable. After that, he wasn't sure. Garak
wasn't here, so she might have him wait until he returned.
Part of him hoped she would tell him to wait, but a larger
part of him wished she would go on and give the order.

At least, he thought sadly, Garak would be safe then.

---

When they completed their transport, Garak and Worf found
themselves in a domed biosphere of an asteroid. The
utilitarian buildings and regimented behavior of some of the
other humanoids he could see wandering the chain-linked
perimeter put him in the mind frame that what they were
looking at was a high-security prison.

He'd seen worse, Garak thought. He studied the other
'guests' of the Dominion who peered at them from around the
corners of buildings and out of the small, barred windows.
Their clothes were worn and dingy, but they appeared to be
somewhat clean and well-nourished. Apparently the Dominion
has some standard of decency, he thought. One kept prisoners
in squalor and filth to demean them and break their spirits,
but when Garak had been an interrogator he's never really
agreed with that philosophy. He preferred to give his
prisoners toilet facilities and clean water. Kindness
usually broke through where cruelty would merely strengthen
a man's resolve. Plus he'd hated the stink.

Either the Jem'Hadar weren't interested in breaking the will
of their prisoners or they had sensitive noses. Perhaps it
was both.

There was a contingent of Jem'Hadar soldiers before them.
Worf stiffened immediately beside him and his teeth bared
slightly in an almost inaudible growl. Garak felt the scales
on the back of his neck itch. This Hadar was obviously the
alpha male of the pack. He was broader and taller than the
others and his eyes sparked with an intelligence and
freewill the others did not seem to possess. Worf, being
Klingon, could smell the danger wafting off of him. Garak,
not being quite so close to his reptilian ancestors as
Klingons were to their canine ones, only smelled the oils
used to sharpen their blades and the metal armor they wore.
His other senses, though, picked up on all the other subtle
clues that told him this man was the leader.

He stepped forward.

"Ah, good. You look like the man in charge. I was just
trying to explain to your colleagues here that this is all
an unfortunate misunderstanding," Garak began with a slight
smile. He didn't expect the Hadar to buy it; he was just
testing to see what his reaction would be.

The Hadar reached out and grabbed Garak by the throat in a
vise-like grip, pulling up slightly so the Cardassian had to
balance his weight on his toes. He grabbed at the Hadar's
wrist and attempted to loosen his hold on his throat as he
gasped for breath. As the blood slowed to his brain, Garak
thought, "Okay, so maybe that wasn't the right way to start
off the conversation after all."

"Cardassians are all alike," the Hadar said in a curiously
calm tone. "You talk too much."

Worf grabbed the Hadar leader's wrist and growled, "Let him
go!"

One of the guards placed a gun to the base of Worf's neck.
The leader of the Hadar looked at him coldly, his grip still
steely and unmoved by the amount of pressure Worf was
exerting against his wrist. "I give the orders here. Release
me or die."

Worf tightened his grip and ignored the phaser rifle at the
back of his skull.

Garak felt himself go faint as colored dots swam in front of
his eyes. "Worf...do as he says!"

Worf took a moment to think it over, then coolly released
the Hadar's arm. The leader smiled then let go of Garak, who
immediately fell to his knees, gasping for air.

He rubbed his neck ridges and swallowed. Nothing appeared
broken, but he knew the Hadar could have snapped his neck in
a heartbeat. Why he hadn't done so was curious. Obviously,
he had meant for it to be a show of power for Worf's
benefit. The Hadar hadn't really seemed all that interested
in him other than as a means of getting the Klingon's
attention. Interesting.

Interesting and not something he wanted to try again, he
thought ruefully.

"This is Internment Camp Three Seven One. You are here
because you are enemies of the Dominion. There is no
release, no escape... except death." The Hadar leader said
without emotion. There was only the truth of their situation
reflected in his eyes.

Despite himself, Garak began to feel trickles of nervousness
travel up his spine. He had survived for this long by
learning how to read his enemy better than his enemy could
read him. What he saw in the posture of the Hadar leader
wasn't arrogance or bravado, it was cold, hard fact.

They were led away by some guards into a small, squat
building where they were scanned, then a blood sample was
taken. Both men flinched when the needle pierced their necks
but neither fought back. The medical Hadar walked over to a
terminal and inserted their DNA slides. After a moment, he
walked to the door and their guards jammed their phaser
rifles into the center of both Worf and Garak's backs urging
them to follow.

The Jem'Hadar who took their blood approached the leader.
"They have been scanned. They have no weapons and their
identities have been confirmed."

"Very well." The large Hadar turned then to Worf and Garak.
"You will be sheltered in barracks six. You are free to move
about the compound. But remember... beyond the atmospheric
dome there's nothing but airless vacuum and barren rock.
Leave the dome, even for an instant, and you die."

"We'll keep that in mind," Garak said dryly.

The leader ignored him and instead studied Worf for a beat.

"I've been waiting for another Klingon." He said
enigmatically then walked away without another word.

The Jem'Hadar guards prodded them with their rifles again.
As they followed the medical Jem'Hadar as Garak now thought
of him, Worf caught his eye. He knew what his companion was
thinking. The Klingons had been infiltrated as well. Despite
himself, Garak began to admire the elegance of the Founder's
methodology. It made him wonder how many changelings there
already were in the Alpha Quadrant and just how many of
their kind now occupied the highest levels of the
Federation, the Klingon Empire, and Cardassia, just to name
a few.

As they rounded the corner and entered a large clear space
in the center of the compound near where they had first
beamed in they heard shouting, grunts, and the slap of flesh
on flesh. A half dozen Jem'Hadar soldiers appeared to be
watching a battle between a Jem'Hadar and a Klingon, whose
face was shadowed in darkness, his blood soaked and tangled
mane of hair hanging over his features obscuring his
identity. He fell then staggered to his feet, wearily
slapping one of the two poles at each end of the 'arena'.
The pole lit up and chimed.

Apparently this was some sort of Jem'Hadar sporting event,
Garak surmised. The Klingon, however, didn't appear to be
having a lot of fun. For that matter, it was clear that the
Klingon was losing. The warrior fell to his knees again as
the Hadar soldier landed another vicious blow. He tried to
struggle to his feet, his knees shaking with effort. Garak
felt Worf tense up beside him as the bloodied Klingon's face
came into view.

"General Martok," he breathed in shock.

Martok looked at them both, but his expression was blank. He
obviously had never met them before. Garak thought back to the
many times Martok had been to the station. Each time he had
come to DS9, Garak knew he had seen Worf in some capacity.
Just how long had the Founders been infiltrating the Alpha
Quadrant, Garak wondered.

It had been a while, Garak surmised. The scar tissue over
his left eye was thick and well healed. He stumbled again
and fell under a barrage of deadly blows, barely managing
afterward to touch a post to stay in the fight when his
Jem'Hadar opponent launched into him again, hitting him with
a vicious punch/kick combination. Martok fell flat on his
back, barely conscious. Garak found himself holding his
breath as he watched him struggle weakly, his wounds and
exhaustion keeping him down even as he willed himself to get
back on his feet. The Jem'Hadar, sensing victory, started to
go for Martok in order to administer the coup de grace, but
the leader held up his hand. The warrior froze.

"Enough," he announced in an almost bored tone of voice.
"It's over."

The Jem'Hadar combatant nodded in acknowledgment before he
and the other soldiers began to disperse. The First turned
to Worf, again ignoring Garak entirely. "But for you," he
said slowly, "it's just beginning."

"Charming place," Garak muttered as the guards walked away.
"Great atmosphere, lots of hospitality. I wonder how the
food is."

Worf wasn't paying attention to him, however. He started
toward the bloodied and battered general who was struggling
to rise from the thick dust coating the ground of the
asteroid. Garak rushed over to help as Worf bent down to
check on the exhausted and gravely injured Klingon.

"General..."

Martok, obviously exhausted, his one good eye rapidly
swelling shut, allowed them to help him to his feet. "Do I
know you?" he asked, squinting at Worf.

"I am Worf, son of Mogh," he answered stiffly but proudly.

"I've heard of you," Martok wheezed, clutching his side.

Worf shot Garak a look of shock. The Cardassian immediately
understood why. For at least a few years now, Worf and the
Klingon general had been acquainted. That the real Martok
had never met him could only mean...

"How long have you been here?" Garak asked quietly.

The general's face screwed up in a look of bitterness tinged
with pain. "Two years." Leaning on them heavily, he
struggled back to his feet, then tried to walk under his own
steam. From his limp, Garak surmised his leg was probably
broken and the way he was wheezing worried him. He continued
to offer his arm as support although he was a little worried
that the general would be offended by the offer.

"Aren't you Klingons supposed to kill yourselves when you're
taken prisoner?" Garak asked quietly. He didn't say it
sarcastically. He just couldn't imagine someone facing this
kind of torture for two years without seeking an end to it
one way or the other.

Worf's eyes flickered with anger, although it was not
directed at Garak. "Not when there are enemies to fight."

"Or hope of escape," Martok said softly before looking at
Worf, then Garak. "If you are Worf... then you must be
Garak. He said you would come."

Garak started in surprise, even though he knew exactly who
the general was referring to.

Tain.

---

Garak looked around the austere prison quarters carefully.
His first impression was that they were surprisingly clean.
The steel walls and metal bunks didn't exactly look as
though they were built for comfort, but the sheets were
clean and, other than a slightly musty chalk smell from the
dust which was piled outside of the door, the inhabitants
had very little body odor, which meant they must have access
to sanitary toilet facilities and showers.

There were only four prisoners present besides themselves;
two Romulans, a male and a female, and a Breen, dressed in
cold-weather gear, and lying as motionless as a corpse on
his bunk. The fourth prisoner lay unconscious on a bunk at
the far side of the room, his back turned to them and his
features bathed in shadow. Still, there was no mistaking who
it was.

Garak walked over to the far bunk slowly. He sensed that
Martok and Worf were following him, but he didn't bother to
look. "Tain," he breathed softly.

"What's wrong with him?" Worf asked Martok, his voice hushed
and respectful. Garak felt a rush of gratitude at that.

"It's his heart," Martok coughed, clinging to his side.

Garak's heart lurched, but he kept his tone distant and
even. "Really? There are a lot of people who'd say he
doesn't have one."

Martok ignored the bitter edge in Garak's tone. "He was
convinced you would come."

The Klingon's undisguised sympathy was nearly Garak's
undoing. He closed his eyes then opened them again once he
had a check on his emotions. "He knew I had no choice..."
Garak looked down on the features of the man he had once
thought of as a god. He looked so much smaller now, he
thought. How could this have happened to you, Tain? You, of
all people, were never supposed to grow old. He laid a gentle
hand on the elder man's shoulder and winced as he felt just
how brittle he had become. His muscles were atrophied with
disuse; his skin was as soft and as thin as tissue paper.
"Tain. Tain. I'm here."

Tain slowly opened his eyes and stared at Garak. "My
message," he whispered. "It got through."

"It did," Garak nodded, keeping his tone neutral.

"Where are the others?"

"There are no others. Just Commander Worf and I."

"You allowed yourselves to be taken prisoner?" Tain frowned,
obviously disappointed. "I taught you better than that.
Living on that station has dulled your wits," he said
accusingly before turning away.

Garak blinked, his sadness at seeing this once proud man
reduced to an invalid replaced by shock and anger. "That's
it? After I've come all this way? After all I've been
through? That's all you have to say to me?"

Tain glared at him. "What do you want me to say?"

Garak's mouth tightened in anger. "I want you to say "Thank
you, Elim. Your loyalty is most gratifying. I knew I could
count on you."

Tain blinked, his strength leaving him rapidly. He took a
deep breath and said, matter-of-factly, "But I couldn't
count on you, could I? All you've done is doom us both,"
before he slipped into unconsciousness.

Garak looked down on Tain, trying to sort out exactly what
it was he was feeling at that moment. Finally, he just gave
up. He took the thin wool blanket draped over his mentor and
pulled it up so that it covered his shoulders.

He turned to Martok who was looking at him with undisguised
sympathy. "We need to talk."

---

"Before this asteroid was converted into a prison, the
Dominion used to mine ultritium here. There was no dome and
each of these barracks had its own life support system
embedded in the walls."

Garak squinted at Martok in disbelief. "And Tain was able to
modify the life support system to create a subspace
transmitter?"

The general nodded. "There's a crawl space just behind those
panels. He'd spend hours in there, working. Every day for
months on end." He smiled and shook his head in admiration.
"Cardassians. They're a clever people. Especially that one."
He looked over at Tain's bunk and frowned slightly. "But
within a few days, at best, he will be dead."

Worf looked first to Tain then turned to Martok. "Then it is
up to us to be clever."

One of the Romulans turned from the window and called out,
"They're releasing him from isolation."

"Good," Martok said, his relief evident.

"Who?" Worf asked.

"A friend."

Martok rose up from his seat and motioned for Worf and Garak
to follow. The Romulans joined them but the Breen did not
answer or make a sound. Garak briefly looked back at Tain
then walked out the door with his companions.

A few dozen prisoners had lined up outside the barracks to
watch as this mysterious 'friend' appeared from the
isolation cell.

"Do you suppose it is our crewman from the station?" Worf
asked quietly.

"I'm willing to hazard a guess and say yes." Garak answered.
He scanned the crowd. "I don't see any other familiar faces,
so it has to be."

"The Chief?" Worf asked.

"If it were O'Brien, they wouldn't have needed Tain to work
on the transmitter. I say it's probably either Kira or
someone close to command but not in Starfleet," Garak
replied.

"Keiko or Ms. Yates?"

"Or one of a thousand others," Garak said grimly. "If
they've had the general here for two years it could be
anyone."

Two guards came out of the cell half-dragging, half-pushing
a bedraggled human behind them. Garak gasped and turned
white.

No, he thought. This was a lie. This...something wasn't
right.

It was a trick. It had to be a trick.

"Garak," Worf said quietly, his eyes first going over the
Cardassian's pale features, then he turned his gaze on to
the prisoner.

---

"Ten minutes!" the Jem'Hadar guard shouted, thumping on the
door for emphasis.

Bashir frowned down at the portable sonic shower he was
using to clean his uniform. He suspected they had given it
to him because he still smelled too gamy for the delicate
sensibilities of the Hadar, or perhaps the Vorta in charge
wanted to prove to somebody that the Dominion was harsh but
not as cruel as the Klingons or Cardassians could be. At
least it got the job done, he grumbled to himself, as clouds
of noxious grime arose from the fabric.

He hadn't realized how filthy he had become over the past
month.

He ran a hand over his face, wishing for a moment that the
shower had a shaving head, then began to pull his now-clean
(or at least cleaner) clothing back on. Too bad, he thought,
that they got him on Meezan Four; a week later and he'd have
been wearing the new warmer uniform.

He zipped up the jacket, slipped on his socks (what was left
of them) and his shoes, and rose to stand by the door. He
could already hear the voices of other prisoners as they
congregated by his door. As he waited for the Hadar to
release the bolt, he wondered briefly if the rescue mission
had already taken place. Had he been forgotten? Was there
another ship-

The bolt suddenly slid; the door opened; two Hadar guards
came through the door and (for show, Bashir suspected)
dragged him out into the main corridor. He caught fleeting
glimpses of Martok and the two Romulans (so no rescue yet,
he thought) before coming face-to-face with - Worf and
Garak.

He stared at the two of them for a second before giving Worf
a grim smile. "You too-"

But then he noticed the look in Garak's eyes.

---

Garak had always prided himself on being the type of man who
could handle anything.

He rarely lost his temper, for example. Anger only clouded
one's judgment and was, therefore, counterproductive.
He never allowed himself to be shocked or overly saddened or
feel any extreme emotions. Perhaps that was why he felt an
affinity with Vulcan philosophy and meditation. They were a
people who understood the dangers and risks associated with
not keeping a firm grip on one's innermost feelings and
desires. Garak had been accused by many a lover of being
somewhat emotionally barren and stagnant, but it was out of
experience married with wisdom, not because of some
emotional defect brought on by the lack of a happy childhood
as some had speculated. Extreme emotion makes one vulnerable
and easily manipulated. It would not do to have an enemy
read your every thought and fear as easily as a book, he had
reasoned.

His Vulcan lover, Sek, had once told him that although he
had an ordered mind, he also had an expressive face. It was
true. He'd always known that his expressive face was his
greatest weakness, so he had adapted a sarcastic edge to his
voice and mannerisms in order to counter what Tain had once
called the single flaw of his otherwise perfect creation.
Every statement was delivered with the lilt of a question
and every question was said in the guise of a statement.
Keeping his adversaries guessing was what he did best. It
was a honed skill, and he was an artisan, the best at his
craft.

Elim Garak was an enigma. He had designed himself to be so.
Mystery always followed him like a shadow. No one could ever
really be sure what he was up to or what he really knew. He
had been confident in that fact...until now.

As he stared into the face of the man who looked like Julian
Bashir, he felt his mind split into two separate schools of
thought. The first, was all emotion, jumbled and wild.
Unfortunately, this was the ruling brain of the moment. He
felt his face pale and his jaw drop as his sharp eyes took
in the image standing before him. What hit him hardest was
Julian's face. The eyes, especially. They were...

Garak swallowed, his mouth dry.

Every detail was there, every nuance of sound and smallest
imperfection represented. Julian's big brown eyes, light one
minute, dark the next, the right eye just ever so slightly
larger than the left, a small streak of green and gold
glinting among the darker colors of his iris. The patterns
and colors as individual as a fingerprint, permanently
imbedded into his brain. The subtleties of the patterns came
in and out of view as Julian blinked, his pupils dilating,
their irises seeming to change color; melanin and muscles,
sight and beauty - almost unnoticeable to most, but not to
him. On his forehead, just at the hairline, was a small
white scar, just a few millimeters in length, highlighted
now by a smudge of dirt. He had gotten it when he and the
Chief were on some war-torn world a few years back.
He never bothered having it removed, saying it wasn't
disfiguring and he wanted to keep the memories that came
with it.

There were other small details that Garak absorbed in the
few seconds he was able to keep his eyes fixed to the young
man. His smell, now stale and somewhat sweaty, but there. He
knew that smell. His hair, his hands, his...uniform.

"How long?" Garak asked. He no longer recognized his own
voice. It sounded hollow and faint, the voice of an old man.

Bashir's eyes caught his in confusion. "I'm not sure. More
than a month, less than four. Time gets away from you here.
One minute I was at that burn treatment conference on Meezan
IV. I just went to bed one night and woke up here."

It was obvious Martok sensed something, the rational part of
Garak noted. A dangerous undercurrent was beginning to form.
Martok spoke, his eyes flicking from Garak to Bashir and
then back to Worf. "The same thing happened to me... except
I was hunting Sabre bear on Kang's Summit. Little did I know
that I was being stalked as well." His eyes now filled with
shame and self-loathing. "And now I'm told the changeling
that replaced me has caused the deaths of countless
Klingons. It is a grave dishonor."

"You are not to blame," Worf said simply, but he wasn't
quite looking at Martok when he said it. His eyes met
Garak's in an expression of sympathy... or was it pity?

Garak felt his blood begin to rise and gritted his teeth.
The damned Klingon pitied him. He clenched his jaw and
tightened his hands into fists. The logical part of his
brain asserted itself just as he was trying to decide if he
should give in to the overwhelming fury threatening to
engulf him. "How do we know that you are the real Julian
Bashir?"

He didn't know he had said it out loud until Martok took out
a small sliver of metal and handed it to the man wearing
Julian's face. He sat on a small bed and sharpened it before
slicing open his finger. The smell of blood hit Garak's
sinuses and made his head ache and his stomach roll.

The doctor stared at Garak, his expression revealing his
curiosity as he searched the Cardassian's face. "I can only
imagine what my replacement is up to on the station." He
lifted his bloody finger. "B negative, if you were
wondering."

Garak felt himself sway slightly and then stopped himself.
He took a deep, calming breath as he heard Martok say, "It
seems we are all who we appear to be."

Worf looked at Garak assessingly, then turned his gaze onto
Martok and Bashir. "If the blood screenings can be trusted."

Time stopped for a moment. It was as though he were above
himself, looking on from a different angle. Be honest, a
voice spoke from deep within himself, you sensed something
was off from the very beginning.

You knew Julian could never love an old man like you.

You're a killer, a torturer. He was a man of peace. A
physician.

It was never going to happen.

No, he thought weakly.

The voice refused to relent.

You knew something was wrong. You knew the whole time that
your Julian was the Founder.

No.

You knew the minute he started flirting with you.

No.

You knew when he got up in the middle of the night he was
going to regenerate.

That's not true.

You kept catching him in his lies and you ignored them.

I never did, it's not true.

He forgot about the uniform change, he forgot about Risa, he
forgot about past conversations and meetings. More than
once, he forgot, and you knew.

Not true. It's not true.

He wasn't anything like the Julian Bashir you knew, was he?
So eager to love you, so aggressive, so open and passionate.
Everyone around noticed, but you knew. You chose not to tell
them. You allowed him to infiltrate the station, didn't you?

Shut. Up.

You could go back. You could just wait and kill them all.
Just kill them all and sneak back to your precious Julian
and pretend. Pretend that he could love someone like you.

Garak let his eyes drift over the room. Only a split second
may have passed but in that fraction of a moment, his mind
began to work.

It's not the first time you've betrayed those you had
pledged your loyalty to. Worf was right. You have no honor.

But you have Julian.

Garak felt his teeth hurt as his jaw tightened, making them
grind together harder. He felt grit on his tongue as the
enamel chipped away.

Take out Worf first, he's the strongest. You've read his
file, he has previous injuries to his spine. Bury your
fingers into the scar above his third vertebra and press
hard until you feel the pop, then reach in and pull. Martok
next, he's already half done in. The two Romulans are next.
You know what to do. They will try to subdue you using the
nerve cluster at your neck, but you had those nerves
rerouted years ago. Smash your knee into the male's gonads
then bring your fist down on his skull. The ridge above the
eyebrow where the skull suddenly thins is the weakest point.
As he dies, grab the female's throat and rip it out.

He felt his breath catch.

Keep your eye on the Breen. When the guard comes in, use his
momentum against him to push the Hadar on top of the
prostrate alien. The Breen is in hibernation. When he awakes
he'll become aggressive and kill anything touching him.
While the Breen takes care of the guard, reach out and snap
the imposter's neck.

Garak's palm itched as he remembered how smooth and fragile
Julian's skin was.

Soft, warm...

He remembered Julian as he slept, as he laughed, as he ate.
He remembered sitting on their bed eating cake and laughing.

His ears ached with the sounds echoing in his head.

His tongue remembered his taste. Small licks and nips, the
rush of seed as he came to completion.

His nostrils flared as the memory of his scent, clean and
spicy, became fresh again. Julian fresh from the tub from
their trip to Bajor. He held him that night, so close, so
tenderly.

Kill them and take Tain. Get him on the Defiant then go home
to Julian. Tell him you know, that it doesn't matter, just
go to him. Tell him you'll serve his interests if it pleases
him. Anything. Do whatever you have to do, just go.

From a distance, Garak realized that they, Worf, Julian,
and Martok, were still talking.

"They're all we've got," Bashir said simply.

"What about the others?" Garak felt himself ask gruffly.
"Have you tested them as well?"

"Everyone except the Breen." Everyone except Garak looked
over at the seemingly comatose alien. "No blood."

Worf spoke up. "We have to escape...warn Captain Sisko
before that changeling carries out his mission."

Garak suddenly came to attention. The mission.

The voice stilled.

The mission.

Always the mission.

He got himself under control.

"The mission. You're right. We have to get Tain out of
here."

Julian was dead, he decided.

There was no more Julian.

It had been a dream but now the dream was done. He was
awake. Now there was only the mission.

Now there was only Bashir.

As he stalked over to the bed where Tain lay dying he forced
himself to breath slowly, in and out. He felt Worf's eyes
follow him across the room but did not acknowledge it.

He also knew that Worf wasn't the only one watching him.

---

Bashir kept his eyes on Garak as he turned his back on them
and knelt beside Tain's bunk. There was something going on,
he thought, as he studied the set of the Cardassian's
shoulders.

He had noticed the emotions that had played across Garak's
face while they had talked. He had seen betrayal, rage, even
despair in the man's eyes, and if he wasn't much mistaken
those emotions had mainly been directed towards him. Worf
seemed almost - protective, if that were imaginable -
towards Garak; Bashir wanted to know why.

The thought crossed his mind that the changeling could have
hurt Garak medically. Could he have operated on him, given
him a hypo of something dangerous? Had he gotten into a
fight with the man, driven him away? It was possible, he
realized: Garak was a perceptive man, and perhaps the
Founder had decided that ending the friendship would make his
task easier.

Julian glanced at him again, then turned back to Martok and
Worf. The mystery would have to wait until they were free.
"I take it Tain was able to get the message out?" he asked
them.

"For the most part," Worf replied. "We learned that this
Tain was alive and that there was an imposter on the
station, but we did not know his identity until we saw you."

Bashir frowned. "Has the Founder hurt anyone? Have any
station residents died unexpectedly or-"

But Worf was shaking his head. "There have been no reports
of deaths or unexpected illnesses."

He leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh. "Thank
God. And Kira and the O'Brien's baby?"

"Well and healthy."

Martok chuckled. "This one," he said, cocking a thumb at
Bashir while speaking to Worf. "Before he went into
isolation, he tried to intervene in a brawl between a pair
of Cardassians each twice his size. Got himself knocked out
for his trouble. When he came to, the first thing he asked
was whether either of the Cardassians was injured." He
snorted. "I used to think Starfleet doctors were weak,
cowardly. This one...he's headstrong, impulsive, but he's no
coward."

"Dr. Bashir is an honorable man," Worf replied. His eyes
flickered back to Garak for a second.

As Martok turned to speak to Kalenna about the guards,
Bashir drew Worf aside. "What's wrong with Garak?" he asked.

The Klingon frowned uncomfortably, his gaze on the opposite
wall. "I do not know what you mean."

He rolled his eyes. "I saw the way he stared at me," he
said, "and I also see how you keep shooting looks at him.
Did the Founder do something to harm Garak, give him drugs
or operate on him?"

"I-" Worf began, but his face became hard. "It is not my
place to say."

"What do you mean it isn't your place?" he asked, his anger
growing. What were they hiding?

But Worf was adamant. "It would be improper for me to
discuss the matter."

He was going to ask another question, but Martok interrupted
them. "Kalenna's noticed that the guards have recently begun
their sentries in a different section..."

As he listened to the general and the two Romulans discuss
the change in the guards' schedules, he wondered exactly
what had happened to make Garak so angry. Nightmare
situations went through his mind: had the Founder sabotaged
station systems? Had he-

A sudden realization made his stomach muscles clench: Ziyal.
Had the Founder harmed her, given her poor medical advice,
or (and he hoped for both Garak's and her sake this hadn't
happened) seduced her? He pressed his lips together. If the
bastard had done that, no wonder Garak was upset at the
sight of him. He had assumed that Garak's interest in Ziyal
was more avuncular than romantic, but if he had been
wrong...such an action towards a young, naïve girl couldn't
help but enrage the man.

He shot another glance back at Garak, who was still kneeling
by Tain's bunk, his back turned to them. Surely he would
soon realize that his anger was misdirected. If he could
just talk to him, get him to understand that he wasn't the
cause of whatever problem there was...

---

"Jules, darling!"

Julian smiled widely as an elegant woman exited the airlock.
"Hello, mother! You look wonderful!"

The woman put her hands on her hips and scowled playfully.
"Mera priatama va saba se adhika surupa putra! Would that
you visited me even once in the last three years, the fact
that I look wonderful may not have come as such a surprise
to you. Where is my bhaviyata damada? Does he not wish to
greet his sasa?"

Julian rolled his eyes and glanced apologetically at Sisko
and Dax who were standing nearby, smiling in confusion.
"Mother, it's not nice to confuse the universal translators,
especially when I've brought some very special friends to
greet you."

Amsha Bashir chuckled, her teeth almost blindingly white
against her dusky skin. She switched off the little device
on her lapel that had allowed her to block the universal
translators in the officer's comm badges and pouted. "It is
a game I enjoy, my dearest. Allow an old woman her small
victories. Now, are you going to greet me properly or do I
take you over my knee?"

Sisko examined Amsha Bashir carefully as she was embraced by
her son. She was not a conventionally beautiful woman by any
means. Her nose had a hawkish bent, her eyes were dark and
deep set, and, although she was small in stature, she had a
stocky frame. Were it not for the elegant way she carried
herself, Amsha Bashir could be considered handsome at best.
However, with her lilting, almost musical voice and the
seamless poise and confidence she exuded, she came off as
being quite chic and exotic.

The captain glanced over at Dax to see her envious eyes
sweep over Amsha's figure. He had been married to his wife,
Jennifer, long enough to recognize that the cream colored
silk pantsuit Amsha wore was quite expensive and well
tailored. Were Garak here he would undoubtedly comment on
that fact. From her coifed and styled pageboy down to her
very expensive shoes by some designer his wife loved but
whose name now escaped him, Mrs. Bashir was every inch the
type of mother he would have expected a man like Julian
Bashir to have. Everything about her was meticulous.

As her long, elegant fingers stroked through her son's curls
exclaiming that he was in dire need of a haircut, he
inventoried her appearance; French manicure and a matching
pedicure peeking out from her cream and gold open-toed
pumps, a large, but not crass, diamond ring and wedding band
on her left hand, makeup lightly and expertly applied, her
well-fitted jacket revealing enough decolletage to be
attractive without appearing sleazy or age-inappropriate,
her slacks unwrinkled and free of any travel dirt despite
her long journey to the station-all these things spoke of
breeding and wealth to him.

She was perfect.

But was she too perfect?

Sisko didn't have long to ponder that before the doctor
turned to introduce them. "And this, mother, is Captain
Benjamin Sisko, my commanding officer."

He gave Bashir's mother his most gracious smile as he bowed
slightly toward her. "A pleasure, ma'am. It's so nice to
finally meet you. Is your husband with you?" He looked
around curiously.

"Richard?" Amsha asked, then shook her head. "No, I'm afraid
he was too busy to come, but we'll both be returning for the
wedding...unless I can convince you to bring your Garak home
to us where you belong?" She threw Julian a questioning
look.

"I'm afraid that Captain Sisko needs us here right now,"
Julian said gently, returning his mother's teasing grin.
"You'll just have to settle for the Bajoran shrine here on
the station in place of a mosque back home."

She frowned charmingly. "Oh well, as long as I get my
wedding I don't care!"

"I thought it was Julian and Garak's wedding?" Jadzia asked
with a smile.

"And who is this lovely young woman?" Amsha asked, extending
her hand to Jadzia and holding it gently while she looked at
her from head to toe.

"Lieutenant-Commander Jadzia Dax, Mrs. Bashir. I work with
your son." Dax said warmly.

"Well Lieutenant-Commander Jadzia Dax, you should be aware
that the wedding is never about the couple actually exchanging
their vows, it's about the mothers and how much they can
spend of the fathers' money to out do the other family's
contribution!" She winked. "And according to my future
son-in-law, as I have full control over every aspect of the
event, I win automatically."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Jadzia returned with a
grin.

"You're a clever one, then. And aren't you just gorgeous!"
She turned to the doctor. "Jules! If you passed up on wooing
this beautiful young woman for your Garak then he really
must be an extraordinary man indeed!"

"You've spoken to Garak enough through the comm unit to know
exactly how extraordinary he is, mother," Julian said with a
twinkle in his eye, "but you're right, the fact that Dax is
very lovely did not escape my attention. Unfortunately
though, she spurned my every advance and drove me into the
arms of another."

Jadzia leaned close to Amsha and said in a stage whisper,
"You do, of course, realize your son is full of it, right?"

"Of course I do, my dear. I'm his mother," she whispered
back, then smiled. "He gets his gift of hyperbole and
balderdash from his father, I'm afraid."

"What business is Mr. Bashir in, by the way?" Sisko asked.
"The doctor never said."

She turned back to the captain. "He's an entrepreneur. He
worked mainly in the transportation industry, designing
shuttlecraft, and such, but since he's retired he's gotten
more and more into public service. Right now he's designing
a park and thinking about running for office."

"Dad a politician?" The doctor laughed. "I thought he hated
politics?"

"He does, that's why he's running. He doesn't want to see
the other man win the election!" She linked her arm with her
son's and pulled him to her tightly. "Now, take me to my
grandchildren's rooms so I know how much of your father's
hard-earned credits I can spend and then we're off to Bajor!
I want to see them both as soon as I possibly can!"

Julian hesitated then looked up to the captain. "Is it all
right...?"

Sisko cut him off. "Go visit with your mother for a bit,
doctor, but we are in the midst of a drill so I'm afraid I
can't authorize you to leave the station. However," he bowed
his head politely toward Amsha, "I have some pull with the
Bajoran clergy as well as Bajoran Social Services. I'm sure
I can have the children come up here for the day to spend
some time with their future grandmother."

"Thank you, sir," Julian said gratefully.

"Even better! Now I can take them shopping with me!" Amsha
exclaimed, then turned to the captain. "But what is this
about a drill? My visit isn't going to interfere with my
son's work, is it? I'm sure I can rent a room on Bajor for
the next few days...."

Sisko shook his head. "It's nothing to be concerned about,
ma'am, but it is something we do take very seriously.
Unfortunately, I will have to insist your son remain on duty
or on call for the next 48 hours, but you are welcome to
remain on board." He added, "On the off chance that the
Admiral orders us to evacuate all non-essential personnel as
a part of our battle readiness scenario, I will personally
arrange for you to stay with the monks at the orphanage
where your grandchildren are currently living so you can
still fully enjoy your time with them."

"In that case, let's go ahead and evacuate!" she suggested.

"Mother..." Julian admonished.

"Oh, pooh!" she said, slapping him lightly on the arm. "Can
Julian at least show me to my room before he goes back to
work?"

"I believe Dr. Okuna has things well in hand, correct?"

"He does, sir," Julian answered.

"Then I order you to escort this woman to Mr. Garak's
quarters immediately."

"Aye sir!" the doctor said happily.

Sisko bent charmingly over Amsha's hand and kissed the air
above her knuckles. "Madam, it has been a pleasure."

"Oh my," Amsha said holding a hand to her breast. "I may
just have to leave your father for this one, Jules."

Julian merely sighed and looked heavenward as if seeking
strength from a higher power.

"The pleasure is all mine, captain." She winked. "I'm
keeping my eye on you."

Sisko quirked an eyebrow at her and said in a low voice, "I
look forward to it."

Amsha laughed delightedly, a full-bodied, womanly laugh that
brightened her entire face and made Sisko's own lips tug
upward of their own volition. Despite his vow to suspect
everyone and eliminate no one, the captain found himself
believing this delightful woman couldn't possibly be
anything but genuine.

He felt an instant kinship to her.

Just as he knew in his own heart that he could instinctively
tell his Jake from a shapeshifter, no matter how close the
resemblance might be, he truly believed this woman would be
able to do the same.

Garak was right.

Julian Bashir was not their Founder, he now felt it in his
bones.

His heart fell as he realized the connotations of this: if
Bashir wasn't their changeling, then it meant someone else
in his senior crew was.

He watched Julian lead his mother to the turbolifts, both of
them chatting animatedly as they caught up with one another,
and frowned. Who was it? Who could it possibly be?

He had begun to be so convinced...but no.

"Damn."

"Did you say something, Benjamin?" Dax asked curiously.

"I said she's a damned fine looking woman," Sisko answered
smoothly.

Dax smacked his arm. "Knock it off! She's married! And what
about Kasidy?" Her eyes sparkled devilishly. "Thinking of
juggling two women at once, or what?"

"Mrs. Bashir's husband is several million miles away from
here," he said, grinning toothily even though he no longer
felt the least bit like smiling. "And as for Kasidy, wasn't
it Curzon Dax who used to tell me that were sex to be
likened to an Oreo cookie, it's always best to be the cream.
Especially when one has two dark and sweet partners to keep
him company." He winked.

"You rogue - Curzon would be proud!" Jadzia praised as they
headed toward the Promenade. "You realize though, if you
were serious, you'd become Julian's step-father." Her eyes
widened in exaggeration. "And eventually, Garak's
father-in-law..."

"I never said it wouldn't have its downside," Sisko responded
jovially, but inside his stomach rolled.

He didn't like not knowing who he could and couldn't
trust...

...and Gilhouly was still at least 24 hours away.

Every second that passed had now begun to feel like an
eternity.

---

Amsha Bashir tugged on her son's uniform jacket and smoothed
the material in a maternal fashion. "You look so handsome in
your uniform, Jules! I want to take a thousand holoimages of
you and the children for your father!"

Several crewmen passed and smiled at them both as a blush
crept up Julian's neck. "Mother, please! I'm the station's
CMO, for god's sake! I feel like you're going to pat me on
the head and hand me a cookie for a job well done."

"Let me fuss, Julian. It's been three long years and I
deserve the right to tease and spoil my only child as much
as I wish!" she said, completely ignoring him as they
stepped inside the turbolift together.

As soon as the doors shut, both their faces stilled,
completely expressionless.

"Why was I not informed about this drill?" Amsha asked
coolly.

"You were already en route. There was no time," Julian
answered in the same tone.

"And where is the Destroyer?" she asked.

"Earth. He was summoned there by the Federation."

"You have confirmed this?"

"I have," he answered. "The flight path of the Defiant did indeed
correspond with their orders."

"This affects our plans."

Julian turned to her. "I wish to discuss revising the plan. Something
has come up."

"Are the Destroyer's quarters secure?"

"I swept it myself just before your arrival."

"We will sweep them again before discussing your proposed revisions."

The doors opened and Amsha's face lit up as she linked her arm into
her son's again and said cheerfully, "Now! Where is my grandchildren's
new home? I'm going to have the whole place completely decorated long
before that fiancé of yours returns home. He'll be absolutely
thrilled!"

"Let's hope so," Julian said dryly.

---
Chapter Five: Inferno
---

Some time passed. Garak didn't know how long. His internal
clock wasn't working anymore. He knew it was at least an
hour or two, though.

Worf and Martok had been talking quietly for some time about
the prison and the guard rotations while Bashir and the two
Romulans occasionally added a comment.

Worf's back was to him, shielding him from their view. He
didn't hear his name mentioned but he sensed the others'
curiosity about his reaction to seeing Bashir.

Garak returned his attention to Tain, watching him breathe
shallowly in and out. He'd be dead soon. His skin was black
and his body bloated, congested with fluid.

His death was not to be pretty or pleasant. Tain suffered.

Good.

Suffer, he thought. Die screaming, die in pain. Just die so
I don't have to hear you laugh when you find out what a
dismal and stupid old man I have become. Duped by a lover
and pitied by a Klingon.

"I never should've come here," Garak said to himself. "I
should have let that monster die alone and forgotten."

A warm hand fell on his shoulder lightly.

"Frankly, I'm glad you came." It was Julian smiling at him.
Julian. "Misery loves company."

Garak shut his eyes and forced himself to remain still, even
though every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to
shrug off Bashir's hand and shake him like a rag doll until
he lay motionless at his feet.

Instead, he breathed in that familiar scent and willed this
man to be his Julian, if only for a little while.

"My whole life, I've done nothing but try to please that
man. I let him mold me, turn me into a mirror image of
himself. And how did he repay me? With exile." He laughed
hollowly. "But I forgave him. And now, here at the end, I
thought maybe, just maybe, he could forgive me." Forgive me.

Forgive me Julian.

Forgive me for ever coming here.

He felt his eyes ache, but remained quiet.

He heard Bashir shift uneasily behind him. "From what I've
seen of him in the last three months, he doesn't come across
as the forgiving type."

"I was a fool," Garak said bitterly, the venom that had
eaten at his soul now spewing forth. "Let this be a lesson
to you, doctor... perhaps the most valuable I can teach you.
Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all."

He turned to look into Bashir's eyes, soft brown eyes that
did not reflect the fear he should be feeling right now.
Instead, there was only sympathy.

"If that's true," he said softly, "then it's a lesson I
don't want to learn."

"Elim...Elim is that you?"

Garak and the doctor both looked down as Tain began to
speak.

"I'll ask the others to leave," Julian said, walking toward
the end of the room and speaking in low tones to the other
prisoners.

"It's me," Garak said simply.

Tain squinted, his eyes dull and milky as searched the room.
"Everything's gone dark. I can't see you." He paused. "Are
you alone?"

Bashir had rejoined them, intending to check Tain's pulse.
He froze, then made a movement as if he were silently asking
if he should leave.

Garak didn't know why he didn't tell him to go. Maybe it was
because part of him still hoped that somehow this was still
his Julian or maybe it was just to punish Tain.

Perhaps it was because he felt he owed the real Julian
Bashir something. After all, this was the Bashir who had
saved his life on more than one occasion; in return, Garak
had taken the imposter into his bed and told the Founder the
secrets the true Bashir would now never know.

Whatever the reason, he nodded for the doctor to take a
seat. "Yes," he said, his eyes meeting the doctor's.
"There's no one here but you and me."

Bashir obeyed his silent request, taking a seat across the
room. He waited.

Tain's voice was slurred and urgent. "Surjak, Memad, Brun...
they can't be trusted. They must be dealt with."

Already dead, he thought. Tain killed them years ago, he's
just forgotten. "I've already taken care of it."

"What about Gul Vorlem?" he asked. "Have you been able to
contact him?"

Irrationally, Garak felt like laughing. Vorlem died in the
arms of a prostitute of natural causes. No need to tell Tain
that now, though. "Years ago," he answered simply.

"The Romulan ambassador?"

Garak paused at the question. He felt the pity well up from
his belly and sting his eyes. The ambassador had been the
last assignment he'd taken before the investigation on Bajor
that eventually led to his exile. Tain's mind was fading
quickly. "Gone. All of your enemies are dead."

Tain smiled weakly, his joy making his bloated and black
face seem almost childlike for a moment. "Good. A man
shouldn't allow his enemies to outlive him."

Garak swallowed his nausea. "Then you can die happy." His
eyes sharpened. "Unless you still consider me an enemy."

Tain ignored him and instead lifted his fingers, gesturing
Garak closer. "Elim... promise me one thing."

"I'm listening."

"Don't die here," he croaked out. "Escape. Live..."

Garak's voice was cold and bitter as he responded. "Let me
guess...so I can make the Dominion pay for what they've done
to you?"

Tain smiled again. It was a dangerous smile Garak was very
familiar with. "You wouldn't deny an old man his revenge,
would you?"

But surviving is the last thing I want to do.

As the thought popped into his head, Garak immediately
rejected it as a lie. Survival is everything. If I die here,
I'll never get my revenge, he thought. Revenge against
himself, Bashir, or the Founder, he didn't know, but he
clung to the thought all the same. "I'll do as you ask...on
one condition."

Garak hesitated, looking over to see Bashir staring at them
both intently. Does it even matter anymore? he thought.
Probably not, but this was his moment of death as well in
many ways, he reasoned. With Tain's passing and the loss of
the man he had called his mate, there was nothing left for
him. No secrets worth hiding anymore. This was as good a
time as any for his longest-kept secret to be heard.

"That you don't ask me this favor as a mentor, or a superior
officer... but as a father asking his son." Garak paused,
waiting for the eventual response he knew would come.

"You're not my son."

Garak felt a surge of triumph as he heard the note of
weakness in Tain's voice. Twist the knife, he thought
maliciously, as the dying man turned his face to the wall.
If it's the last thing you do, if I have to keep you alive
just so I can hear the words: you will say it. "Father,
you're dying. For once in your life, speak the truth."

Tain's expression fell and softened. "I should have killed
your mother before you were born. You've always been a
weakness I can't afford."

Garak's throat tightened. Sentiment. Love. Yes, he now
understood how dangerous they were, now more than ever. "So
you've told me. Many times."

Perhaps Tain had been right after all.

He thought back to when he was a small child, still young
enough to be hurt by his parent's rejection.

How many times did I hear that I was a mistake, he thought.
How many times did I sit in the dark and pray to the dead
gods of my people that my father would treat me with some
tenderness? "Enabran, listen to me. All I ask is that for
this moment, let me be your son."

Tain stared off into space, visibly torn. Finally, after a
long silence, he closed his eyes. "Elim, remember that
day... in the country. You must've been almost five." Death
was overtaking him now. His face was relaxing, his voice
growing weak and shaking with the effort it took to just
speak. Garak heard the wheeze deep in the old man's lungs as
his heart began to falter.

"How can I forget it? It was the only day."

"I can still see you... on the back of that riding hound."
He smiled softly. Garak allowed himself to imagine what it
would have felt like to be rewarded by such a smile back
when it might have made a difference. "You must've fallen
off a dozen times. But you wouldn't give up."

"I remember limping home." He also remembered his ankle
swelling as Tain ruffled his hair and smiled proudly. It had
been worth the pain. "You held my hand."

"I was very proud of you, that day." And with that, Tain
gave Garak one last smile and died. As Garak reached out to
close his eyes, watching the muscles in Tain's face relax
for the last time, he wondered: what would it have been like
if only that had been the first day of many?

Years and memories that never happened flashed before his
eyes as he felt the last of Enabran Tain's life force drain
away under his fingertips.

A happy childhood which led to a position of respect, far
from the gruesome and violent world of men like Enabran
Tain. Perhaps in the arts: that way he still could have met
Julian Bashir.

Only it would not have been Garak the tailor but Elim Garak,
the respectable philanthropist and student of the arts, a
kind, gentle man who could actually hope to win the young
man's heart.

Perhaps Tain would have continued to be a loving father even
then, even as his only son rejected his plans to join with a
powerful Cardassian house.

Tain, the father.

Tain, the grandfather.

He imagined Tain holding Kela's hand as they watched Lewin
mount the riding hound at the orphanage, his face proud as
he caught Garak's eye.

He imagined them standing together as a family, Julian
holding his hand as Kela glowed under her grandfather's
attention, Lewin concentrating on keeping his balance as
Tain cheered him on.

Julian loving him as he looked on proudly.

Shadows.

Illusions.

That way lay dragons, his mind warned as his soul withered
and died in his chest.

"Garak..."

He rose abruptly and brushed Bashir's hand off his shoulder.
"Don't touch me," he said in a low, hard voice.

"Garak?" Bashir's face clouded in confusion. "It's all
right-" He reached out for him again.

Garak stepped back and pinned the doctor with a glare.
"Touch me again, and I will kill you."

Bashir blinked and dropped his hand slowly. "I'm sorry," he
said after a moment. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just
want you to know...if you need anything, I'm here for you."

"I don't need anything from you." With that he turned and
walked outside, not caring what the young human thought.

And after a few seconds, Bashir followed.

---

Garak frowned at the two Klingons as he and Bashir returned
to the main area. "Gentlemen, I don't know about you," he
said, "but my business here is done."

Worf nodded. "Then I suggest we find a way out of here." He
turned to Martok and Bashir. "Before we were apprehended, we
detected a large number of Jem'Hadar ships hiding in a
nearby nebula. I suspect the Dominion is planning an
invasion of the Alpha Quadrant."

"But how will we get out?" Bashir asked, still as shaken by
Tain's revelation as he was by Garak's harsh words. "The
only reason we were able to even contact the station was
Tain's modification to the life support model. How are we
going to get back to the runabout?"

"We didn't bring a runabout," Garak said, his voice icy. "We
have the Defiant."

Bashir's eyes widened. "Then where's the rest of the crew?"

"Mr. Garak and I were the only individuals aboard," Worf
said. "Captain Sisko had us take the Defiant because he
hoped the cloaking device would allow us to complete the
mission without being noticed. Needless to say, it did not
work."

The doctor's eyes traveled between Worf and Garak as he
digested this news. Without the Defiant, the station and
Bajor were undefended and ripe for invasion. With an
undetected changeling on board, it was imperative that they
escape and return to the Alpha Quadrant as quickly as
possible.

"Can we contact your ship?" Martok asked.

"The Jem'Hadar confiscated our comm badges at the time we
were brought here," Garak replied. "However, I have a
feeling the Dominion has other concerns than us at this
moment in time; I doubt they've bothered to remove the ship
from orbit." He frowned. "The transmitter Tain used to
contact the station: where is it?"

"Back there," Bashir said, nodding at the panel behind
Tain's bunk. "Are we clear?" he asked, looking over at the
Romulans.

Kalenna moved to the doorway and looked both ways. "All
clear," she said.

With another quick look at Garak, Bashir moved to Tain's
bunk. "General, if I could have your assistance?" They moved
the bed containing the dead Cardassian aside; Bashir pulled
out the lever he had fashioned from scavenged metal and used
it to pry open the first panel. "In there," he said to Garak
as Martok removed the inner panel. "You have to crawl
through the hole and kind of slide up into the wall."

"Mr. Worf," Garak said as he squeezed into the small
opening, ignoring the doctor as if he were one of the
fixtures, "if we could send out a code to the Defiant
ordering it to beam us up..." He paused as he slid up the
wall and all but his feet disappeared from view. "Are there
any other Alpha Quadrant prisoners in the camp?"

"There are Cardassians," Martok replied. "Quite a few, in
fact. Why do you ask?"

"Because none of us have our comm badges," Garak replied. "I
can contact the Defiant to beam up all Humans, Klingons, and
Romulans aboard the station, but it would be difficult to
differentiate between myself and other Cardassians. We'll
only have one chance to beam out, and if I'm not mistaken
the Defiant can only beam up a limited number of personnel
at one time."

"That is correct," Worf said. "The main transporters are
only able to beam up eight individuals at once."

"And there are seven of us," Bashir said, looking askance at
the Breen in the corner as he pushed himself to his feet.

Garak emerged from the hole. "Since we'll likely only have
one chance to beam out, it will be necessary to instruct the
Defiant to beam us up by location. I could send a message
asking for the beam-up of all Klingons, Cardassians,
Romulans, and Humans within, say, five metres of the
transmitter, but it'll take a while to send the code. Tain's
code is secure, but it requires a relatively high
bandwidth." He frowned pensively. "If I could use something
simpler..."

"How about Morse?" Bashir asked. "It's a simple alphanumeric
code from ancient Earth. Each letter is replaced by a short
series of dots and dashes."

"An ancient code?" Martok said, doubt clouding his voice.
"Won't that be simple for the Dominion to detect?"

Bashir smiled at the general. "There's an Earth saying, sir:
if you can't outsmart them, out-dumb them. Morse can be sent
by interrupting the carrier wave; the signal itself becomes
the code. With all their sophisticated listening devices and
decoders, the Dominion will probably assume the signal's
simply a malfunctioning communications device."

"It would be relatively simple to adjust the transmitter to
broadcast a plain carrier wave," Garak said, giving Bashir a
sharp look. "I could send the code manually..." He turned
back to the wall, apparently deep in thought.

"Do you know this Morse code, Doctor?" Worf asked.

Bashir nodded. "I had to learn it for the Battle of Britain
holoprogram Miles and I run. Pilots used it on ancient Earth
to identify navigational aids. It must be somewhere in the
Defiant's memory banks. I'll write a message out on one of
the sheets."

"With what?" Martok asked.

"Blood," he said with a shrug. "We don't have anything else
I can use."

The Romulan male suddenly called out, "They're coming."

Bashir and Martok grabbed the panels, slipping them in place
and hiding the piece of metal they used to remove them
seconds before Ikat'ika and his Second entered the room with
two guards. "He's dead?" he said to Bashir, nodding at Tain.

"Just now."

The First gestured to the body. "Dispose of it," he ordered
the guards before pointing at Worf. "You. Follow me."

Martok silently passed Bashir the sliver of metal they'd
used previously to cut themselves before following Worf and
the Hadar to the battle area. The guards lifted Tain's body,
carrying it easily out the door and into the corridor. Five
seconds later the sound of disruptor fire told them it had
been disposed of.

Bashir frowned at the doorway, suspecting that Worf didn't
fully understand yet what he was getting himself into. The
'battles' between the Jem'Hadar and their opponents were
completely different than those between Klingon warriors;
moreover, he doubted Martok had spoken to Worf yet about how
to handle the Hadar. Worf would likely need Bashir's help
once the battle was over, he thought, but Garak needed him
more at the moment - and not just to compose the message.
Garak was a claustrophobic and would not find it easy to
handle the confined space behind the panels. He decided it
was best that he remain near Garak for the time being.

He looked up at the Romulans. "Clear?"

Regor, the male Romulan captive, nodded. "The guards
shouldn't be back for over an hour."

"Keep an eye out," he said as he retrieved the chunk of
metal again and opened the panels for Garak, who strode past
him angrily and eased himself into the tight space. Bashir
sat outside the hole in the wall, one of the panels in his
lap, and waited.

"You know," he said to Garak through the wall after a few
minutes, "if you beam up everyone within, say, five metres,
we can beam up Martok and Worf later."

Garak snorted. "I had already thought of that, Doctor. Now
if you would please compose the message..."

Bashir shook his head again as he crossed to his bunk,
pulled the thin sheet off his mattress, and sat down on the
floor, spreading the threadbare fabric in front of him. With
the sliver of metal Martok had given him he made a short but
deep cut into the back of his left forearm, biting his lip
so as not to groan. When enough blood had dripped onto the
floor beside the sheet, he dipped a finger into the pool and
began to paint a series of dots and dashes on the thin
fabric, stopping once to coax more blood out of his arm.

Kalenna leaned over the sheet. "What does it say?" she
asked.

"The first word is 'Defiant'," he replied. "Then 'Beam up
all Alpha Quadrant species within five metres." He looked up
at her. "Do you think that's enough?"

"If your ship can parse this code it should be adequate."
She looked over at Regor. "We'll have to move the Breen over
to Tain's bunk; that way we'll all be beamed up together."

A voice emerged from the far corner. "I will not go with
you. I do not trust you." The Breen turned over and went
back into hibernation.

Bashir gave Kalenna a shrug as he finished the message and
blew on the sheet to dry it, tearing off an unused strip of
fabric to make himself a crude bandage. It was the Breen's
decision, he supposed, but he wouldn't want to stay here.

He also didn't much like leaving the other Cardassian
prisoners behind, but he didn't see how they had much
choice. They had to break orbit and return to the station as
quickly as possible; more importantly, many of the
Cardassians in the compound had over the past year become
sworn enemies of Tain, whom they blamed for their
predicament. He doubted they'd be willing to follow Garak or
him or even Martok, and there were enough of them that they
could easily overpower the six of them. And if Kalenna and
Regor decided to back them...

No, he thought: the Cardassians had to be left behind.

---

'Amsha' smiled grimly as the slim, pen-like instrument in
her hand glowed a warm yellow, then faded back to its
almost-liquid state. "No monitoring equipment," she said.
"I'm surprised they allow the Destroyer to occupy these
premises without proper surveillance."

"Thank the good captain," the being who wore the face of
Julian Bashir said dryly. "Ever since Odo took that footage
of Garak and me making love, he was ordered to 'respect our
privacy'."

She shook her head. "You should have scanned his quarters
first. I understand your reasons for initiating the
relationship, but..." and she looked at him appraisingly,
"you've developed feelings for him, haven't you?"

"I was tired," he explained as they sat. "I haven't been
able to regenerate regularly because of my assignment here.
I couldn't keep my form as well as I should have been able
to."

"That's not the point," she said. "I understand that finding
time for regeneration is difficult under the circumstances
you have been forced to operate in, and maintaining cohesion
of the solid form is especially difficult during certain -
exercises, especially when one is tired. But you should have
anticipated that the Destroyer was being monitored."

"You're right, of course." He schooled his features into a
show of acquiescence. "And you're right, I have found myself
developing feelings for the Destroyer. He's the only solid
I've ever met who shares our understanding of the necessity
of order and social cohesion."

"You wish to tell me something?" she asked, her face melting
into a more comfortable form.

Julian looked at her in envy. The smoothness of her face and
lithe beauty of her frame looked so comfortable. "I
believe," he said, "that our plan may be flawed. I know that
it was our original intention to frame Garak for the
destruction of the Bajoran system."

Her voice emerged from her natural body. "That is correct. I
realize you were not in the Great Link at the time this
decision was made, but it has been explained to you, has it
not?"

He nodded nervously. "I understand that the intention of the
deception is to cause the Federation to blame Cardassia for
the destruction of Bajor and thereby to initiate a war
between the two empires. My concern is that we have, as the
solids say, backed the wrong horse."

"What is your idea?" she asked, appearing unhappy at his
declaration. She tilted her head as if she were trying to
see beyond the gross clumsiness of his solid form.

He longed to link, could feel the pull to his very core. "I
know you don't feel as I do, but," and he held out his hand,
allowing his form to touch hers in a cool ripple, "please.
Be one with me. See what I know."

And oh the joy he felt at the release of boundaries as they
linked. To touch and to be touched thoroughly, to know and
to be known, to understand and to be understood. And in an
instant he knew everything. He had always shared his
people's fears of the solids, but only by linking could he
regain that sense of oneness with his people. He was of
them, not of the solids. It was the easiest thing to forget
but the most important to remember.

The link was like being born. The shock of light, the
renewal. The love was overwhelming. He missed this, and as
he emerged, he wished he could share this with Garak. but
even as he allowed that emotion to be transmitted to his
other, he felt her rejection of it.

He tried to hold on to the link, to merge again and share
the truth of what he believed Garak to be, but she pulled
away and gathered herself up, retaking the shape of the real
Bashir's mother. The solidity of her form was a harsher
reply than any she could put into words. "I do not
understand how you can feel that way," she said. "He is the
Destroyer. He is a solid. It is an abandonment of the Link."

"He is not like them. He understands order." He held out his
hand tentatively but she stepped back. His soul ached with
the pain of the refusal.

Her shoulders squared and he could feel her reluctance to
listen to him through their waning empathic link, but she
still allowed him to speak.

"The solids," he began, "they threaten us with their chaos,
their inability to see the order of our ways. They do not
understand the Link because they are singular. This solid
did try to destroy us but for the same reasons we would
destroy them. They may have been first to blunder onto our
presence and wreak havoc with the sacredness of the one, but
we in our rebuking of their ways threatened his people. His
link," he emphasized.

"I cannot care about his solid world," she said in a hard
tone. "I only care for the Link. They are our
responsibility, not these chaos-bringers."

"True," he nodded. "But Garak is different."

"He is solid," she said.

"But he understands order. More importantly, he can be
manipulated to do our bidding." Julian thought for a moment.
"I mentioned that Dukat was unstable. What if Garak and not
Dukat were to become leader of Cardassia?"

she glared at him silently.

"He understands the Link and his Link has rejected him. He
understands order and the way of the flow. He has a natural
grasp on the concepts of oneness," he continued. "Dukat only
understands power and will betray anyone who would offer him
more. Garak wants only the link."

"So you believe he would be a more appropriate solid to lead
Cardassia against the Federation?"

"If only he were born to rightness and not afflicted with
solidity, he would be as one of us," he replied,
straightening his posture and nodding. "To give greed its
ultimate desire would be a temporary solution at best, but
to allow order to beget order would mean a lasting
protection to the many and the one. Moreover," he added, "he
would be less likely to make irrational choices or to
sacrifice his Link's cohesion for personal gain. He would be
most likely to allow his Link to descend into total war with
the Federation. Remember, in three months I was able to turn
him into a Starfleet officer. I could do the same on
Cardassia, and in that case I have a much better chance at
succeeding given Garak's former position in Cardassia's
intelligence services."

"You are a healer, Other," she said coolly, calling him by
the name his people used to refer to each other outside the
Link. "You always seek to preserve that which supports the
Link, but to reward the Destroyer with our grace would be a
disservice to those of us who are too old or too young to
understand anything but the flow. With a single sharp word
or careless gesture his loyalty could change. You did cause
him to reverse his direction, but the ebb and tide of solids
is harsh and unpredictable. If you could change him in such
a short time he could easily switch his affections again to
another."

"Our kindred, those of the whirlpool of time, find favor
with the solids," he pointed out gently. "Perhaps we can
employ their methods and train these solids to serve our
order constructively?"

"Don't speak of the others!" she snapped. "They are chaos -
they do not follow flow! They call themselves Prophets and
play with time as if it were a game! We do not accept them
as kindred; they were rejected millennia ago."

"But tides are ruled by suns and moons. Ocean must be
divided by horizon and in the middle is the solid," he
continued calmly. "Perhaps the time of the Great
Conciliation is at hand. Garak may be the Bringer, not the
Destroyer."

"Blasphemy! Lies! Superstition!" she cried out before
calming herself. "I did not come to discuss the inane
ramblings of the few of us who chose to listen to the
non-linear eons ago. We deal now in fact, not fiction."

"And the facts are that Garak is a more reliable solid than
Dukat." He frowned at her as he made his points. "More
tractable, more controllable, more predictable. He burns
cool, not hot. He makes decisions based on logic, not on
self-interest. We simply cannot trust a solid who has no
concept of loyalty, order, or justice. Garak is loyal. I can
bring him into us, and I can ensure that the Alpha Quadrant
is weakened to the point that we can impose order."

"He is solid," she said. "He will always be solid. He may be
a special solid, as you say, but in our experience a man
like Dukat is easier to find and easier to replace. When he
dies and crumbles into nothing, so dies our link to him.
Greed is a universal vice. If not Dukat, then another will
suffice. You are too attached, Other. You do not see the
clarity of our reasoning."

"By the time Garak is gone, we will already have established
our order," he argued gently. "His love will inspire
others."

"You are naïve," she scoffed.

"But the kindred were able to--"

"I told you not to speak of them again." She tightened her
lips. "They set themselves up as gods to the solids then
abandoned them to chaos. They are tricksters and discordant
in their ways. We care for those under our service by ruling
with a firm hand. Do not let your tender heart be their
destruction or ours."

He pressed his lips together in anger. It seemed she was
already convinced that Garak was in fact the Destroyer.

That he had to die to avenge his attempt to destroy them.

That his name would have to go down in infamy like S'Task,
Hitler, Colonel Green, Kodos the Executioner, and the rest
of those scorned by the solids as devils and monsters.

It wasn't enough that the solids die: without their
destruction, the Link would be doomed, and he understood
that. But she was adamant that Garak's name be besmirched,
that an example be made of him. Garak tried to destroy the
Link; now he would be blamed for the destruction of Bajor.
And he had to die for that to happen.

He couldn't make her see past the need for justice, couldn't
make her see that Garak was a better choice than Dukat for
leader of a Dominion-controlled Cardassia. Garak would no
more abandon Cardassia or its cause than a Founder would
abandon the Link.

Then he thought of Odo.

Odo hadn't actually abandoned the Link, though. He'd been
sent out by the Link to explore the space past the whirlpool
and had simply remained here, learning about the solids in
this part of the galaxy and interacting with them. But there
was a fault in his reasoning, he admitted to himself: Odo
//had// abandoned the link by refusing to rejoin it. They had
turned him into a solid as a lesson, but he had regained his
true form after the death of the infant.

Then again, he asked himself, what could one expect from a
rebellious adolescent? It wasn't the first time one of their
youth had refused to relink. The difference between Odo and
the other young Founders was that somehow Odo had found a
niche where he was accepted.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "Enough!" she said, her
impatience obvious. "This is settled. Garak is to be the
Destroyer. It is justice. The others are in agreement. I
will grant you this concession, however: in recognition of
your feelings on this, we will not grant Dukat his paper
crown. We will give you just until the arrival of the
Federation vessels to complete your mission. Garak may be
spared, but he must also be held responsible. If you wish to
save him after, you may find a place for him on one of our
worlds and keep him as a pet, but I will not reward the
Destroyer by giving him even the illusion of power."

"But-" he began. but was cut off.

"I understand," she continued, "that you have made a link of
sorts to this solid. Perhaps it was to be expected. You have
been separated from the Great Link on duties far too
frequently. You are one of our most trustworthy and
effective operatives, but perhaps we have asked too much
from you."

He looked down meekly.

"I do not say this in condemnation." She looked at him
sympathetically. "Separation from the Link is difficult, and
we understand, Other, that it cannot have been easy for you.
But we will not allow the Destroyer to escape his
punishment. No, his life alone should satisfy you. Let him
live, but he will not live well." She spoke in a tone that
would brook no more argument. "Pamper him, spoil him, keep
him as a beloved toy, but he will find no other succor but
that of his cage."

She turned to the door and paused. "I must speak to Odo and
tell him he has one last chance to rejoin our link. Tomorrow
Bajor dies."

"And if he doesn't want to come with us?" he asked.

"It will be his choice. Hopefully he will choose well." She
suddenly smiled. "I will approach him tomorrow before I
leave...after I've visited with my 'grandchildren'." She
opened the door. "Now come along Jules, and feed your
starving mother! I'm simply famished and if I wanted to eat
food from a replicator I could have stayed home!"

He assumed a smile. "Mother, I'll have you know I have the
best replicator on the station."

"I noticed! It's better than the one your father bought for
the new house. Where did you ever find it?"

He rose from the sofa, the dread and sorrow in his soul
receding as he took on his role. "I'll tell you about it
over dinner."

---

The female Romulan stood guard in the doorway, watching the
yard. "Your friend is taking a beating; he may not live."
She shot the doctor a look. "With two Klingons to train his
troops, Ikat'ika may allow his Hadar to taste more than a
little blood this time. How long has the Cardassian been in
there now?"

"Close to an hour," Bashir answered as he crouched by the
open panel. "Garak? How's it coming?"

"It's 'coming' slowly."

Garak wiped his hand on his forehead and felt blood seep
from the gash he had received the first time the wiring had
shorted and bit at his flesh, causing him to jump back and
slam his head against a razor-sharp piece of metal. The
cramped, tight, narrow space was less than a foot wide.
There was barely enough room for Garak to fit in with his
back to one wall and his chest against the other;
surrounding him were bare wires racing with random
electrical charges and sharp jags of metal. It wasn't
possible to turn around or sit down; one could only slide
one way or the other.

Garak slid closer to the sound of the doctor's voice and
breathed. The only source of fresh air was the open panel,
but still the air was thick with sweat, oil, and ozone.

He had begun his Vulcan meditations as soon as he had gotten
inside. If he hadn't, by now he probably would have gone
into a full-blown panic attack.

He thought back to Sek's words: "Emotion is insubstantial;
there is only logic. Logic rules all. Without logic there is
chaos; chaos is death. With logic there is order; order is
life. Choose to live through order. Allow logic to guide
your thought, allow thought to replace emotion. Think on the
infinity of thought. Thought is infinite in its diversity.
Logic is the thread that binds the universe through our
thoughts. Through thought we find infinite diversity in
infinite combination. Infinity has no end. Because logic is
infinite, it therefore sees no death, for death is the
ending of life, and life is thought guided by logic. Thought
and logic are immortal. In immortality we shall fear no
death. With logic we do not need emotion. Emotion brings
chaos. Chaos brings death. Therefore logic is life."

He repeated it over and over in his head as he worked as
quickly as he could.

The walls of the crawlspace were covered with a grid of
cables, relay switches and couplings which showed signs of
extensive rewiring. Some of the rewiring was obviously done
by Tain. The rest of it was a mangled mess, hastily twisted
and ripped from one panel to the other. Garak grumbled
internally. Had they just left it alone, he could have
finished what Tain had started within half an hour, but
rewiring the connections and undoing the damage that Martok
and the two Romulans had caused in their eagerness to
'assist' Tain had already taken most of the hour. It would
take at least another two before he could begin the process
of signaling the Defiant.

There was a light source that had been wired into one of the
cables, an old work light that had been scavenged, most
likely by Tain. So far it had proven to be quite unreliable,
flickering and switching itself off and on at random
intervals. He worked quickly in the fading light, prying
open one of the relay switches and rewiring it.

"Are you okay in there?" Bashir's voice called from behind
the wall.

Garak smiled grimly. "I only wish I were still in the
Obsidian Order. This would make a wonderful interrogation
chamber." He accidentally brushed against a relay, causing
it to spark against his back; he hissed as another welt
joined the others on his back. He wrinkled his nose at the
smell of his burnt tunic and hoped for the hundredth time
that the fabric was truly flame-retardant. If his clothes
caught on fire, as soaked and stained as they were with
grease from the walls and generator, he'd be dead within
minutes.

He gritted his teeth, abandoning the thought and
concentrating instead on his work. "Tight quarters, no air,
bad lighting, random electric shocks. It's perfect."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." Bashir's voice was
weighted with concern despite his attempt at banter.

The light flickered again; he shifted his shoulder as the
bare wiring sparked, this time against his chest. The spark
hit a smudge of what smelled like hydraulic oil and flamed
up. Garak slapped out the flame, hissing as the skin of his
palm sizzled and blistered, but he tried to ignore it as he
reached for the wires once again.

He took a breath. That was close.

"If you'd like, I'd happily trade places with you," he said,
turning his face toward the fresh air once again.

"I suppose you could give me a crash course in Cardassian
field engineering. I'd probably be ready to take over from
you in... five or six weeks," Bashir said in a light tone.

Garak considered leaving the work so he could remove the
oil-soaked clothes, but that would be worse than useless.
His undershirt was thin and offered no protection from the
sparks and sharp metal. He was damned either way, he
decided, as he continued his rewiring.

"Do you need me to get you something?" Bashir asked
tentatively. "I can't exactly replicate you a nice cup of
tea, but we've been collecting condensation from the air
exchange units. It's drinkable; you just have to ignore the
metallic tang."

The doctor was obviously trying to help, Garak reminded
himself. He had been trapped here for months on end. None of
this was his fault.

Even though it still bothered him, he couldn't give into
illogical anger. If nothing else could be gleaned from the
events of the last few months, he had learned not to hold
regrets and hatred as Tain had trained him to. Instead, if
he were going to die in this damned wall, he decided, it
would be with the knowledge that he had one less regret to
take with him as he joined his father in whatever hell they
had earned.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Garak?"

"I...apologize," he said quietly.

There was a pause. "Do you need to get out of there, Garak?"

"Is the idea of my apologizing so out of character that you
would automatically assume I must be stressed?" Garak said,
attempting to inject some humor into their conversation.

Bashir didn't answer him.

Garak sighed. "I behaved badly earlier. I was in shock, but
that is no excuse for threatening you the way I did. I'm
sorry."

There was a momentary pause before the doctor spoke. "It's
all right. I understand. I...I might have reacted the same
had I gone through what you have with the Founder."

Garak froze. He barely noticed the light sparking as he
asked, "Worf told you?"

"No," Bashir said softly. "I guessed."

"It was obvious then?" Garak asked in a hollow tone, no
longer even bothering to reach for the wires as he allowed
the humiliation of what he had done to consume him.

"Is Ziyal all right?" Bashir's voice was full of concern.
"He didn't hurt her, did he?"

"What?" Garak asked in confusion.

"Ziyal," the doctor insisted. "She's not...dead, is she?"

"No."

"Thank god," Bashir breathed. He then added in a louder
voice, "I was so afraid that something awful had been done
to her!"

If Garak had more room and cleaner hands he would have
rubbed his eyes wearily. "What does Ziyal have to do with
what we were discussing, doctor?"

"Isn't she–?" Bashir stopped and whispered something to the
Romulan woman. "Quiet!" He hissed and then Garak heard the
sound of metal scraping metal as he closed the panels,
locking Garak in his steely coffin once more.

The seconds stretched into minutes and Garak began once more
to work on the receiver as he waited for the doctor to
return. He mopped his brow and face with the back of his
hand in a futile attempt to brush the sweat from dripping
into his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate despite his
discomfort. He reminded himself that as soon as the danger
had passed, Bashir would open the panel and let in some more
fresh air and he would not be left to suffocate. Suddenly,
the work light started to flicker.

Garak glared at the offending mechanism. "I'm sorry. That's
absolutely unacceptable. I'm under enough strain as it is, I
can't have you quitting on me."

The light continued to flicker, as if to mock him. After a
few tense moments, the light stabilized, although its power
was significantly dimmer.

"Get a hold of yourself, Garak. Focus on the job," he
reminded himself quietly as he continued his work, quickly
but carefully. "No mistakes, one step at a time. You're the
only one who can contact the Defiant. People are depending
on you. So control yourself. You're stronger than this." He
took a breath and began the IDIC mantra again. "A
disciplined mind...allow logic to guide your thought, allow
thought to replace emotion. Yes, this is a tight enclosed
space. Yes, there's not a lot of room to move. But a
disciplined mind doesn't allow itself to be sidetracked by
niggling psychological disorders like claustrophobia." He
smiled, rallying himself, "These walls won't collapse around
you. There's plenty of air. And you have friends close by.
You have nothing to be concerned about."

Besides, this isn't like Tzenketh, he thought.

The light began to flicker once again, only this time the
filament began to pop and sizzle a bit. That isn't good,
Garak thought. His heart began to race as he felt the panic
beginning to build.

"Allow logic to guide your thought, allow thought to replace
emotion. Think on the infinite of thought," Garak muttered,
working at a quicker pace. "Thought is infinite in its
diversity, logic is the thread that binds the universe
through our thoughts. Through thought we find infinite
diversity in infinite–"

The light went out.

Garak froze. Slowly he lowered his hands and began to
breathe, in and out. He tried to ignore the burn in his legs
and flexed the muscles in his calves to prevent them from
cramping.

He shut his eyes and remained still. Bashir would open the
panel soon, he told himself: it wouldn't be much longer.

Just a few more minutes...

He began to breathe in and out slowly and he willed his mind
to stay clear, but his thoughts kept wandering back to
Tzenketh.

In the dark, the ghosts of his past called out to him.

Emar and Anwen.

Both were so young and so beautiful, both believed in what
they did with a passion.

Both loved him with a passion as well, but that was where
the resemblance to one another ended. And now he had another
name to add to his list of lovers who had, by just opening
their arms and inviting him in, destroyed him:

Julian Bashir.

Only it wasn't the real Julian Bashir, was it?

It was a shadow of the real Dr. Bashir, or was it the real
Julian Bashir who was a shadow when compared to the Founder
who had replaced him? It didn't matter. Just like Tzenketh
no longer mattered. He should have learned his lesson. He
should have never allowed the Founder into his heart or his
bed.

Just like he should never have allowed himself to choose
Emar over Tain and Anwen over Emar.

The air had grown stale and thin. He had managed to lean
sideways on a panel and bend his knees slightly so his back
bore his weight against the wall. The power had gone dead so
there were no more sparks, but the carbon dioxide was
quickly building up in the narrow space and Garak was
beginning to feel a bit faint.

Logically, he knew there was still plenty of air, but as the
minutes ticked by the panic was beginning to build within
him.

He listened to the muffled voices outside his metal prison
and heard the grumble of a Jem'Hadar as he searched the
room, undoubtedly looking for him.

He was only able to catch snippets of the conversation.

"Where's....Cardassian?" the Hadar guard growled.

"Probably with...others....across ....prison yard. Their
kind...to...stay together," he heard Bashir say in response.

"This.....lockdown until....found! Leave and...all...be
executed!"

Garak held his breath as he heard the Jem'Hadar stomp out of
the room. He closed his eyes and willed Bashir to wait. Wait
until he was sure they had gone before opening the panel
again.

As soon as that wall opened he had to work quickly. The
Hadar were now looking for him and it was just a matter of
time before they found him.

---

Julian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding
and took his foot off the chunk of metal they'd been using
as a prybar. "Are they gone?" he whispered to the Romulans
at the door as he bent over to pick it up.

Kalenna nodded. "They've entered Barracks Four."

He quickly pried off the panels. "Are you all right in
there?" he asked, peering up into the darkened space.

"Fine, Doctor," Garak replied, his quavering voice belying
his words. "However, the light has gone out, so if you could
keep the entryway clear so I can see my work..."

"Will do." He stacked the two panels by the hole and sat
down in front of them, his eyes on the doorway.

So it wasn't Ziyal, he thought, as he listened to Garak
working in the half-dark. He couldn't imagine Garak
developing that level of anger if the Founder had hurt
anyone else on the station, so it simply didn't make sense.

Of course, he could be going at this the wrong way entirely.
It might not be personal at all: perhaps the Founder had
caused an epidemic to spread, or had done something to harm
the half-Cardassian children on Bajor. Bashir knew that
Garak had spent a great deal of time at the orphanage over
the past two years trying to show the children what it was
like to be a proper Cardassian. He would have been
devastated had something happened to those children, and
seeing Bashir might have been Garak's first clue that the
Founder had been behind whatever the orphans had suffered.

Whatever it was, he told himself with a sigh, it wasn't
terribly important at the moment. What was important was
warning the station that he had been replaced, and making it
back to the Alpha Quadrant with the Defiant before the
Dominion invaded. Keep your eyes on what's important,
Julian, he told himself. Stop obsessing.

After a while Bashir noticed that Garak appeared to be
mumbling something under his breath; moving closer, he could
pick up the words 'logic', 'chaos', and 'order'. It sounded
to him like some kind of Vulcan chant. He wondered if Garak
had picked it up from that Vulcan friend of his, the son of
his former Academy instructor who had visited Garak once a
few years back. Strange, he thought, for a Cardassian to use
a Vulcan chant in a situation like this, but it couldn't
hurt, he supposed, given how mind-numbingly awful
claustrophobia could be.

Garak suddenly went silent; Bashir pushed himself to his
feet and coaxed a cupful of water from the base of the air
exchange unit, then knelt down again by Garak's feet. "How
are you doing in there?" he whispered.

The Cardassian looked down at him, then slid down the wall
and took the cup. "Thank you. Dehydration will not help my
concentration."

Bashir examined his neck, noticing a number of livid burns.
"I wish I had a dermal regenerator," Julian said, "but the
Hadar will only let us have one when they need me to patch
up Martok or Regor." He reached over to grab the blanket
he'd written the message on. "How's the transmitter coming
along?"

"I've discovered a work around that should allow us to
broadcast a carrier wave," Garak replied, finishing the
water Bashir had brought him. "Luckily, Tain used a standard
Starfleet frequency, so the Defiant will be scanning for it
automatically."

Bashir smiled at him. "I suppose you've never had the
opportunity to study Morse?"

"You'd be correct in that supposition," Garak said, "but I
am familiar with similar codes. However, I doubt the Defiant
would recognize ancient Cardassian navigational codes."

"It's unlikely." Bashir spread the sheet out in the space
between their knees. "In case I'm not here when you send the
code, let me go over it with you. Each dash is three times
as long as a dot. There's a dot's space between each part of
a letter, a dash's space between each letter, and about two
dashes' space between each word. I've used slash marks to
separate the words. The first word at the top is 'Defiant'."

Garak frowned down at the sheet. "I'll send the word three
times before the message. I only hope the ship recognizes
the code."

That makes two of us, Bashir thought, as Garak slid back up
and continued his work on the transmitter.

---

The Second was a worthy opponent, Worf thought as he found
himself flat on his back for the second time. That was, he
corrected himself, if one could call a member of such a
dishonorable species 'worthy'. Animals they were, born and
bred for nothing but battle. One does not become a warrior
by breeding but by choice and honorable actions.

He dragged himself to his feet and slapped one of the posts
at the edge of the practice area. He refused to submit. Loss
would be a dishonor. This was his fifth opponent of the
night; the other four had left feet-first, dragged away by
their compatriots. He intended to make short work of this
one.

The Second suddenly dove at him. Worf feinted, then grabbed
him around the chest and slammed him into the ground. He
felt bones break under his fists as he punched the Hadar in
the stomach over and over again until he went limp and his
eyes closed.

"He won't be touching any posts for a while," Martok said,
slapping Worf on the back as two guards dragged their fallen
Second away. "Five wins in five battles: you truly have the
spirit of Kahless in you."

Worf's chest was aching; the Second had broken at least two
of his ribs. Nevertheless he refused to stand down. "Are you
willing to face me?" he said to Ikat'ika, the First.

Martok put a hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't be so eager
if I were you. This," and he pointed to his missing eye, "is
his handiwork."

"Then he has much to answer for." His eyes returned to
Ikat'ika's face.

"Very well." The First handed his energy weapon to a guard
before stepping into the ring. "You have found yourself a
worthy opponent, Klingon. You will not find me as easy to
defeat." He turned to his guards. "Today we train against a
worthy adversary. Observe. Analyze. Remember. Soon, we will
face his people in combat. The lessons you learn here will
ensure victory. Victory is life!" he cried as he gave the
Jem'Hadar salute.

They both touched the closest post; Ikat'ika rushed him
almost immediately, sending him to the floor with a
combination of a left jab and a right cross. Worf hit the
map, but was up immediately and touched the post again. "You
are fast, but you will not prevail," he snarled.

Ikat'ika said nothing as he rushed Worf, feinting as if he
were about to smash into his left side but at the last
moment turning his rush into a lethal combination of
punches. Worf ducked and grabbed the First around the waist,
throwing him over his shoulder and slamming him into the
ground.

Predictable, he thought; the Hadar were fearsome
hand-warriors but, lulled into a false sense of safety by
their thick breastplates, failed to protect their midriffs.
As Ikat'ika rose from the ground and hit his post, Worf
reached back for his own only to notice a number of guards
running from one barracks to the other. He could hear them
yelling, faint cries of "Traitor" and "Cardassian" and "find
him now". Soon the corridors were full of Hadars in full
battle cry. "What is happening?" he asked Martok under his
breath.

"Ignore it," Martok whispered back.

"Giving up so soon?" Ikat'ika snarled. "I had thought you
would have more fire in you than that."

He ignored the taunts but reached back and touched the post.
His delay had given Ikat'ika the chance to catch his breath,
a mistake he hoped he would not pay dearly for.

The Hadar suddenly launched himself at Worf, abandoning all
pretense of deception or cunning in order to complete the
battle. Worf easily parried his attack; knowing that the
First had mistaken his pause for exhaustion or injury, he
held himself back, waiting for his opponent to make another
error.

He didn't have to wait long. Ikat'ika grabbed onto his ankle
in an attempt to pull him down; he lifted his foot and threw
the Hadar across the arena where he landed on top of the
post. He groaned in pain, clutching his flank, as the Vorta
suddenly arrived.

"Did you not notice," Deyos said to the injured First, "that
we are on lockdown? One of your prisoners has disappeared!"

Ikat'ika looked up, his eyes fierce as he pulled himself to
his feet. "Which one?"

"The new Cardassian. We are unable to find him." He looked
around. "There may be a security breach in progress. I want
you to execute the new prisoners. All the prisoners know to
be in quarters during the counts. Have all of them pay for
his mistake: kill the Klingons and the others will execute
his cellmates."

Ikat'ika growled under his breath. "My guards have not yet
learned enough from this one. He is a worthy opponent, able
to teach us much about how his people fight."

"That may be the case," Deyos said, "but the security of the
installation comes first. Kill them."

"Very well," the Hadar said, as the guard handed Ikat'ika
his energy weapon.

The two Klingons' gazes met, then they rushed the Hadar and
Vorta as one.

---

"How much longer?"

Garak grimaced as the electric spark from the wire bit at
the exposed flesh of his palm. He hissed in pain and
frustration. "Damn it, Julian! If you'd stop asking me every
five seconds I might be able to finish faster!"

"Sorry."

"Go get me that sharpened piece of metal you had earlier and
bring it to me. I need to strip some wires."

Less than a minute later, the doctor slid beside him and
handed him the metal.

"Hold this end and be careful," Garak commanded. "If it
touches another live wire it could short everything out
again."

"I wish they had kidnapped the Chief instead. He would have
been much more helpful than I am." Bashir said ruefully.

"It certainly would have saved us a lot of trouble," Garak
mumbled. "Damn!" The metal bit deep into his thumb, taking
out a nasty slice of flesh. Blood flowed freely down his
wrist.

"Bloody hell," the doctor cursed as he handed the wire back
to Garak and reached for Garak's tunic.

"What are you doing?" the Cardassian asked, taken aback.

"I need to rip a piece of cloth from your shirt to bind that
wound. Mine's filthy."

"Undo my tunic. I have a cotton undershirt beneath that'll
be easier to tear."

Garak closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly
and evenly as the doctor quickly undid the front of his
tunic one-handed and reached inside to untuck his shirt from
his trousers. Garak heard him take the sharp piece of metal
they had been using as a stripping tool and tear into the
cloth. As his knuckles brushed Garak's stomach, he flinched.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned.

"I'm fine, Julian. Just get on with it. We need to get out
of here and I'm less than ten minutes away from completing
these repairs."

"Give me your hand."

Garak carefully put the shielded wire between his teeth,
angling the live end so it wouldn't touch either of them,
then crossed his left hand over his chest so the doctor
could bind his thumb.

"You called me Julian," Bashir said as he tied off the
makeshift bandage. "Twice."

Garak pulled his hand away, suddenly flustered, and snatched
the wire from between his teeth, working rapidly once more.
"Did I? I apologize. I wasn't thinking."

"No. I mean, I'm not offended. You've just never called me
by my given name before," he said with a shrug. "I mean, if
there was ever a time to drop formalities, it would be now."

"Yes, well, that's fine then," Garak said, quickly twisting
the ends of the two wires together before reaching for a
cable. "By your left shoulder there's a junction box. Open
it and remove the third cable down from the top. When I hand
you this cable, plug it in."

"All right." He took the metal from Garak and began to use
it as a makeshift screwdriver in order to undo the
fastenings that held the junction box closed. "Since you're
calling me Julian now, does that mean I get to call you
Elim?"

Garak dropped the cable he had been holding and cursed. "It
– the blood on my hand made it slippery."

"Hold still. I'm thin enough I can crouch down and retrieve
it," Bashir said, backing out of their narrow workspace and
turning around so he faced the other direction. He then bent
at the knees slightly and wedged his face against the front
of Garak's trousers as he reached for the cable with the
tips of his fingers. "Almost got it!" he said, his voice
muffled as his mouth pressed against Garak's zipper.

Garak froze and breathed in and out calmly, swallowing a
groan. Tain, you son of a bitch, I'll bet you're laughing in
hell right now, he thought, gritting his teeth.

"Here!" Bashir said, handing Garak the cable, his face
uncomfortably close. "I'll back out and turn around so I can
finish undoing the panel on the box."

"No! Just - just go," Garak said quickly, sweat dripping
down his face. "I can handle the rest."

"You're sure?" Bashir asked. "Are you all right Garak? You
seem flushed."

"I'm thirsty, very thirsty," Garak said, leaning his head
back against the wall. "If you would please get me some more
water, it would be most appreciated."

The doctor nodded. "I'll be right back."

"Thank you, doctor," Garak breathed as he watched the
younger man scurry through the maze of cables and relays. "I
need to get out of here," he muttered as he reached for the
panel and pried it loose. He quickly tore out the cable and
replaced it with the one in his hand, then pulled a relay
switch from the wall. He was tying it into the power supply
as he heard Bashir's voice.

"I have some water. It's not much, but–"

"Nevermind," Garak said, quickly scooting toward him and
handing him the switch. "Enter the code."

"It's done?" Julian asked in surprise.

"Hurry, you can enter it faster than I can!" Garak ordered.

"Kalenna! Regor! Get closer to the wall, we're about to send
the signal! Tell the Breen it's his last chance to come
along with us!" Bashir called out.

"He won't come, doctor," Regor said as he approached the
panel. "Just send the signal!"

"What about the Klingons?" Kalenna asked.

"We'll beam them up after we get on board the Defiant.
They're too far away right now," Garak said. "Quickly,
doctor!"

Julian began to work the switches quickly, concentrating on
the task as his eyes searched the lines written on the sheet
they had hung on the panel in front of them. When he was
done, they waited.

"Nothing's happening," Kalenna said, her voice tense.

"Are you sure you did the wiring correctly? Maybe there was
a problem with the code," Regor called through the hole in
the wall.

"Perhaps I should send the code again?" Bashir asked Garak,
his mouth tight with concern.

"The Defiant is orbiting a nebula; it will take a few
minutes to get through," Garak reassured him. Suddenly the
walls began to shimmer and the smell of ozone burned all
around them.

One heart-stopping second later, all four of them were
huddled together on the bridge of the Defiant.

"Kalenna! You're a pilot, aren't you?" Garak said, striding
toward command and quickly settling into the captain's
chair.

"Yes!" she answered, anticipating his request and settling
in at the helm.

"Regor – beam Martok and Worf directly into sickbay.
Transport Dr. Bashir there as well."

"Done!" Regor said, reaching for the console beside
tactical.

"As soon as Mr. Worf is fit for duty I need all of you back
here on the bridge!" Garak ordered just as the doctor began
to shimmer and disappear.

"Garak–" Julian began, but before he could get out the first
word, he was gone.

Garak turned back to Kalenna. "The ship is equipped with a
cloaking device," he said. "Activate it and plot a course
for Bajor. As soon as we're within comm range I need to send
a message to the surface."

"Aye, captain." she said, falling automatically into command
procedure. Garak held the con so despite his rank or lack
thereof, he was the captain as long as he held command.

"Captain! No Hadar cruisers appear to be following us, but
shields are at maximum just in case," Regor said from his
station at tactical.

"If you see any in pursuit, fire at will," Garak ordered.

"Aye, sir."

"Warp engines have suffered some damage, sir," Kalenna said.
"I can only give you up to warp two, three if we push it."

"Bajor is ten hours away at Warp two," the Cardassian said grimly.
"Keep her at that heading and steady as she goes. If we push too hard
and have to go to impulse, it will be weeks before we reach Bajor. We
don't have that kind of time to spare."

---

Chapter Six: Bajor
---

Bashir ran the cartilage regenerator over the torn posterior
cruciate ligament in Worf's left knee one more time.
"General," he said over his shoulder to Martok, "just keep
passing the transducer over your - yes, just like that. What
were the two of you doing anyway?"

"Keeping ourselves alive," Martok said, allowing himself a
sigh of relief as the pain in his breastbone disappeared for
the first time in over a year. "They weren't firing at you?"

He shrugged. "I think they got the Breen, but I only saw a
flash of uniform before the transporter beam caught us." He
put the cartilage regenerator aside, then scanned Worf's
knee again. "Any pain?"

"Nothing of concern," he replied.

Bashir smiled to himself. A Klingon wouldn't report pain if
his head had been cut off. "Then that's everything, and
after two hours in Sickbay it should be," he said. "You're
both released for duty, but try not to put too much strain
on those ribs in the next 24 hours. And I want to talk to
you, sir," he said to Martok as he turned to him, "about a
prosthetic eye."

"It is a battle wound, Doctor," Martok said, shaking his
head. "I have no intention of having any artificial object
installed in my body. Let the wound be a reminder of the
enemy and the danger he presents to both our peoples."

"Very well," he said, not surprised by the general's
attitude. Klingons didn't consider prosthetics to be
honorable, and Martok was if anything an honorable man.
"Worf, I'm not sure if you're as concerned as I am about
Garak taking the ship's con, but..." He shrugged his
shoulders.

"He is the only choice we have," Worf pointed out. "And over
the past three months I have - let us say I have lost much
of my distrust of him. Not all, but some. I am confident
that he has the situation under control."

Bashir gave Worf a puzzled look, standing back to allow the
Klingon to push himself off the biobed. "If you say so. Tell
Garak I need him to come in next so I can treat his wounds."

Worf paused. "I prefer to keep Mr. Garak on the bridge for
now. There are things we need to discuss in private. I will
send the Romulans in first."

"All right," he said with a frown, "but his wounds are in
need of treatment, so tell him I want to see him as soon as
he's available. If he wants to change first and have a
shower that's fine. But hold on," he said as the two
Klingons headed for the door. "Comm badges." He punched a
command into the replicator and three badges appeared
followed by a Starfleet uniform. "If you want to replicate
new uniforms..."

"Thank you, Doctor," Martok said, clasping his forearm as
they affixed their badges to their tattered uniforms. "We'll
wait until we're certain the bridge is secure."

He shook his head as they left. Help a Klingon, he thought,
and he's your friend for life.

---

"You're looking better." Garak said, glancing up at Worf and
Martok as they entered the bridge.

"Feeling better as well, Mr. Garak!" Martok said heartily as
he strode over to tactical. "Mr. Regor, if you wouldn't mind
giving me the tactical seat, I would most appreciate it.
From what I remember of our many conversations your skills
are best served at the communications console."

"That they are, General," the Romulan said, rising from his
position and gesturing to his chair. "With pleasure."

Martok eyed the cushioned seat warily. "These Federation
warriors are almost decadent with their comforts. On my ship
there are no seats and the beds are bare metal tables with
no blankets to speak of."

"After months in that prison, General, I look forward to
experiencing some Federation decadence for a while until we
return to the Romulan fleet." Regor arched his eyebrow. "In
fact, I'm even tempted to ask the Federation to keep me on
as a prisoner of war if their prison cuisine is as tempting
as the menu on the food replicators."

"At least someone appreciates your replicator programming,
Mr. Worf," Garak said as he rose from the captain's seat and
returned command to his senior officer.

"I'd defect for a hot shower and some clean clothes,"
Kalenna said, turning away from the helm for a moment.

"Dr. Bashir wishes to see each of you in sickbay once you
have showered and changed into clean clothing," Worf said as
he stood in front of the captain's chair. "Mr. Regor and Mr.
Kalenna, you are free to go. Once the doctor has pronounced
you fit, you are to return to the bridge and resume your
duties until you are relieved. Understood?"

They all agreed.

"The replicators are only programmed for Starfleet uniforms.
If you choose to wear them, you may remove the jacket in
order to differentiate yourselves from Starfleet," Worf
added.

Martok snorted. "I seriously doubt I'll be drummed out of
the Klingon Empire for wearing Starfleet colors on my back
under these particular circumstances, Worf, but I appreciate
your gesture of conciliation."

"We Romulans may be more open than our Vulcan cousins, but
we are just as practical," Regor said as Kalenna nodded in
agreement. "A clean uniform is a clean uniform."

Worf nodded. "I will tell the doctor to authorize the
replicator to assign you all a uniform without rank
insignia. Mr. Garak, you are, of course, already authorized
to replicate a uniform. You will be relieved when Mr. Regor
and Mr. Kalenna return. When you report back to the bridge,
please do so with your full military insignia intact."

"Aye, sir," Garak answered, immediately understanding why
Worf would choose to have him appear in full dress. The
uniform would give him more standing with the Romulans, who
didn't know the two of them. Thus far he hadn't had any
problems in maintaining his authority but once the initial
shock had passed issues could arise.

He had to admit that although he hadn't been overly
enthusiastic about working with Worf, the Klingon had a
sharp mind for tactics and diplomacy, especially for a
Klingon. Usually the Klingon mentality was such that they
usually sought out conflict rather than avoiding it, but
Worf was far more reserved and logical than the average
Klingon. He kept his focus sharp, and because of that Garak
had to admit he was beginning to develop a grudging respect
for the man.

He might be as stiff as a board and about as fun as a
cluster of Vulcans at a dinner party, but the man was good
at his job.

After the Romulans left, Worf took his position at the
captain's seat. "Lieutenant," he said to Garak, "if you
would join me, I wish to have a quick word with you."

Martok busied himself at the tactical, giving them some
sense of privacy.

Garak rose, only mildly disconcerted by Worf's use of his as
of yet unconfirmed rank. "What's wrong?" Garak asked in a
low tone.

Worf turned to Garak. "When you see the doctor I want you to
fully disclose to him your personal relationship with the
Founder."

Garak tightened his jaw. "I was actually hoping to wait
until–"

"Tell him now and that's an order," Worf commanded softly.
"We need everyone alert and on point when we arrive at the
station. If he is not aware of all of the variables, it may
jeopardize our mission." He cleared his throat
uncomfortably. "I do not know the doctor well, but I do know
enough to reasonably hypothesize that this news will come as
a shock to him. Telling him now will give him eight hours to
process the information and deal with it constructively."

Garak's face hardened and he looked away. "Very well."

Worf shifted uncomfortably. "I dislike...delving into the
personal lives of my subordinates, but it is vital to the
mission that all of us, even the Romulans, are acting as a
team. It is for...the greater good."

"You don't have to sell me, Commander. I had planned on
doing it anyway, just...on Bajor, after I had given some
thought to how to approach him." He sighed.

"The whole truth may be harsh, but it is efficient." Worf
sat back then and with a clear voice said, "You have your
orders."

As Garak walked back to take his seat at the helm he felt
his stomach clench. As bad as the Jem'Hadar prison had
seemed, he knew the true hell was only just beginning.

---

A bemused Bashir watched the Romulans leave in their new
uniforms. Romulans in Starfleet colors: now there was a
sight he wouldnever forget.

Garak would likely be at least another ten minutes, he
thought; enough time to make himself presentable. As he
entered the sickbay shower and set the sonics on high,
letting the grease and dust and sweat and blood lift off his
skin and hair and fall in a fine powder to the floor of the
stall, he promised himself that he'd have a real shower with
hot water as soon as he could, but not before he got some
answers.

He emerged from the stall and dressed, then returned to the
main room. Garak hadn't arrived yet, so he went over to the
prep table and rooted around in the drawer until he found
the sonic shaver, then found a mirror and began to remove
his beard. Most of the prisoners had been either beardless
or (like Martok) had let their beards grow, but Bashir had
preferred to remain clean-shaven. The prison bathrooms had
luckily been equipped with sonic shavers; unluckily, they
had been set for tougher skin than Humans had, so he spent
the first week looking like a spotty teenager until Regor
taught him how to adjust the settings. And then there was
the morning he had walked in and found Martok shaving his
feet...

"Dr. Bashir."

He shut off the shaver and turned to Garak. "How long
until-" and he stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging
open, his eyes widening in shock.

Garak was wearing a Starfleet uniform.

Bashir took in the mustard-yellow turtleneck, the black
trousers, the standard issue shoes, the jacket tossed over
one arm. Services, his mind told him, or at least the part
that wasn't completely gobsmacked. And a full lieutenant if
the pips were to be believed.

"What the hell are you playing at?" he finally got out. "Is
this some game, or-"

"It's no game, Doctor," Garak replied, cutting him off. "I
apologize for not telling you earlier, but there was no
time. I've held a position on Captain Sisko's command team
for the past two months. I've also been offered a commission
by Starfleet, although I haven't been sworn in yet. I'm
wearing the uniform now because," and he looked down and
gestured, "well, frankly because my clothing was completely
ruined, but also because Mr. Worf's and my cover on this
mission was that we were returning to Earth and that I would
be sworn into Starfleet while we were there. As such, the
Founder will be expecting me to return so dressed." He met
Bashir's startled gaze. "We have no idea what's happening on
the station, and until we find out I thought it best to go
ahead and prepare for any possible outcome."

Julian gaped at him. "You cannot be serious," he blurted
out.

"I'm afraid that I am," Garak said. "Suffice to say there
have been some...changes since you left."

"I can see that. Feel free to fill me in." He cleared his
throat nervously as he gestured to the biobed; Starfleet
officer or not, Garak had been injured and needed medical
attention. "Before we get into that, let me regenerate those
burns and cuts on your torso."

"I've already taken care of the injuries I could reach, but
there are a few on my back..." he said as he hopped up on
the bed and pulled the turtleneck off. "Mainly below the
shoulders and near the hairline. I did have a quick sonic
shower to remove the grease."

"There's more than a few," Bashir replied, "especially where
that temperature probe was digging into your skin." He zoned
in on a nest of gashes over the spine of the right scapula,
then worked down. "So," he said, trying to keep a light tone
to his voice, "how did you end up working for Sisko? I mean,
it's an unusual career path, from spy to tailor to Starfleet
officer. You've been assigned to tactical, I presume?"

Garak nodded silently, his hands clutched in his lap as if
he were uncomfortable discussing the matter. Of course he
would be, Bashir told himself; all this was probably almost
as much of a through-the-looking-glass episode for Garak as
it was for him.

"So you're now working with Mr. Worf and hemming trousers on
the side?" he asked, hoping to defuse the situation with
humor.

"It's a long and...complicated story," Garak said, his voice
tentative.

"Try me."

He looked over his shoulder at the doctor for a moment, then
spoke. "There was an incident on the station shortly after
you - your imposter - claimed to have returned from the burn
conference on Meezan IV. It began when the Founder and I
captured a wanted Bajoran criminal named Colonel Ranol. Have
you ever heard of a designer drug called Orange D?"

"Before I left I had dealt with a few of its victims, yes."
Bashir replied. "This man was connected to it?"

"He was responsible for the Orange D epidemic on the
station."

The doctor frowned. The drug problem on the station had
always been irksome, but that was relatively common on any
isolated station, especially one located outside Federation
space. But the problem had never been that severe..."Was the
Founder involved in this epidemic?" he asked, his stomach
roiling as he suddenly realized the implications. "Was he
trafficking drugs, or producing them, or-"

Garak held a hand up. "I can assure you that the Founder did
not ruin your reputation in that manner. He simply assisted
me in identifying and detaining the parties responsible."

"That's good to hear," he said, but something in the tone of
Garak's voice bothered him. "There's more, isn't there?" he
asked.

"A few weeks later," Garak continued, "I was asked by a
vedek to investigate the apparent murder of her
great-niece."

"A murder."

"A very interesting murder, if one can call the destruction
of a living being interesting. As it turned out, her niece
was also Shakaar's mistress."

"What?" He almost dropped the regenerator. "Shakaar's
//mistress//? She - Shakaar had a //mistress//? But he's dating
Major Kira!"

Garak snorted. "Shakaar Edon would hardly be the first man
in history to become involved with two women at the same
time, Doctor. Surely you realize that."

"Well, of course," he said, trying not to splutter, "but I
would have thought Kira'd pound him through the floor if he
tried something like that. And why would the vedek go to you
and not the authorities?"

"It was a somewhat delicate matter, as you can imagine,"
Garak replied as he pulled his turtleneck back on and Bashir
started on the burns just under Garak's hairline. "Suffice
to say, there were...other issues involved. The vedek was
once in Bajoran Intelligence, so she had some knowledge of
my abilities. As a supporter of Shakaar's she didn't quite
trust the police with the information she had been provided,
but she wished the death to be investigated. Captain Sisko
allowed your substitute to assist me, and we were eventually
able to determine that the victim had been murdered by the
campaign manager for the Bajor First Party candidate in the
ministerial elections. The candidate himself was blameless,
but his wife was identified as an accessory after the fact."
He turned his head slightly. "It also might interest you to
know, just for the sake of total disclosure: the victim was
pregnant with Shakaar's child."

He stared at the back of Garak's head. "My God," he said,
recalling Shakaar's medical history. "He must have been
devastated; he lost a daughter in the occupation. Did he
know about the child?"

"Not until after the woman died." Garak's voice was thin.
"She was only a few weeks along."

But Garak had mentioned the imposter again. "The Founder
helped?" he asked, keeping his voice non-committal as he
healed the last burn and shut off the regenerator. Founders,
especially mature ones, were natural mimics, and he could
imagine a casual friend or colleague not catching onto some
of the differences.

"He did."

"Did you work with him on any other projects?"

"Not exactly..." Garak's shoulders were unnaturally stiff;
as he pulled the padded uniform jacket on over his
turtleneck, Bashir realized that the Cardassian was afraid
to meet his eyes.

He put down the regenerator. "Garak, what's going on?"

Garak eased himself off the biobed and turned to face him,
his eyes resting on the far wall. "You're right that we -
collaborated on certain matters. But it was more than that,
I'm afraid."

He was confused by the look in Garak's eyes. "You were
friends then?"

"It was..." and Garak gave him a pained look, as if he were
apologizing for something unspeakable. "It was more than
that," he repeated.

"You were-"

Garak's face was a granite mask. "We became lovers, Doctor."

For just a moment Bashir imagined that he had died and gone
to some wildly surreal afterlife. "Lo-" he tried to say, but
the word would not come. His vision swam. It wasn't
possible; it just wasn't-

"We initiated a relationship," Garak continued. "He -
Doctor, allow me to be blunt. He pursued me, I fell in love
with him, and when we were on Bajor investigating the death
of Kel Sinles, he proposed marriage." He took a deep breath.
"I accepted."

Bashir felt behind him for a chair, dropping onto it as the
enormity of what Garak had just said hit him. Garak had -
the Founder had - how could this be?

"I know this comes as a shock to you, doctor, but--"

A wave of pure rage suddenly overtook him as he glared up at
the man. "You - idiot!" he spat out, his eyes riveted to
Garak's face. "You goddamned fucking idiot! Were you
lobotomized as well?!"

"I understand your rage, but you have to understand-" Garak
began, but Bashir was too angry to listen.

"This is - this is ridiculous!" he shouted as he rose to his
feet again, his eyes blazing in righteous fury. "Are you
telling me that after five years of being your friend," and
he spat that word out, "or maybe I should say your
acquaintance since it's bloody obvious that you don't know
me as well as I thought you did, I suddenly turned into some
raving sex maniac and dragged you off to bed and you didn't
even notice there was a problem?" He threw his hands in the
air. "Didn't it occur to you that seducing //you// of all
people is the last thing I would ever do? Didn't it occur to
you that it might be a sign that I had been replaced? Or did
you just go along with it because you were so fucking
desperate to get laid that you didn't care?!"

Garak opened his mouth, but after looking into Bashir's eyes
he suddenly took a step backwards.

Good thing too, Bashir thought, as his hands curled into
fists; just for a moment he imagined himself snapping
Garak's neck. Instead, though, he spun around, unwilling to
face that traitorous face one second longer.

The comm system suddenly came to life. //Worf to Garak.
We're approaching communications range with Bajor.//

"I have to report to the bridge," Garak said, his tone even
and calm.

"Get the hell out of here," Bashir snarled, shaking with
anger as he kept his eyes on the wall.

He heard Garak tap his comm badge. "Acknowledged. On my way.Maintain
comm silence and cloak. Have Kalenna adjust
our warp signature so we can avoid being detected by the
station's sensors."

//Already done. Worf out.//

He glanced back at Garak; the man was looking at him sadly
as if he were thinking of saying something, but then he
turned, apparently changing his mind.

But Bashir wasn't done yet. "I guess that Founder really
must be something if he could practically turn you into a
member of Starfleet," he spat.

"Julian..."

"You don't have the right to call me that," he broke in. "My
name is //Doctor// Bashir, //Mister// Garak. You are not my
friend."

"Very well, doctor," Garak said. "Shall I tell Commander
Worf you'll be joining us on the bridge?"

"I'll be there as soon as I put away these instruments."

After he left, Bashir glared at the doorway as another wave
of icy rage consumed him. Sure, he'd put away the
instruments: he'd shove them right up Garak's skinny
Cardassian arse.

Garak had been the one man he had hoped would notice he had
been replaced, the one man he had hoped would come to their
rescue, the one man he had hoped would return them to the
Alpha Quadrant.

But the one man had instead chosen to spend three long
months fucking the Founder who had replaced him.

Bashir picked up the dermal regenerator, then hurled it
against the wall so hard that it left a dent.

---

Garak stepped into the turbolift and ordered the computer to
take him to the bridge.

Damn, he thought closing his eyes. Worf had been right,
though: it was better that he get it done now then wait for
Bashir to figure it out on his own.

Some naive part of Garak's mind had hoped — but no. That
was not his Julian. His Julian was a fantasy.

He always had been.

He shook off his unease and focused. He had a job to do.
After it was done, then he'd deal with the rest.

Garak entered the bridge and walked over to Worf. "How long
before we reach Bajor?"

"Another eight hours at least." He looked at the Cardassian
curiously. "I'm assuming you want to go to Bajor because you
think our Founder may still be unaware of our true mission."

Garak nodded. "We need to buy Sisko all the time we can. If
anything has happened, hopefully Owin Grea might know and
can give us a heads-up. If the station is under attack we'll
go in, weapons hot."

"A sound strategy," Worf said approvingly.

"As I told you, Worf, these Cardassians are a clever race!"
Martok said from his place in tactical where he had relieved
Regor, who was now manning communications. "Tain was
especially so." He nodded at Garak, smiling broadly. "You
take after your master in that regard, Mr. Garak. Wherever
his soul resides, I am sure he is looking upon you with
favor."

Somehow I doubt that, Garak thought, but nodded politely
toward the General nonetheless.

"Owin Grea? Who is he?" Worf asked.

"I met him when Jul-" He paused and started again. "I met
him when //I// was working on the investigation into the
murder of that girl on Bajor. He's Vedek Merel's ranjen. I
can send a message through him to Sisko that can't be
intercepted by the Founder."

"Why do you not just contact First Minister Shakaar?" Worf
asked with a frown.

"If the Founders have infiltrated the station they may have
also infiltrated the Bajoran government," Garak answered. "I
seriously doubt that the Founders see any strategic value in
infiltrating the Bajoran clergy and, because Sisko is the
Emissary to the Prophets, a late call from a ranjen or vedek
won't seem out of place."

Garak stood by Worf as they both turned to the holographic
pad near the command seat. "Mr. Regor, open a channel and
contact Ranjen Owin Grea at the Capital Temple in Dakhur
Province."

"Transmitting now," Regor said.

As the stately image of Owin appeared before them, Bashir
exited the turbolift and froze. That's right, Garak thought:
the doctor wasn't here when this new holographic comm system
was installed on the Defiant.

He shook off the now-familiar sense of unease he experienced
whenever he was reminded that the man who he had shared so
much with was merely an illusion.

"Mr. Garak! What a surprise!" Owin said, then stopped,
taking in the Cardassian's exhausted, shadowed face. "What
happened to you?"

"Ranjen Owin, I'm sorry to contact you so late at night, but
we have a bit of an emergency. We need the coordinates of a
safe location on Bajor where we can land the Defiant, and we
need you to ask Vedek Merel to contact Captain Sisko
immediately."

"What's wrong?" the Bajoran asked, his face tight with
concern.

Garak sighed. "It's...a long story. The Vedek needs to let
Sisko know that Dr. Bashir has been replaced by a Founder."

Owen's eyes widened as he turned to Bashir, who had taken a
place beside Worf. "A shapeshifter? Doctor, is that true?
Are you all right?"

"Actually," Garak interrupted before Bashir could reply,
"Dr. Bashir was replaced roughly three months ago."

"Then-" Owin's mouth dropped open. "Then that means-"

Garak gave him a grim nod. "I'm afraid so. We're on our way
back from the Gamma Quadrant with the real Dr. Bashir and a
number of other former prisoners, including General Martok
of the Klingon Empire. It also appears as if an invasion
force may be forming on this side of the wormhole."

Owin nodded. "And you want the Vedek to call the Emissary
tonight and tell him this."

"No," Garak said hastily, shaking his head. "The Captain's
communication system is likely monitored, or I'd have
contacted him directly. We'd like the Vedek to ask the
Emissary to meet her at the station temple tomorrow morning.
I doubt the Dominion has bothered to place listening devices
there, and she can provide him with the necessary
information in safety."

"Quite sensible," the ranjen said. "Do you want to land at
the monastery?"

Garak looked at Bashir out of the corner of his eye; he
hadn't mentioned the children yet, and the last thing he
wanted to do was confuse the youngsters. He also didn't want
to get into details with Reven and Danna. "I don't think
that would be appropriate," he said. "Dr. Bashir is not
familiar with the monastery or its inhabitants." He gave
Owin a sharp look.

Owin nodded, his eyes showing he understood. "I see your
point. We do have a sister institution in Hendrikspool
Province. I'll send you the co-ordinates and after I speak
with Vedek Merel I'll let them know you're on your way."

He let out a breath. "Thank you. We should arrive on Bajor
in approximately eight hours, or early morning your time. I
should mention that three members of our crew will have to
remain on the planet after the Defiant returns to the
station."

"I'll let them know they'll be having visitors. Good luck,
Mr. Garak. May the Prophets protect you."

"Thank you," he replied.

"Commander Worf, may I speak to you down in Sickbay?" the
doctor said, his voice cool as the ranjen's image
disappeared from the holopad. He didn't look at Garak at
all.

Worf rose from his seat and turned to the Cardassian.
"Lieutenant, you have the con," he said, nodding at Garak
before heading towards the turbolifts with the doctor.

Garak returned his nod and took his seat in the command
chair, staring out into the emptiness of space displayed on
the viewscreen before him. He didn't bother guessing what or
who Bashir wanted to talk to Worf about. He knew.

It didn't matter; Julian Bashir was nothing if not
professional. He'd deal with the information and do his job
despite any personal conflicts he might have with a fellow
officer.

Garak knew that. He knew what to expect. He also knew that
eventually the doctor might even bring himself to be
somewhat civil to him, at least when they were in the
presence of others, but it was cold comfort.

It certainly didn't relieve the knot of pain which had been
building in his chest ever since he had discovered that
everything he had experienced for the last several months
was nothing but a lie.

---

"Computer, halt turbolift." Bashir glared at Worf, his arms
crossed as he leaned back against the turbolift walls.
"Commander," he snapped, "perhaps you'd like to explain some
things to me."

"You have spoken to Mr. Garak, I presume," Worf said.

"Yes, I have. Was he telling the truth?"

The Klingon's face darkened. "I am uncertain as to exactly
what he has told you-"

"He said he spent the last three months in a 'relationship'
with the Founder," he said, unable to keep a snide, surly
tone out of his voice.

"As far as I know, that is an accurate account." Worf
straightened his shoulders. "Doctor, allow me to be frank. I
ordered Mr. Garak to disclose the information to you
privately as soon as it was possible for him to do so. I
felt you needed to be informed by him specifically, as I do
not consider it appropriate to discuss the personal
relationships of my subordinate officers, nor do I feel it
necessary to concern myself with them unless, as in this
instance, they interfere with duty. Your relationship with
Mr. Garak before this incident is also none of my business."

"None of your-" He stared open-mouthed at Worf. Relationship
//before// this incident? Did Worf think-

"However," he continued, "I must remind you that we are
currently on a mission. The future of Bajor and of the
Federation may depend on our ability to complete it. I
require your full attention to the task at hand. One of the
reasons I asked Mr. Garak to speak with you now was to allow
you time to...digest the implications of what had happened
before we arrived on Bajor."

"You mean the fact that everyone thinks Garak and I are
engaged to be married."

"In part." Worf's face was unreadable.

He ran a hand over his eyes. If there was more to it, he'd
find out eventually, he realized, but Worf had a point: they
were on a mission. "Of course," he finally said. "It's just
that - Commander, you were in that hellhole for less than 16
hours if I recall correctly. I was in there for over three
months, but so much has changed that I feel as if I've ended
up in another mirror universe."

"That is understandable," Worf replied. "I only ask as your
superior officer that you attend to the mission at hand with
your full concentration."

He nodded, forcing himself to keep calm. "There's just one
thing. Tell me," and Bashir searched Worf's face carefully,
"did the Founder harm anyone that you know of? Medically or
otherwise? It may have implications for the mission," he
added quickly.

"No personnel that I know of have been physically harmed,"
he said. "The Founder did perform brain surgery on Captain
Sisko-"

Bashir swore under his breath.

"-but I have not heard of any other situations that might
have arisen."

"Thank God," he breathed. "I'll have to examine the Captain
as soon as we return, though. The Founder might have planned
to destabilize Bajor by harming him; sometimes the symptoms
of a brain injury can develop over time." He sighed. "I just
keep asking myself: why didn't Garak notice? It just - why
the hell would he think-"

Worf held up his hand to stop him, "Doctor, I agree that you
have been dishonored by this ptaQ," he said, growling the
last word, "but for now I must insist that for the sake of
the mission you leave unfocused and inappropriate anger
behind. Seek to avenge yourself only on the perpetrator and
not on another of his victims." He gave Bashir a sympathetic
look, or what Bashir supposed passed for a sympathetic look
from a Klingon. "Although I understand your...discomfort at
the concept of an intimate relationship with Mr. Garak, your
current state of agitation would be detrimental to the
mission were it to continue and, in my opinion, is
unjustified. As much as it pains me to say this, Mr. Garak
has acted honorably toward all involved. Before he knew of
the Founder's true identity, I also assure you that his
feelings toward that creature were also genuine and appeared
to be reciprocated."

Bashir allowed that to sink in, his body numb with a
conflict of emotions.

"You were not the only victim in this deception, doctor," he
continued. "Garak was also dishonored by the treachery of
the Founder. Channel your rage and use it to make the
Founder answer for his crime, but I will not have you attack
Mr. Garak in front of the other members of this crew.
Understood?"

"Aye, sir," he replied, the muscle in his jaw working. He
hadn't been planning on attacking Garak but, again, Worf was
right: Garak wasn't the villain here, and the Founder had to
be stopped. There was more at stake than just his
embarrassment and wounded pride.

"If you need a moment to compose yourself," Worf started,
but Bashir held up his hand.

"I'm a soldier first, Commander," he said. "I can still do
my job."

"Very well. Bridge."

As the turbolift doors opened, Worf turned to the doctor.
"Dr. Bashir, please man the science console. Mr. Garak, take
the helm alongside Mr. Kalenna."

Garak nodded tersely and rose, his eyes avoiding Bashir's.
Worf sat at the command chair and settled in comfortably.

Despite himself Bashir kept glancing in Garak's direction,
again wondering what all this meant. Especially Worf's
words: 'your relationship with Mr. Garak before this
incident'. What did that mean? Did Worf think he and Garak
had been lovers before the Founder kidnapped him? Or did it
just mean that he had seen the potential of that
relationship? He snorted to himself: if Worf had seen it,
residents of adjacent sectors - hell, Keiko's bonsai plants
- had probably seen it as well.

It was ridiculous, he thought, as he punched in a series of
commands and began to scan the area. Worf probably got the
idea from Jadzia, whose main goal in life sometimes appeared
to be spreading as much gossip about her colleagues as
possible. But where would she get the idea? Yes, he admitted
reluctantly, he had noticed that Garak was an attractive man
and he had considered pursuing something physical with him,
but he had quickly changed his mind after realizing just how
dangerous the man could be. It didn't mean anything; he'd
felt that way about other individuals in his life and in
this case he was certain he hadn't been obvious. Or perhaps
he just hadn't been as discreet or as clever as he thought
he'd been. After all, the idea of being with another man was
hardly anathema to him. It was the rest of it. It was the
idea that Garak could love him so completely-

Not him, he corrected himself: that thing pretending to be
him. The soulless doppelganger that stole his life.

He wasn't going to pretend that it didn't hurt, though. He
had to wonder: how much of Garak's love had been for that
thing and how much had been for him? It didn't take a
genetically enhanced genius to notice that Garak had been
attracted to him. But there was a vast span between wanting
to take a man to bed and wanting to spend your life with
him.

His eyes rested on Garak again. It was wrong to be angry, he
knew, but he simply couldn't shut off his emotions that
easily. He was angry, partly because Garak hadn't noticed
but mainly at himself fornever having the guts to have
tried. And his chance was gone. Not only had he lost a
potential lover, no matter how unlikely that possibility had
seemed to him 26 hours ago, he'd also lost a friend. If he
were in Garak's position, he'd never want to see Julian
Bashir's face again.

---

//Captain! Thank you so much for taking my call. I apologize
for the lateness of the hour.//

Sisko adjusted the belt on his robe and sat down in front of
the comm. "Not at all, Vedek Merel. It's always good to hear
from you. What can I do for you this evening?"

//I am planning a trip to the station and wondered if you
would join me in the morning to bless the Temple on your
station. I realize you're busy, but...// she said, her smile
gentle and warm as she looked at him from the screen.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but unfortunately I have to remain in Ops
tomorrow. We're in the middle of a drill right now, and-"

//Normally I wouldn't be so insistent, Captain, but my
schedule is such that this is the only time I can get away
from Bajor right now.//

Although her voice was relaxed and even, Sisko caught her
use of his title of 'captain' instead of 'emissary'. "I'll
see what I can do. Is there anything else you need?"

//That will be enough, Emissary, thank you.// Merel paused,
then said, //It's a shame Mr. Garak won't be there. I
haven't seen him since my niece's funeral. The last time I
spoke to him, though, he said everyone was fine and in good
health.//

Garak, you clever bastard, Sisko thought silently. "We are,
yes. I hope to have Mr. Garak back on board very soon. When
he returns I'll be happy to pass along your message."

//No need. I'm sure I'll see him soon,// she said, her eyes
meeting his steadily.

Confirmation. "I'll meet you in the Sanctuary first thing in
the morning, Vedek. Good evening."

//Blessed are the Prophets whose light shines upon you,
Emissary. Good night.//

Sisko leaned back into his chair and rubbed a hand over his
bald head, breaking into a grin. If Garak and Worf were
back, that meant they had the Defiant. Even with Gilhouly's
team still more than a day away, they might have a fighting
chance.

The captain suddenly froze. He would have to wait until
tomorrow to find out who the Founder was on his team.

He could only hope that whoever it was, they wouldn't
execute whatever plan they had concocted. Until he knew
exactly who Worf and Garak had found when they followed that
signal into the Gamma Quadrant, they weren't safe.

None of them were.

---

Unlike the monastery at Belava, Hendrikspool Monastery was
not an orphanage. It was a retreat where the majority of
members had taken strict vows of silence and had sworn off
of any modern comforts except the bare minimum of hot and
cold water and an emergency comm system. Their purpose in
doing this was to achieve a sense of peace and
self-reflection. This worked in their favor since
Hendrikspool was located on a remote, rocky island in the
center of the North Balsak Sea. The only way in or out was
by boat or shuttle and the only occupants of the island were
the prylars.

The monk in charge welcomed them with a hushed voice as he
explained the rules and terms of their stay. They would not
be allowed in the actual sanctuary except on Fridays, when
they could take communion with the brothers. They would be
housed in a collection of cabins outside the walls of the
monastery for the entirety of their stay. The cabins were
there to house secular visitors who wished to visit the
island and live without modern conveniences for a time.

Obviously they didn't often get a lot of visitors, Garak had
thought as the monk continued to deliver his instructions in
a low voice.

They could wander the island as they wished and make use of
the kitchen and dining house set aside for visitors, but
would not meet with any of the brothers and sisters who were
sheltered within the Sanctuary walls. Two of the prylars,
Brother Nelem and Brother Gar, would be available to the
guests if they needed anything, and the dining cabin had a
working subspace comm unit but no replicators.

Like Belava, Hendrikspool was completely self-sufficient.
Grains and root vegetables, the mainstay of the prylars'
diet, were grown in the silty soil surrounding the
monastery, and seafood was harvested from the surrounding
ocean. The larder of the kitchen was stocked and would be
replenished when needed. They were free to use the boats and
tackle provided and could stay as long as they wished with
the understanding that they would clean up after themselves
and not disturb the other inhabitants.

It was perfect. Remote, quiet, and on the far side of Bajor
so it was unlikely anyone on the station, especially the
Founder, would look for them there.

It was also cold, blood-curdlingly so. They had landed the
Defiant on a flat stretch of rock outside of the buildings
that encircled the high walls of Hendrikspool Sanctuary.
Cold blasts of air from the sea had torn right through the
uniform Garak had once thought quite warm.

It was six hours earlier in Hendrikspool than in Dakhur or
on Deep Space Nine, so it was the middle of the night at the
monastery when they arrived. Prylar Fin, the head monk, had
informed them that the Ranjen had only told him that they
required a discreet place to stay and that he was to
personally see to their needs. The ranjen had gone on to say
that he and the Vedek would be by in the morning to see
them.

They were then led to a large building in the center of a
circle of cabins and served a hot meal of groat soup and
salted fish accompanied by crusty mapa bread, Bajoran ale,
and a dessert which consisted of a dense cake topped with
sliced moba fruit and a sweet cream sauce. It was simple but
filling and surprisingly good. The dining hall wasn't much
warmer than it was outside, though, so Garak had eaten
quickly and retired to his room.

Besides, he thought, the only thing colder than the
temperature outside and in were the looks the doctor kept
throwing at him as they all gathered at the long dining
table and ate in silence.

After he had entered his two-room cabin he inspected his
temporary quarters.

These monks, unlike those at the Ministry of the Forgotten
Children, were less interested in creating a home than they
were in seeking solitude and quiet reflection. There was
little in the way of luxury; just a single-sized bed with a
firm mattress, a fireplace with a stack of wood, and a
bathroom which had a basic shower, sink and toilet.

The good news was that the bathroom had real running water
that was blessedly hot, and after Garak had quickly lit a
roaring fire to warm the bedroom, he stripped off his
uniform and jumped into the steam-filled shower.

Garak stood under the hot spray and moaned as the warmth of
the water penetrated his bones.

He hadneverbeen so tired in his entire life. It wasn't just
the fact that he had been awake for days now, it was
everything. All the emotions, all the pain just wore on him
to the point where he was now almost numb.

Prophets, what a fucking mess, he thought with unaccustomed
vulgarity. What did this whole thing mean? Even if they did
manage to get through this mess, then what? He wasn't even
thinking about his love life. No, the idea of confronting
that right now made his stomach want to turn itself inside
out. What he was wondering about was everything else; his
job, his home, his...everything. The real Julian Bashir
couldn't even stand to be in the same room with him. How
were they going to work together if he took the job
Starfleet was offering? Could he even think about leaving
the station? Would a transfer be possible? And the
children...

Garak laid his hands against the shower wall and clenched
his fists. Kela and Lewin: he hadn't even had time to think
of how this was going to affect the adoption proceedings. It
was difficult to qualify for single-parent adoption on Bajor
at the best of times, and being a Cardassian, even one who
was an officer with Starfleet...

Suddenly a crush of emotions and thoughts rushed through him
and he felt the panic build in his chest. His first instinct
was to find the nearest comm unit and speak to Merel or
someone in Bajoran Social Services, but Merel was likely on
the station by now. And even if it hadn't the middle of the
night in Hendrikspool, he couldn't risk his inquiries
getting back to the Founder.

The Founder.

Garak punched the wall in frustration, feeling the tiles
crack under his fists. "Damn you, Julian!"

Or whatever your name is, Garak thought.

He suddenly had the urge to laugh and cry at the same time.
He felt as though he were going insane. He couldn't think
about this right now. He just couldn't deal with it. After
this was settled he'd figure something out: he always did,
right?

He finished his shower, quickly washing his hair and body,
then stepped out into the cool bathroom and wrapped a towel
around his waist. After he brushed his teeth he walked into
the bedroom and picked up the suitcase Julian had packed for
him.

He sat it on the bed and just stared at it, unable to even
open it.

He and Worf had both scanned their bags for tracking devices
and bugs before leaving the station. Both had been clean,
but the contents of the bag still felt...tainted to him. He
had replicated a uniform on the Defiant, so he supposed he
could replicate a set of pajamas – if he could bring himself
to brave the cold sea air again. His only other option was
to sleep in the nude, but the room was still bitterly cold
even with the roaring fire and several blankets on the small
bed.

"Better this than going back out in to that damned
salt-spray, I suppose," he sighed as he unzipped the bag. He
was just reaching for a clean set of underwear when a knock
came at the door. Tightening the towel at his waist, Garak
called out, "Enter."

When Worf walked into the room, Garak was actually
surprised. Some part of him had thought, hoped, it would be
the doctor. But no, it was far too soon for them to salvage
anything even close to a friendship right now.

"Commander," he said.

"I wished to discuss our plans for tomorrow with you if that
is all right," Worf said, glancing around the room,
obviously uncomfortable with Garak's state of undress.

"Allow me to dress and we'll discuss it." Garak said,
grabbing some underwear, a t-shirt, socks, and a pair of
heavy sweats before retreating to the bathroom.

"Of course," Worf replied, obviously relieved not to have to
talk to him while he was practically naked.

Garak shook his head as he began to pull on his clothes.
What was it Julian once said? When he made a joke one day
about the Klingon's obvious discomfort with their sexual
relationship? Worf was so tight, he squeaked. Julian then
went on to snicker about his penchant for drinking prune
juice and Garak merely rolled his eyes in distaste.

He stopped. That hadn't been Julian, he reminded himself
again as he pulled on his socks. He had to stop thinking of
the thing as a person. From now on, he would think of the
destroyer of his life as just 'the Founder'.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Worf got straight to the
point. "The Defiant has taken on noticeable damage and we
have obviously not been gone long enough to have been to
Earth and back," the Klingon said. "If we tell Sisko who the
Founder is and he arrests him, we can't know if he has
allies on the station or what his plan was."

"You have some ideas on what our next move should be?"
Garak asked, drying his hair with a hand towel as he sat on the
corner of the bed.

Worf shifted his stance a bit, again looking away from
Garak, and said, "We'll tell the captain to inform Jadzia
and The Founder that we're returning early because we were
attacked by hostiles; marauders. We had to turn back because
we took damage to our warp engines and lost long-range comm
capabilities."

"Sounds good. We can sabotage the subspace in the morning to
back up our cover story. We can distort our warp signature
and go to cloak until we're out of range then head back as
if we're coming back from our original heading," Garak said
with a nod. "When we get there, we can maintain the illusion
until we trap the Founder and subdue him. Unfortunately, the
only holding cells we have capable of detaining a Founder
are in Constable Odo's brig. We may have to suggest to the
captain that he bring Chief O'Brien into the fold so he can
come up with a way to create a force field around the
shapeshifter after we've determined he isn't carrying a
remote device on his person."

"There is another option," Worf said, his eyes locking onto
Garak's.

Garak wasn't naive. He didn't need to ask what Worf was
referring to. "You want to kill him."

"No." Worf didn't blink. "You should be the one to kill
him."

Garak didn't answer him.

"Tactically, it would be the best plan," he explained. "The
Founder believes you do not know who he truly is. He won't
be prepared for an attack. You can wait until you are in
your quarters and set your phaser to maximum."

"I thought the whole point of coming in under a cover story
was for us to discover the Founder's true plan?" Garak
asked, his voice cool and nonchalant as if discussing murder
was an everyday occurrence.

Which, he admitted silently, was something that had once in
his life been a very common occurrence indeed, but this...

"We'll transport the doctor off the Defiant and into a
secure part of the station," Worf said. "I will ensure that
the Defiant's transporter log is automatically erased in
case the Founder or any of his possible confederates care to
check. I will also ask the Captain to take the station's
internal sensors offline for a few minutes; this will give
you the opportunity to fire your phaser without triggering
an alarm. When the shapeshifter is dead, we'll switch the
Founder for the real Dr. Bashir, then wait to see if any of
his fellow changelings reveal themselves to him." He fixed
Garak with a steady look; his tone was cold and unrelenting.
"This may not seem entirely... honorable to you, but it is
the only way to secure the station and ensure that the
shapeshifter does not see through our ruse. If we could meet
this creature in fair combat it would be one thing, but
their kind do not fight in the open like men. They hide and
use others to do their killing. Given their grave cowardice,
we are justified in employing these methods."

"You may have a point, and I do not disagree with you;
however, I thought the Federation frowned on cold-blooded
murder." Garak's eyes locked on the Klingon.

"They may, but you are also now a citizen of the Federation
and are sworn to protect its people and interests by any
means at your disposal. It is your responsibility to see to
it the station is kept secure, just as much as it is mine.
Or have you already forgotten the discussion we had earlier
aboard the Defiant?" Worf challenged.

"I know my responsibilities and I also know where my
loyalties lie, but the captain may not agree with your
methods of keeping the station secure," Garak answered. "He
tends to believe in due process, if you'll recall."

"This changeling has dishonored you," Worf stated.

"I thought you once said I had no honor?"

Worf appeared contrite. "I...was mistaken." He took a
breath. "You have proved yourself, Garak. You saved my life
and proved to be a worthy companion in battle. I owe you a
blood debt."

"And your idea of paying back that debt is to petition me to
commit murder?" Garak asked.

"It would not be murder," Worf objected. "It would be an act
of self-defense committed to protect the lives of hundreds,
possibly millions of people."

"Semantics," Garak said, then held up his hand when Worf
began to object. "No, Mr. Worf, don't bother. I had already
formed a similar plan before you even knocked on my door."

"So you are going to kill him?"

"I am," Garak said, his face hard.

"Do you...?" Worf's face trailed off and he looked
uncomfortable once again.

"I never thought I'd be standing in the middle of a bedroom
discussing my innermost feelings with you, Mr. Worf. Then
again, you're the last man I would have expected to plot out
an assassination. To answer your question," Garak said,
looking up, "feelings don't turn on and off like a switch,
even for a person such as myself. However, I will do what I
have to do."

Worf nodded then walked to the door. When he reached for the
doorknob, however, he stopped and turned to face Garak. "It
takes a brave man to face his fears. It takes a braver man
to rise above himself and do what must be done for the
greater good. You have proven to be both this day."

Garak wasn't sure how to answer him, so in the end he said
nothing as Worf left the room and shut the door behind him.

Garak shut off the light and crawled into his bed, willing
sleep to come, but it wouldn't. Worf's words kept echoing in
his brain. Emar would have laughed and made a comment about
how Garak's life was beginning to echo the saga of
The NeverEnding Sacrifice.

It didn't feel very funny to him, however. Twice before he
had loved and twice he had lost his lovers for the greater
good; for honor and duty.

And now he was going to lose a third. Only this time it
wouldn't be stray phaser fire or a cave-in that killed his
lover, but Garak himself.

As he closed his eyes, images of times long past flooded his
mind.

Tzenketh.

The very sound of the word filled his mouth with the taste
of bile.

---

Bashir closed the door behind him, leaning against the cool
wall of the monastery cell for a moment before removing his
uniform and crawling into bed. Worf had given him four hours
to rest, which was good because he was so tired he could
barely keep his eyes open.

But after ten minutes of tossing and turning he gave up on
sleep. One question kept revolving in his mind, the same
question he had asked Worf: how could Garak have been so
blind?

He snorted a bitter laugh as a cool breeze passed through
the window and over the thin blankets that covered him. Of
course he'd been blind to the change, Jules, he told
himself: you're the one who worked very hard to ensure that
nobody, not even Garak, could see beneath the surface to the
man beneath it all. So how was Garak supposed to make a
comparison? Garak didn't know what kind of person you were,
your real likes and dislikes, quirks, insecurities and
fears: he only knew what you wanted to show him, which was a
brilliant (but not too brilliant) scientist who sometimes
got carried away with himself.

Sometimes he wondered if there was still a real man beneath
it all, though. He'd spent so much of his life hiding the
inner man away, even from himself, that 'the real Julian
Bashir' might have died and he'dneverhave noticed. It
wouldn't be the first time he had died on the inside.

He punched the pillow and turned on his side. Back when he
had been stuck in isolation, he'd often thought of Garak.
Tain had said he 'couldn't not come', and even Martok had
become convinced (rightly so, as it turned out) that Garak
would rescue them. But Bashir's thoughts on the enigmatic
Cardassian had been less practical. He'd wished he'd been
closer to Garak, but at the same time he'd justified his
choice not to pursue a relationship with him as a sensible
precaution. How could a man with a secret like his trust a
man like Elim Garak?

The Founder did, a small voice in his head answered.

But did he? he asked back. Did the Founder really trust
Garak, he wondered, or was it all some kind of elaborate
ruse? Had he sought Garak out for some reason?

It suddenly hit him: Garak had twice attempted to destroy
the Founders' homeworld, once with Tain, once by himself
using the Defiant. He'd been convicted of attempted genocide
and sentenced to six months in the DS9 lockup for the last
attempt. The sentence had been so short that Bashir
suspected someone in Starfleet was really punishing him for
failing. Of course if he had succeeded he, Bashir, and the
crew of the Defiant would be dead, but given what the
Founders might be planning...

As his eyes closed of their own accord, his last thought
before dropping into a dreamless sleep was that even if they
prevented the Founder from committing whatever horror he was
planning, the Dominion had still had their revenge on Elim
Garak.

---
Chapter Seven: Love and Loss
---

Almost seven years had passed since that first winter he'd
spent on Bajor, Garak mused as he lay in bed in the cold
monastery cell, shivering against the bitter wind that
rattled the window. If only he had known where it would have
taken him, he never would have made the mistake of crossing
Enabran Tain.

As he closed his eyes, the memories of what had happened
seven years earlier began to play in his mind.

---

"Procal Dukat has been executed."

"I heard," Garak answered easily as he pretended to be
engrossed in a report.

"You must be proud of yourself," Tain said, lighting his
pipe. The sickly sweet scent of the herbs always made Garak
want to sneeze, but he refrained from saying anything.
Despite Tain's casual demeanor, it was obvious his mentor
was angry with him.

"I just did my job, Tain." He glanced up from his PADD.
"Just the way you taught me to: thoroughly."

"I taught you that?" Tain asked in exaggerated surprise. "I
taught you to betray your own master by bringing down the
father of one of the most powerful up-and-coming politicians
in all of the Cardassian Empire?"

"I did not betray you," Garak insisted softly.

"I beg to differ." Tain walked over to a houseplant at the
corner of Garak's office and pinched some soil between his
fingers, sniffing it lightly. "I told you to drop the
investigation against Zem and when it led you to Dukat, I
told you to bury the evidence. Both times you ignored me and
now," he said as he smiled at his protégé, "now, I am no
longer just a retired spy-master enjoying his golden years
in the Arawath Colony, but a virtual exile." He brushed the
soil off his hands and gestured toward the leafy green
foliage. "Your soil is too alkaline. You need to adjust the
mix before you burn the roots."

"The soil is fine," Garak said a little impatiently. "And
you are hardly in exile, Tain. Look around you - you're
standing in my office. In Cardassia."

"There are many kinds of exile, dear boy. Physical exile,
emotional exile," and he fixed Garak with a steady gaze,
"political exile."

"Dukat is on his way out. The Bajoran occupation
is ending soon. After all, he and his cronies can't squeeze
blood from a stone. He's been painted with the same brush as
Zem and his father. He won't go any further up the chain of
command; his credibility is tarnished."

Tain snorted. "Credibility? Since when have Cardassian
politics ever relied on the honesty of their politicians? I
didn't raise you to be that naive, Elim."

"You didn't raise me, Enabran. You programmed me. There's a
difference," Garak said stiffly.

"Ah, so now we've come to the root of this sudden streak of
rebelliousness that's taken hold over you." Tain clucked his
tongue and sat down on the couch across from Garak's desk.
"Are you suddenly getting in touch with your inner child,
Elim? Rebelling because I didn't kiss your booboos or read
you bedtime stories?"

"Perhaps it's because I no longer work for you, Tain," Garak
said with a dangerous smile. "You're retired, remember?"

"I see." Tain nodded sagely. "So it's not a quest for
self-reflection; it's self-delusion that has you turned
about."

"Aren't you late?" Garak drawled, tapping on his PADD. "I
thought all you retirees had lunch at the social club this
time of day?"

Tain's blue eyes flashed with anger, then calmed. "You need
to be taught a lesson, boy. And I think it's long overdue."

"I haven't been a boy for a very long time, Enabran. You
should know; you're the one who made sure my 'childhood' was
as brief as possible," Garak said without looking up from
his PADD. "As for lessons, you taught me very well. The one
you taught me best of all was never to let sentiment stand in
the way of success."

"Enjoy your trip, Elim," Tain said with an enigmatic smile
before closing the door behind him.

---

"So you're the new Black Aggie here to help me keep the
Jories obedient, eh?"

Garak eyed Gul Koril with distaste. "I'm here to interrogate
suspected members of the Bajoran Resistance, yes." What he
didn't say was that a low-level Obsidian Order file clerk
was better suited to this job than he was.

Elim Garak was the heir apparent to head the OO, but a week
ago he had received orders, which sent him to Bajor - again.
This time his job was to interrogate members of a Resistance
Cell being held in the Brakar Prison near the Tzenketh
mountain range.

It was a ridiculous assignment for someone of his experience
and clearance level and it had Tain's fingerprints all over
it. He was teaching him a lesson, all right, just like he
had threatened a month earlier. Tzenketh Province was a
backwater strip of countryside on a backwater planet and, to
make matters worse, it was the middle of winter.

He knew what Tain expected him to do. One comm call with him
apologizing for insulting him and he'd be back home sitting
in front of a fire and drinking a rare vintage of kanaar.
Until he did that, however, he was to 'assist' the odious
Gul Koril with his Bajoran terrorist problem.

He felt like rolling his eyes. In less than a year the
Occupation would be over, but the Bajorans were too stupid
to see it. Already troops were pulling out. The planet no
longer held any strategic value to Cardassia; the natural
minerals and ores had been stripped and, other than a few
field commanders who had grown attached to their comfort
women, no sane Cardassian would want to stay here.

It was cold, wet, and boring. These people had no culture,
no literature. If they weren't speaking rapturously about
their invisible gods, they were cursing the 'spoonheads'.

Spoonheads. He felt like laughing the first time he'd heard
the insult. The whole race was childlike and backward. He
was only grateful he had never had to deal with Bajorans or
their little planet - that is, until recently.

And now he would be here until he gave Tain his pound of
flesh.

His mouth tightened at the thought.

"Don't know what methods you use to get what you need from
the Jories, but I don't much care either," Koril said,
rubbing his obese stomach through his uniform. "Only thing I
have to insist on is you don't get to fuck 'em before I get
my go. You can have the leftovers; the ones who I'm bored
with. Everything else is fine by me. You do as I say and
we'll get along fine."

Garak felt like he needed a bath.

Gul Maros Koril was the product of what happened when a
Great House failed to regularly marry outside its small
circle of cousin Houses. Inbred and rich, he had neither the
brains for university nor the need to ever work for
anything. The patriarch of his house, his brother Delam, had
recognized his sibling for what he was, a sexual deviant
with violent tendencies, and sent him away from their home
in Culat to a place and a career where he could not damage
their family name.

Koril had turned the prison into his own private little
fiefdom. Every Bajoran was his 'subject' to be used in any
way he desired. He had an orchestra made up entirely of
Bajoran prisoners who played music from the Imperial period
every night as he ate his dinner. If one of them hit a wrong
note, they were executed.

He also sexually abused his inmates. Unfortunately, this was
not uncommon, although it was officially frowned upon. Such
unions were not only seen as being beneath a member of the
Cardassian Great Houses, but often led to the birth of
hybrid bastards, which was illegal. However, out in the
boondocks of Bajor, many a Gul had his fair share of
bastards scampering about. Dukat had at least three or four
that he knew of and the only reason Koril didn't was because
he preferred his flesh young to the point of prepubescence.

He was utterly loathsome.

It was the perfect punishment, Garak thought grudgingly, and
Tain knew it. Either Garak would beg him for forgiveness
just to escape this hellhole or he'd wind up killing Koril
and give Tain leverage. Even if he made it look like an
accident, Tain would know the truth.

"I don't go about raping my prisoners, nor do I tolerate it
from my subordinates," Garak said quietly. "I do my job,
which is to extract information: nothing more, nothing
less."

Koril sneered at him. "I don't like the way you just phrased
that, 'Garak'. I hope you don't get it in your head that I'm
a subordinate to anyone, much less yourself."

"Of course not," Garak said smoothly. "I'm merely reassuring
you of my professionalism."

Koril wasn't buying it. "I don't like you, Garak. I don't
like your attitude."

"What a pity," Garak said with a slight nod. "And here we've
just met."

Koril narrowed his pig-like eyes. "According to this set of
orders I was given, your job is to assist me in any manner I
see fit in regards to the interrogation of prisoners and the
facilitation of my job to break the backbone of the
terrorist cell occupying the Tzenketh Province." Koril
smiled. "Isn't that correct?"

"It is," Garak agreed.

"In that case, report to Commander Sil. He'll show you
exactly what I need you to do for me."

He knew he shouldn't have let his contempt of Koril show,
just as he knew it was foolish to take on Tain's pride, but
he'd done it anyway.

And now he was going to pay for it.

---

Commander Sil wasn't the jail warden or even a guard. He was
the head of maintenance.

For the first week, Koril had Garak doing menial tasks
around the prison: laundry duty, double guard shifts, and
interrogating 'suspected' terrorists who were more often
than not homeless drunks and drug addicts crawling with
mites and covered in their own filth. Still, he could not
lodge a complaint about this because Tain had cleverly
designed his orders in such a way that, had Koril asked
Garak to clean the shit from his boot heels, he'd have had
to grab a rag and scrub.

It was humiliating to say the least, but he held on.

The more Koril took out his rage on him, the more determined
Garak was to not give in to Tain. Even if he were here a
year, it didn't matter; the end was in sight and he knew it.
Once the Occupation officially ended, his orders were to
report back to Headquarters and continue on. He was
determined to show his old master that he could outlast him
once and for all.

It was two weeks after his arrival on Bajor that he met a
young man by the name of Emar Varras, a junior officer
attached to the prison who had also incurred the wrath of
Koril and was assigned to the guardhouse with Garak on a
particularly cold Bajoran night.

Emar was utterly charming. Their guard shack was on the far
side of the camp, far from any of the cells, and butted
against a rock face. There was literally nothing to guard
except a chain link fence and a broken-down heating unit.
Teeth chattering as they clung to their cups of hot broth
and stared out over the frigid nothingness, they began to
talk. It started out as just a casual conversation to pass
the time, but as the night sped by, Garak became more and
more intrigued by the young man.

Emar Varras was just twenty years old, the third son of a
Gul who insisted he follow in his footsteps. Emar's mother
was a researcher for the Cultural Attache and from a noble
house so Emar was given every advantage a young man from
Cardassia could ever want. He was sent to the finest
schools, went to all the best parties, and was quite the
lover of literature, although he despised music.

Especially classical music of the Imperial period.

That was what got him assigned to guard duty. Koril, wanting
to rub elbows with his newest young officer who happened to
be the favorite son of a powerful Gul, invited Emar to dine
with him one evening while his Bajoran Orchestra played.
Afterward, when Koril had asked him what he thought of the
musical selections for that evening, he had made the mistake
of answering him honestly.

The next night he found himself sitting in a guard shack
engaged in a literary debate with Garak.

It was the beginning of the end.

Garak had never intended to wind up in Emar's bed, but after a
month of scorching debate, one night the young man stopped
in the middle of their discussion on the merits of the
satirical works of Sarno and said, "So, when are you
planning on asking me to join you in your quarters?"

Garak shrugged. "I wasn't, actually. After my shift I just
go straight to bed usually. I'm usually too cold and tired
to entertain anyone and I'm afraid the only furniture I have
is a bed. We could go to the officer's lounge if you like,
though."

"I didn't ask to go to the officer's lounge, Garak," Emar
said slowly. "I asked to join you in your quarters."

"But I don't-" Garak stopped and stared at his companion.

"Do you always take this long to realize that you're being
seduced, or am I just not your type?" Emar asked with a
grin.

"Emar...I'm twice your age," Garak said quietly.

"Your cock still works though, right?" he asked.

Garak began to sputter out a response but Emar leaned in and
kissed him. After several seconds of feeling the younger
Cardassian's mouth caress his own, Garak had completely
forgotten what he had been about to say.

He forgot everything in fact.

The cold, their age difference, his hatred of his
assignment...all he knew was Emar Varras had the sweetest
mouth he had ever tasted in his entire life.

That was the beginning of their love affair.

For six months they lived in one another's back pockets.
They worked together, ate together, and slept together every
night. Emar had requested to become Garak's bunkmate after
the first week, explaining that because he worked the night
shift with Garak they could sleep on the same schedule and
not worry about keeping each other up.

But they did keep one another up. Every day they made love
together and then talked until late in the afternoon, long
after they should have been asleep. They talked about
everything and anything, and after Emar confessed to Garak
he was falling in love with him, they even discussed their
future together.

"My father said that after I serve a year on Bajor, he'll
see to it that I receive a posting anywhere I want. I'll be
a full Gul in less than five years," Emar promised, his
mouth swollen from Garak's kisses after a morning of heady
lovemaking. "I've told him about you and he wrote me back
saying your record is very impressive. He agreed with me
that your skills are wasted here. After my year is up, you
can come with me and join my father's command. He said he
can always use a good operative. He does a lot of work with
Military Intelligence."

"I already have a job, my love," Garak had said quietly as
he caressed Emar's flat, muscular stomach. "After my
assignment here, I'm to report back to Prime."

"But you don't have to!" Emar kissed him passionately. "Stay
with me, Elim. Be with me."

Perhaps it was the cold or the frustration he felt toward
being on Bajor as nothing more than a well paid night
security officer, but Garak agreed to allow Emar to tell his
father he would be interested in transferring to his
command.

It wasn't long before Tain caught wind of his plans and
decided to again step in.

Gul Koril had called Garak into his office and announced,
"Command has decided that I haven't been using
your...'talents' effectively. They've ordered you to report
back to Cardassia Prime in one week. However," Koril
grimaced, "until that time you are to interview and
interrogate any prisoners which have been deemed as possible
threats to the safety and lives of Cardassian citizens.
Dismissed!"

In other words, Garak mused as he left the Gul's office,
Tain heard about the inquiries Gul Varras was making and
decided his pride wasn't as valuable as losing his best
agent to a competing intelligence agency.

He thought about going ahead with the plans Emar had been
making for them anyway, but decided against it. As an
Obsidian Agent again in the good graces of Tain and having
proved he was not afraid of his old master, he now had some
leverage. Tain had blinked first.

He could bring Emar with him. Bring him into the Order or,
if Emar chose, he could leave the service altogether and
Garak would support him in any profession he chose. Emar had
talked incessantly of becoming a writer but knew there was
no money in such a profession so he had joined the military
in accordance with his father's wishes.

Although homosexuality wasn't looked on with a great deal of
favor in Cardassian society, Garak's position in the OO
would grant him immunity from the professional backlash that
might come of such a union and Emar was of a powerful enough
house that society was obligated to accept them. Perhaps
they'd even marry. Gul Varras knew of their relationship and
did not object. In fact, he had been very pleased with his
son's choice in a mate. Snagging the protégé of Enabran Tain
meant, in his mind, that his son had developed a sense of
strategy after all. Uniting his house with the house of
Tain, even if it was through his unclaimed bastard, would be
quite a coup for him.

When he lay in his young lover's arms the next morning and
told him of his plans, though, Emar wasn't completely
pleased. "It's not that I mind you going back, Elim, but I
still have six months here. We'll be apart for so long."

"I'll talk to your father. He'll have you reassigned," Garak
promised.

Emar rolled on his back and rubbed his hand over his
forehead. "I suppose."

Garak looked down at his lover thoughtfully, his head
resting on his palm and he propped himself up on his elbow.
"I thought you hated Bajor."

"I do!" Emar said with a scowl. "The climate is atrocious,
the food is appalling, and these people are stupid and
utterly inferior. I want to leave here desperately!"

"Then come with me," Garak pleaded.

"But I have my duty, both to the position I accepted and to
my father." He looked at Garak sadly. "I don't want to
abandon it."

"Koril is a moron. He shouldn't be left in charge of a
latrine, much less a prison," Garak scoffed. "Your father
will understand."

Emar gave him a crooked smile. "Maybe."

"Not maybe, definitely." Garak smiled and gave him a kiss.

After they parted, Emar's eyes grew dark with concern.
"You're going to be interrogating the prisoners tomorrow?"

"For the rest of the week, not that it will take that long,"
Garak snorted. "If there's even one genuine terrorist in any
of Koril's cells then I'll eat a vole! The man just has
whole crowds of Bajorans arrested, then keeps the ones he
wants to either bed or keep as his personal slaves. When I
get back to Cardassia I'm having that man brought up on any
charge I can make stick. He's utterly incompetent!"

"But you'll still have to interrogate them, right?" Emar
asked.

"Yes," Garak answered carefully. "Why?"

Emar sighed. "It's not that I like the Bajorans. Like I
said, I find them more than a little primitive. But that
doesn't mean I like seeing innocent people tortured or
molested by Koril and his flunkies. Not that you would, but
still, it bothers me."

"You have a sweet heart, my love," Garak said softly as he
laid a kiss on Emar's chest embellishment. "I promise I
won't 'torture' any innocents. As long as they give me the
information I need and they aren't who I'm looking for,
they're free to go."

"You're going to release Koril's pets tomorrow?" Emar asked
wide-eyed.

"Quite a few of them, I suspect," Garak said with a smile.

"Oh, I so want to join you in the interrogations then!"

---

The next morning Emar and Garak began the arduous task of
going through the list of suspected 'terrorists' one by one.
By the end of the first day, Garak was exhausted, famished,
and more than a little disgusted by the foul odor and
condition in which Koril kept the detainees.

As he suspected, none of them were even close to being
considered terrorists. Most of the prisoners he interviewed
were skilled laborers Koril had picked up not for their ties
to the underground cells but for what they could do for him.
Emar had especially enjoyed it when Garak had ordered every
member of Koril's Bajoran Orchestra released on the fact
that there was no evidence that any of them had ever
committed an act of sabotage against the State.

"I guess dinner just won't be the same tonight," Emar said,
chuckling as he watched the last musician exit the gates.

Just as they were about to leave for the day, a guard herded
a dozen or so ragged street urchins into the cell they had
just cleared.

"What's this?" Garak asked, rearing back as the stink
clinging to their bodies assaulted his senses.

"More 'terrorists' for Gul Koril," the guard answered,
slamming the cell door. "Little bastards shit themselves and
rub it in their hair thinking it'll stop Koril from choosing
them as playthings." He grimaced. "We have orders to scrub
them down and then take them up to his quarters for 'private
interrogation'."

Garak looked at the filthy group of Bajoran children, not
one of them older than twelve and the youngest no less than
six. "Release them."

"But Gul Koril gave the order-"

"I said release them!" Garak barked out, eyeing the soldier
with contempt. "I am the representative of the Obsidian
Order here and all interrogations fall under my purview. I
say that not one of these...creatures qualifies as a
legitimate risk to the State. Release them now. They're
stinking up the cells and I don't want them here when I
return in the morning."

"But sir..."

"Unlock the door and empty your pockets," Garak ordered.

The guard obeyed reluctantly then handed Garak the few
strips of latinum he had on him. Garak did the same then
tossed them at the children who were cowering on the floor.
"Take that money and go buy yourselves baths and clean
clothes and the next time Gul Koril comes looking for you,
hide. Spreading filth on yourselves, despite what your
ignorant elders have told you, is not sound strategy for
avoiding a man like Koril." He opened the door wider and
tossed his head. "Go! Before I change my mind."

The children all snatched up the latinum and ran, many of
them muttering 'thank you sir' as they rushed past him,
their foul smell nearly knocking him back on his heels.

"You," he said looking at the guard contemptuously. "Have
your men scrub out this cell from top to bottom then do the
same with every other cell in this prison. I want every
prisoner bathed and given proper toilet facilities before my
associate and I return in the morning. When you are
finished, put in a request to be reimbursed for the latinum
I took off of you, I'll approve the order. Don't get greedy
though, I counted it."

"Yes, sir!" the guard said, snapping to attention.

As they walked back to their quarters, Emar looked at him
strangely.

"What?" he asked finally.

"Nothing," Emar said with a shrug. "I just don't know what
surprised me more: the fact that yesterday you were peeling
potatoes and today you're overriding the orders of a Gul
without a second thought, or that you just casually let go a
dozen prisoners without so much as getting their names."

"They weren't prisoners, they were children," Garak snorted.
"And I let them go because the smell of them turned my
stomach!"

"It wasn't procedure," Emar insisted.

"Nor is rounding up children so a Gul can vent his unnatural
perversions upon them."

"You've just given him a legitimate opening to file a
grievance, Elim."

"Let him!" Garak insisted. "Trust me, he doesn't want to see
the challenge I'd submit in response."

"I hope you're right."

---

"So, this is familiar."

Garak shot his lover a withering glare. "You should rethink
writing drama and try your hand at comedy instead, Emar."

Emar looked around the guard shack and smiled. "At least
it's not cold out tonight."

"Joy."

"I warned you he'd get his revenge, Elim."

"Not quite," Garak corrected him. "It's only for the next
two days and officially it's because one of the guards came
down ill. Apparently, they drew lots and I was 'randomly'
selected to take his shift. It's a nuisance ploy, that's
all. Koril is having a temper tantrum. He knows that the
sooner he lets me do my job the sooner I leave and he can
restock his private brothel."

"If it's of any comfort, the last load of prisoners didn't
smell too bad. I told the guards to make sure they stay that
way when you get back," Emar said with twinkling eyes.

"Go to bed, Emar."

"You sure you don't want me to stay and keep you company?"
he asked.

"Go, before I shoot you."

"Grumpy, aren't we?" Emar said with a laugh. "Goodnight,
Elim."

"Goodnight," Garak huffed as he switched on the ancient
space heater and settled in for a long night.

Around four in the morning, an alarm went off in the far
distance.

//Attention all guard posts! A group of prisoners has
escaped. Be on the lookout for a group of five Bajoran
detainees last seen headed south. Your orders are to hold
the detainees until assistance arrives. Avoid using lethal
force if possible!//

In other words, Garak thought, Koril decided to take
advantage of my 'randomly picked assignment' and gather up
some more toys that got away before he had time to play with
them.

Didn't matter. They were going south and his post was far to
the north of the prison. Garak picked up the thermos Emar
had left him and began to sip his tea once again.

Some movement caught his eye a few moments later; he slowly
put down his drink and reached for his side arm. He had
turned off the lights in the shack because it was a full
moon that night and the red filaments on the heater provided
enough light for him to see his PADD comfortably. He stepped
out of the shack and hid around the corner, watching the
bushes carefully. As he watched, a young Bajoran female
around 18 years of age ran toward the fence and pulled a
laser cutter from her pocket. Just as she began cutting
through the fence, Garak placed his phaser against her
temple.

"Drop it," he commanded softly.

She let the cutter drop without a word and held up her hands
slowly. "I'm unarmed."

"Oh, good. I'll just take your word for it then," Garak said
sarcastically. "Forgive me, my dear, but I'll have to search
you anyway. Hands up and away from your body, bend at the
waist."

Garak ran his hands down her curves and up and down her legs
and back slowly, feeling for any weapons or hidden devices.
When he reached between her legs, she snapped, "So, you're
the type of spoonhead who gets off sticking his fingers in
an unarmed woman's cunt while you hold a phaser to her head?
This must be your lucky night, huh?"

"Trust me, you're not my type," Garak said dryly. "Stand up,
hands behind your back, wrists together. You cross me and
I'll put you down so hard there won't be anything left for
Koril to play with." He cuffed her quickly then swung her
around and backed her against the guard shack. "Breaking out
of your cell must have been a fluke. Anyone who would try to
cut a fence in full view of a guard shack isn't exactly
intelligent."

"The usual guard is sound asleep by now," she shrugged.

Garak looked at her carefully. "I'm not the usual guard."

"I figured that out when you stuck your phaser to my
temple."

Garak looked at the young woman appraisingly. She was older
than he first suspected. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four. Want me to give you my birthday next?"

"Where are your other escapees?"

"Just fuck me or shoot me, spoonhead. I'm not talking."

Garak looked at her carefully. She was, like all Bajorans,
strangely blank-faced and without any sort of embellishments
except the neat row of ridges on her nose. She was also very
plain. She had freckles on her face and plain, mouse-brown
hair and eyes; her figure was slim and unremarkable. Koril's
men might have mistaken her for a much younger girl given
her slim frame and almost insignificant bosom, but he
doubted it.

It seems Koril had finally found a genuine terrorist after
all.

"So the Resistance has decided to invade Koril's little
castle, and to do what? Release some grubby faced children
and musicians?" Garak asked. "Why not assassinate him or
poison his troops? A few street children aren't exactly
valuable to you or your cause."

"Not to you maybe," she snapped. "But then we aren't a bunch
of cold-blooded Cardies who go about raping innocent
children."

"L-let her go!"

Garak turned to see a small child of about seven holding a
makeshift weapon in the form of a sharp stick toward him. "A
friend of yours, perhaps?"

"Get out of here!" the girl ordered the child. "Run!"

"B-but Anwen-"

"Go!"

Another child, a boy of around ten, also emerged from the
bush. "Put down the stick, Hanas."

Garak sighed, "You again. I thought I told you earlier if
Koril's men came back you were to run? At least you took my
advice and bathed first."

"I know you..." the boy said in surprise. "You're the Cardie
who gave us the strips and told us to skin out."

"And apparently you didn't bother to pay attention to
anything but the strips," Garak said, lowering his weapon
but keeping an eye on the woman he had restrained. "There
are supposed to be five of you; where are the other two?"

Two more small children, around six or seven, emerged from
the underbrush.

"Well now, did you all come back hoping to be rearrested so
you could get more latinum or are you just slow of foot?" he
asked archly.

"We never made it out. That guard who you made empty his
pockets had us restrained at the gate and took it all back.
Then he had us hosed down," the smallest child answered
softly, her voice trembling as she stood before Garak.

"I'll discuss that with the guard first thing in the
morning. You-" he said, pulling the woman ahead of him and
forcing her into the shack, "stay here!" he ordered,
clipping her restraints to a hook in the wall so she
couldn't run.

She struggled against her bonds. "Let me go, you pervert! If
you touch those children I swear I'll-!"

"You'll what? Nag me to death?" Garak said, rolling his
eyes. He slapped the button on the console of the guard
shack and released the gate lock. He looked at the children
from the window. "Do you know how to get home?"

"They're just babies! You can't send them wandering through
the woods in the middle of the night!"

"You obviously thought they could make it. I'm certainly not
going to release you just so they have adult supervision, in
any case." Garak turned back to the eldest boy. "Can you
find your way home?" he repeated.

"Yes..." he said reluctantly. "But what about Anwen?"

"Just go, Keeva!" she called from the shack.

"You heard her, go!" Garak ordered, pointing their way to
freedom. "And don't let me see you again! I won't release
you a third time."

The boy quickly nodded and herded the children out of the
gate. As soon as they were clear, Garak locked it again,
then sat and waited until he was sure the boy and the other
children were well away. He turned toward the woman and
assessed her critically.

"I guess I must be your type after all," she sneered.

"Hardly," Garak said. "I just have to decide how long I
should wait before I comm the other guards and tell them I
caught their escapees' ringleader."

"You turn me in and I'll tell them that you let the children
go!" Anwen warned.

"You do that and they'll know which direction they should
start looking in."

She paused and appeared to think about that for a moment.

"Are you completely dim or do you just have no concept of
logic?" Garak asked, amused by the young woman's
frustration.

She blushed. "Why did you let them go anyway?"

"Not every Cardassian thinks molesting children, even
Bajoran children, is an acceptable practice," he answered.

"But you don't stop him. That's the same as doing it
yourself!" she insisted.

"I did stop him," Garak returned. "Twice. You're the one who
nearly got them caught a third time because you didn't use
your head."

She bit her lip hard, but said nothing.

Garak looked at her again. After a moment he reached out and
unlocked her from the wall.

"What are you doing? Don't touch me!" she screeched.

"You truly have an overblown ego, my dear. Skinny,
sharp-tongued harridans with a need to play the hero at the
expense of other innocent lives do not appeal to me in the
slightest," Garak retorted before undoing the cuffs. "Now
get out of here."

"You're letting me go?" She rubbed her wrists and looked at
him as though he were insane.

"If you're the best example of Bajoran terrorist this
backwater has, we'd be better off letting you go," Garak
snorted.

She looked like she wanted to argue, but decided against it
and hurried toward the fence. "Are you going to open the
damned thing or what?" she snapped.

Garak hit the button and she slipped out. Before she was
completely out of sight, Garak called out, "Wait!"

She paused and looked at him.

"What's your name?"

"Anwen. Nara Anwen," she said, then disappeared into the
shadows.

Garak didn't know why he had asked her name. Nor did he know
why it had mattered so much that she had answered him.

All he knew was that he wouldn't be forgetting it anytime
soon.

---

"Hello, Garak. Sorry to summon you here after your shift. I
know you must be tired," Koril said lazily as he sipped his
morning tea.

"Not at all, Gul Koril; in fact, it was a pleasant
experience guarding the rocks and scrub rats," Garak
drawled, obviously unintimidated. "Far less strenuous, in
fact, than the job I was actually sent here to do."

Koril snorted rudely. "You're an ass, Garak, but you're a
quick wit, I'll grant you that. I've summoned you here
because I have a job for you."

"Which is?"

"There was a prison break last night and several Bajorans of
interest escaped prior to questioning. I also have
information that a group of Bajoran terrorists the prisoners
were connected to are planning to move their camp tonight. I
want you to lead a group of men and take out the entire
convoy."

"Oh?" Garak asked. "I would have thought the infantry would
be better suited to that sort of thing."

"Why ask a low-blooded foot soldier to take the glory of the
kill when I have a noble-blooded Obsidian Agent at my
disposal?" Koril asked, picking at his plate of fruit.
"Breakfast?"

"I don't have much of an appetite for Bajoran food," Garak
replied.

"Oh, then you're missing something," Koril said with a slow
smile. "A remarkable people, very...soft. And sweet, like
the fruit on their trees." He took a bite of the
orange-colored ganka berry and smiled perversely. "Do you
like it sweet, Garak, or do you prefer a bit of spice to
your meat?"

Garak felt his stomach turn. The man was actually trying to
seduce him. "Will that be all?"

"I was looking over the records of the Great Houses and I
found yours," Koril said, continuing as though he hadn't
noticed Garak's obvious refusal. "The House of Garak is
affiliated with the House of Tain, is it not?"

"It is," Garak answered tersely.

"Funny what our names translate to in the old language."
Koril laughed a bit in emphasis. "Koril is king in Hebetian
and Garak means...from the left, does it not?"

"Your point?" he asked.

"No point, I just thought it was funny that my house was
descended from kings while yours were among the favored
bastards of the Tain Dynasty." He smiled. "Who knows, we may
be cousins."

"I doubt it," Garak said off-handedly. "Tain and I were born
into our houses whereas your great-great-grandfather bought
his name, did he not? He was a - what was it again? Oh yes,
an offal merchant. He dealt in fertilizer and such."

"I wouldn't know," Koril said, his voice possessing a
brittle edge. It was obvious he was no longer enjoying the
game he had started.

"Oh well, I suppose I can always ask your brother, Delam,
about it when I next see him. He and I were at University
together." He gave Koril a look of exaggerated confusion. "I
don't however recall seeing you there. I assume you must
have been privately educated. Tutors."

"I was, yes," Koril said, whipping the napkin off the front
of his shirt and throwing it on the table before him in a
gesture of agitation.

"Delam's a bit younger than you, yes?" He didn't wait for an
answer. "I can understand why you chose to refuse the
Council seat in favour of taking a posting on Bajor, though.
Especially since it's so obvious how much you enjoy this
place and its," he reached out and straightened the large
bowl of fruit slightly, "assets."

"I'm afraid I don't have a whole lot of time for idle
chit-chat, Garak. Dismissed," he said curtly.

"Until later then," Garak said with an enigmatic smile as he
slowly exited Koril's private dining hall.

---

"I don't like this, Elim," Emar said in a low voice. "He's
setting you up for something."

"Of course he is," Garak said off-handedly. "But the man is
a total idiot. It's obvious he's sent us out on a wild goose
chase in the middle of the night, then the day after we
leave he'll have his men 'capture' the wild party of
rampaging terrorists just so he can gloat that his men
caught the same terrorists an Agent of the State couldn't
find even while standing in front of their convoy. I'm not
worried about it. He thinks this will reflect badly on me
but what he doesn't know is that he's already a dead man. He
probably won't even live long enough to file that report."

"You poisoned him?" Emar whispered in shock.

"Of course not," Garak snorted. "He's poisoned himself.
Damned fool eats those ganka berries, seeds and all, like
he's a boar rooting through a trough. He thinks they're
going to help his stamina, but instead of keeping his prick
hard, they're causing heavy metal poisoning to build up in
his system. Every sane person knows to boil the things three
times in fresh salt water before eating them. He eats them
raw thinking it will increase the effects! Moron." He arched
an eyeridge in amusement. "His ridges are turning as black
as coal and his fingertips are scaling. He probably thinks
he's caught a social disease or something and doesn't bother
with the antibiotics because he thinks it emphasizes the
contours of his neck better."

"Really? I just thought he didn't bathe," Emar said. "Why
didn't his personal physician tell him?"

"Would you?" Garak asked with a slight grin.

"Now that I think about it, no." Emar cleared his throat.
"So we go and-"

"You're staying here."

"Since when?" Emar asked.

"I can't be hurt by anything Koril does, but if you are
besmirched, even by an odious piece of trash like Koril, it
will reflect badly in your records," Garak said firmly.

"I thought you said you were going to marry me and be my
breadwinner while I write the days away?" Emar joked as he
skipped ahead. "I don't need a perfect military record just
to write some plays and short stories."

"And you refused, remember?"

"I may change my mind. Besides, if I'm just going to stand
around doing nothing all night, I'd rather be doing nothing
with you."

"I'm trying to decide whether or not to find that
flattering," Garak said dryly as he followed his lover to
the transport.

---

"I'm beginning to believe your theory about Koril is
correct."

"Which theory? That he's an insane, vulgar pedophile or that
he's sent us on a wild targ chase in the middle of nowhere?"

Emar snorted and scanned the horizon with his binoculars.
"Both. Where are the other two soldiers he sent along?"

"They're down the mountain." Garak said, his eyes sweeping
over the pass. He paused, "I'm detecting some movement."

He lifted his own binoculars and adjusted the frame until he
could clearly see the ragtag group of Bajorans making their
way through the valley with the night vision. "Damn."

"What?" Emar said, picking up his own instrument and turning
his head toward the south end of the pass. "Well, what do
you know? For once Koril's intelligence wasn't completely-"

"No, Emar," Garak said. "Look closer. Those aren't rebels."

Emar gave him a confused look then picked up his binoculars
again, magnifying the image. "It looks like...a bunch of
females leading....children." He focused in even tighter.
"Shit. It's a caravan of Bajoran children and hybrids."

"Apparently, I have underestimated our dear Gul Koril,"
Garak said, his voice tight. "He's testing me, and I have a
feeling those two soldiers he sent along aren't just for
backup."

"This is about those children you released the other day
from the prison," Emar said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, but it's also about me releasing them a second time."
Garak's voice was faint as he tried to formulate a plan.

"Wait a minute, what-" Emar's eyes widened. "Elim! You
idiot! You were the one who arranged that prison break the
other night!"

"Keep your voice down, and no. I did not break anyone out of
prison."

"Well, thank the-"

"I released them after they broke out."

Emar's ran his hand over his face and looked at the older
man angrily. "What in cold hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," Garak grimly admitted.

"You picked a fine time to have a mid-life crisis," Emar
said, his face hard as he stared down the valley. He picked
up his binoculars and scanned the other side of the pass.
"Koril's men have a bead on us. They aren't even bothering
to target the convoy." He put down the instrument and looked
at him, "If we don't take either those children or those
soldiers out, we're dead men. Koril's doing more than
testing you, he's ordered them to kill you."

"I should have just killed him weeks ago and gotten it over
with," Garak muttered.

"We have a few minutes before they're in range," Emar said,
then pointed to the adjacent cliff face. "A few phaser
blasts to that section of rock there will cause an
avalanche. It'll be quick and take them all out at once."

Garak raised his glasses again and looked down at the
convoy. He sighted in tight and examined the group
carefully. As he watched, a young woman carrying a phaser
rifle jogged ahead of the group and scanned the top of the
cliffs. "I know her. She's the woman who broke those
children out the other night."

Emar didn't even bother to look. "We have to do this, Elim."

A muscle in Garak's jaw tightened as he considered his
options. "I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a
good man. I have killed dozens of men and women, I have
tortured them, I have ruined their reputations, and I have
done all of that because it is what I was ordered to do." He
pinned the younger Cardassian with a hard gaze. "But there
are rules I follow, Emar. Without them, a person would be
reduced to nothing but an out-of-control killing machine.
When I kill, it's for the good of the state. It serves a
greater interest. When I take a man's life, reputation, or
destroy him utterly, I do so with a clean conscience because
I know he or she would do the same to me. I have never killed
anyone who didn't deserve it or who had lived a life in
which torture and assassination were not known. I do not
kill just to kill and I will not crush to death dozens of
women and children because some insane cretin like Maros
Koril thinks it's a game. Even I have standards."

"Your 'standards' don't mean a whole hell of a lot if you
have a phaser rifle pointed to your head," Emar pointed out.
"This isn't the time for philosophical debate, Elim. We have
to do this."

Elim's eyes were cold. "Or we could just take out the two
soldiers and then kill Koril. It would serve the state far
more to have him dead than a filthy group of peasants. At
least they can work the mines."

"Garak," Emar said in a softer tone, "there are
Cardassian/Bajoran hybrids in that group. I don't disagree
with you that Koril needs to be taken care of, but those
'children' are an abomination. There are laws against them
even existing. Even if you could justify to a Cardassian
oversight committee your choice to disobey a direct order
and not kill a group of women and children, it is your duty
to exterminate those hybrids on sight. You know that."

"It's not my job. It was the job of the Cardassians who
fathered them to see to it their comfort women and whores
were sterilized, not mine. I won't do this," Garak said,
sitting back behind the rock and resting his forearm
casually over his knee.

"That choice isn't yours to make," Emar said through gritted
teeth.

"Fine, you kill them and then kill me. It's your duty,"
Garak said wearily as he leaned his head back and closed his
eyes. "You'll probably get a medal for it."

"This isn't a joke!"

"I'm not joking," Garak said without opening his eyes.

"You don't even know those people!"

"Emar..." Garak opened his eyes and looked up into his
lover's face. "You are still so young. For you, serving the
state is a grand adventure and everything is clear. It's
either right or wrong, black or white. I have lived for 43
years in a perpetual shade of gray. I see things differently
than you do and someday you might understand what I'm
talking about, but for now you should do what you feel is
right. Follow your orders and fire your weapon. I won't stop
you and if you choose to turn it against me, I won't fight
back, but there are some things even I won't be responsible
for."

"Damn you, Elim..." Emar said flatly. He turned and aimed
his weapon then fired twice. For a minute nothing happened.

"Did you miss?" Garak asked.

A phaser blast blazed past them and shattered some rock near
Emar's head. "Yes!"

Garak looked up in confusion, then grabbed his weapon and
looked over the rocks. The two soldiers across the valley
were firing at them. "You shot at Koril's soldiers?"

"Yes, damn you! Did you honestly expect me to murder you,
you stubborn ass?!?" Emar shouted as he began firing again.
"Now pick up your damned weapon and help me!"

Garak grabbed his rifle and got a bead on one of Koril's
men, taking him out cleanly. "One down, one to go."

The armed women escorting the caravan of war orphans began
discharging their weapons as well, shouting for the children
to scatter. Emar and Garak continued to fire as the soldier
hid behind the boulders, their blasts making showers of rock
fall into the valley below.

"You so owe me for this," Emar muttered darkly as he
continued to fire. "I expect payback, Elim! As soon as we
get out of this we're going back for Koril and getting off
this damn planet! If I never hear the word 'Bajor' again it
will be too soon!"

"Lots and lots of payback, my dear, I promise," Garak said
as he fired again. "I have enough contacts and money stored
away that we can spend the rest of our lives somewhere warm
with lots of good kanaar and a soft bed."

Emar grinned and glanced over at Garak. "You don't say? If
you had just told me that before, I would have defected
months - urk."

Emar looked up at Garak, his face slack with shock as he
examined the small, perfectly round smoldering hole in the
center of his chest. He opened his mouth to say something
but no words came, just a hiss of air as his lungs
collapsed. He was dead before Garak even caught him.

"Emar? Emar!" Garak said, dropping his weapon and holding
his body tightly. "No. No. Not like this."

He held him to his chest, the tears splattering against the
young man's ashen face as Garak stroked his cheeks lightly.
He did this. He killed him. All he had to do was fire his
weapon. Why didn't he just do it and get it over with? Why?

He didn't know how long he had held Emar's body, but it was
long enough apparently for the other soldier to make his way
to their position. He heard the man approached and didn't
even bother to reach for his discarded weapon. He merely
held on to Emar and waited for the end to come.

"Traitor!" the Cardassian spat. "You would kill your own
kind to save a handful of Bajoran brats and whores? Death is
almost too good for you."

A phaser rifle fired. Garak heard the sizzle of ozone as the
weapon discharged, then a dull thud as a body hit the
ground. He opened his eyes and stared at the body of the
soldier lying on the ground, his eyes open and sightless.
Behind him was Nara Anwen.

Another woman came running up, her weapon pointed to Garak
but the young woman stopped her. "No, Luscon! I know him."

"This is the Cardie who you said helped you escape?" the
older woman asked without lowering her rifle.

"That's him," Anwen said, looking at down at Garak still
holding his fallen lover. "He's coming with us." Luscon
began to argue but Anwen stopped her. "Trust me, he needs to
come with us."

Dark eyes met blue and Garak could see the sympathy she felt
for him reflected there. "We can trust him," Anwen said.

---
Chapter Eight: By Homecoming's Light
---

No one approaching the Temple would have noticed anything
odd about the Vedek's expression as she and the gray-haired
gentleman accompanying her quickly headed for the airlocks.
They might have just assumed she was late for an
appointment.

Vedek Merel Atina was legendary for the frenetic pace she
kept and her many contributions to women and children's
issues on Bajor. Not a day passed when she wasn't giving a
speech or blessing a children's home. They might have
noticed the air of dark rage etched on the face of the
station's commander, however.

As he exited the Temple, he did not look like a man who had
found peace and enlightenment. He looked like a man
possessed by the Furies.

He headed toward the Promenade, his stride long and
definite. No one who passed him bothered to say 'Good
morning' since it obviously wasn't. A few whispered about
the upcoming inspection and Admiral Gilhouly's famous
demanding nature, assuming that was the cause.

They all simply continued on their way as Sisko leaned
against the railing of the walkway that arched high above
the Promenade. He often went there to relax and think. He
must have a lot on his mind, passersby assumed, given his
upcoming visitors from the Federation and the current
political situation affecting the region.

So when they saw him staring down at his CMO playing with
his soon-to-be adopted children and watching as the doctor's
mother spoiled her grandchildren with cakes and treats, they
assumed he was just trying to distract himself with thoughts
of happier times.

They'd be wrong.

As he looked down at the four of them, he saw only one
thing.

The traitor.

The destroyer.

The Founder.

And three innocents whose very lives were in jeopardy.

But he couldn't move now. He needed to know what the Founder
was planning, and he needed to devise a plan to smoke him
out. But to do that he needed the help of his two most
important tactical assets: Worf and Garak.

And he needed the Defiant.

His gaze wandered over to the airlock through which Merel
and Owin had stepped. Merel was traveling to Bajor to give
Worf and Garak his orders and to bring Bashir back.

He supposed he couldn't blame Garak for not seeing it: from
what Owin had said, Garak's relationship with the Founder
dated back to almost immediately after he had replaced
Bashir. Unlike himself and his other colleagues, Garak might
not have had the chance to spend time with Bashir on a daily
basis before the switch, so any small changes might have
eluded him.

The changes shouldn't have eluded Sisko, though. He pondered
the fact that although he had thought he knew all of his
team well, somehow through this he had come to realize just
how the doctor, who had always seemed so open before now,
was actually something of a mystery to them all. Maybe
that's why the Founder replaced him, he thought.

That was his fault. He snorted faintly: and he had always
thought of Garak as the enigmatic one. In truth, he knew
more about Garak than he did about his own CMO. In fact, he
had gotten to know this - thing wearing Bashir's face far
better than he had ever known the real Bashir in five years
of working closely with him. Maybe he simply wasn't as
observant as he thought he was, or maybe Bashir was better
at hiding himself than Sisko had realized. He wondered why
the man even bothered.

One of the children suddenly laughed out loud. The children,
he thought: he couldn't move against the Founder until they
were safe, but on the other hand he had to put the station's
safety first. And there was Bashir's mother as well. How she
would take learning that her son had been replaced, that she
had spent the last day with a Founder...

Enough lag-assing around, he thought, as he made his way to
Ops. Time to formulate a plan.

---

Bashir looked up from the table as a Bajoran woman about
seventy years of age entered the room followed by a tall man
wearing ranjen's robes. "Vedek Merel," Garak said, rising to
his feet and extending his hands.

"Mr. Garak," she replied as Bashir and Worf stood, giving
him a huge smile as she clasped his hands in hers in a form
of handshake Bashir hadn't seen before. "It's good to see
that you've recovered. Owin was saying you looked exhausted
last night when he spoke with you."

He returned her smile. "Thank you, and yes, I did take the
opportunity to rest. May I introduce Lieutenant-Commander
Worf, my superior officer, and this," he said, gesturing to
the doctor, "is the real Julian Bashir. Commander, Doctor,
may I introduce Vedek Merel Atina of the Capital Temple and
her ranjen, Owin Grea."

She gave Bashir a look as they took their seats; he could
see confusion in her eyes, and perhaps just a little
disappointment. "Doctor, Owin tells me that you have been in
the Gamma Quadrant for some time?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I've been in a Dominion prison
for just over three months, and I'm not the only one. You
might see General Martok out by the shore today; he was
going to see if he could catch a few fish for his dinner."

"I doubt I'll be here for long," she replied. "We've
returned to give the three of you a message from Captain
Sisko."

As she discussed Sisko's orders with Worf and Garak, Owin
breaking in from time to time with comments, Julian couldn't
help but notice how well Garak seemed to be regarded by the
three of them. Merel genuinely respected him, and Worf
seemed to value his input. Funny, he thought: Garak had
somehow managed to forge more trusting relationships in the
last three months than he had over the past five years.
Sisko appeared to depend on him, Worf clearly respected him,
and Merel and Owin seemed to genuinely like him. The Founder
had been the one to bring Garak into the inner circle of
Deep Space Nine and had even gained him friends among the
most prominent members of Bajoran society, but what was most
ironic was that Garak hadn't really changed at all. It
wasn't that he had become more Human or Bajoran or Klingon:
it was that the Humans, Bajorans, and Klingons had begun to
accept him and him them.

He wondered if the Founder had realized this.

And Worf: here was Worf, a man who to his knowledge
had never before spoken ten words to Garak, agreeing with
everything he said and working with him as smoothly as
though they had been partners for years. They were finishing
each other's trains of thought, anticipating each move like
they were of the same mind.

He returned his attention to the conversation.

"We can use the strategy the resistance employed when we
would redirect food shipments to the camps," Merel was
saying. "Bait and switch."

"I'm familiar with that particular maneuver," Garak said
dryly. "Commander Worf and I had actually come up with the
same plan before you arrived."

"Well, if anyone would be familiar with it, it would be you,
wouldn't it?" Merel said with a private smile.

"So we will transport the doctor onto the Vedek's runabout,"
Worf said, "then erase our logs before we arrive at the
station. As soon as we dock and the Founder is waiting at
the airlock the Vedek will transport him to the captain's
quarters."

"Exactly," Owin said. "This way we know where the Founder is
while we transport."

"And the Founder is unlikely to go to the Captain's
quarters," Garak mused.

"I know the Captain checks his cabin for devices regularly,"
Worf said, "but I'm unsure as to the last time he did it."

"He intended on completing a sweep right after we left,"
Merel said.

"Tell the captain to have Ajaz bring up a sewing box I left
in his keeping before we left the station," Garak said.
"Comm him and say that you were supposed to pick it up
before you left but in your haste you forgot it. Ajaz knows
to do as the Captain asks. Inside is an instrument that
looks like a tailor's sizer. It's a device used by the Order
to detect biological as well as mechanical listening
devices. In case he is monitored, using that device will be
far less conspicuous than using a tricorder or other obvious
piece of Starfleet equipment."

Bashir looked at him. Why would Ajaz have Garak's sewing
box?

Worf frowned at the Cardassian. "You did not inform me that
you possessed such a device."

"Mr. Worf," he said, his eyes merry, "surely you realize the
importance of a back-up plan?"

"The credo of one of the Resistance's greatest folk heroes,
if I recall correctly," Merel said with twinkling eyes.

Garak's eyes flickered; Bashir thought he saw a glint of
disapproval, but Worf seemed unfazed.

Owin Grea spoke. "Mr. Garak, I should advise you that there
are...visitors on the station from Bajor."

The Cardassian's face suddenly froze as he and Worf shared a
meaningful look. Garak jumped up. "We have to go now," he
said, heading towards the door.

"We cannot rush into this!" Worf insisted.

Garak stopped at the door. "He'll finish debriefing us when
we get there." He turned to Merel. "Take Bashir up with you
now; that way we don't have to bother with the transporter
logs because we don't have the time. Let's go, Mr. Worf!"

Bashir stared at his departing figure as Worf followed him
out the door and towards the Defiant. "I wonder what that
was all about," he murmured under his breath.

"He didn't inform you?" Merel asked in surprise.

"Inform me of what?"

Owin threw his Vedek a meaningful look and she said
reluctantly, "It isn't our place to say, doctor."

"But-" he started, but the vedek and her ranjen had risen to
their feet.

"We'd best be going," Owin said, escorting the Vedek to
their small runabout.

Bashir glared at their backs, then followed, wondering what
they were hiding from him.

---

"So what do you have planned for tonight?" Dax asked Kira
from her station.

She sighed. "To be honest, I was thinking of going through
some of those redecorating padds you lent me. Sometimes you
just need a change, and given the past month or so I think I
need one."

Sisko shook his head silently behind them. If Kira only knew
what had really been going on...

He leaned against the far wall of Ops and thought about how
he was going to break the news of Bashir's replacement once
this was all over. There was no question that he had to: not
only did the switch highlight the danger they were in from
the Dominion and the lengths the Founders would go to
infiltrate Starfleet, it also showed that mature
shapeshifters were able to mimic solids to an extent
Federation scientists hadn't before realized. It also
wouldn't be fair to either Bashir or Garak to allow the
senior staff to believe they really were in a relationship.

He thought back to Garak's words before he and Worf had
left: Julian, whom they now knew was a Founder, was able to
create semen and sweat. The first wasn't that surprising;
Founders had to reproduce somehow, and if they reproduced
sexually they'd need to produce some kind of fertilizing
fluid. But sweat...thinking back, he realized that he'd seen
the imposter eating and drinking on numerous occasions.
Could Founders somehow synthesize sweat and other bodily
fluids from the foods they ingested? Did they have some way
of storing food and liquid until they could discharge them
in some way? Blood was trickier, Bashir - the real Bashir -
had once mentioned. It contained not just numerous types of
cells but also chemical compounds that weren't easy to
reproduce and which would degrade within minutes of being
removed from a live body. But they'd gotten into the
practice of simply cutting themselves, as he, Worf, and
Garak had done yesterday afternoon. That clearly was no
longer a valid method, especially since there were a million
ways to make liquid look like blood to the casual eye. He
decided that in the future, all blood samples, even those
taken casually, would be tested by at least two individuals
from different departments. That should reduce the risk of
such a thing happening again. Maybe. Perhaps.

He returned to the conversation between his officers.

"22nd century Vulcan," Dax was saying.

Kira snorted a laugh. "Good grief. Why don't you avoid the
middleman and get Julian to give you a hypo of sedative
instead?"

Dax crossed her arms. "Nerys..."

"It's just that-" and she looked down as a light flashed on
her panel. "I've got an incoming message from the Defiant,"
she said after a moment, giving Sisko a puzzled look. "I
thought they weren't supposed to be back for a few days."

He shrugged. "What does it say?"

"They've been attacked by - by pirates," she replied, one
eyebrow rising. "In the Valara sector."

"Probably Orions in that sector," Dax said with a frown.
"Are they all right?"

"Looks like it; let me check." She sent a message and
waited. "They're fine," she said once the Defiant's reply
had arrived, "but they've taken some damage to the warp
nacelles. They're limping back at warp two. Garak says
they'll be back in about thirty minutes. I'll dock them at
Upper Pylon three."

"Dax," Sisko said, "if you want to meet the ship when it
docks..." He hoped she'd take the bait: he needed a witness,
and if anything happened he knew he could count on her cool
head and astute judgment.

She looked up at him. "If you don't mind..."

"Not at all," he said, shaking his head. "You've only got 20
minutes left in your shift anyway. I'll have Vasquez cover
until the Beta officer arrives."

"I guess that means you'll be missing the poetry reading?"
Kira said with a grin.

"I guess so," Dax replied. "See you tomorrow."

As she left, Sisko hit his comm badge. "Sisko to Bashir."

Fifteen seconds later the imposter replied. "Bashir here."
Sisko could hear the laughter of a small child in the
background.

"Doctor," he replied, "you'll be pleased to learn that the
Defiant is returning early. They ran into some trouble in
the Valara sector-"

"Is Garak all right?" the voice interrupted.

He was damned good, Sisko thought; he even sounded as if he
were really worried. "They're fine," he said. "They'll be
returning in about half an hour. I thought you and your
mother and the children might want to meet him at the
airlock. They'll be docking at Upper Pylon three."

"Thank you, Captain." The Founder's voice was followed by a
faint whisper. "And my mother says thank you as well."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Bashir," he said, smiling sadly. He
was glad she was here; Bashir could probably benefit from
the love of a family member after what he'd gone through.
"Sisko out."

Kira grinned. "Did you see the four of them this morning on
the main level?" she asked. "I never thought I'd say this, but
I think Julian has it in him to be a really good father to
those kids."

He nodded silently, cursing the Founder for the pain he was
about to cause the children. He only hoped that would be the
worst of it.

---

Worf turned to Garak as he reached for the airlock controls.
"Are you sure you can do this? Tell me now if you cannot and
I will prepare my weapon. We can strike cleanly as soon as
we see its face."

"I can do this," Garak said, his voice grim. "Open it."

"Very well," Worf said and they entered the station.

"Garak!"

Garak pasted a wide smile on his face as he saw Julian's
eyes light up with joy.

"Figures that only you could leave on a simple mission and
run into- mmph!"

Garak pulled the Founder toward him and kissed him
passionately, feeling the lips soften beneath his own as the
creature he held gasped and wrapped its long, lightly
muscled arms around his neck.

It felt...right, Garak thought, his heart sinking in his
chest. He deepened the kiss and forced himself to play the
game. "I missed you," he murmured against the imposter's
lips.

"I can tell," Julian breathed.

"Elim!"

Garak bent down and scooped up Kela as she ran toward him,
her long brown hair decorated with pale ribbons streaming
behind her. "Well, hello there! When did you get here?"

"Me and Lewin came last night and spent the night with Nani
and Dr. Julian!" Kela said, burrowing her little face in his
neck.

He looked up to see Lewin standing shyly at a distance. "Are
you not going to greet me as well?" Garak asked, opening his
other arm to the boy.

Lewin broke out into a wide grin and launched himself at
Garak. He held both children tight and breathed in their
sweet smell. Just keep them safe, Garak, he told himself.
Their lives depend on what happens within the next few
hours.

"Nani?" Garak asked at last, looking up to see Julian
staring down at them with a warm smile.

"Hello, Garak."

He turned to see Amsha smiling at them, her soft pink
pantsuit glowing warmly against her dark skin. "Amsha!" He
released the children and rose to meet her.

"Now, now," Amsha said, stepping forward to greet him. "It's
'mother', remember?"

"Of course." Garak hugged her and said, "It's so good to
finally meet you in person."

"I think we need a picture!" Amsha said brightly as she
reached into her bag and pulled out a holocamera. She looked
over to Jadzia who had been greeting Worf and looking at
their own homecoming with amusement. "Jadzia, dear. Would
you take a picture of us? I want to bring it home to show
Richard."

"Sure!" Jadzia said walking over to take the camera. She
stopped and said, "Oh, and Amsha, this is Worf, by the way."

"Worf! Of course, you're Jadzia's par-parma-" She frowned,
trying to think of the right pronunciation.

"Par'machkai," Worf supplied, nodding in greeting. His dark,
hooded eyes looked over Amsha Bashir coolly, but he smiled
nonetheless.

"Oh well, I was never good at pronouncing Klingon!" Amsha
laughed. "Jules tried to get me to drink some of that
raktajino this morning and I've had the jitters ever since.
And I thought espresso was loaded with caffeine."

"Here," Jadzia said, taking the camera. "All right, everyone
stand in the picture! Worf? Do you want to-"

"No," Worf said, his voice low and very distant. "I think it
would be best that only the doctor and his family be in this
picture."

"Okay," Jadzia said brightly. "Get ready and say,
'homecoming'!"

"Homecoming!" the children yelled.

Garak held Kela on his hip, his right hand resting lightly
on Lewin's shoulder. Julian stood beside them and Garak felt
the warmth of his hand on the small of his back as Jadzia
snapped the picture. Amsha had her hand around her son's
waist, smiling up at his handsome face.

It was the perfect image of happiness.

Garak felt as though he were going to be ill.

"That was great!" Jadzia said. "How about another?"

"Jadzia..." Worf said, getting her attention. "The captain
needs to debrief us. Mr. Garak? If you would?"

"I'll come with you," Julian said, turning to his mother.
"Could you watch the children for a while?"

"No, Julian," Garak said stopping him, "You should stay with
your mother-"

"That's okay; we were just going to lunch and then I have to
get back to the Infirmary anyway," Julian said with a smile.
"Besides, I want to hear about your run in with that group
of marauders."

"You really got attacked by space pirates?" Lewin asked, his
lightly defined eye ridges going up in surprise.

"Perhaps you should remain with your family, Mr. Garak,"
Worf said smoothly. "I can debrief the captain alone. Report
to the captain's office after your luncheon."

"Yes, sir," Garak said. "Thank you."

"Well, I have to be going," Jadzia said as she handed the
camera back to Amsha, then bent down to say goodbye to the
kids. "Lewin, Kela, it was a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure
we'll all be seeing each other a lot more often."

As they said their goodbyes, Garak met Worf's eyes and
nodded almost imperceptibly.

It was a complication, but not an unanticipated one. As long
as he was with the children, however, he knew they would be
safe.

---

"Doctor..."

Bashir ran the tricorder a second time over a fuming Sisko
as they stood in the main room of his quarters. "Captain, if
the Founder wanted to destabilize Bajor, killing or harming
you would probably be his first choice. He could have
concealed any number of small injuries during the procedure
you underwent - when was it?"

"About two months ago," Sisko said, glaring at him. "You
mean the Founder operated on me?"

"It appears so," he said. "I was taken during that burn
conference I attended on Meezan Four. That was...three
months, nineteen days ago." He studied the results of his
scans. "Luckily, I'm not detecting any significant lesions
or aneurysms. Any more subtle injury isn't going to cause
you any short-term problems. If there is one, it can wait
until I can get you under the neuroscanner in the
Infirmary."

"I'm not sure if I'm the only one who needs to be in the
Infirmary," Sisko said, frowning at the Doctor's spare body.
"How much weight have you lost anyway?"

"The Dominion isn't known for its cuisine, I'm afraid." He
shut off the tricorder and dropped it on Sisko's dining room
table. "Quite frankly, we're all lucky to be alive."

Sisko frowned at him. "Merel mentioned General Martok; there
were other survivors?"

"Two others," he replied. "Both Romulans, a pilot and a
crypto-analyst. They're still on Bajor with the General.
There were also a number of Cardassians in the prison, but
we left them behind; given their hostility towards Tain and
the Federation, we were concerned they'd try to mutiny." Or
at least I was, he added silently.

Sisko chuckled. "You know," he said, "your mother is going
to be furious when she sees you. She'll probably take on the
Dominion herself."

"My mother?" he asked.

"Merel didn't tell you?" The captain's brow wrinkled. "I
might not have mentioned it to her. Your mother arrived on
the station yesterday."

He gaped at Sisko. Why would she be here? "Is my father with
her? Why didn't Worf or Garak say anything?"

"She came alone, and they didn't know; she arrived after
they left." Sisko shrugged. "At any rate, she's a lovely
woman; your father is a very lucky man. How long has she had
that ship?"

"I'm not sure," he murmured, a bit confused. The last time
he had spoken to her she didn't even have her pilot's
license, but considering how long it had been...he snorted.
His mother would probably be embarrassed as hell to hear a
man other than Father call her lovely. It was just too
strange.

Yes, he thought, as a sudden suspicion made him frown: 'too
strange' was the right phrase. "Captain," he said, "my
mother hasn't visited me in five years. What made her come
here?"

"According to the Founder..." He gave Bashir a sharp look.
"You do know that Mr. Garak and he were engaged to be
married."

"Yes, I know that," Bashir said, feeling his cheeks grow
hot.

"And you know they were planning on adopting two Bajoran
orphans?"

He stared at Sisko, his jaw dropping to the floor, his mind
reeling. "What?!" he cried. "What the - is that - I don't
believe it! I don't fucking believe it!" He dropped into a
chair, his legs suddenly jelly.

"Doctor-" Sisko started, but Bashir was too agitated to
listen.

"The bloody - how much more of this am I supposed to take!
Goddammit! I'm gone three months and he's turned my entire
life-"

"Doctor Bashir!" Sisko shouted; he glared at the Captain,
but simmered down. "I know this isn't what you expect,"
Sisko said, his voice firm, "but you had better wrap your
mind around it and fast. I don't have time to hold your hand
so you had better get with it!"

Bashir took a deep breath, then nodded. "Yes, sir." He
pressed his lips together, willing himself to calm down but
still...why would his mother be there? "You said that my
mother was on the station. You don't have any security
footage of her, do you?"

Sisko gave him a puzzled look. "I could go through Odo's
records, but I think she's planning on meeting the Defiant
in about ten minutes. I could bring up a live feed. Why?"

"I'm worried." He didn't say about what, but - there was
definitely something wrong. Either the Founder had
sweet-talked her, or-

"Let me see." Sisko went to the side closet, digging around
until he found a small portable computer. "Constable Odo
left this here when we were investigating Commander
Eddington last year," he said. "It's tied directly into the
security system, but it runs on a different port than my
regular terminal so if anyone's monitoring my computer usage
they won't discover it." He opened the device, propping the
monitor open as he brought it back to the sofa, and switched
it on. "Kira said the Defiant was docking at Upper Pylon
three," he murmured as he scrolled through the list of
cameras. "Here we go."

Bashir studied the video feed as it was displayed on the
monitor. At the moment, all he could see was Dax waiting by
the airlock, her hands clasped behind her back as she looked
up at the chrono.

"Your mother said that your father was planning on running
for office," Sisko said, apparently to pass the time.

"I'm sure she did," he murmured. His father's delusions of
grandeur were hardly his main concern at the moment, but it
was another piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit. "What
did she say he was doing for a living?"

"She said he was retired." Bashir could hear the confusion
in Sisko's voice. "Was he-"

But Sisko stopped as the imposter came into focus. With him
was his mother and two small children, one Bajoran, one
apparently half-Cardassian. But - his mother was dressed in
a pantsuit, a pink pantsuit with what looked like an
off-white blouse. She suddenly put her hand on the Founder's
shoulder, laughing at something he had said.

"Oh my God," Bashir breathed.

"Julian," Sisko began in a harsh voice, "get over it. I
don't have time to-"

"No!" he cried, pointing at the screen. "That - whoever that
is it's not my mother!"

Sisko's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"My mother's an Indian Muslim," he said, "and she's very
traditional. She wouldn't be caught dead wearing Western
clothing. I've never seen her wear anything but a sari or a
salwar kameez. That-"

"Are you sure?" Sisko asked, looking at him closely. "She
did say your father was running for office. Perhaps she
thought a change of style-"

"Captain," he interrupted, "my father is no more likely to
'run for office' than Worf is to show up on the Promenade in
a diaper and a baby bonnet."

Their eyes met: Sisko ran a hand over his head, then sighed.
"My God. If there are two Founders on the station..."

"...how many more are there?" Bashir said, finishing his
sentence.

A sudden movement on the screen caught his eye: he turned to
see the outer airlock open and Garak and Worf emerge from
the Defiant.

For a moment he thought the two of them were going to attack
the imposter, but instead Garak grabbed the Founder and -
kissed him.

What a bizarre sight, he thought: seeing himself kiss Elim
Garak. And given the passion apparent in the kiss, it was no
wonder Garak had been so upset to see him in the camp. He
really loved the imposter. It wasn't lust or even friendship
with benefits but true, honest love, at least on Garak's
side. He kept his eyes on the screen even as his stomach
flipped. Could Garak go through with whatever they were
planning, he wondered, or would he take the Founder's side?
Could he turn his back on the thing he loved?

Garak finally pulled away and knelt down in front of the
little girl who had been standing with them, scooping her up
in his arms, talking to her, making her giggle. The
half-Cardassian boy was holding back, but Garak reached out
for him as well. Bashir felt a tug at his heart as he
watched Garak embrace the two orphans. He'd never realized
that Garak even liked children, but from what he was seeing
the man was devoted to these two.

Worf had been right: he wasn't the only victim here.

"Captain, I - I can't watch this," he said as he turned
away.

Sisko nodded. "I understand. Listen," he said. "I'd like you
to go over some of the security footage from when your
mother arrived. She and the Founder had dinner last night at
Quark's. Pull up the footage from last night and see if you
notice anything else that might give us an idea of what
we're dealing with."

"Yes, sir." Anything not to have to watch Garak interact
with the Founder - or Founders. He shut down the live feed
and began to search for the footage.

---

Garak could hardly touch his food. It tasted like sawdust in
his mouth, but he chewed it and managed to keep it down
anyway. The doctor had once spoken of his experiences in a
mirror universe. It felt as though he had stumbled into
something very similar.

Julian was...Julian. Familiar and charming, everything he
knew him to be. The similarities between him and the real
Bashir were extraordinary, but after spending days in the
presence of the real doctor he could now see the minute
differences that had eluded him before.

The Founder was too perfect, Garak thought, as he pretended
to listen to Kela and Lewin tell Julian about how the riding
hound was doing at the orphanage.

"And I named him Pika!" Kela said. "He likes it. When I call
his name he comes right to me."

"He comes to it because she feeds him her leftover cake
after supper," Lewin said, rolling his eyes. "Pika is a
stupid name. It's a girl's name!"

"Lewin, be nice to your sister," Garak chastised. "Tell me
about how school is going."

Julian reached under the table and squeezed Garak's hand,
smiling gently as Lewin complained about having to bring his
math homework with him during his visit. This Julian, unlike
the real one, moved with a fluid grace that Garak had once
found intriguing, but he now cursed himself for not noticing
before. Every movement was like a dance; there was no
awkwardness to him at all. The real Bashir had a tendency to
fidget after a while. The real doctor was often oblivious to
anything that did not hold his attention, but this Julian
seemed to notice everything. Physically they were a match,
but the self-assurance Garak mistook for Bashir's emerging
maturity was actually cool manipulation on the part of the
Founder.

He squeezed the hand back and continued the conversation. He
wanted to hate him, this thing that had destroyed his life
so utterly. He wanted to be able to pick up his knife and
drive it into his chest - not that it would do it any harm,
but even if it could, he knew he couldn't do it.

Not yet.

His head throbbed. He took a breath and winced.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" Julian said in concern.

"Headache." He cleared his throat. "I only had a few hours
sleep. I'm a bit tired."

Julian looked at him in concern. "After we eat, I'll take
you up to the Infirmary and give you a hypospray."

"It'll be fine," Garak said with a slight smile. "Amsha, you
were talking about the comforters you bought for the
children's rooms?"

"Oh yes! They're gorgeous! I found them in that little shop
across the Promenade!" Amsha said brightly. "And I met that
nice Mr. Ajaz this morning and picked up the children's
clothes. Thank you so much for the coat you made me, by the
way. How did you get my measurements?"

"Ajaz made it, actually, I just gave him the pattern. I
guessed at your measurements from the pictures Julian showed
me. I usually have a good eye for that sort of thing," Garak
said with a weak smile. "I hope you liked the color?"

"It's gorgeous, and the lining is practically sinful!" Amsha
gushed. "I ordered a dress made from that Vulcan silk as
soon as I felt it."

"Ajaz is a very good tailor," Garak nodded. "Did he show you
his lacework?"

"He made me a dress! A blue dress!" Kela said brightly. "I
wanted to wear it today but Nani said it was for the
wedding."

"Yeah, and I have a black suit with shiny lapels," Lewin
said, drinking some of his milkshake noisily. "Dr. Julian
says I'm going to carry the rings on a pillow as a part of
the ceremony."

"And I get to throw flowers at everybody!" Kela announced.
"I don't know why, but it sounds like fun."

"Speaking of new clothes," Julian said, fingering the pips
on Garak's collar, "these are a little premature, don't you
think?"

Garak caught his hand and kissed it lightly. "Sisko sent
word that we're having an inspection in a few hours and that
the station is in full drill. He told me to go ahead and
show up in uniform and that he'd straighten things out with
command. They're going to have the hearing in absentia."

"That's wonderful," Julian said, nodding in approval. "Maybe
we can get the swearing-in ceremony and the commission
hearing done all by this weekend."

"You still have to wait at least another month for the
wedding. I still have to get your father here and he's
dealing with that campaign nonsense," she huffed. "Honestly,
Jules, I hope he loses. I was enjoying having him home for a
change."

"It's a shame you all live so far away. We'll have to try to
visit as often as we can," Garak said, ignoring the stabs of
pain between his eyes.

"Actually, I was thinking about going down to Bajor and
looking around." Amsha stroked the top of Lewin's dark head
and smiled at the boy. "I'm going to look into renting a
nice vacation house so when Grandpa and Nani come back we
can all spend some time together, right, Lewin?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lewin said, practically glowing.

"My friends are going to be so jealous!" Kela said
triumphantly. "I got a nani and a grandpa and TWO daddies
now!"

"You certainly do!" Julian said in amusement.

Garak reached for his drink and took a long sip. Focus, he
told himself. The children will get past this, but for now
he just had to keep going with the deception.

He felt his hand shake and put down the glass, pasting on a
big smile. "Have you seen the orphanage yet, Amsha?"

"No, but I'm dying to!" she said. "Jules tells me it's a
wonderful place."

"It really is," Julian nodded. "Not at all what you'd
expect-"

"Doctor, Mr. Garak."

They looked up to see Odo approaching their table.

"Odo!" He turned to his mother. "Mother, this is the
Constable. Odo, this is my mother and these are Kela and
Lewin, the two children Garak and I are in the process of
adopting. Won't you join us?"

"Hello," Odo looked over the group politely but shook his
head in refusal. "Thank you, but no. The captain wanted me
to come by personally and tell you that the Admiral's ship
will be docking within the next four hours. He's upgrading
the drill so all non-essential personnel and visitors must
evacuate. He wanted to let you know first so the children
could say goodbye. Their social worker is waiting at the
airlock."

"Oh no, and Garak just got here," Julian said, frowning.

"He said to tell you that as soon as the Admiral and his
other ships leave, he'll be happy to grant you and Mr. Garak
time off to visit with them," Odo replied.

"It's all right, Julian," Garak said. "I wasn't expecting to
see them this week anyway, remember?" He turned to the
children who were suddenly very quiet and obviously
disappointed. "We'll come down this weekend and spend every
minute together. Does that sound good?"

"Sure," Lewin said sadly. "Do we get to take the toys and
clothes Nani bought with us?"

"Take what we have with us and I'll bring down the rest
later," Amsha said, smiling gently. "I'll take my shuttle
down and drop off the rest this afternoon."

"That would probably be for the best," Garak agreed. This
was perfect. Sisko was an incredibly clever man. His idea of
bringing in the three galaxy-class ships and holding a
'drill' to keep the station in a state of battle-readiness
was a stroke of genius.

"But I don't want to go. I want to stay with Nani!" Kela
complained, her expression sulky.

"Kela, Nani said she's coming with us. Besides, we have to
feed Pika his dinner, remember?" Lewin said to his sister
gently.

"Oh, yeah," Kela said, suddenly brightening. "And now I get
to introduce Nani to him!"

"Well, that settles it!" Amsha said with a firm nod.
"I've never met a real riding hound before and I think it's
past time I did!"

"We'll say our goodbyes here," Julian said, getting up. He
nodded to Odo gratefully. "Can you escort the children to
the airlocks, Constable? That way I can go ahead and take
care of Garak's headache before my lunch hour is over."

"I'm going to just run down to your quarters and gather a
few things," Amsha said. She bent down and kissed Garak on
the cheek. "I look forward to spending a lot of time with
you when this is over."

"Goodbye, Elim," Kela said, giving him a kiss as she hopped
down off her chair. "When can we come live here forever?"

"I - I don't-"

"Soon, sweetheart," Julian said, putting a comforting hand
on Garak's shoulder. "Very soon."

"Julian's right. It will be very soon. Before you know it,"
Garak nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat as he rose
from his seat and picked up the girl. Lewin walked over and,
without even being asked, wrapped his arms around him as
well.

Tain, you bastard, Garak thought miserably, I know you're
enjoying this wherever you are. But deep in his heart he
knew he had earned this pain. He more than earned it for
what he had done.

For what he had said to Anwen before she died.

This was merely justice. He only hoped the children didn't
suffer for his mistakes.

"What? I don't rate a hug?" Julian asked, opening his arms.

He released Lewin and set down Kela so they could say their
goodbyes to the Founder. It took all his self-control not to
snatch them away from its arms. How this creature and Odo
could be from the same stock he didn't know, Garak thought.
He and Odo might not have always seen eye to eye, but the
constable would never use the affections of a child in this
way.

"I'll take them with me now," Odo said. "May I escort you as
well, Mrs. Bashir?"

"No, but thank you, Constable. It was a pleasure meeting
you; Julian speaks highly of you. I'm sure we'll be seeing
one another again very soon," Amsha said, smiling at the
changeling.

"This way then," Odo said, holding his hand out to Kela.

"When we get back we can go talk to your friend, Chief
O'Brien, about helping us put together those models Nani
bought me, right, Dr. Julian?" Lewin asked, reluctant to
leave.

"Absolutely, and Kela can spend the whole day playing with
Molly again, just like I promised," Julian said, releasing
him and ruffling his hair.

Garak eyed the Founder as he played the role of doting
parent. If he weren't the victim of his machinations he
might even admire his ability to lie so convincingly.

"Go on now," Garak said. "We'll be seeing each other in just
two or three days."

After they left, Julian turned to Garak, a come-hither look
in his eyes that he knew all too well. "I still have twenty
minutes left. Mother's in your quarters so we'll go to
mine."

Garak felt flickers of heat in his belly and cursed himself
for it. Damn him, Garak thought, and damn me. How can I
still want this? With a sinking heart he realized that even
if he didn't want it, the Founder would expect him to
perform. If he didn't it might look suspicious. He just
prayed the captain had sense enough not to allow the real
Bashir to view any security footage of the two of them. He
suspected that Sisko had probably activated the long-unused
Cardassian surveillance equipment in the Founder's quarters
as he had suggested through the vedek. When DS9 had been
Terok Nor, every inch of the station was under scrutiny by
either Dukat or the constable. Rather than uninstall them,
the Federation had merely cut the feeds and left the
equipment within the walls.

He had been hoping to use it to track the Founder's
movements. He only hoped he could spare the doctor any
further humiliation.

"My head is really killing me, love," Garak said faintly. "I
don't know if I'll be worth your trouble today."

Julian looked at him in concern. "Come to my quarters
anyway. I keep a medkit there. It will be less trouble than
going to the Infirmary right now and we can take a short nap
in my bed."

"Sounds good," Garak agreed, allowing himself to be led
toward the turbolifts.

---

Garak entered Julian's quarters and was immediately pulled
into a soft, passionate kiss.

"Have I told you how damned sexy you look in that uniform?"
Julian asked huskily as he nibbled the ridges adorning the
outer edges of Garak's ears.

"My love, please." Garak said, pulling back slightly. "I
want to do this, but my head is really throbbing. I've just
spent the last 36 hours in the company of Worf and his
damned prune juice cocktails and Klingon opera. Running into
those marauders was actually the highlight of our trip."

"That does sound rough," Julian said wryly. "Get undressed
and I'll prepare the hypospray."

"Why do I need to get undressed for a hypospray?" Garak
asked warily.

"We're taking a nap, remember? These uniforms aren't exactly
good for lounging in and you don't want to walk into Ops
rumpled, do you?" Julian said shaking his head in amusement.
"You act like I've never seen you naked before or something."

"I wasn't thinking. You're right," Garak said, going into
the bedroom and stripping down quickly to his undershirt and
briefs. He folded his uniform carefully and then sat on the
bed.

"Here we are," Julian said as he entered the room. He placed
the hypospray against the Cardassian's neck and paused.
"What's this?" He lifted Garak's shirt and looked at the
shiny healed cuts and abrasions that were still in the
process of fading away. "What the hell happened to you out
there? Worf didn't say anything about you being wounded!"

"It's all right, Julian..." Garak said, lowering his shirt.

"The hell it is!" Julian said angrily. "For god's sake, I'm
the station's CMO! Whenever a member of this crew is wounded
I'm supposed to receive an incident report and immediately
do a follow-up examination. Why wasn't I informed?"

His mind raced. "When the Orions attacked," he said, keeping
the tone of his voice smooth, "I was repairing the
replicator. After the battle was over I found myself halfway
across the bridge with chunks of debris sticking out of my
shoulder blade and hot oil all over my chest. Worf was able
to patch me up." He shrugged. "I didn't want to upset the
children by going over it in front of them."

"You're still coming with me to the Infirmary after our nap.
If it wasn't for this damned drill-" Julian tightened his
lips angrily, then sighed. "Damn. The drill." He rubbed his
hand over his hair in a familiar gesture of agitation and
sat beside him on the bed. "I have to run a few errands
before I can get to the Infirmary. The Chief has managed yet
again to avoid his six-month physical until the last minute
and if I don't get his paperwork signed and filed before the
Admiral gets here it won't look good at all. Comm Sisko and
explain what happened, then see Dr. Okuna and have him look
you over. I'll see you as soon as I get back."

"Are you leaving now?" Garak asked. This could be it. It
made sense; with the task force closing in, the Founder
might choose to put whatever plan he has into operation
sooner rather than later.

"Not right now," Julian said, caressing Garak's cheek then
placing a soft kiss on his mouth. "Does your head feel
better?"

"Some," Garak agreed, closing his eyes and melting into the
kiss. It was wrong, he knew it, but it felt - he felt-

Garak reached for him and pulled him tight against him,
feeling the heat of the other man's body as he was lowered
down onto the bed. Julian ground on top of him and Garak
could feel his erection stirring against his thigh.

Was this a lie, too? he thought. Did the Founder even feel
anything when they did this? Did he laugh afterwards or
shudder in disgust at the thought of sharing his body with
him? Or was this real? Did the Founder really love him? If
he did, what would that mean to him?

As if reading his mind, Julian said, "I love you. I missed
you so much."

"Really?" Garak asked, rolling over and taking Julian with
him then grinding their bodies together. He watched the
Founder flush and moan in response. He nibbled its throat.
"Do you really love me, Julian?"

"Yes..." the Founder breathed. " You have no idea how much
you mean to me."

"How much?" Garak asked. "Tell me."

Julian hastily began to remove his uniform jacket, locking
his lips with Garak's. Despite every instinct he had in him
telling him that this was a mistake, Garak pulled at
Julian's trousers and pushed them down, his hand wrapping
around the other man's erection then pumped him firmly.

"Take off your clothes," Julian said against his mouth.
"Fuck me."

"Do you like this, Julian?" Garak said, ignoring both the
Founder's request and his own hard need. "Do you like it
when I touch you?"

Julian moaned and arched into his hand. Garak pulled up the
Founder's shirt and suckled his nipples, biting them gently
and causing his lover to cry out. "Does this really feel
good to you?"

"Damn you! Either fuck me or let me fuck you!" Julian said,
digging his fingers into the mattress. "Don't tease me!"

"Am I a tease?" Garak asked, lowering his head and tasting
the tip of the creature's cock. It tasted real, he thought
as he lapped at the moisture gathering at the tip. So
real...

"Oh god, yes..." Julian moaned as Garak took him into his
mouth and sucked.

He felt the Founder's hands weave through his hair as he
forced his head down. He swallowed as much of him as he
could, holding the base of his shaft and squeezing in time
with his strokes. He lifted his mouth off of him and nibbled
the Founder's thighs, feeling the soft hair of his legs
tickle his tongue.

Was this what the real Bashir was like in bed, Garak
wondered, then immediately regretted it. Pain ripped through
him and he felt his erection begin to flag. He took the
Founder's cock into his mouth and sucked again, harder.

"Oh god!" Julian cried. "Oh love, I'm going to come, you
have to stop!"

Garak lifted his head and spit on his hand, lubing up his
fingers. He took the Founder's hardness into his mouth once
again and with the other hand he reached between his lover's
thighs and found his entrance. With little thought to being
gentle he entered him and ran his finger over his prostate
with a sharp, stabbing motion.

Julian screamed and held Garak's head as his seed flooded
the Cardassian's throat. Even through that, Garak wondered
how the Founder had managed it. How could his body mimic the
responses needed to simulate orgasm?

How did this creature know how Julian Bashir made love?

Or did it? Was this a lie as well?

Julian fell against the pillow in a heap as Garak reached
into the nightstand for a towel. He cleaned Julian up
gently, his face still and emotionless.

Why he had done it he couldn't say. Perhaps it was out of
some need to prove to himself that not everything he had
felt for this man was a part of some manipulation, or maybe
it was so that he could revenge himself. Perhaps by doing
this some part of the Founder could feel as used as he felt.

Or maybe it was because he was still in love with him.

His face crumpled in pain and he felt his chest ache.

"Garak? Sweetheart? What's wrong?" Julian said, reaching for
his face in alarm.

"I'm just tired," Garak said, trying to remain in control.
"I'm so tired."

Julian nodded. "Do you want me to...?"

"I can't," he groaned, moving so he laid beside the other
man. "I just can't get an erection right now. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it happens," Julian soothed, laying his head on
his chest. "I understand." He glanced over at the chrono.
"Damn. Damn, damn, damn!" He got up hastily and straightened
his uniform. "I'm late! I'm so fucking late it isn't funny!
I don't even have time to clean up!" He kissed Garak hastily
on the mouth then headed for the door. "Rest here! I have to
go to Ops for a few minutes anyway. I'll explain to Sisko
that you have a bad headache and I'll tell him to give you
at least an hour to nap. Doctor's orders!" He stopped at the
bedroom door. "I'll be back then to wake you up. There's
something I need to talk to you about anyway. Comm me if you
need anything!" And then he was gone.

Garak waited until he was sure the other man had left and
got up to retrieve his comm badge. "Garak to Sisko."

//Where are you?// Sisko's voice said quietly.

"Julian's - Dr. Bashir's quarters. He's coming your way
now." He reminded himself to be very careful. There was no
way of knowing how closely the Founder monitored the
station's comm chatter. "I have a bad headache. The doctor's
recommended that I rest until the hypo he gave me takes
effect. He said he'd return in one hour to check on me, then
I'll be available for debriefing."

//Understood.// Sisko said tightly. //Are you...all right?//

"I'll live," was all he said.

//I'll let you know when the doctor leaves so you can
freshen up. After he's done with you, I need you to report
to my office. Understood?//

"Understood. Garak out."

He considered following Julian's progress on the security
feeds, but he didn't want to touch any of the terminals in
the Founder's quarters. There was no way of knowing if he
had them rigged. Sisko would comm him if Julian took too
long in coming to his office and he knew he probably had
either Worf or Bashir monitoring its progress already.

He crawled back into the bed and ordered the computer to dim
the lights. He couldn't sleep but he needed time. Time to
put all of this into some kind of perspective.

Garak rolled over and buried his head into the Founder's
pillow, breathing in his scent, and allowed the pain to wash
over him.

---
Chapter Nine: Tzenketh
---

As Garak felt sleep overtake him, an image came to his mind.

Anwen.

He kicked at the covers fitfully as the nightmare began to
unfold.

---

Garak sat in the corner of the cave, feeling the gazes of
the women boring into him. He didn't care. He didn't even
care if they shot him at this point.

His career, his life, was over.

They had no choice but to leave Emar's body on the cliffs as
he followed the small terrorist cell to their camp. They'd
made him wear a blindfold for most of the journey; as soon
as he got there, several members of the cell who had
remained in the camp had wanted him killed immediately.
Actually, they'd used the phrase "put down", as if he were
an animal.

Anwen had fought for him, saying that on three separate
occasions he had saved the children's lives and that he
could be a valuable source of information. Jomat Luscon, the
cell's leader, had finally agreed with her, but he couldn't
help but wonder if the first time Anwen had to leave the
camp one of her fellow terrorists wouldn't put a well-aimed
phaser blast in his chest.

For the last two days he'd sat in the dark, waiting for one
of them to sneak over and slash his throat while Anwen slept
or retrieved food.

Damned Bajorans couldn't even be relied upon to do that.

"Here, eat," Anwen said, handing him a plate of some kind of
grain porridge. "It's not much but it's all we have."

He didn't even glance at it. "Why am I here?"

"You'd rather we left you to one of Koril's firing squads?"
she snorted, placing the bowl on the ground beside him.

Yes, he thought, but instead he said, "I'm a Cardassian, a
soldier - you're a terrorist. I should be dead."

"Probably," she said, sitting beside him. "But you're also a
valuable tool. Let's face it, you're nothing more than a
walking corpse right now. You leave these caves and every
Cardie with a rifle will have you in his crosshairs. If you
want to live, you'll help us; if not, I don't even have to
waste the time it would take to kill you. Word just got back
that the prefect of Bajor just signed your death warrant
personally." She smiled faintly. "You really know how to
piss the right people off. I figure a man that can inspire
that kind of hate from Dukat himself is worth keeping
around."

"One does one's humble best," Garak said dryly as he picked
up the bowl and spooned some of the thick, tasteless muck
into his mouth. He screwed up his face in distaste. "If this
is what passes for food around here, I'm surprised you all
don't just turn yourselves in. They eat better than this in
the prison camps."

"The soldiers might, but compared to what us poor Jories
get, you're eating what would pass as a gourmet meal," she
said, shoveling a big gob of it into her mouth. "Later you
can help me catch some cave spiders for supper. They're a
little gamy at first, but once you get used to sucking the
juice out of the legs they're pretty good."

Garak felt the porridge rise in his throat and gagged. He
sat down the bowl quickly and ran his hand over his mouth.
"Tell me you're kidding."

"That look like I'm kidding?" She pointed over to two women
who were carrying a long pole between them over to the fire.
Draped over it were six large spiders, each approximately a
foot across, their long, fat legs curling and sizzling as
they lowered the spit over the fire.

Garak jumped to his feet and backed away quickly.

"Relax, they're dead," she snorted and continued to eat,
looking at him in amusement. "For a foot soldier you sure
are soft."

"I'm not a foot soldier," Garak grimaced.

"Prison guard, whatever," Anwen said then gestured to his
bowl. "You gonna eat or what?"

"I've lost my appetite." Garak shuddered as the smell of the
insects wafted through the cave.

"Suit yourself," she said, picking up his bowl and digging
in. "This is your last free meal, though. After this, you
work. Everyone contributes here."

Garak looked around. The cavern was huge. There were
approximately three dozen children of varying ages running
around, and several others, all under the age of two, were
lying in rough-hewn cradles stuffed with straw and lined
with soft rags. At least four of the infants and eight of
the older children were hybrids. "You allow half-Cardassian
children to live among you?"

"They're half-Bajoran and yes, we do." She looked at him
sharply. "If you don't like it, you can leave."

He didn't answer her. He counted all of the adults he could
see and added them to the group he saw leave earlier that
morning. There were fifteen of them all together, all
female. "Where are your men?"

"Dead. Gone. Prison, work camps. A lot of them were rounded
up and taken to work the plant up in Terok Nor." She
shrugged. "We do okay."

"Hardly," Garak said dryly.

They were obviously barely hanging on. There were too many
children and not enough food to go around. They were eating
insects and whatever they could scrounge or steal. These
weren't terrorists, they were refugees.

He looked at the women closely. They were an unattractive
lot, even for Bajorans. Most of them were plain-faced with
callused hands; farm stock and peasants obviously. The ones
who didn't have their hair shaved to practically their
skulls wore it as a tangled matted mess. Most were clean
though. There was an underwater spring somewhere down in one
of the caves, and they frequently went back and forth
hauling great clay pots filled with water for the cooking
fires.

He had watched in surprise and no little amusement that
morning when a small group of the women went behind a
curtain to remove their clean shifts to come out dressed in
filthy rags. They then dragged their hands in dirt and
smeared it over their faces and arms. At the time he thought
it was for sun protection or perhaps camouflage. So far
nothing these women did seem to make sense to him.

"Admiring the livestock?" Anwen said. Apparently she had
been studying him as well.

"You make yourselves look unkempt on purpose: why?"

"Ugly is easier," she said coolly. "A spoonhead will rape
anything with a hole, but the pretty ones get kept. A plain
woman gets sent back to where she came from."

Garak tried not to wince as he heard her matter-of-fact
dismissal of rape. "A comfort woman is at least kept well,
better than this. I know a lot of ranking officers keep
harems."

"Did you?" she asked.

"No. I've only been on Bajor six months and keeping up with
more than one lover at a time has never appealed to me." He
eyed her with a superior air. "Women, in my experience, are
usually more trouble than they're worth. I've never even
bothered to deal with Bajorans in that manner."

"Comfort women aren't lovers; they're either slaves or
whores." Anwen put down the bowl and wiped her hands on her
tattered pants. "They get fed and fucked and watch their
children get carted away and killed like they were just
trash or an inconvenient reminder that Bajorans and
spoonheads are compatible enough to produce offspring. I
guess that's why people like you don't seem so comfortable
having them around, huh?"

"If I were that uncomfortable with the idea of hybrids, I
could have blasted those rocks over your heads and spared
myself a lot of trouble," Garak returned.

"I'm sorry. You're right." She looked at him curiously.
"You're different than most Cardies I've met. What's your
story? Hell, what's your name? You never said."

"Garak."

"Just Garak?"

"Just Garak," he said curtly. The last person who called him
Elim other than Tain was dead. He didn't need the reminder.

"Plain and simple," she said, nodding. "I like it."

"Like you? Plain and simple?" he said, allowing his voice to
become a bit snide.

"You think we're stupid?" Anwen asked, not appearing
insulted at all by his attitude.

"You raise your children in caves and train them to rub dung
in their hair to discourage sexual abuse. I think you're all
geniuses," he said, not bothering to tone down his sarcasm.

"First off, if you spoonheads weren't up your own asses
you'd recognize that the Bajorans had a thriving culture
before you people decided to shit all over our world," she
said, her anger bubbling to the surface. "As for the
children, they're starving, in case you didn't notice. Their
parents have been hauled off or killed and they have to fend
for themselves! So they rub shit in their hair and keep
themselves dirty so they can beg and steal food from the
camps and hope that Koril doesn't decide to fuck them
despite the stink. That's not stupid, it's survival."

Garak felt properly chastened at that. "I'm sorry. I
apologize for insulting you."

"Doesn't change anything," she shrugged, but her voice was
less angry now.

"I can't apologize for every wrong done to your people. The
Occupation has lasted 60 years. I didn't start it," Garak
said in a low voice.

"Yeah, but you sleep on Bajoran cotton sheets and use oils
in your hair harvested from our trees, and that last big
breakfast you ate was cooked by Bajoran slaves," she said
quietly.

"Actually, I cooked the last meal I ate," Garak smiled
slightly. "Koril had me 'help' in the kitchens."

"Oh well, there you go then!" She lifted her cup of water in
salute, "Congratulations! You're now officially Bajoran. All
is forgiven."

Despite himself, Garak began to laugh. She looked at him
with narrowed eyes then flung her water in his face.

He sputtered and choked, sneezing as the liquid went up his
nose. When he was done, through the tears stinging his eyes,
he saw her smile.

And in those few minutes the knot in his chest began to
loosen, just a little.

---

After a week or so, the ragtag group of women warriors had
gotten used to his presence. They weren't comfortable around
him, but they allowed him to wander around - albeit under
their watchful eyes. The children even started to relax
around him, running around and tearing through the camp as
if he were invisible.

He grimaced and sat down the heavy crock of water as two of
the children nearly collided with him. "Stop running! You'll
fall and break something!" He growled. "Like me," he
muttered, stretching his sore back.

He had officially been designated the camp's pack mule,
fetching and carrying and doing the majority of the heavy
lifting. It earned him a portion of the food and a pallet to
sleep on. Nothing else.

"Hey, Cardie! That water goes over by the fire!" one of the
women said as she looked up from the insects she was
butchering.

He didn't bother to answer, he just hefted the jug and
walked over to her and sat it down with a thump. "Your
water."

"Great," she said, popping some spider meat into her mouth.
"Now all you got is six more to fetch and I can start the
soup. Aliel and Momo just brought back a whole nest of
palukoo; some real juicy ones. Got some nice moss and a
bunch of mushrooms, too. Gonna be a real feast tonight."

He controlled the urge to vomit. Despite the enthusiasm the
women and children displayed over the vile things, he still
refused to eat them. He'd have to collect his own dinner
again today. He'd learned to make do by boiling the moss
near the spring in salt water and creating a thick mush from
it. It wasn't exactly flavorful, but it was better than
spider soup.

"I'll pass," Garak said, walking away and ignoring the
woman's grating cackle that followed him. His finicky
appetite had become something of a camp joke among the
women.

As he walked over to retrieve another empty container, he
overheard Jomat Luscon talking to the eight women who
comprised the core of her cell.

"Word is there's a big shipment of food coming in from the
north," she said, pointing to a map. "Koril's having a big
dinner party tonight. He's got some special guests coming
over and he wants to make an impression. There's no cover
and it'll be guarded, but maybe we can sneak into the
compound and steal a few boxes before the kitchen staff
unloads the truck. It won't be much, just what we can carry,
but if we're fast we might score enough food to keep us
going for a while."

He stopped and listened carefully as they each offered their
own ideas.

"To bad we can't just take the truck," Anwen said. "That
much food and we wouldn't have to hunt spiders for at least
a month."

Garak spoke up. "Perhaps I can help."

"Don't you have some water to fetch, tenderfoot?" the woman
called Momo said snidely.

Anwen glared at her. "If Garak has an idea, I wouldn't mind
hearing it. I don't know about you but I'm sick of palukoo
and moss three times a day, and that's only when we get
lucky enough to find them."

"You have something to say, Garak?" Luscon asked, eyeing him
carefully. The leader of their cell obviously didn't know
what to make of him yet, so Garak made sure to move
carefully around her.

He looked at the map. "Show me the route this truck carrying
the food is supposed to take."

Luscon pointed to the central road leading from the country
to the prison. "They load up here and then it's a fairly
straight shot. They avoid the pass so we can't get the
advantage there. It's all open country."

"Do you know what time and where the truck does its pickup?"
Garak asked, formulating a plan.

"Yes, why?" Luscon asked.

"If you can't get to the food, then let the food come to
you."

---

When she wanted to, Anwen could be a very beautiful woman,
Garak thought, as he watched her walk up and down the road
about a mile outside the prison. She had bathed and combed
her hair and put on a clean short shift Garak had quickly
done up before they left.

She and the other women had watched earlier as he sharpened
a piece of palukoo shell into a needle and modified one of
her existing shapeless dresses into something more suitable
to their mission.

"What were you? A tailor or something?" Momo had said, her
voice envious as she watched him quickly throw the gown
together.

"Hardly. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how to run a
needle and thread through cloth."

"I didn't accuse you of being a genius, tenderfoot. I asked
if you were a tailor."

"Leave him alone, Momo, let him work," Anwen had said,
watching as he put his plan into action.

Now he was crouched behind a boulder with Momo watching from
her post across the road. Right on time a military transport
headed their way and Anwen stood in the middle of the road,
her barely there rough shift showing as much of her as would
be needed to get the soldiers' attentions.

They slowed down the truck and leered. "How much?" the
driver asked.

"A strip each," she said coyly. "I can make it worth your
while."

"That bitch isn't worth it," his partner said beside him.
"She isn't worth even half that for both of us."

"You got any food?" she asked. "I'll do you both for some
food."

The Cardassians looked at each other. "We will have some.
We're just going to town now. You play nice and we'll give
you all the food you want on our way back," the driver
promised.

"How do I know you'll really do it?" she asked uncertainly.

"We could drag you behind those rocks and take it anyway,
but we don't have that much time," he sneered. "You open
those pretty little thighs for us without a fight and you'll
have your pick of Gul Koril's feast."

"Okay," she nodded. "One at a time though. I don't take on
two spoonheads at once. I learned my lesson."

"Too rough for you, little girl?" the passenger snorted.

"Too big. You Cardies are hung like monsters compared to
Jories."

"Like that's news to us," the driver said, opening the door.
"Get in."

"I like to fuck on my hands and knees," Anwen said
provocatively. "Easier to take that way and I'm real tight.
All my spoonies say so. How about we do it in the back of
the truck? It's empty, right?"

"Oh yeah," he said, jumping out and taking her arm into his
beefy grip. He turned to his partner. "You stay up here and
honk if you see anyone coming."

"Will do," he nodded. "And speaking of coming, don't mess
her up. I don't like dipping my meat in somebody else's
sauce."

"I'm not making any promises," he said, leering at Anwen.

When they got to the back of the truck, Anwen bent over and
put her hands on the back of it, shaking her ass at the
soldier and pulling her dress up so he could see she wasn't
wearing underwear. "You like it? It's clean, too. I've never
got any complaints about how I keep myself for my spoonies."

"Oh yeah, I'll just bet," he said, reaching for the
fasteners on his pants just before a heavy blow from behind
cracked his skull.

He fell on the ground. Garak motioned for Momo to circle
around as Anwen made loud grunting noises and began to rock
the truck by pressing on the bumper. The hover truck began
to bob slightly.

"Hey, Klevon! Don't stretch it out too much! I want my turn
at that little bitch, too!" the other soldier called out.

"Why don't you come out and get me?" Anwen shouted. "This
spoonie's cock is so good I'm tempted to make an exception
and take both of you on! You can get my mouth while he fills
me from the other end!"

"Don't have to ask me twice, little girl!" he said, hopping
out of the truck and straight into the business end of
Momo's rifle.

"Say goodnight, Spoonie," she said, just before she put him
down for good.

---

"Where's your partner? Don't you guys usually make the pick
up in pairs?"

Garak shrugged and hitched his thumb toward town. "He
decided to get himself a piece of Jori ass down the road.
It's his birthday so I told him to take all the time he
needed before we headed back. You got the truck loaded yet?"

"Everything Gul Koril asked for as well as your normal
supplies," the Cardassian said, handing him a PADD. "Sign
here and you're free to go. Should be a real feast tonight."

He signed Klevon's name and nodded. "Only for the
high-bloods. Us grunts only get the leftovers."

"Isn't that the truth?" he snorted as he smacked the hood of
the truck. "See you next week if they don't keep switching
you guys around."

"You know how officers get. Always messing around with what
works. See you!"

Garak drove off toward where Momo and Anwen where waiting.
Oh yes, it was going to be a feast tonight, and not one bit
of it would consist of dead spiders and moss.

---

After the heist of Koril's food shipment, Luscon began to
regularly include Garak in their strategy sessions. At
first, he and the other members of the cell circled each
other warily. Garak had pretty much accepted the fact that
he was stuck where he was. His only hope of getting off
Bajor alive was to wait it out until the war ended, but it
seemed to drag on and on.

He spent the first two months with the cell planning attacks
on anything Maros Koril had a hand in that would serve the
group's interests. They rerouted food deliveries,
intercepted prisoners being transferred out to work the
mines, and basically did anything and everything they could
to make Koril's life on Bajor as difficult as possible.

It was not an altruistic effort on Garak's part. If he had
to live among the Bajorans, a wanted man by his own people,
then the least he would do is get some revenge for the death
of Emar.

He had taken to discussing his plans in detail with Anwen
after their evening meal. They sat near his fire on his cot
and talked. It was like having Emar back in a way, he
thought.

Unlike Emar, Anwen had no formal education, but she came
from an educated family. She had told him her father had
been a history teacher before dying in a prison camp. She
didn't remember him but her mother passed on his books and
taught her to read and write. She had a quick wit and a
sharp tongue that amused him, so every evening they'd sit
together and he'd tell her stories about Cardassia and its
literature.

"So, they just keep losing the people they love over and
over again, but it's okay because it's for the good of the
state?" she asked, her tone making her opinion of the work
fairly obvious. "Isn't that a little melodramatic and
repetitive? I mean, can't they figure it out by the third
generation that maybe they should take a step back and not
kill their lovers? I mean, how does keeping a family
miserable generation after generation help anything?"

"You'd have to read the book to understand," he said
wearily.

"Well, the title pretty much sums it up for me." She lifted
her eyebrows in emphasis. "'TheNeverEndingSacrifice'; talk
about a downer."

"The repetitive theme is a part of the appeal. It's
considered a - why do I even bother?" Garak said rolling his
eyes. "Your idea of good literature probably involves busty
wenches and weathered farm hands."

"Well, not 'busty' wenches," she said, looking at her
non-existent chest ruefully.

Garak merely grinned and sipped at his tea. "We're running
low on supplies. We'll have to pay another visit to Koril's
pantry soon."

Momo and Luscon wandered near and sat down across from him.

"Our regular bag of tricks isn't going to cut it anymore,"
Luscon looked at him curiously, "You have anything else in
mind this time?"

"I have a few things in mind to try, but I want to think
them through a bit more first." He glanced over at the women
and children either sleeping or talking quietly amongst
themselves. "That fever that was going through the camp
seems to be under control. The medicine we stole worked."

"Good thing it did; we can't afford to lose anyone. Nine
people against an army? We're already short-handed." Luscon
sighed and looked across the sea of bodies littering the
floor of the cave. "We just got word that the Shakaar cell
assassinated a collaborator right under the nose of Dukat.
He's already spinning it though. Blames it on you," she
said, tilting her chin toward him.

"Me?" Garak asked in surprise.

"Not you exactly, tenderfoot," Momo snickered. "Your evil
den of operatives or some shit."

"What have you heard?" Garak asked.

"After that friend of yours was killed - what was his name?"
Luscon asked.

"Emar. Emar Varras." Garak said quietly.

"Varras?" Anwen asked.

"Yes, why?"

"It's nothing," she said, a smile spreading over her face.
"It's just funny."

"Why would that be funny?" Garak said, his voice even but
his face clouding over dangerously.

"Don't get offended Garak, it's nothing bad," she assured
him. "It's just his name: Varras. It's close to the Bajoran
word for truth-sayer: Varrat."

"Truth-sayer?" Garak mused. "It would have certainly suited
him."

"Anyway, like I was saying," Luscon continued, "after your
friend died, Koril sent word to Dukat that he was killed by
you. Dukat sort of spun it into this big call to arms. He
said that a 'vile agent' of a covert group of Cardassians
who was interested in nothing more than weakening the
Cardassian armed forces serving on Bajor murdered one of his
own in cold blood."

"Yeah, something about how the civilian government set the
whole thing up to make him look bad somehow. He also claims
that this group is responsible for framing his father for
some crime he didn't commit and now he's got every Cardie
out there looking over their shoulders and wondering who to
trust," Momo said.

"It works in our favor, really," Luscon said thoughtfully.
"Cardassians distrusting Cardassians mean we can get in and
do what we have to. As long as they're watching each other
we're free and clear."

"What was this about an assassination on Terok Nor?" Garak
asked, putting the pieces together. Dukat was attacking the
Obsidian Order in a bid to not only clear his father's name
and, thereby, his own, but also to hold on to Bajor a little
while longer.

The last thing Garak needed was to spend another few years
in this cave waiting for the war to end. By now, Tain had
written him off. He was disavowed entirely; the exposure to
the Obsidian Order in his name was enough to warrant that on
its own. Tain also had his betrayal to hold against him.
He'd had numerous chances to get back in his master's good
graces; a simple apology would have cost him some pride and
perhaps a few more months waiting for Tain to make him his
successor, but it would have meant Emar would have lived and
he wouldn't be clawing for survival in a cave as an
unofficial member of a terrorist cell.

Elim Garak, the pride of the Order, a terrorist for the
opposition. The irony.

I have to up the stakes, Garak thought. If Dukat is using
disinformation and propaganda to keep the war effort going,
I have to counter it.

It was time to center their efforts on Gul Dukat.

---

"You've got to be shitting me!" Momo burst out.

"It will work!" Garak insisted. "If Shakaar's cell was able
to infiltrate Terok Nor, then so can we."

"Shakaar's cell is elite, tenderfoot!" Momo shot back.
"We're a bunch of sneak thieves and babysitters!" Jomat
Luscon gave her a rebuking look but Momo brushed her off.
"Look boss, I know you think we've been showing some real
progress since Spoonie joined up, but stealing a truck and
freeing a few mine workers isn't the same thing as shaking
our asses in Dukat's face and asking him to take a big
whiff. It ain't gonna work!"

"Can you really pull this off, Garak?" Jomat asked quietly.

Garak thought about it. "It'll be tricky, but we've got a
good team. Momo, you were an engineer, right?"

"I was a mechanic, tenderfoot! The only things I ever
learned to read are engine manuals. Don't make me out to be
no high-ass Jori collaborator who got herself an education
by laying on her back!" She looked at him with narrowed
eyes. "I don't do dick. I only tolerate you because you're
practically a woman."

"Take it as a compliment," Anwen said, putting her hand on
his arm. "She's just pissy because her girlfriend has been
holding out on her."

Momo glowered at her, then glanced over at Aliel who was
purposefully ignoring their group, "Dammit. Me and Zinthy
didn't even do anything! She offered and I just turned her
down gently, is all."

Seral, one of the other members of the core group, snickered
rudely. "Give it up, girl. She caught you down by the hot
springs with your hand in Zinthy's crotch and your tongue
down her throat."

"Yeah, well, I was still dressed," Momo shrugged with a
small smile. "It don't count unless you both get to fly."

"Yeah, well, I'd say Aliel doesn't see it that way," Anwen
grinned.

Garak shifted uncomfortably and tried to ignore the fact
that Anwen hadn't removed her hand from his arm yet. She
just rested it there, like it belonged; like she was allowed
to touch him without asking.

It bothered him. Especially since he was beginning to like
it.

He carefully patted Anwen's hand then removed it from his
arm gently and set it away from him. He ignored her curious
look as he continued to explain his idea to them.

"The runabouts and military shuttles are pretty heavily
guarded, but there is a military 'boneyard' about six miles
from the base, here." He pointed to the map. "It's virtually
wide open. The guards practically are asleep on their feet.
It was actually just one of the glaring deficiencies in
Koril's security that I was going to put in my report." He
grinned. "He, like many Cardassians, equate the idea of the
unwashed masses with the unintelligent masses."

"But you, of course, always recognized that we Bajorans are
equally intelligent as you Cardassians right from the get
go," Anwen said with exaggerated brightness.

He ignored her as the others snickered. "Koril figured that
because we weren't interested in salvaging outdated and
damaged ships, the Bajorans wouldn't be either." He smiled
and leaned back slightly. "His gross incompetence is going
to give us our advantage."

"I still say you're fucked in the head," Momo scoffed. "You
want to steal a ship one piece at a time?"

"We kept the hover-truck from our first job two months ago,"
Anwen said thoughtfully. "It's risky, but we can sneak in
and steal what we need over the course of several days if we
have to."

"Prostitutes regularly stroll down there picking up strips
from the two guards assigned to the front gate. The back
entrance has a computerized lockout that Koril relied upon
heavily. It is fairly sophisticated, I'll grant you, but I
happen to know a little about hacking into security
systems," Garak said with a crooked smile. "They don't lock
up the lifting equipment; they just leave it out so they can
use it when they need it. We hot-wire a lift, then load the
back of the truck with what we need a little at a time.
We'll bring back enough so that Momo can piece it together.
We'll all work on it - even the older children if we have
to. We'll need enough to piece together a working ship and
transporter, as well as at least two subspace communicators
besides the one already on the ship. One for here and one
we'll put deep in the canyons so when we relay the
communications their sensors will be so confused they won't
be able to get a lock on our location."

"It'll take a month to do this, Garak, maybe more," Jomat
said thoughtfully. "Is using that many of our resources and
taking that much of a risk really worth it?"

"Yeah, and how the fuck am I supposed to rebuild a
Cardassian transport with nothing but palukoo shells and
rocks? We don't have any tools, tenderfoot," Momo said
snidely.

"If we can break into the boneyard, what makes you think
breaking into a mechanic's shed will pose any greater
challenge?" Garak returned.

Momo paused for a moment then turned to Jomat. "I'm going in
with them, boss. Garak strikes me as the type who don't know
one end of a phase coupler from the other. I know what I'll
need."

"Not until we retrieve all the parts. If the tools come up
missing they'll notice it a lot sooner than they will some
scrap metal and burned out wreckage," Garak said.

"All right then, we're doing this. Momo, Garak, and Seral -
you take the boneyard. Anwen, you be their lookout," Jomat
ordered. "Take it slow and don't get greedy. You load down
the truck too much and you'll never get over the pass.
You'll go tomorrow night: until then, get some sleep.
Tomorrow I'll send Aliel and Jameka out to our contacts at
the farm to 'borrow' some of Koril's produce and keep us
going for a while. I want to keep this within our cell, so I
can't contact Shakaar and ask how he got his operatives on
the station. We'll have to come up with our own plan after
we get the ship put together."

"Yeah, and also so they don't get all the glory," Momo
snorted.

"I hear Shakaar has had a piece of every woman in his cell,"
Seral said with an arched eyebrow.

"That's why I'm glad we don't got any men in our group.
Bunch of useless sad sacks," Momo announced. Garak glared at
her. "Not you, tenderfoot. You're a Cardie, you don't
count."

"Thanks," Garak said dryly. "I appreciate that. Really."

"Anytime. I gotta hit the hay!" Momo said, stretching as she
got up and glancing over at Aliel. "I'm gonna try to sweet
talk my girl into scratching an itch I've had for a week;
otherwise I might have to slip over to Zinthy and offer her
more than a little tickle."

"Very charming, Momo," Seral grimaced. "At least go take
your screaming piece of ass over to the other side of the
cave this time. All that moaning and wailing last time kept
me and my kid awake all night."

"Hey, sweetling, any time you get tired of waiting for that
man of yours to come back from the mines, I'll be more than
happy to keep you satisfied," Momo winked.

"Prophets, if you were a man I swear you'd walk around with
a tent in your pants 26 hours a day," Seral said in mock
disgust as she walked over toward her little girl who was
giggling and playing with a hybrid girl of around the same
age.

After they all said their goodnights and made their way back
to their pallets, Anwen held back and looked at him
curiously. "Are you going down to the hot spring tonight?"

"Perhaps," he said, avoiding her eyes. "I think the rest of
the women and children are settling in for the night. Why do
you ask? Did you need to go bathe? I can wait."

"Just asking," Anwen said with a shrug. "You're a bit on the
gamy side and I was hoping you were planning on remedying it
soon. It's a big cave, but some smells carry."

"I'll be sure to remedy it," Garak said, unamused.

"Make sure you do," Anwen said smartly. "The 'ladies' took a
vote and I was elected spokesman. They're all in agreement
that a living with a clean Cardie is a hell of a lot better
than sharing space with one that smells like he'd been
rolling around in a sulfur pit."

Garak glared at her retreating form as he gathered together
his soap and wash rags. As soon as she was at a safe
distance, he surreptitiously sniffed his armpits
tentatively. "Oof." He drew back slightly. Well, maybe she
wasn't //completely// exaggerating.

---

The sole saving grace of the caves of Tzenketh was the hot
spring about a half a kilometer from the main cavern. It was
a communal bathing spot which the women enjoyed - if they
didn't have to share the springs with spiders, that is.

One of the curiosities about that part of the caves were the
phosphorescent rocks that bathed the spring in a soft glow.
The women kept lamps around the perimeter as well to
encourage the spiders to avoid the hot, humid space.

It was all good and well to eat them but they didn't want to
bathe with them, a fact for which Garak was grateful.

He waited until the women were sleeping, then he took his
soap and wash rags down to the springs. Not wanting to clean
his filthy, grease-spattered clothes in the spring itself,
he filled the wash tub set up beside the pool with hot
water, added some soap, and stripped, throwing his clothes
into the tub as he removed them. Once he had scrubbed the
clothing clean, he picked up the small phaser the women kept
hanging on the wall above the reach of the children and
directed a low energy pulse to a long, flat rock beside the
tub. As soon as it glowed a warm amber, he carefully laid
his clothing on the rock, letting its heat steam his
clothing dry.

He had three sets of clothing, two from the guards they had
killed when they stole the truck and the one he had come
with. He tried to keep them in good repair and kept his own
uniform aside so that it wouldn't looked tattered when he
was on assignment. The other two he wore around the caves -
without the armor, of course. Sleeping and working in the
same two sets of clothes and underwear for two months had
taken their toll on the fabric, he thought, as he eyed the
frayed and torn sleeves. He was going to have to pick up his
needle again and make himself a tunic and trousers or raid
the base for some clean underwear.

His childhood wasn't pampered by any stretch of the
imagination, but Tain had never been stingy with his money.
He'd always had the best of everything: clothes, food, wine,
and education. He missed it, but part of him was very proud
that he had managed as well as he had. Tain, of course,
would not see it that way, but it was gratifying
nonetheless.

He stepped into the steaming water and groaned, his scales
tingling with pleasure as he dove under the water and held
his breath for a minute before popping back up. He then swam
over to the shallow end and picked up the bar of soap he'd
brought with him along with one of his wash rags. Seral had
made the soap from the rendered fat of a boar they had
stolen from a Cardassian-controlled farm, scenting the
finished product with the sap of a bush that grew in the
mountains. The heady, completely alien scent seemed almost
as magnificent to Garak as the heat that permeated every
pore of his body.

After he had lathered his scalp and hair he leaned back and
rinsed, then ran the washrag over his broad chest. He'd
always kept in shape, but the heavy lifting and spare diet
had made his figure more trim and tightly muscled than he
had remembered it ever being. He hadn't been in this good
shape since boot camp, he thought with amusement, as he
scrubbed under his arms. When he finished the top half of
his body, he ran the soapy cloth over his genitals and under
his heavy sack, carefully pulling back his foreskin and
cleaning his glans, rinsing quickly before the soap could
sting.

He thought about Anwen and how her hand had felt on his arm.
He gave his length a tentative stroke, closing his eyes when
the pleasure began to build.

It had been a long time, he thought. He had always been
highly sexual. He frequently took lovers in the past, both
men and women, but he always kept his focus on the job.
Cardassians were a race that could easily be misled by their
own vices. When Garak took a lover, he always made sure to
keep a safe emotional distance from them.

Until Emar.

He stopped stroking himself and sighed. It had been foolish,
perhaps, to fall so quickly for the young man, but he had
been very special. He had his weaknesses; he was spoiled,
arrogant, more than a bit naïve - but so beautiful.

Not at all like Anwen.

Well, except the arrogance, Garak conceded.

Nara Anwen was not spoiled, and certainly not naive, but she
was smart - very smart, and also very cunning. She wasn't
traditionally beautiful by any means, but her mind intrigued
him. He leaned back on the heated rocks and stroked himself
again remembering the way she looked in the short dress he
had made her. Imagining those long, tanned legs wrapping
around him as he entered her soft heat, he moaned, sliding
his thumb over his slit and feeling the tightness build deep
inside.

He heard a splash and jumped, expecting to have to fend off
one of those damned palukoo, only to see Anwen swimming
toward him. At first he thought he was imagining things,
that the heat had gotten to his head; when he came to his
senses, he dove under the water to hide his nakedness. "What
the hell are you doing here?" he snapped.

"I felt like taking a bath," she shrugged, smiling slightly
as she examined his muscular chest with interest. "Don't
stop what you were doing on my account."

Much to Garak's utter humiliation, he felt a blush crawl up
his cheeks. "Get out of here!"

"Okay," she said, coming out of the water and exposing her
small, pert breasts to his gaze. Her pale nipples were soft
from the heat, but her expression revealed exactly what her
motives for coming there were.

Garak's breath caught in his throat and he hastily turned
away. "You need to leave. If one of the others catches you
here-"

"They'll what?" Anwen asked. He heard the amusement in her
voice. "Stone us? Garak, not hardly a single woman among us
hasn't had a Cardie between our thighs. Some of us even
liked it when it was by choice." She drew her hand down his
spine and he flinched. "Come on Garak, there aren't any
other men around and I've had an ache for a while now.
Hell," she snorted, "after the first time we saw you work
with your shirt off, half the women were placing bets on who
would get to you first! I won," she said seductively.

He turned to her and held out his hand, letting her know to
back off. "This isn't happening, Anwen. Get dressed and go
back to camp."

"You're not like Momo, are you?" she asked uncertainly. "I
know you and that man you were with had something, but you
don't go just that way, do you?" She eased forward again. "I
mean, I've had a woman between my thighs a few times and it
was nice, but sometimes you need more. Expand your
horizons." She reached under the water and ran her fingers
over his hardness.

He gasped and her mouth opened slightly, her nipples
hardening under his gaze. She licked her lips and looked at
him. The sheer need shining in her dark eyes was his
complete undoing. He reached for her and captured her mouth
with his one, pulling her hips to his and groaning as her
pubic mound rubbed against his erection.

"Do it," she whispered. "Don't bother with the fancy stuff,
I've been ready for weeks."

He swung her around and pressed her back against the rock.
Her legs wrapped around his hips under the water and he
lunged forward, filling her with a rough stroke.

She cried out, but he didn't give her time to adjust for his
length. His hips bucked forward over and over again,
striking against her cervix as she yelped and moaned, her
fingers digging and cutting into his shoulders. He shut his
eyes and moaned; he was so hard it hurt and she was so
tight. So wet and so tight.

He hitched her body up against him and dipped his head down
so he could take one of her breasts into his mouth. They
were so small he could almost mouth the whole mound. He
nibbled her nipple and she reached between their bodies to
rub her swollen clit. He lifted his head then snatched her
hand away, replacing it with his own. He thumbed the hot
bundle of nerves until she screamed, then with a roar he
gave one final thrust and emptied himself.

As he held her quaking body to his own and buried his nose
in her hair, he realized two things. For the first time
since he had found himself in this whole situation, he felt
alive. Truly alive.

And second, this would not be just a one-night stand.

---

Garak kept an eye on the sensors as he and Momo sat huddled
in the ship they had built, waiting for Anwen's signal from
Terok Nor. The ship was serviceable, barely, but as the
bulkheads creaked he became aware of exactly how close he
was to the vacuum of space.

It had taken them not quite two months and several close
calls to get the ship operational, and it was still a rough
ride getting to the space just outside of Terok Nor's visual
sensors.

He smiled to himself as he thought of seeing his lover
again. She had been the aggressor, he had to admit: shortly
after their sexual encounter in the springs, she had dragged
over her pallet and made herself at home around Garak's
fire. At first he was reluctant to accept her there, but she
ignored his protests and combined their bedding, then
slipped inside his arms and slept. The other women noticed,
but no one said anything. It was just accepted.

Garak was one of them and he belonged to Anwen now. It was
the closest thing these people had to marriage, given that
they had no priests or government to formalize the
arrangement. At first he wasn't sure how he felt about that,
but at night when the others slept and he slipped quietly
inside of his lover, he was content.

He had pretty much decided that when the war ended and he
was able to escape, he would take her with him. It was a big
universe, and so far all she knew was Bajor and some of the
harsher aspects of Cardassia. He would be her teacher, her
lover, and her companion. With Emar, there had been the
comfort of status to fall back on, but with Anwen there was
the freedom of not having to answer to anyone. No society to
deal with, no joining of their houses and complex legal
agreements. They could truly be free.

But first, he had to escape Bajor permanently.

Logically he knew he could just take the transport they had
resurrected and leave, but it had no weapons systems and
wasn't very reliable. He also knew Anwen wouldn't agree to
abandon her people until they were free, and her opinion of
him had begun to matter.

Momo sat beside him nervously as he scanned for Anwen's
signal.

"I don't like this, tenderfoot. That woman of yours is
taking her time and this rust bucket don't exactly pass
inspection," she said, her hands on the controls.

"She knows what she's doing. She managed to blend in with
the mining crews, didn't she?" he said without looking up.

"That ain't the hard part. The hard part is slipping past
all them spoonies and getting the rewiring right. I sure as
hell hope she was paying attention, is all."

"You went over the communications relays with her so many
times even I have it memorized," he said in a confident
tone.

But he wasn't confident. Not completely.

Dukat was known for his women and Anwen was an extremely
attractive female. At least to him she was. He had gotten
used to the smoothness of her face and the freckles that
covered every part of her body, including her oddly pale
nipples. When they had private time together, he'd kiss his
way down her long torso and count them before tasting her
womanly musk. Her openness in bed combined with her
acceptance of his bisexuality and his of her own occasional
same-sex flirtation was a heady combination. But since they
had begun sharing a pallet, other than the odd thought of
Emar, he had been content with her, as content as she
apparently was with him. The thought of Dukat somehow seeing
through her purposefully plain disguise and ordering her
taken into his harem sent a cold chill up his spine.

If he so much as touched her, he'd-

"That's it! We're online!" Momo crowed. "Let's beam that
clever little bitch of ours back and skin out!"

Garak immediately locked onto her signal and held his breath
as her form began to shimmer and coalesce on the transporter
pad behind them.

Momo watched the energy pattern flicker and distort and
began to mutter, "Come on, come on, don't lose it. Come on,
baby. Do it, do it like I built you to."

When she finally materialized Garak released the breath he
hadn't even realized he had been holding. She tossed aside
the beacon she had been carrying and smiled at him. "We did
it."

Garak leaped up and gathered her in his arms, shaking with
emotion, then turned to Momo. "Get us home!"

"You got it, boss!" Momo said, turning them about and taking
the long way home behind one of the four moons circling
Bajor to avoid the sensors. "When we get this piece of shit
back to the south cavern I'm taking that transporter apart
again. I can't take this shit no more. I'm getting too damn
old."

---

"Now what?" Seral asked, looking at the comm unit they'd
pieced together from salvaged parts.

"Well, me and Momo have the relays up and running so all
there is left is to use it," Aliel said, looking to Jomat.

Jomat stepped forward and reached for the headset, then
stopped. "Cardassians are misogynistic and closed-minded as
hell. If I do it, they'll just laugh and call it the ravings
of some Bajoran whore. You should do it, Garak." She held
the headset out to him.

"It's not my place," Garak said, stepping back. "You're the
leader. It's yours."

"Garak..." Jomat lowered her hand and took a breath. "When
you joined us almost four months ago I thought for sure I'd
be putting a hole through your chest in a week, but you're
still here. You're a big part of our cell. No one outside
our group knows we have a Cardassian on our side; if they
did, our own people would probably denounce us as
collaborators and shut us down. Because of your input, a
bunch of women and 'ragtag terrorists'," she said with a
smile, obviously referring to his frequently used phrase,
"are finally getting some respect from the other cells.
People are starting to pay attention to Koril and what he's
doing here. A military oversight committee is gunning for
him and he's sweating bullets. You might not be able to
officially share in our glory, but you've earned our
respect, and you've earned this."

Garak opened his mouth to object, but no sound came out. He
was speechless.

After a moment's hesitation, he took the headset and moved
to the comm terminal.

"Hey," Anwen said, touching his arm. "You need a name."

"A name?" Garak asked in confusion.

"Yeah," Momo said, nodding. "You're going to be the free
voice of Bajor. You need a name, something people can talk
about."

Garak thought about it for a moment then remembered
something Anwen had told him a long time ago in passing. He
didn't know if Emar would appreciate it, but it was
appropriate. "Varrat," he said.

Anwen smiled and the other women nodded in approval.

---

For a year, the voice of Varrat plagued the skies above
Bajor. No one knew how he did it. They couldn't get a lock
on where the signal was coming from. Every time they scanned
for his transmissions, the entire sensor array on Terok Nor
turned against itself. Word had gotten back to the civilian
government on Cardassia about Gul Dukat's failure to silence
this mysterious Bajoran terrorist known only as 'Varrat -
the truth-sayer'. They were even calling for his resignation
and for the military to pull out of Bajor.

Varrat seemed to have an intimate knowledge of the inner
workings of Cardassian politics. He knew who was stealing
from whom, which scandals would cause the most harm when
exposed to public scrutiny, and, best of all, he wasn't shy
about naming names.

Bajorans hailed Varrat as a folk hero and more than a few
Cardassians even listened to his broadcasts in secret,
delighting in his wicked, almost 'Cardassian' manner of
dismantling the reputations of some of their greatest and
most popular military leaders and politicians. Especially
Gul Dukat. The Prefect of Bajor was the truth-sayer's
favorite target.

He no longer spoke about Gul Koril anymore. There was no
need. Shortly after Koril was replaced on Bajor and sent
back to his home of Culat, he passed away in his sleep. His
brother said it was from natural causes. No one questioned
it much. Koril wasn't exactly well liked anyway.

---

Garak got up from the comm and stretched, heading toward his
and Anwen's pallet to retrieve his soap and towels. It had
been a long day and he needed a hot soak. Two of the
children nearly collided with him and he said, "Be careful!"

"Sorry, Garak," one of the boys said before taking off again
after his friend.

Garak shook his head and looked at Anwen who was reading one
of the books they had 'liberated' from Koril's library just
before he left. He had never actually read them, keeping
them just for show. Jomat Luscon and some of the other women
who could read had formed a school of sorts and Anwen had
become their official literature instructor. Every night he
looked on affectionately as she divided her time between
lesson plans and coming up with new and better ways of
stealing food for the camp. "More lessons?"

"No, we're running a little low. I think that we can send
the ship into orbit behind the fourth moon away from the
station, then use the transporter to beam one of the food
trucks up and then into our back yard," she said. "We don't
even have to do it locally. We can hit a camp on the other
side of Bajor."

"Does Momo have that much memory in the buffer?" he asked.

"That's what I'm working on," she snorted. "If we don't
figure it out, we might all be going on diets soon."

"Suits me." he shrugged, squatting down beside her. "We've
been eating a little too well lately. Some of us are gaining
weight."

Anwen glared at him. "Is that remark directed at me, by any
chance?"

"Not at all, my dear," he said innocently, then glanced at
her breasts. "In fact, it looks good on you. You finally
look like something other than a flat-chested boy."

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment, but //only//
because you spoonies think saying crap like that is some
form of seduction even though it just pisses people off,"
she said, putting down her PADD.

"Speaking of seduction," he whispered near her ear. "Share a
bath with me."

Anwen hesitated, then nodded before following him to the hot
spring.

As soon as they arrived, Garak began to kiss her tenderly,
his hand cupping her breast and stroking the nipple through
her rough shift. She flinched and caught his hand. "Don't,"
she said.

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"My breasts hurt," Anwen said, avoiding his gaze.

"Are you sick? Hurt?" He looked at her in concern.

She opened her mouth and closed it again, then licked her
lips nervously. "I'm...pregnant."

Garak just looked at her, his face completely devoid of
expression.

"It's okay. Gala says the pregnancy is progressing normally
for a hybrid child and I'm already taking the herbs." She
looked at him hesitantly. "I'm eight weeks gone. I was just
waiting for the right time to tell you. She says it's a
girl. I haven't sneezed much. She says that's a sign, but it
could be a boy. I guess we'll find out soon, huh?"

She reached out to touch him but he flinched and moved away.
"Garak..." she said.

"You did this on purpose."

"What?"

"You did this on purpose," he said, pinning her with a dead
stare. "You knew the war was ending, you knew I was leaving.
I told you I would take you with me but you didn't believe
it. You did this on purpose."

"You're full of shit!" she yelled angrily.

"You got pregnant on purpose thinking this would guarantee
you a place in my bed and in my life!" Garak roared back.
"You stupid - what were you thinking? Do you even know what
you've done?"

"Fuck you, Garak!" Anwen shot back. "I wasn't the only one
making this baby and you knew the herbs weren't 100%
effective! How dare you-!"

"You waited eight weeks to tell me!" he growled. "You've
known for the last four weeks about this and you waited
until I noticed your body changing before you said anything!
You did it so the pregnancy would progress to the point
where a simple termination was no longer possible!"

"Oh, this is so over," she said, shaking her head. "I'm
going to the herbalist right now and if you so much as ever
look at me again-!"

"It's too late!" he snapped at her, grabbing her arm and
holding her in place. "We have to just deal with the
consequences."

"If you don't let go of me I will drop you on your
Cardassian ass," Anwen said dangerously.

"No. I'm not letting go. You got us into this and //for once//
you will act like an adult!" His eyes flashed blue fire as
he looked down at her. "It was going to be hard enough
finding a sector where a Cardassian and a Bajoran female
could live openly together, but now you've added a-" He
didn't finish the sentence. He just gritted his teeth until
they hurt.

"A what? A complication? An abomination into the mix?" Anwen
asked angrily. "Is that what you think of our child? It's an
abomination?" She shook off his grip and looked at him in
disgust. "I'm good enough to fuck, to plan your life around,
but I'm still just a Jori to you, huh?"

"Anwen-"

"Save it," she said, her face a mask of pure fury. "I
thought you were different, Garak. You aren't. You're just
another spoonie and I'll always just be your Jori whore."

"That's not true!" he burst out. "Do you have any idea how
hard it is for a Cardassian bastard to survive even when he
has the backing of a great house behind him?!? Our child is
not only without a house but he'll be a half-breed! There
are laws against that! Look around that cavern!" He pointed
down the cave toward their base. "Those children out there!
Do you think they like living miles underground?!? Do you
even realize that some of them have literally never seen the
sun?!? Do you want our child to spend the rest of his life
under a rock?!?"

"You're just making excuses!" she shouted.

"No, I'm just telling you the truth! You just don't like
hearing it!" Garak shot back.

"Fuck you!" Her eyes filled with tears and she began to run
down the caves away from the camp. "Just stay away from me
and my baby, //VARRAT//! Take your truth and shove it up your
ASS!"

Garak hesitated for a moment then jogged after her. "Anwen!"

He chased after her as she made her way toward the surface.
Just as he caught up with her, he heard it. "Dammit!"

"What is that?" she asked, wiping the tears off her cheeks
with the back of her hand as she listened to the low rumble
coming toward them.

"A parting gift from Dukat," Garak said grimly. He grabbed
her shoulders and twisted her around. "Get out of the caves,
get as far away as you can! If you see any of the children
or members of the group, keep together and get as far from
the cliffs as possible."

"What's happening, Garak?" she asked, her eyes widening as
she saw his face fill with an emotion she had never seen
before: fear.

"He's leveling the mountain range," he said. "He's getting
rid of Varrat once and for all before he abandons Bajor."

"We have to go get the children!"

She started back down the cave and he stopped her, pulling
her into a hard embrace and kissing her before shoving her
toward the entrance. "Go! For once in your life, do as I say
and go!"

Their world began to tremble and a rain of small pebbles
cascaded around them. Garak grabbed her and half pulled,
half dragged her toward the light at the end of the cave. He
wasn't even thinking about the rest of the cell or the
children anymore. All he knew was he had to get them both
out of there.

They were just at the mouth of the cave. He could feel the
heat of the sun and smell the dust that gathered thickly in
the wind as Dukat's ships rained hell on Tzenketh. He felt a
blow to the back of his skull, then nothing.

The world went dark.

---

Garak opened his eyes. He hurt. He couldn't see and the air
was stale. He could move one of his arms, but just barely.
He was hurt badly and he knew it.

"Anwen?" he whispered hoarsely, feeling around in the dark.
"Anwen?"

His fingers felt around until he caught the strands of her
hair between his fingers. He felt the top of her head.
"Anwen? Can you move?"

She didn't say anything. He reached his hands out further
and felt her face, and then he realized the truth.

"NOOOOOO!!!" he wailed as he felt her blood, sticky and long
gone cold, drip from his fingers.

For two days he laid in the dark, her hair wrapped around
his fingers as he prayed to whatever dark entities would
listen to just let him die.

Finally, when his injuries had taken their toll and the air
had gone so thin his lungs could no longer breathe it in, he
succumbed to the darkness, welcoming it gladly.

---

"Hello, Elim."

Garak opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a
hospital. He blinked his eyes and waited for them to clear,
then looked around again. "Where am I?" he said, not
recognizing his own voice. It was raspy and almost painful
to hear. He cleared his throat.

"Elim," the familiar voice said again. "Pay attention, boy."

Garak looked over to see the face of Tain smiling above him.
"Good morning, my boy. Did you have a pleasant nap?"

"Where am I?" he asked again, confused.

"Terok Nor." Another voice came from the door way and Garak
tried to get up to see who it was but couldn't move.

"Don't bother, Elim," Tain said. "It will be another few
hours before you can move. Let the biobed do its job."

"That's right, Garak," Dukat said, approaching the bed, a
harsh smile lighting his features. "Rest. You need to gather
your strength. After all, you have your whole life ahead of
you now, don't you?"

"How did I get here?" Garak asked, feeling faint. He closed
his eyes and willed the room to stop spinning.

"I brought you," Tain said simply. "It's good that you woke
up when you did. The last of the transports are about to
leave the docking ports and head for Prime."

"You're taking me back to Cardassia?" Garak asked, licking
his lips dryly.

"Oh, you must be thirsty. Gul Dukat? Would you mind?" Tain
asked.

"Not at all!" Dukat said broadly as he fetched a cup of
water and a straw from the table beside him.

Tain brought the straw to Garak's lips and encouraged him to
drink. "There you are, boy. Nice and slow."

When Garak had drunk enough to be able to speak again, he
said, "If you wanted me dead why not just leave me in the
caves?"

"Oh, but I don't want you to die! I want you to live!" Tain
insisted.

"I didn't," Dukat said with a mirthless smile. "But Master
Tain convinced me otherwise."

"I'm going home?" Garak asked, his vision swimming slightly.

"You are home," Tain said.

---
Chapter Ten: The Road To Hell
---

Bashir knelt over the toilet, wrapping his arms around the
bowl as the last bit of bile came up.

Why had he looked: why had he even looked?

He held on again as he began to dry heave, his stomach
clenching again and again. After it stopped and he lay
sprawled in Sisko's bathroom desperately trying to catch his
breath, he took the opportunity to call himself every name
in the book. You complete and utter twat, he thought: why
did you look?

He had spent most of the afternoon going through the station
security recordings for the past 26 hours. For some reason
the cameras in Garak's quarters were no longer functioning,
but he had found images of the Founder and his 'mother' at
Quark's. A moment's look at her plate and a quick check of
Quark's dinner menu had told him that whoever the woman was,
it certainly wasn't Amsha Bashir. And then there was the
conversation in the turbolift...

But then he'd stupidly returned to the live feed, locating a
security transmission from his own quarters. A small voice
wondered how long it had been there, but he had ignored it
and punched in the code-

-and had ended up puking his guts out in the bathroom.

Intellectually he knew that Garak had to keep up the
pretense of being the thing's fiancé. He knew that, and he
knew how important it was not to tip their hand. But to see
it, to see what they had been doing all this time - it had
made him violently ill. And it wasn't because he was
disgusted by it or even because was angry with Garak: it was
because one look at Garak's face had told him that the
Cardassian had entered into his own personal hell.

Last night he would have been pleased to see it. He would
have sneered at the tormented look on Garak's face as he
pleasured the Founder. He might have even rejoiced at
Garak's humiliation. But today all he could see was his
friend - yes, friend, he admitted to himself - ministering
to that //thing// while it was obvious even from the
low-quality mute video that Garak had been deeply disturbed
by the pretense. It horrified him to see Garak brought so
low, to see him virtually prostituting himself just to keep
the ruse going. He hoped the Founder hadn't noticed, but
given that he'd administered a hypospray perhaps Garak had
given him a medical excuse.

It had also been obvious to him that, even if the Founder
had first approached Garak with the intention of harming
him, it certainly didn't seem to feel the same way now. Even
when Garak hadn't been able to see its face, the thing had
acted as if it was in love with him. He hadn't seen any
pretense on its part at all.

Garak, on the other hand - it had been as plain as day that
he had been punishing himself. Blaming himself, likely, for
having fallen for that thing. It's what he would be doing in
Garak's position.

Bashir finally felt strong enough to rise to his feet. He
staggered over to the sink and leaned over it, splashing
great handfuls of water over his face as the toilet
autoflushed.

Damn.

He needed to let Sisko know what he'd found earlier, though,
but he could hardly use his terminal to contact him...

But then again, he didn't have to. Jake had apparently moved
out while he was gone - he didn't see any of his possessions
in the bathroom or main room - but a quick check of the
spare bedroom showed that there was still a terminal
installed. He took a seat and switched it on.

He remembered from talking to Jabara that Human and Bajoran
civilians' user names were always the family name followed by
the first initial.

PLEASE LOG IN: siskoj PASSWORD:

He thought for a moment. What would a 17-year-old boy have
as a password?

18 years old, he reminded himself. You missed his birthday.

He pushed that aside. His parents, his friends, baseball:
no, Bashir thought. He grinned as it suddenly hit him.
Kaleeta Doran, the dabo girl Jake had been infatuated with.

PASSWORD: kaleeta PASSWORD INCORRECT. YOU HAVE TWO TRIES
LEFT.

Damn. Maybe it was something else. He then remembered that
civilian passwords had to contain a number. What would Jake
use...

PASSWORD: kaleeta4ever PASSWORD INCORRECT. YOU HAVE ONE TRY
LEFT.

He sighed. One more try and then he'd give up.

PASSWORD: kaleeta4jake GOOD AFTERNOON, JAKE.

Teenage boys were entirely too predictable, he thought, as
he opened the mail program and began to compose his message.

---

Sisko frowned at his senior staff, all of whom (except for
Garak) were gathered around the wardroom table. "I've just
been informed," he said, "that Admiral Gilhouly and his team
will arrive at Deep Space Nine in approximately three and a
half hours." He turned to Worf. "Commander, shortly after
you and Mr. Garak left for Earth I was informed by Starfleet
Command that we had been remiss in holding regular security
drills."

"Drills?" Worf asked. "It was my understanding that drills
were not required if a station had gone to red alert in the
previous six weeks."

"Tell that to HQ. At any rate, we're currently in the middle
of an emergency drill. Admiral Gilhouly is bringing his
ship, the USS Ulysses, as well as the USS Venture and the
USS Titan, and the Admiral intends to inspect the station
while he's here." He held up a hand as Kira opened her mouth
to protest. "The Admiral understands this is a Bajoran
station. He's only here to check on Starfleet readiness and
to advise the Bajoran government as to any improvements that
can be made." He looked down at his padd. "And I understand
that there have been some problems?"

Kira nodded. "We've discovered that the evacuation messages
aren't getting through to most of the civilian residents.
The problem seems to be..."

As he listened to her explain the problem they had
encountered in propagating the emergency messages through
the private intranet, his message padd suddenly dinged. It
was a Priority One message from Jake. Why would he-

He downloaded the message.

//FROM: siskoj (Jake Sisko) //TO: blsisko (Capt. Benjamin
Sisko) //RE: Dinner

//Dad! I know you were thinking of making an aubergine
//casserole for dinner tonight, but could we have pork //chops
instead? I spoke with Mrs. Bashir this morning //and she told
me about the pork chops in wine she had //at Quark's. He
stuffs them with Portobello mushrooms //and sautés them, then
simmers them in wine. She said //they were delicious. You
know pork chops have always //been one of my favourites. Let
me know and I'll find //the ingredients. // //Jake

He frowned. It wasn't like Jake to clog up priority traffic
with a trivial message, especially since he just moved in
with Nog a few weeks ago and wouldn't be eating with - and
he took a second look at the text. It also wasn't like Jake
to use a British spelling of 'favorites' either. It had to
be from the doctor. But what was he trying to tell him?

The clue suddenly jumped out as he read the message again:
pork chops in wine. He had said earlier that his mother was
a traditional Muslim Indian, and traditional Muslims didn't
eat pork or consume alcohol. It was confirmation that
'Amsha' was a Founder.

He swore under his breath as he deleted the message. Not
only did that mean they had two Founders (and possibly more)
on the station, it also meant that his own judgment wasn't
as infallible as he had thought. He had been convinced that
Amsha Bashir was exactly who she said she was. And if she
was a Founder, anyone could be.

He returned his attention to the discussion.

"-and if the Bajoran infonet authority won't assign a
discrete domain code for DS9," O'Brien was saying, "this is
going to happen again and again."

"Chief," Sisko interjected, "given that this is a security
matter, I'd suggest you speak with someone at the Ministry.
We need to separate users on the station from those on the
planet surface, and a discrete code would go a long way to
doing that. Major, perhaps you could look into a way of
installing emergency-only speakers in the Habitat Ring. We
could also stop using the public address system for every
little problem."

Odo nodded. "That's why so many residents disconnect the
speakers. They find it annoying to be awoken for every
alert, no matter how insignificant or irrelevant to them."

Sisko turned to the imposter. "Doctor, how is the blood
screening progressing?"

"Better than I had expected. We've had some problems..."

As the Founder began his report, Sisko watched him,
ostensibly because he was interested in what he was saying
but also because it was the first chance he'd had to watch
the changeling close-up since he'd learned of the switch.

If the safety of his station hadn't been in question he'd
have admired the fluidity and grace with which the Founder
was able to mimic Julian Bashir. Now that he observed him
closely, though, he realized that the impersonation wasn't
as perfect as he would have imagined. The changeling was
slightly more elegant in his movements than Bashir, his face
more open. More confident, more sure of himself, this
'doctor' made his points effectively but sparsely, without
digression or shyness. It was a portrayal that would
naturally influence his audience to take him for granted.
Ironic, Sisko thought, that the real Julian Bashir was the
one who acted as if he had something to hide.

As the Founder continued with his report, Sisko wondered why
the real doctor was so closed off. He'd known people, both
when he was younger and in Starfleet, who had acted like
Bashir, presenting a superficial façade but never allowing
anyone to see beyond that. Many of them had been abused as
children. Was that why Bashir had been so surprised to learn
that his mother was on the station? Was that why he had
known instantly that the laughing, affectionate woman on the
feed wasn't her?

"-semi-annual examinations must be done on schedule," the
Founder was saying as Sisko returned to the conversation. "I
don't appreciate having to take the time just before a major
inspection to complete paperwork just because someone
doesn't like to be 'poked and prodded'."

"It sounds like you've got everything in order, Doctor-" but
the Founder interrupted him before he could continue.

"There is one more thing," he said. "Mr. Worf, why didn't
you report that Garak had sustained injuries during the
attack on the Defiant?"

Sisko had to admire Worf's sang-froid at the unexpected
question. He didn't even blink, didn't stammer or make an
excuse. He simply said, "Mr. Garak's injuries were minor and
easily taken care of. I assumed he would inform you if any
complications arose."

"They were hardly minor!" the shapeshifter replied, a hint
of rancor in his voice. Sisko wondered why: if he had
targeted Garak for some reason, he'd hardly care about some
cuts and scrapes.

Worf continued to regard the Founder coolly. "He saw to many
of them himself. The rest I repaired with a dermal
regenerator. He required no medications or other
interventions, to the best of my knowledge." His gaze
flickered to Sisko's, and the Captain realized that the two
of them hadn't settled on a story.

"Commander, whenever an accident or injury occurs during an
away mission, however 'minor'," the imposter said, "an
incident report is to be immediately filed and I am to be
informed. Understood?"

"Certainly doctor. I will file the report at my earliest
opportunity."

Sisko held back a smile at Worf's tone of voice. It was
obvious to him that the Klingon was aching to throw the
Founder out an airlock and phaser him out of existence, but
it was also clear that he was controlling himself for the
good of the plan.

He turned to Dax and requested her report, his mind still on
the Founder. Soon, Mr. Worf, he thought: soon.

---

//Sisko to Garak!//

Garak sat up in bed, his body drenched in a cold sweat. He
licked his lips nervously and fumbled for his comm badge.
"G-," he cleared his throat. "Garak here."

//I've been trying to rouse you for twenty minutes. The
doctor left a little while ago. Has he been by to check on
you yet?//

"No," Garak said, getting out of bed and heading toward his
dresser. "I'll be right there."

//I have to stop by my quarters first. Meet me there. Sisko
out.//

As he pulled on his uniform hastily, flashes of the familiar
nightmare flashed before his eyes. He hadn't had one of
those since Sek had taught him Vulcan meditation techniques
more than three years ago.

It had shaken him. It was understandable given what he'd
been through the last few days, but still...it had seemed so
real.

He shook his head to clear it and headed toward the
Captain's quarters. If they didn't figure out what the
Founder was up to, and soon, he'd have more than a few
nightmares to worry about.

The ghosts of his past would have to wait for their revenge
just a little while longer.

---

Odo peered through the back window of the deserted Celestial
Cafe. Most of the civilians who lived on the station had
chosen to evacuate; although it wasn't strictly necessary
during a drill, many of them had got into the habit of
leaving during drills and emergencies, at least when it was
possible. The shops and restaurants generally closed down at
the same time, as their owners didn't consider it worthwhile
to remain open on a half-deserted station. In Odo's opinion,
it was the perfect time for a burglar to take advantage of
the situation, and he had his deputies out in full force.

He was about to check the back entrance of the toyshop when
he spotted someone standing in the side corridor leading to
Cargo Bay 4. He entered the narrow passageway only to find
himself staring into the eyes of the female Founder.

She smiled at him sympathetically. "Odo. How are you?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, shocked. How did she
get on board the station, and during an emergency drill of
all times? He raised his hand to tap his comm badge but she
extended her own hand and covered the badge so he couldn't
reach it.

"I'm here to ask you to leave with me," she said. "You'll be
in grave danger if you remain."

He gave her a puzzled look. "Why would I be in danger?"

She grasped his wrist; he could feel concern, love, but also
fear through the link. "We only want you to be safe, Odo,"
she said, her cold face belying the emotions flowing under
the surface. "Return with me. If you remain, I cannot
guarantee your safety. No changeling has ever harmed
another, but you may come to harm if you do not accompany
me."

"Accompany you? Where?"

"Back to the Great Link." Her eyes flashed as she pleaded
with him. "Return with me now. Save yourself."

Their eyes met and held for a second; he finally spoke.
"This is my place. I have duties here."

The female Founder pulled away; before they separated, Odo
could sense her regret tinged with determination. Whatever
threat she was talking about was very real. "Very well. Let
whatever happens be on your head," she said before she
slipped down the corridor.

Odo ran down the corridor, following her into the main
Promenade, but she had disappeared. Looking around he saw to
his right a few Starfleet officers talking with a Bajoran
civilian who hadn't evacuated; to his left, Julian's mother
was walking towards one of the airlocks. "Excuse me," he
said to her, "Did you see anyone walk by here in the past
few seconds?"

She turned back and smiled at him. "I'm afraid not,
Constable - Odo, is it?" she said before tilting her head in
thought. "But now that you mention it, I think I did see one
of those - what did Jules call them - dabo girls? - run down
the hallway. But I only saw her out of the corner of my eye.
I hope everything's all right?"

"Yes," he said hastily with a quick nod. "If you'll excuse
me."

As Mrs. Bashir headed for the airlock, he moved back into
the side corridor and tapped his comm badge.

---

Garak shook his head to clear it of any remaining tatters of
sleep. Pushing himself out of bed, he ran his fingers
through his hair to comb it and stepped towards the door as
it opened. He hoped he wasn't too late for Sisko's-

-and he was suddenly and violently thrown back into Bashir's
quarters by some kind of force field.

He groaned, clutching his lower back where he had fallen,
then pulled himself up and went to get the tricorder he knew
Bashir kept in his medkit. As he returned with it he aimed
it at the door, then frowned at the readout. He had been
right.

The Founder had placed a force field around the room, a very
powerful one. Far more than was necessary just to keep him
from leaving. It also had to be drawing an unusual amount of
power, but no alarms had gone off in the station and no one
had commed him. He was beginning to suspect that exhaustion
wasn't the only reason he had overslept. The Founder
intended on keeping him in here from the beginning, but why?
Did he know that Garak suspected him?

He thought about that for a moment. No, he decided. Julian
had seemed, if anything, unusually tender toward him
earlier. It could have been a ruse, but if the Founder
wanted to he could have merely drugged him and that would
have been that. Why then go through the trouble of being
intimate with him? It didn't make sense.

"Garak to Sisko," he said, tapping his comm badge. He
waited. "Garak to Sisko." Nothing. "Garak to Worf." Again,
silence. He hesitated for a moment, then said: "Garak to
Bashir."

//Are you feeling all right, Garak?//

Garak felt his jaw drop slightly, then cleared his throat.
"You put a force field around the room."

//Just stay where you are, my love. You'll be safe, I
promise.//

"Julian, what's going on?"

There was a pause. //I wanted to tell you earlier, but I
couldn't. I know...I know this is confusing, but I'm doing
everything I can to see to it that you are kept safe. Just
know that no matter what happens, whatever you see out
there, you'll be all right. Trust me. Don't try to damage
the field; I removed all weapons from the room earlier and
you won't run out of oxygen even after the environmentals go
offline. I'm doing this for your own good.//

Damn. "Julian, if something is wrong then let me help you.
Let me out and I'll find you and you can explain everything
to me in person."

Another pause. //You know, don't you?// He hesitated. //You
know and you made love to me anyway.//

"Julian..." Garak began.

//No, Garak, this is good. This is excellent.// He sounded
almost giddy. //Look, I know this is confusing and you must
be angry, but some part of you also knows I'm right, that
what I'm doing is for the best. Just - stay where you are.
Go back to sleep. I'll be transporting you off the station
soon, but it's too dangerous out here for me to allow you to
wander around. I'm cutting the comms now. I love you.//

"Julian? Garak to Dr. Bashir." Nothing. "Damn it!" Garak
said angrily.

He was trapped, and he had no way of warning the captain
that whatever the Founders were planning, it was happening
now.

---

Bashir had just replicated himself a cup of Tarkalean tea
and sat down at the dining room table when Sisko and Worf
arrived. "Don't get up," the Captain said as he and Worf
took seats at the table. "I received your message. You're
sure that woman isn't your mother?"

Bashir didn't answer, but instead reached for the tricorder
and the vials he'd replicated earlier. "Before we discuss
anything," he said, "I'd like to confirm our identities. No,
Commander," he said quickly as Worf reached for his knife,
"I'd rather use the aspirator and the tricorder. If a
Founder can create bodily fluids, they can create something
that looks like blood."

"I had not thought of that," Worf said, chastened.

"It's probably how the changeling who impersonated Martok
passed," Sisko said.

Bashir drew a sample from Worf then did the same from both
Sisko and himself, showing the results to both of them after
the tricorder had completed its scan. "We check out. As for
your question, sir," he said, turning to Sisko, "I'm
absolutely certain that the woman I saw isn't my mother.
It's not just the clothing she wore or the food she ate,
either. I saw on the security recordings that she allowed
you to touch her. My mother would never let a man do that, at
least not one she wasn't related to."

Worf frowned, his gaze shifting from Sisko to Bashir and
back. "You believe there is another changeling on the
station impersonating your mother."

"I'm sure of it," Bashir replied. "Captain," he asked, his
gaze flickering to the door, "I thought Garak was supposed
to meet us here."

"I just commed him a few minutes ago. Maybe he ran into the
Founder again; I believe it was on its way to meet him. By
the way, how did you know that the Founder could produce
bodily fluids?"

He flushed. "I, um...I was going through the live feeds and
I saw the two of them. Garak and the Founder," he said as he
stared down into his tea, unable to meet Sisko's eyes. "I
don't want to be graphic, sir, but from what I saw, if the
bodily fluids the Founder produced didn't seem real, Garak
would know."

"My God." Sisko brought his hands to his face. "I don't know
if I should be court-martialed for prostituting him or for
trusting him."

"Captain, in my opinion Mr. Garak is entirely trustworthy in
this matter," Worf interjected. "He has been dishonored by
this Founder, and I am certain he will do what is necessary
to complete the mission, even if that involves...keeping up
a facade..."

Sisko nodded sharply. "Very well. Mr. Worf," he said, "I'd
like a report of everything that happened from the time you
first met up with the Jem'Hadar until your arrival back at
the station."

As Worf described the events that had transpired, his
narration interrupted from time to time by Sisko's astute
questions, Bashir watched the two men silently. It was
funny, he thought: Garak had more in common with Worf than
Bashir had earlier realized. They were both loyal to those
they loved (although they were both more loyal to the
state), pragmatic, sensible, willing to kill on a moment's
notice if necessary. But he could also see those same
qualities in Sisko.

"Doctor," Sisko said, interrupting his reverie, "can you
tell me-"

//Odo to Sisko.//

The captain tapped his comm badge. "Sisko here."

"Captain, I've just seen the female Founder on the station.
She asked me to leave with her, saying that I would be in
danger if I remained. I tried to follow her but she
disappeared."

The three of them shared a look. "Understood, Constable. Is
Dr. Bashir there?"

Odo sounded slightly confused. //No...but I did just see his
mother heading for one of the airlocks. She said she saw a
'dabo girl' running down the corridor."

Sisko swore under his breath. "Constable," he said, "if you
can, stop Mrs. Bashir before she has a chance to leave the
station. If she's already departed, take a runabout, follow
her ship, and bring her back. On the double, Constable."

//Aye, sir.// Odo signed off, his voice as unsure as Sisko
felt.

Bashir sat up. "No changeling has ever harmed another.
Captain..."

But Sisko was already rising from his seat. "Gentlemen, I
believe it's time to bring this to a conclusion." He tapped
his comm badge. "Sisko to Garak."

No response.

"Sisko to Garak, come in." The Captain tapped his badge
again. "Sisko to Ops."

//Ops here,// Kira replied.

"Major, go to red alert. This is not a drill. I repeat, this
is not a drill. No ships are to be allowed in or out-"

The lights suddenly dimmed; Bashir felt himself rise from
the ground as the station's gravitational field weakened for
a moment.

//...problems...going to red...all hands...// he heard Kira
say, but by then the three of them were headed out the door.

"Where are we going?" Bashir said, jogging beside Worf and
Sisko as they entered the Promenade.

Sisko stopped for a moment as the floor shook. "Mr. Worf and
I need to get to Ops and regain control of the electrical
system. Doctor, the last time I spoke with Mr. Garak he was
in your quarters. I could barely wake him." He suddenly
frowned at Bashir. "Could he have been sedated?"

"I saw the Founder give him a hypospray," he said. "It's
possible. Do you want me to check on him?"

"You had better." Sisko brought a hand up to his forehead.
"Whatever you find, report back to me immediately."

He nodded and left them, retracing his steps back to the
Habitat Ring and, not trusting the turbolifts, taking the
stairs down to his level. He ducked into a narrow pathway as
someone approached.

It was the Founder.

He waited for it to pass, then began to follow it.

---
Chapter Eleven: The Destroyer
---

Garak tore the panel off the wall, but it was no use.
However the Founder had rigged the field, he couldn't access
it from his side of the door. He looked into the hallway and
saw Julian jogging toward him, his phaser in hand.

"Julian?" he called. "Is that you, Dr. Bashir?"

"It's me," he confirmed, looking behind him. "I saw the
Founder coming from this direction. All the systems on the
station are going haywire and the comms are down. We need to
find him, now."

"I'm behind a force field. I don't have a weapon or way to
deactivate it from this side."

"Stand back," the doctor ordered. As Garak obeyed, he
leveled his phaser at the door controls and aimed an intense
beam at the field until it flickered, then died. "Try it
now."

Garak stepped through the field uncertainly, then stumbled.
Bashir caught his arm. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said, shaking his head to clear it. "I think
I was sedated."

Julian reached for his face as if to check his pupils and
Garak caught his wrist firmly and said, "I said I'm fine."

Something flickered in the other man's eyes before he nodded
and dropped his hand. "The Founder headed for the
turbolifts. I think he's headed for the lower pylons. Like I
said before, power is fluctuating all over the station, so
if we want to risk taking a lift down we need to take the
one he used and go quickly before we lose him."

Garak thought about taking the Jefferies tubes down but knew
it would take hours to get that far down. Unlike the Habitat
Ring, there were no stairwells in the central core. "You're
right, let's go."

They got to the lifts; Julian ordered the computer to take
them to the lower pylons with an override so that they
couldn't be stopped along the way. "Just in case," he
muttered.

Garak opened the emergency panel in the lift and pulled out
two flashlights, handing one to the doctor; when the doors
opened, Garak stepped out into the corridor and paused.

"What is it? Do you see something?" Bashir asked, looking
around.

"No," Garak croaked out then cleared his throat. "No, it's
just that I've been here before." When his companion gave
him a blank look he explained. "This is where Jul - the
Founder and I caught Colonel Ranol."

"On your first 'date'," Julian said wryly. "Right. I
remember you mentioning that."

"It was our third date, actually," Garak said, then cursed
himself and began to walk toward the loading docks. "I'm
sorry, doctor. I apologize. I think the sedative your
counterpart administered to me is still in my system. I
didn't mean to..."

"That's all right," Julian said quietly. "You really love
him, don't you? Still, I mean."

He didn't say anything, he just kept his eyes focused
straight ahead.

"Garak..."

"Doctor, I don't want to discuss this with you, especially
not right now. We have more important things to worry about
than my stupidity and your embarrassment," Garak gritted
out. "Now, do you want to split up or-"

Bashir laid his hand on Garak's arm then stepped forward. He
boldly pressed his hand on Garak's cheek and said, "I'm not
embarrassed, Garak."

"Doctor-"

The human stepped closer, his mouth almost touching the
other man's, then asked, "I just need to know one thing; was
it me you fell in love with or the Founder?"

Garak felt the fog melt in his brain and for a moment he
swayed closer to those full, soft lips, but then instinct
kicked in and he shoved the doctor away from him roughly. He
turned his back on his companion and ran a shaking hand over
his mouth. "Stay away from me."

"Garak, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push-"

"I should have known," Garak said roughly without looking at
him. "I should have known he wasn't really you."

"You couldn't have," Julian said, his voice filled with
tenderness. "No one knew."

"I should have known," Garak continued, ignoring what the
doctor was saying as he turned he angry gaze upon the other
man, "because unlike you, he actually possesses a soul."

"Garak-"

Garak's hand sliced through the air in a chopping gesture as
if to silence him. "You are like some kind of soulless
machine, do you know that? You flit through life expecting
everyone to just stop whatever they're doing and listen in
awe to whatever you have to say. Even Vulcans have more
passion than you! Do you honestly think I could just forget?
Throw the last few months away so you could satisfy some
gross curiosity? I'm not that shallow, doctor. I'm not you!
I don't just shed my skin and walk into another life
whenever I feel like it. I had a life, a full and wonderful
life for nearly four months with that Julian Bashir - I had
a home and we were going to have a family! Part of me wishes
that-" He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed the bridge of
his nose as if his head throbbed. "To answer your question,
doctor; no, I did not fall in love with Julian Bashir,
because there never was a Julian Bashir to love." He made a
disgusted sound in his throat. "When they engineered you,
they should have spent more time trying to make you into a
real person instead of a damned robot!"

"Garak, listen to me! Let me explain-" the doctor began.

"You son of a bitch!" From the shadows a figure launched
itself at the doctor, his phaser skidding across the metal
floor towards Garak as the two men fought. They were
identical in every way. Both tall and unbearably thin, both
dark haired and tan, and both wearing identical uniforms.

But only one of them was Julian Bashir.

For a moment, Garak just stood there, watching the bizarre
scene unfold before his eyes. Two bodies, both alike in
every detail, rolled together on the floor, fists meeting
flesh and muscle straining against like muscle. Grunts, the
gross slapping of flesh, sweat and blood pouring off
identical faces; the sight was almost mesmerizing.Neverone
to indulge in the theories of psychology, he nonetheless had
the fleeting thought that ego was embattled with id. He was
seeing Julian Bashir's inner demons made flesh.

"Enough!" Garak shouted, leveling his weapon toward them
both.

"Shoot him!" one of the doctors shouted, pointing to his
counterpart. "He's the Founder! Shoot the goddamn thing!"

"And how do I know you aren't the shapeshifter?" Garak asked
calmly. "How do I know which of you is the real Julian
Bashir? You're both bleeding, so obviously that doesn't tell
me anything, does it?"

The man who had spoken touched his face in surprise and
looked at his hand. The gash above his eye was bleeding
steadily. "I'm telling you the truth - I'm the real Julian
Bashir."

Garak looked at the other doctor who was wiping the blood
off his lip with the back of his hand. "And you? I suppose
you're the real Dr. Bashir as well?"

He smiled slightly and glanced over to his counterpart. "No.
I'm the Founder. He's Julian Bashir."

Julian gaped at his doppelganger in surprise then said, "You
heard him! Shoot!"

But Garak remained still, his expression calm as he
continued to level his weapon at them both.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Kill it!" Bashir
shouted. "Goddamn you, Garak! I'm ordering you to fire your
weapon!"

"He won't kill me, doctor," the Founder said, still looking
at Garak calmly. "He can't. He loves me too much, and he
knows I love him."

"You bastard!" Bashir ground out as he started for the
Founder again.

"Stay where you are, doctor," Garak ordered.

He turned and looked at Garak in stark disbelief. "He's
right? You're on that thing's side? After all we've been
through you're going to choose to be with that monster?!?
After what he did to you?"

"Of course he is," the Founder said softly. "He knows I only
did what I had to do. We understand each other because he's
just like me. Aren't you, Garak?"

For a moment, the Cardassian hesitated, then he held out the
phaser to the Founder and waited.

"You traitor! You sold out your own people! I will kill you,
I swear to God I will! Damn you, Garak!" Bashir shouted in
outrage as the Founder took the weapon and moved to stand
next to the Cardassian.

The Founder gave Garak one last tender look before leveling
the weapon at Julian Bashir.

"Now, let's move along, doctor. We have a schedule to keep,"
the Founder said with a triumphant smile as he herded his
mirror image down the corridor.

---

Garak watched Bashir enter Auxiliary Control, his hands on
his head as the Founder pressed the phaser into his flank.

"Tie him down," the Founder said, throwing Garak some loose
wires and nodding towards a chair at the back of the small
space. As Garak pushed a seething Bashir into the chair and
secured his arms, the Founder pulled a lump of bright metal
out of his pocket and held it up to the main phaser control.
The lump rose from his hand and floated in the air for just
a second before splitting into three parts and melting into
the panel.

The station suddenly shook violently as a sharp hum echoed
from every direction.

"What are you doing?" Garak asked in wonder.

The Founder ignored him as he reached up and threw one of
the enormous switches located near the top of the control.
"It's done," he said, turning to Garak. "Is the prisoner
secure?"

Bashir glared at Garak. "When this is over, I swear I'll see
you stand before a military tribunal!" he hissed. "Sisko and
Worf are going to find us and when they do-"

The Founder's voice cut in. "They aren't coming," he said.
"I erected force fields on every floor, both in the main
corridors and in the Jefferies tubes. Your death is
inevitable, Doctor."

"Why? Why are you doing this?" Julian asked angrily.

"To protect my people. Surely you understand that, Doctor?"
the Founder asked, his voice strangely mild. "Your people
stumbled on our home and disturbed the Link. You're the ones
who harmed us first. If we don't stop you now, your chaos
will spill over into our world and destroy everything we've
spent the last several millennia creating."

"We didn't mean to hurt anything! We haven't done anything
wrong!" Bashir insisted. "This is cold-blooded murder: don't
you see that? You can't destroy an entire station full of
people for-"

"I can and I will," the Founder said simply. "And not just
this station either. I'm going to destroy Bajor's sun using
the station's sensor array. Bajor, all of its moons, this
station and everything else within this solar system will be
destroyed." The gentle smile on his face belied his chilling
words.

"You're going to destroy Bajor?" Garak asked, his eyes
meeting the Founder's.

"I'm sorry. It's the only way," he said, caressing Garak's
cheek with a soft hand. "I tried to convince the others
differently, but they said you had to pay for what you had
done."

"What I did?" Garak asked, then realization dawned. "This is
for when I tried to destroy the Founders' homeworld, isn't
it?"

"In our legends," he said, an eye on the sensor control,
"there is a story of two beings: The Bringer and the
Destroyer. The Bringer will unite the ones born into
righteousness with the ones lost to the air. The Destroyer
will come to cause discord amongst the living sea. My people
say you are the Destroyer, Garak."

Garak opened his mouth to speak, but the Founder laid a
finger across his lips.

"This is insane!" Bashir cried out, but the Founder ignored
him.

"I told them it wasn't true," he said to Garak. "I told them
that you didn't know what you were doing but they said that
ignorance is no excuse. Bajor must die in order to bring the
Federation here. You will be blamed for its destruction and
Cardassia will be targeted for revenge. When the Federation
fleet arrives, there will be a great war which will weaken
both sides, and when the dust settles the Dominion will
claim the Alpha Quadrant as its own and lead your worlds
into order."

"You are going to kill billions of people for something I
have done?" Garak asked, horrified.

He smiled sadly. "Don't think of it in those terms, Garak. I
know it seems overwhelming now, but you'll soon see how
wonderful it will be when the Dominion has brought order
into this chaos. Yes, lives will be lost, but they would
have died eventually anyway. This is a far nobler death we
are giving them. They are dying so that their worlds may be
reborn."

"You sick bastard!" Bashir burst out. "How can you even
justify the murder of billions of people like that?!?"

"The same way your Federation justified the genocide of my
people, doctor," he replied smoothly.

"But they didn't! Garak was convicted of attempted genocide
for what he tried to do!" the doctor argued.

"Oh yes," the Founder said with a harsh chuckle. "And he
served what? Six months in Odo's brig? He wasn't convicted
for attempting to destroy our homeworld, Doctor. He was
convicted because he failed." He shook his head in grim
amusement. "And who do you suppose ordered him to do it?"

"Cardassia," Bashir cried. "Or at least-"

"Oh no, doctor," the Founder said, interrupting. "No, I've
read your personal logs and I've lived in your shoes long
enough to know that despite what you would have everyone
believe, you aren't that naive." His gaze switched back to
Garak for a second before resting again on Bashir. "A covert
group operating within your Federation known only as Section
31 was behind the 'intelligence' Garak received."

Garak stared at him. "31 was - but..."

The Founder rested his hand on Garak's shoulder
possessively. "A 31 agent impersonated Tain's successor in
his private intelligence agency. Their plan was to have you
destroy the Founder homeworld. That way there would be no
evidence that the Federation had a hand in genocide. They
could still hold their heads high and show the universe how
noble and civilized they were while you sacrificed your life
for nothing. What's more, any retribution by the Vorta or
any remaining Founders would have been directed against
Cardassia, not the Federation." He looked deeply into
Garak's eyes. "We are not the only ones who slip into the
skins of our targets. These dedicated officers of the
Federation are far more devious then they would have you
believe. Now do you see what they really are? Cowards and
murderers who wear the guise of justice but inside, they are
corrupt. We are not the enemy."

"I don't believe you." Bashir said, but his expression
seemed less certain than the tone of his voice. "How could
you even know if that was true?"

We are the Dominion, doctor," the Founder said, and in those
words he appeared larger than life, as if he had become his
people. "We are everywhere. Our people are scattered to the
four winds, but we are still one. There is very little we do
not know. That is what intrigued me about you, Garak." He
turned back to the Cardassian. "You are both an open book
and an enigma. You have no idea how honored I was to hear
you tell me your secrets, one by one. I knew many of them
already, of course, but to hear you say them - to know what
it meant to you to tell me: that is what made me realize
that I truly loved you." He looked at Bashir, whose eyes had
widened in shock. "Oh, yes, doctor. He's told me many of his
secrets and has promised to tell me all of them, one for
every year of our union. And he will."

Bashir gaped at him. "You can't mean that-"

"I do," the Founder said, his face seemingly sympathetic.
"I'm afraid, though, that you won't be there to hear them
with me."

"You're a monster! Garak, can't you see what he is? That
he's only using you?" Julian asked as he struggled against
his bonds.

The Founder turned on Bashir as a shower of sparks burst
from one of the sensor panels. "I'm not using Garak, Dr.
Bashir," he snarled. "You were, and you still are."

"What?"

"You flirted with him and led him on, but you
could never follow through, could you? You're just another
Federation coward, playing him as if he were a toy and not a
real, vital man. You could have had him: I did. All you saw
was the spy who could break you if he ever discovered your
enhancements. You never allowed yourself to trust him."

Bashir's mouth dropped open. "My..."

"And do you know the most ironic part of it all, Doctor?"
the Founder continued. "He already knew. He knew you were
enhanced and he didn't care." He looked up at Garak. "You
see why I chose Bashir, Garak: he loves you, but he
was never going to allow himself to show you. Not like me."

"Julian," Garak said to the Founder, but he was interrupted
by a furious Bashir.

"DON'T CALL THAT THING BY MY NAME!" he yelled. "That THING
is not me!"

The Founder looked at Garak almost helplessly. "I'm sorry. I
wasn't trying to hurt him. I was just trying to explain..."

"I know," Garak said, reaching out his hand to the Founder,
who took it and pressed it against his cheek. "I have
questions as well."

"You both make me sick!" Bashir growled. "I'd rather you
just shoot me than watch this...display you're putting on!"

They ignored him.

"I know you do, my sweet," the Founder said, smiling as the
lights dimmed again. "It's almost time. In another few
minutes we'll be leaving for our new home."

"Where are we going?" Garak asked, watching the lights as
the hum grew louder.

"Anywhere you like. Anywhere warm." He gave Garak a sweet,
heart-rending smile that tore at the Cardassian. "There are
a thousand worlds for us to choose from and Founder medical
technology is quite advanced. I can't give you immortality,
my love, but I can give you a century or so of passion and
happiness with me."

"And the children?" Garak asked.

Suddenly the Founder seemed less certain than before. "There
can be children if you like. As many as you want. We have
many worlds, many species to choose from. You can be a
father to our own children even. There is cloning, or if
this form doesn't please you, I can change and become
female, carry the children myself." He looked down at
himself. "Anything is possible."

"Is that possible? Can you bear humanoid children?" Garak
asked, his eyes sharp as he looked at the Founder. "The
semen, the blood - is that a part of it?"

"None of my kind has ever tried, but it may be possible," he
said slowly. "But I promise you, you can have all the
children you want."

Garak's voice was low. "Does that include Kela and Lewin?"

"Kela and-" The Founder looked down while Bashir glared at
him with an icy stare.

"Go on and tell him, you fucking monster!" the doctor
shouted. "Tell him that along with me and everyone else on
this station and on Bajor, you're going to kill those two
children whose only sin was to love you!"

"I - I...Garak..." The Founder dropped his head and shuffled
his feet slightly, fumbling for his words.

"We can save them, can't we?" Garak asked again. "We have
time."

"I would, but..." The Founder's voice trailed off. "Garak,
you have to understand: I only serve the will of the Link. I
had to plead with them just to spare you. If I tried to save
the children now..."

"What, you'd be expelled for saving two innocent children?"
Bashir spat out.

Garak gave him a severe look before turning to the Founder.
"Is there time, though?" he asked. "Can we stop it just long
enough to beam the children onto your ship?"

The Founder started for one of the junction boxes then
stopped. "No," he said, turning back to Garak. "We can't.
It's too risky."

"Then we can slow it down? Leave now so that the children
can come with us?"

The Founder's eyes widened and he bit his lip in an all too
human gesture of helplessness. "Please Garak, I'll try, but
I didn't - I never thought-"

Garak's gaze pierced him. "You were going to kill them too."
It wasn't a question.

"Of course he was!" Bashir snarled. "You idiot, look at him!
Do you really think that - thing loves you? It's incapable
of loving anything!"

"And you are, doctor?" the Founder snapped. "It took me all
of six days to get Garak into my bed! Within a month we were
in love and planning our lives together! You had five years
and you did nothing!"

Bashir struggled against his bonds. "You never had anything!
It wasn't actually you he let seduce him, remember?
He's never actually seen what YOU look like. He doesn't love
you: he loves some idealized version of me!"

"That's not true-"

"It's just eating you up inside, isn't it?" Bashir continued
relentlessly. "Do you even have a name? Do you even know
what you look like anymore? Or have you been me for so long
now that you can't remember who and what you really are?"

Garak turned to the Founder. "What is your name? Do you even
have one?"

The Founder looked at the two of them, then dropped his
head. "I...we don't have names in the Link."

"Then who are you?" Garak asked.

"I'm - I'm Julian, you know that..."

"You're Julian?"

"You've gone completely mad." Bashir's voice was as cold as
ice. "You're so lost you can't even remember that you aren't
the real Julian Bashir any more!"

Anger surged into the Founder's face. "I'm as much Julian
Bashir as you are, 'Doctor'." He spat the last word out.
"You're really Jules, aren't you? Jules Bashir, the stupid
little boy who couldn't tell a tree from a house. Is that
why you never allowed yourself to love Garak? Because you KNEW
you were a fraud?" He snorted. "And there you sit, a noble
Federation officer, telling me I don't know who I am?"

"Enough!" Garak said, his face nearly black with anger.

The Founder looked up at him in shock. "I..."

"If we're going to go, I need to know exactly what you
intend to do," Garak said, his face a granite slab. "You may
be a talented healer, but I don't quite trust your
engineering skills. I need to be certain that we're getting
out of here." He kept his gaze locked on the Founder's face,
knowing that even a glance towards the real Bashir could be
mistaken.

The Founder nodded. "I've turned the sensor array into a
particle emitter. Once the concentrated particle beam
reaches the core of the sun, it will cause an overload that
will force the sun to explode. We'll have ten minutes before
the shock wave reaches Bajor, but we have to leave before
then if we want to escape."

"And the charge is building up?"

He nodded. "Garak, we only have a few minutes left. We have
to leave now."

Garak gave the Founder one last wistful look, then shook his
head. "I can't."

"What?" The Founder's smile began to fade. "What do you mean
you can't?"

"I have to stay."

"You can't stay! You'll be killed!"

Garak stepped forward and cupped the Founder's cheek
lovingly. "You know me. Would I sacrifice Kela and Lewin in
order to live with you?"

"But - but I told you I'd try to save them! We'll go now!"

"You know as well as I do it's too late," Garak said sadly.

"My ship is fast..."

"Julian," Garak breathed as he kissed him softly. "Please. I
need you to do one last thing for me, please."

"Garak-" the Founder cried. "I want-"

"Please." He looked down at the phaser in the Founder's
hand. "Kill me. Let your face be the last thing I see."

"No! Garak, don't do this! Grab the phaser - kill it!"
Bashir shouted.

"Please," Garak repeated, standing silently between the
Founder and Bashir.

The Founder raised the phaser and pointed it at Garak
reluctantly.

"I love you," Garak said, just as the Founder squeezed the
trigger.

For a split second nothing happened. The Founder stared at
him, puzzled, but suddenly the phaser exploded in a massive
power surge. "NO!"

He fell back into the phaser array panel as he melted, the
golden liquid shot through with crimson bolts of pulsating
energy. Garak threw himself backwards on top of Bashir as
the panel burst into flames.

When he arose, there was nothing left of the Founder but a
burn embedded in the metal wall.

He raced to the sensor array controls, pulling down the
massive switch the Founder had set before reaching back and
yanking out great chunks of wire. The panel exploded; hot
sparks burned through the skin of his hands and face while
hydraulic acid shot out and sizzled against his skin.

The array went dark just for a second; he heard Bashir
screaming and calling out to him before the array tore
itself apart in a massive explosion.

---

"Garak!"

Pain. "Hurts."

"I know. Shit!" The doctor looked at the Cardassian's hands
and winced. "Garak, I have to get some help. The comm system
is still down and you need to be transported to the
Infirmary."

"No," Garak said in a rough voice, looking up at Bashir's
face.

"I know you're in shock, but you're hurt badly. Your hands-"

"Don't go," Garak whispered. "Stay."

"I have to go, Garak! You could-" Bashir began.

//-isko -o-Ba-ir// The captain's voice crackled over his
comm badge, cutting him off.

"Captain?" Bashir slapped his badge. "I have a medical
emergency in Auxiliary Control! I need an emergency
transport for both Mr. Garak and myself!"

//Trying. Hang on! Help-// Then there was static, followed
by silence.

"Dammit! Garak, stay with me. We're getting out of here
soon, okay?"

"You're bleeding," Garak said weakly, looking at his wrists.

"I broke my wrist when I pulled it free from the bonds," he
said. "I'll be fine, it'll heal."

The room began to fade away. "I'm sorry," he got out, but...

"No, Garak! You have to keep talking to me!" Bashir ordered
as Garak felt a hand pat his cheek; he opened his eyes again
to see the doctor's worried face. "Come on, that's right.
Now, keep talking to me."

He coughed harshly. "What..."

"It's okay; you probably just broke a few ribs," Bashir said
with a calm smile. "Now breathe. I know it hurts, but just
breathe in and out...that's good. You're doing good."

"What do you...want me to...say?" Garak asked slowly as he
forced the air in and out of his sore lungs.

"Did you know from the beginning that you were talking to
the Founder?" he asked, checking his pulse and frowning as
he counted the beats.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Moved different." He shivered. "Cold."

"You're in shock, just keep talking." Bashir took off his
jacket and covered the Cardassian with it. "How did he move
differently? Tell me."

"Like..." Garak began to fade out.

"No, Garak! Stay awake!" Bashir ordered, slapping his cheeks
lightly. "Open those-that's it! He moved like...?"

"Like he was swimming through air. So beautiful." Garak
smiled as he felt his muscles relax. It would be so easy
to...

"No, you don't!" Bashir's angry voice intruded. "You owe me!
I swear if you die on me, I'll-!"

"Too graceful," Garak murmured, his vision becoming more
focused again. "He moved like he wasn't human."

"If you could tell that now, why couldn't you see that three
months ago?" Bashir asked, his voice more serious than Garak
would have expected.

It was so cold..."Didn't....want to. I'm so sorry."

"No Garak, you didn't do anything wrong," he said
soothingly. "You were a victim in this, just like me. I'm
the one who needs to apologize. I said some very awful
things to you and-"

"No," Garak said, touching the doctor's lips with his burned
fingers. "No more apologies. Not now."

"All right, no more apologies." Bashir's eyes were bright
with unshed tears. "Do you want to know what pissed me off
the most about this whole thing?" he asked. "That son of a
bitch got you into his bed in days and all I ever got after
five years of putting up with you was a reading list and a
fondness for Cardassian food."

"Not saying much," he rasped. "You like gagh, too."

"True," the doctor whispered as he stroked his cheek.
"Dammit, why didn't I just...why did I think you were so..."

But Garak couldn't see him any more. "I'm dying," he moaned.

"No, you aren't!" the doctor insisted. "Any minute now-"

"Can we...pretend?"

"Pretend what? What are you talking about?"

"Pretend...pretend it was real."

Bashir gasped. "Pretend what? That I'm the Founder?"

"No. That he was...you..." His eyes fluttered closed as the
cold...

"NO! Don't you DARE-"

He startled awake. "Julian."

"That's right. It's me, Julian," Bashir choked out.

"You looked so handsome the first time...in the Replimat,"
Garak all but whispered, his mind spiraling back to that
first day. "It was a game. I was just...playing a game."

"I know, I figured that out," Bashir said. As he spoke,
Garak felt hot splashes of liquid on his skin. Julian was
crying. "Made an arse of myself in Ops afterwards. I'd like
to never live that down, by the way."

"You were so..." and Garak frowned, "irritating."

"Still am, according to the Chief."

"You got under my skin." Garak continued, ignoring the young
man's self-deprecating remark. "I fell...in love with
you...and didn't want to. I just wanted to." He frowned. "I
should have known better. You couldn't love...me. You're
too..."

"Too what? Too stupid? Too incredibly blind? What?"

"Good," Garak said softly. "You're everything I ever...loved
and more, but...it's too late now. Too late..." Garak said
as he began to drift away.

"No! Wake up!" he heard Bashir shout at the edge of his
consciousness. "Damn you, this isn't fucking fair! Ops!" He
heard the sound of a comm badge being smacked. "I need an
emergency transport now! Goddamn it, will somebody give me a
fucking break already!?!"

It was just as his pulse began to slow to a near stop that
he smelled that familiar scent of static and ozone as the
transporter took them.

---

Bashir looked over at Garak, who was lying motionless on the
biobed. "How's he doing?"

"Well, between the two of you he's worse off, but you
managed to break your wrist pretty badly," Okuna said with a
smile. "He'll be fine though, I think."

"I should go double-check, just to be sure." He started to
get off the bed when Sisko stopped him.

"First finish telling us what happened, doctor," he said.
"I'm sure Dr. Okuna has everything in hand."

Bashir looked at the captain and Admiral Gilhouly and
nodded. "Apparently the Founder's plan was to use the
station's sensor array to focus an intense particle beam at
Bajor's sun and cause it to go supernova, wiping out this
entire solar system."

The Admiral nodded. "My Chief Engineer is working with your
Mr. O'Brien on dismantling the damned thing now. From the
reports we've been getting the Founder was incredibly clever
with how he did it."

"We'd been having random power fluctuations for weeks,
nothing too out of the ordinary," Sisko replied as he turned
to the doctor. "The Founder had our engineering and
maintenance crews chasing their tails tracking down what
looked like everything from voles eating through wiring to
compatibility problems with some of the new systems we've
been trying to install. He must have been adding to it
slowly over several months, just a little at a time.
Luckily, now that we know exactly what he was planning
they've dismantled most of it."

"But what was the point? Why Bajor?" the Admiral asked.

"It wasn't Bajor, not really," Bashir said. "It was Garak
and....us."

"Us?" Sisko asked.

"The Federation." He took a breath. "The Founder claimed
that a covert group operating within the Federation called
Section 31 was responsible for leaking information to Garak
about the Founder homeworld. They claim that our people were
the ones who conspired to commit genocide against the
Founders. The Dominion's retribution was to make Garak
appear responsible for destroying Bajor, supposedly on
orders from Cardassia. The Federation would then consider it
an act of war and launch an attack. After both sides had
been weakened, the Dominion would send in their ships and
clear the field, leaving the Alpha Quadrant wide open."

"That's one hell of a plan," Gilhouly said.

"Captain, is there any truth to the shapeshifter's claim
about this Section 31?" the doctor asked.

"Admiral?"

Gilhouly turned to Sisko and said, "If there is a Section
31, I certainly have never heard of them. I'm fairly sure it
was just some disinformation the shapeshifter was passing
on."

Julian frowned. "But why-"

"Did the Founder say why he had picked you, doctor?" the
Admiral asked, cutting him off. "I mean, of all of the
senior staff you're not the one I would have picked if I
were a Founder. I would have gone for the Chief or Ben here.
Why you?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "It didn't really say. If I had to
guess, it would be because of the blood screenings."

"And why frame Garak for the whole thing? Because he's
Cardassian?" Gilhouly asked.

"I can answer that," Sisko said, frowning. "A year or so
ago, Garak tried to destroy the Founder's homeworld in an
attempt to stop them from infiltrating the Alpha Quadrant."
He shook his head. "God help me, but I really don't know how
to feel about that any more, given recent events."

"It's a double edged sword, Ben." Gilhouly patted him on the
back. "If he had succeeded, it would have been the
destruction of an entire people, and that's unacceptable. On
the other hand, it would have saved us a lot of trouble." He
shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, now does it? They're here
now and were here before Mr. Garak made the attempt. The
fact that he led an attack is just an excuse they're using
to do what they would have done anyway." He turned back to
Bashir. "How did it manage to fake the blood and other
bodily fluids?"

"Until I do further tests, I can't say for certain, but the
fact that Odo was transformed into a human for a while is
very telling," Julian replied. "My best theory is that
before the Founders evolved into a liquid state, they were
solids like us. They still have the ability to transform
into fully-realized humanoids with only subtle DNA markers
to differentiate them from the species they're mimicking.
Becoming fully humanoid is very physically and mentally
wearing on them, however. It explains why the Founder's
behavior became so erratic at the end. Also, I suspect that
not all changelings can transform back and forth with that
level of skill. Odo was only able to do so when the other
Founders forced him into it. I'll have to do some tests with
Odo's permission, but it would explain how the Founder who
impersonated General Martok was also able to bleed
convincingly." He stopped. "Speaking of the General..."

"He's on his way up to the station now along with the two
Romulans," Sisko said with a satisfied grin. "The one good
thing that came from this is that Martok has spoken with his
government and they've agreed to a sit-down with us. The
Romulans also seem more agreeable to a peace summit given
that the Dominion threat has proven itself to be far greater
than we first believed. Who knows: the Founders may have
succeeded in building a bridge to lasting peace between our
peoples."

"I'm certain it was unintentional, sir," Bashir said
ruefully.

Gilhouly looked out the Infirmary door. "Well, Ben," he
said, "I guess that's enough for now, don't you think?"

"I still have questions but nothing that can't wait. Julian,
get some rest. There are still a few things we need to go
over later, so when you get a chance I'd like a full report
on my desk."

"Aye, sir."

After the captain and the admiral left, Julian got up from
his bed and walked over to Garak's sleeping form. The biobed
was doing its job, keeping him in a light coma and
comfortable while it healed his many burns and cuts from the
explosion. His hands had suffered the worst of it. He
reached out to touch the sleeping Cardassian's fingers,
which were still shiny from the dermal regeneration.

"He'll be okay, Dr. Bashir."

Julian started a little then looked up. "Oh, Dr. Okuna! I
thought you went to dinner."

"And leave my favorite patient?" Okuna said, looking down at
Garak. "He's something else, isn't he?"

Julian frowned. "I wasn't aware you two had spent a lot of
time together."

"Oh yeah, don't you remember-" He stopped then shook his
head. "This is going to take a lot of getting used to,
sorry. Back a few months ago Garak went undercover as a
prylar to catch a killer. I did his surgery."

"Garak was disguised as a monk?" Julian asked, his jaw
dropping. "Garak?"

"He not only went disguised as one, he nearly joined the
order before, well..." Dr. Okuna allowed his voice to trail
off.

Julian smiled knowingly. "You only transferred in a few
weeks before the Founder stole my identity, doctor, so I
can't really hold your naiveté of Mr. Garak against you. I
assure you, if Garak gave you or anyone else the impression
he had found religion, it was because he was working an
angle. Either that or he was trying to secure the tailoring
rights to the Temple robes or something."

"Tailoring? Oh, that's right. I forgot Garak used to be a
tailor," he said with a chuckle.

Bashir frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"He sold the tailoring shop to Ajaz about...well, close to
three months ago." Okuna shrugged. "After Captain Sisko
hired him as a full-time consultant and he started the
process of joining Starfleet, he sold the shop. He had
planned on selling it anyway after he thought about joining
the monastery. Well, that's what he said anyway." Okuna
looked at him. "I know you and he aren't really - you
know..."

"No, we aren't," he said uncomfortably.

"Sorry about that."

"No," Bashir said. "Just finish what you were saying."

Okuna shrugged. "Anyway, I know that the Founder - it's
weird thinking of him like that - I know he changed
the...circumstances of your relationship, but I have to tell
you that Garak, well, he seemed really happy." He looked the
other man in the eye. "Garak and I have become friends, not
friends like the two of you were, I'm sure, but I'm glad
you'll be here to help him through this."

Julian looked at the younger man in surprise. Before he had
left, he never would have believed a word of what Okuna was
saying, much less have ever guessed that he or anyone else
on the station would consider Garak to be a friend.

But he'd seen it already, hadn't he? Worf actually seemed to
somewhat trust him, Sisko respected him, and as time
progressed he was fairly certain he's be seeing similar
reactions in other members of the crew toward Garak. How had
the Founder done it? What did he do to Garak that changed
him so dramatically?

"So, the two of you became friends, then? Friends or just
acquaintances?"

"Somewhere in-between, I'd say." Okuna smiled. "Like I said,
we got to know each other during that murder investigation
and he used to drop by the Infirmary a lot to see, well..."
He shrugged. "Since then, we've been out to dinner a few
times, hung out. I even help out every once in a while at
the Ministry of the Forgotten - you have no idea what I'm
talking about, do you?" he said, looking at Julian, his face
flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, like I said, this
whole thing has kind of knocked me for a loop."

"You're not the only one," Bashir muttered as he moved away
from the biobed.

"Well, doc, you're free to go!" Okuna said, then stopped as
he caught the disapproving look on his superior's face.
"Sorry, I meant that you're free to go, Dr. Bashir. Sir."

Bashir nodded and headed toward the door.

"Um, Dr. Bashir?"

"Yes, Dr. Okuna?" he asked.

"When Garak wakes up do you want me to comm you?" Okuna
looked at him uncertainly. "You know, so you can come back
to see him?"

"No, that won't be necessary." He walked out the door
without looking back.

---

"Fitz, if I was to ask you something you'd give me a
straight answer, right?" Sisko asked as soon as he and the
admiral entered his office.

"You know me, Ben. I'm a straight shooter all the way."

The captain gestured toward one of the plush leather chairs
across from his desk, then took his own seat. "You've heard
of Section 31 before, haven't you?"

Gilhouly tapped his fingers on Sisko's desk. "I've heard
rumors. Nothing verifiable."

"Maybe we need to call someone about the allegations the
Founder made. If this group really exists-"

"Hang on there, Ben!" Gilhouly said, holding up his hand. "I
said I've heard rumors, and from what I've heard you don't
go mentioning these people to just anyone."

"If an illegal extremist group is operating within
Starfleet, at the very least it needs to be reported to
Command," Sisko objected.

"Ben, c'mon. You and I both know that if this group exists,
and quite frankly it probably does, Command already knows
all about it." The admiral gave him a knowing look.
"Frankly, the Romulans have the Tal'Shiar, the Cardies have
the Obsidian Order, hell, the Klingons even have some damn
thing called the Order of Kahless. Of course our side has
some black OPS group. Frankly, we're both better off keeping
our mouths shut about it."

Sisko leaned back in his chair. "I've never known you to run
from a fight."

"What fight? As far as I've heard, these guys are on our
side," Gilhouly said with a shrug.

"You can't be serious!" he burst out. "They attempted to
commit genocide-"

"Against the Founders," Gilhouly shot back. "What of it?
Hell, after today I'm tempted to blow the little bastards up
myself!"

"Fitz-"

"No, Ben," the admiral said, shaking his head. "Before you
get all high and mighty over this, think about what we're
talking about. Think of what these people tried to do to
Bajor. They weren't even at war with them! They would have
destroyed an entire planet and murdered - what, three
billion people? - just to trick the Federation into going to
war with Cardassia! These are not the kind of beings that
listen well to reason. Sometimes, my friend, you have to
know when to pull the trigger."

"I don't believe that," Sisko said. "I won't believe that."

"And that's why you're the captain and I'm the admiral,"
Gilhouly said simply. "But before you get on my ass about
holding grudges and such, don't forget that I've known you
since you were straight out of the Academy. I'm pretty sure
that when we're sitting around your table later, chowing
down on some of your daddy's jambalaya, Jean-Luc Picard
won't be receiving an invitation to swing on by with the
Tabasco sauce, will he?"

Sisko's face darkened in anger and Gilhouly held up his
hands in a gesture of peace. "Hey, Ben. I'm not trying to
pick a fight. I loved Jenny, too. I have to tell you the
first time I saw Picard after that, I nearly knocked him on
his ass." He pinned Sisko with a hard look. "The difference
is, Picard didn't really kill Jenny, the Borg did, and if
you saw any of those metal sons-a-bitches you'd be the first
man to pull that trigger, Hoss. I know you. These Section 31
agents, or whoever the hell they are, look at the Founders
the same way you look at the Borg. If they can take them out
in one fell swoop, Prime Directive be damned. Personally, I
wouldn't be shedding any tears."

Sisko sat back in his chair and picked up his baseball, an
uneasy look on his face. "This doesn't sit right with me,
Fitz."

"Do yourself a favor, Hoss; forget about it." He got up from
his chair and tilted his head toward the door. "Now, was
that line about that little redhead bullshit or what? I
could use a drink."

"Fine, but the first round is on you," Sisko said, putting
down his ball and heading out the door.

---
Epilogue: Regroup and Retreat
---

"And for service above and beyond the call of duty, it is my
privilege and honor to award you the Federation Medal of
Valor." Admiral Gilhouly pinned the medal to Dr. Bashir's
chest, then moved to Garak who was standing beside him.

He looked from the corner of his eye at Captain Sisko and
Commander Worf, who had each received their medals before
him, their faces solemn yet glowing with pride...all except
for Garak. His face had a gray undertone to it, and his
shoulders sagged slightly as though the weight of the metal
the Admiral pinned to his tunic weighed him down.

After the Admiral shook Garak's hand, First Minister Shakaar
then stepped forward as well. "And to Mr. Elim Garak, on
behalf of a grateful planet, I award you Bajor's highest
honor, the Dailenium Eye." He draped a heavy golden cord
around Garak's neck to which was attached a gold medal in
the shape of an eye with an iris made from a multi-faceted
jewel. "Dailenium is the most precious substance on Bajor.
Our ancestors believed the Prophets imbued the crystal with
their mystical strength when they gave us their wisdom in
the form of the Orbs. The eye symbolizes your wisdom and
your courage in the face of danger. May the Prophets always
watch over you as you have watched over our people. You have
our eternal thanks."

Garak nodded silently then stepped back, his face impassive
and stern as though he hadn't even heard what Shakaar had
said. It worried the doctor.

Since the death of the Founder five days ago, Garak hadn't
spoken more than a handful of words to anyone, and nothing
at all to him. Unless it was on official business, Garak did
not emerge from his quarters, not even for meals. Although
technically it was Bashir's job as CMO to either offer Garak
counseling himself or to refer him to a professional
counselor, he knew the last thing Garak needed was to be
forced into contact with him. He'd gone to Sisko and asked
him to request that a counselor from the Venture speak with
Garak, but Sisko had instead urged him to give the
Cardassian time.

Miles O'Brien came up to him. "Congratulations there! Need
some help carrying that pile of hardware on yer chest?" he
cried, pounding him joyously on the back.

He looked at his friend and smiled, pushing thoughts of
Garak out of his mind for a while. "I think I can handle it,
Chief."

"Well, you look skinnier than a phaser beam! Those Hadar
sure didn't feed you, did they?" Miles pulled Julian toward
their group of co-workers. "Good thing Keiko's laid down the
law: you're coming over tonight for dinner whether you want
to or not. You haven't even seen Yoshi yet, have you? Lemme
tell you, he's a chip off the old block!"

As he allowed himself to absorb the warmth and praises of
his friends and colleagues, he couldn't help but steal
another glance at Garak who had wandered over to speak in
low tones with Vedek Merel. It made him feel better to know
that at least the Cardassian had her to rely on for support
and friendship. Perhaps, when this was all behind them, he
would ask Garak out to dinner or just to talk. But only when
it was appropriate.

---

Garak took a glass of champagne from one of the passing
waiters, then stepped over to Merel Atina. When he was close
enough to her, he smiled politely and in a low tone asked,
"Is it done?"

She looked pointedly at Shakaar; Garak examined the man
surreptitiously as he locked eyes with the Vedek for just a
moment and nodded slightly.

"It's done," she said simply.

"Are you sure he'll go through with it?" he asked, sipping
the sweet, effervescent wine.

"Shakaar Edon has many faults, but he knows where his
loyalties lie," Merel said, her coolly spoken words greatly
at odds with her pleasant expression.

Garak's eyes met hers. "You told him."

She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

"And he believed you? How much does he know?"

"Enough," was all she said.

Garak's face hardened for a moment, then he sighed, feeling
as if he had aged ten years in that one breath. "I suppose
it doesn't matter any more, does it? I'm damned anyway;
trading on the souls of the dead is the least of my sins at
this point."

Merel looked at him sharply. "You have done nothing of the
kind, and if I ever hear you say that again-"

"I'm sorry." Garak rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I
didn't mean to upset you."

"Garak, I'm not worried about me. What worries me is-"

"Mr. Garak! You're out of uniform, aren't you?"

Merel and Garak both looked up to see Sisko, Major Kira, and
Admiral Gilhouly approaching them. Garak smiled pleasantly
and said, "I'm afraid not, Admiral. Technically, when you
saw me in uniform the other day I was only impersonating a
Starfleet officer."

"Not any more," Sisko said as he handed him a slim, gray
box. He opened it and held it out to the Cardassian who
accepted it numbly. Inside was a gold set of full
Lieutenant's pips. "Congratulations, Lieutenant, it's
official. Welcome to Starfleet."

"I never thought I'd be happy to say this, Garak, but welcome
to the team - officially," the major said, saluting him with
her glass.

First Minister Shakaar, Commander Worf, and Dr. Bashir all
wandered over to see what was happening. Garak stared into
the box silently.

"I look forward to having you on the tactical team,
Lieutenant," Worf said briskly. "You and I have much work
ahead of us."

"Now hold on, Commander," the Admiral said with a broad
grin. "My tactical officer is fixing to take off on me. He's
got a promotion coming up and I was thinking that Mr. Garak
might feel like stretching his legs a little. Ben says
you're a real find, and since the Ulysses is going to be
docked here until we get this Founder situation under
control you can still work with your team here, and when the
time comes you can come along to wherever our next
assignment takes us." He chuckled. "I guarantee we'll keep
it interesting for you."

"It's a good offer, Garak," Sisko said. "I know that things
here have been...difficult lately, but perhaps a change of
scene might help."

"Captain..." the doctor started, but Garak cut him off.

"I very much appreciate the offer, Admiral, but I must
decline," Garak said, looking up at the two officers.

Gilhouly nodded while Sisko's smile broadened. "Well, Ben,
it was worth a shot," he said, clapping the captain on the
shoulder heartily. "Guess I'm going to have to steal my man
from someone else's crew."

"To tell you the truth, I was a little nervous when you
suggested it. Things have been so dull here for the last few
days that I was afraid Mr. Garak was getting sick of us,"
Sisko grinned.

"What about you, Mr. Worf? Picard says good things about
you. Feel like kissing this tin wheel goodbye and heading
off to deep space again?" Gilhouly asked.

Worf's eyes flickered across the room to Jadzia and he said,
"I'm afraid I must decline as well, Admiral."

Gilhouly followed his gaze and rocked back on his heels. "I
can't think of a better reason to stay than that, Commander.
She's a fine looking lady. A hell of a lot better looking
than Curzon was, let me tell you."

He and Sisko shared a grin then the captain said, "After the
reception, I need you to get into uniform, Lieutenant. You
and Mr. Worf have some transmissions to look over that the
Venture picked up on while they were doing a sensor sweep
near our listening post this afternoon. The Founders aren't
likely to give up with just one failure behind them. Plus,
Dukat appears to have switched sides again. Right before the
attack by the Founder, we received reports that his ship
dropped all communications with us and headed toward
Cardassia-"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to do that, Captain," Garak said
quietly but firmly. "And I can't accept the commission
you're offering."

"Excuse me?" Sisko asked in surprise.

All eyes turned to Garak who placed the box down on a table
loaded down with appetizers beside him. "I'm leaving the
station, sir. I'm sorry."

Sisko's face went still. "I think we'd best go step in my
office. This discussion would be better served in private.
If you will excuse us, First Minister, Vedek."

"I'm afraid that I can't allow you to speak with Mr. Garak
alone, Captain," Shakaar said, moving to stand to the other
side of Garak and Merel. "Mr. Garak is a Bajoran citizen and
one of our top military assets now."

"Shakaar-" Kira burst out in surprise.

"Since when?" Sisko burst out, his patience at an end. He
gestured toward his office. "Fine! I think we'd best all
retire to the conference room where we can discuss this in
relative privacy."

---

Julian followed the group into the conference room. A few
people at the party looked on in curiosity but turned back,
likely assuming the group needed to meet for official
business.

When Sisko and Gilhouly approached Garak with the idea of
leaving the station and accepting a posting elsewhere,
Bashir had felt sick to his stomach. It was as though they
were shutting the door on his ever being able to salvage any
part of his friendship with Garak. It was odd: before the
Admiral offered to give him the position of tactical officer
aboard the Ulysses, Julian already felt himself pulling even
further away from the Cardassian. He still had some
unresolved issues from the final confrontation between Garak
and the Founder and he wasn't sure how to process them as of
yet, but he knew if he were to ever find closure he needed
Garak here. Perhaps it was selfish, but it was what it was.
When Garak had refused, he had felt oddly light-headed and
happy as though his friend had chosen to stay just for him.

His friend, he thought. Even if Garak hated him at that
moment, Bashir still considered the Cardassian his friend.

But Garak's refusal had infuriated Bashir. He wasn't angry
at Garak, though; it was Sisko's fault. He had warned the
captain that Garak was on the razor's edge but the man had
refused to listen. So, as Sisko, Gilhouly, Garak, and the
Bajorans filed into the conference room, Julian followed.
Until someone told him specifically to leave, he was
determined to make sure Garak stayed and got the help he
obviously needed.

As everyone settled in, Sisko turned his fiery gaze first on
Garak then on the First Minister. "Explain to me exactly
what is going on here. Since when has Garak ever been a
member of the Bajoran Militia, much less a citizen of your
planet?"

"Mr. Garak has been a political exile to Bajor for the last
seven years." Shakaar said. "He is a citizen of our world
and one of our most important tactical assets against the
Founders and the Cardassians. As such, the Federation's
claim on him is improper."

Sisko pinned the First Minister with a stormy gaze. "What
kind of game are you playing at, Shakaar? Garak has only
been on this station for five and a half years! He was half
beaten to death and lying in a biobed when Starfleet found
him after taking over the station!" His voice rose
dangerously. "If you will recall, I had to wrangle with your
government back then to see to it that Garak wasn't turned
back over to a hostile foreign power. I had to arrange for
his sanctuary on this station. Your own military made it
clear that as soon as Bajor was able to sustain the
integrity and safety of this installation, Mr. Garak would
no longer be welcome here. Do you deny that?"

"The officials in charge then were not fully aware of the
situation," Shakaar replied calmly, "nor were they aware how
valuable Mr. Garak would become to the future and safety of
Bajor. In recognition to his position as a recipient of our
highest civilian honor and for his sacrifices in the
protection of Bajoran interests both past and present, I
have granted Mr. Garak full citizenship and he has
accepted."

"You're making a mistake, First Minister," Gilhouly said in
a low voice from his chair beside Sisko's. "Bajor is on the
fast track to becoming a Federation world, with all the
rewards and responsibilities that come with being such.
Taking Garak off of this station is a grave tactical error,
not only in the war effort but for any diplomatic venues you
hope to continue to explore with the United Federation of
Planets."

"Do you really want to risk an interplanetary incident along
with Mr. Garak's life over some political power play in the
eleventh hour?" Sisko asked.

"I will continue to strive to bring understanding between
our governments, gentlemen, but Mr. Garak is coming with me
to Bajor." Shakaar's voice would brook no further argument.

"You're going to risk everything for a Cardassian?" Kira
burst out. "Garak has done us a great service, yes, but he's
still not one of us!"

"We take care of our own, Nerys. You know that." Shakaar
pinned her with an icy gaze, his voice filled with unspoken
meaning.

Kira looked at him in confusion, then her eyes widened and
she looked at Garak again as if suddenly seeing him for the
first time. She looked back at Shakaar, questioning him
silently, obviously not liking what his still, cold
expression was telling her. She started to say something but
instead just bit her lip and fell back in her chair, her
face pale and her manner unsettled.

"What the hell does that mean, 'we take care of our own'?
Will somebody please explain to me what I have missed?"
Sisko said tersely.

"What it means isn't pertinent to the discussion at hand,"
Shakaar answered him, his gaze hard. "Garak is returning to
Bajor on my ship. He will be made available to your team as
a consultant, but for the time being he will remain on
Bajoran soil."

"And as you said, this is a Bajoran station under Federation
control. It is a matter of Federation security as well as
policy that Mr. Garak remain in protective custody so that
he and our assets may be protected," Gilhouly said. "He can
keep his Bajoran citizenship and you can have your political
leverage, whatever good it does you, but he will do so in a
Federation brig if that's what it takes to keep him from
being assassinated by some shapeshifter bearing a grudge."

Shakaar touched his comm badge and said, "Enter."

The doors opened and two Bajoran security officers entered
the room, their faces tense as they awaited Shakaar's
orders. "You're right, Admiral," the First Minister said
coolly to Gilhouly. "This is a Bajoran station. Whether it
is truly under Federation control, however, is debatable."

Worf began to rise from his chair and a deadly tension
filled the room. Julian felt the blood rush in his ears as
the situation began to escalate. Of all the strange twists
and turns his life had taken recently, this was by far the
strangest. He was actually witnessing a showdown over Elim
Garak between his captain, one of the Federation's most
feared and respected Admirals, and Shakaar Edon, First
Minister of Bajor.

Once again, he stepped through the looking glass and felt
the world topple into itself.

"Major?" Sisko said quietly, his eyes locked onto Shakaar.
"Do you have anything you would like to add?"

Kira looked up at him, her face pale and solemn. "No, sir.
The First Minister has said everything that needs to be
said. This is a Bajoran station."

Sisko looked at her in shock. His mouth tightened into a
thin line.

"If I may speak?" Garak said, his voice cutting through the
void that had been left in the wake of the major's
statement.

"That would be a good idea I believe, especially since your
sudden change of heart is at the core of all this," Sisko
said roughly, anger making his skin darken and his eyes
flash dangerously.

"I realize that my tactical skills in code-breaking are
critical in protecting this station should there be further
hostile overtures by the Cardassian fleet or by the
Founders, and I fully intend to see my responsibilities to
this station through," Garak said. "I will no longer be able
to do so from Deep Space Nine, however. First Minister
Shakaar has agreed to assign to me body guards from the
Bajoran Militia to see to my safety and Vedek Merel has
granted me sanctuary in one of her monasteries." He held up
a hand to forestall an outburst from the captain. "I know
that sending transmissions via subspace to and from Bajor
would be a security risk so I would suggest you assign a
liaison from your staff to aid me in my work. I have someone
in mind for the position if that would be acceptable to
you."

Bashir sat up straighter his chair. Although Garak wasn't
looking at him, he suspected he knew who the Cardassian
would choose. The question was, did he really want to spend
that much time alone with him outside of the safety of their
routine on the station?

"If it would be acceptable to you to release him from his
regular duties in the Infirmary, I'm sure the children of
the orphanage could benefit from his regular presence there
as well, but only if he would be amenable to the
assignment."

Julian held his breath as his mind reeled. Perhaps Garak
intended to try to pursue a relationship with him after all?
He decided instantly that he would agree. He wasn't ready to
think of Garak in those terms yet, but if Garak needed him
to help get through this, he wouldn't refuse. He almost
opened his mouth to accept when he heard Garak's next words.

"Dr. Okuna was a military pilot before he entered medical
school, and he has had a surgical rotation in pediatrics, I
believe. He's also less vital to the station now that you
have three ships assigned to guarding this sector, each with
a full medical staff. I'm sure if Dr. Bashir finds himself
short-staffed before a replacement can be found, a member of
their medical team can fill in."

Julian felt as though he had been slapped.

Even Sisko looked shocked. "Dr. Okuna?"

"If you or Dr. Bashir have any objections, I understand,"
Garak said simply. "Another officer would be acceptable as
long as his or her extended duties will not weaken the
integrity of your senior staff."

The Admiral turned to Sisko in an obvious gesture that
showed the captain it was his show.

Sisko glanced apologetically at Bashir and cleared his
throat. "Very well; as soon as I have spoken to Dr. Okuna
I'll have him go down to Bajor with everything you will
need. I'll also have the Chief set you up with any equipment
you may require. Dr. Bashir?"

Suddenly Julian felt a surge of anger and some other emotion
he didn't wish to identify rip through him. He schooled his
features into a hard mask. "If Dr. Okuna wants the
assignment," he said, "we can make do without him."

Garak had a point, he thought: Okuna did have more
experience in pediatrics than he did, and it would be less
disruptive of the senior staff to send him. And he didn't
really want to be alone in a shuttlecraft again any time
soon...

But the fact that Garak so obviously didn't want to be
around him still cut him to the quick.

"I'm afraid that it is getting late and I have a meeting
with my cabinet on Bajor this evening that I must attend. If
you will excuse us," Shakaar said, rising from his chair.

Vedek Merel and Garak did the same and the three of them
left, the two Bajoran guards trailing after. Garak did not
say goodbye, nor did he ever once look at the doctor.

"Major Kira, if you would please remain behind. There is
something I wish to discuss with you," Sisko said, pinning
her with a hard gaze. "As for you gentlemen, feel free to
return to the reception. Try to salvage something from this
evening, if you can."

Julian walked out of the room and immediately got himself
another drink as soon as he rejoined the reception. He
swallowed it quickly and immediately reached for another as
Worf made a beeline to Dax and whispered to her in low
tones. She gave him a startled look then took his arm,
dragging him to the far side of the room and continuing
their conversation.

At least he wasn't alone in his shock over what had just
happened in there, he thought as he downed the second glass
of champagne. His eyes lighted upon the gray box on the
table and he picked it up and opened it to stare at the gold
pips inside.

He fingered them thoughtfully, then stuck them in his pocket
before heading out of the room.

"Hey, Julian, where are you going?" O'Brien said, ambling
toward him. "Keiko's expectin' us in a few minutes."

"I was on my way to Quark's," he replied as he stopped
outside the reception room door. "I need a real drink."

O'Brien frowned at him. "You sure? To be honest you look
like hell. What were you all doing in the conference room
anyway?"

"Nothing. Nothing important anyway." He crossed his arms and
looked off towards where Garak's tailor shop used to be.
"Let's stop for one drink and go to your place."

"All right," Miles said, still a little uncertain. "Listen,
you want to go find Garak? Ask him to join us, maybe? He's
been looked a little long in the mouth lately, could do with
a little cheering up."

He held up a hand. "Please, just...I'd rather not. And to be
honest, I'd rather not talk about him either."

Miles nodded understandingly as he clapped Julian on the
shoulder. "In that case, let me tell you about my son."

As O'Brien described the boy (who was apparently well on his
way to being a prodigy at the ripe old age of three weeks),
Bashir thought back on the past week. He'd come so close to
losing everything...

...but then again, maybe he already had.

---

THE END