The BLTS Archive - Korta Lessons
by Chastity Pureheart (chazpure@yahoo.com)

---

Disclaimer: Viacom is Borg - that pretty much says it all.

Notes: Part of the "Garak Fuh-q Fest"

Archiving: ( Cardassian Choir )

---

"Did you plan on moving sometime before we reach the station?" Garak
inquired.

Nog startled as his concentration broke, nearly scattering the playing
pieces. He frowned at Garak. "I'm entitled to two minutes for each
move," he said indignantly.

"Indeed you are, young cadet. That does not mean that you must agonize
over your move for every last millisecond of those two minutes."

Nog furrowed his brow in concentration, looked – for the fifth time –
at the dice he had rolled, then reached out and pulled one of his
pieces back

"What are you doing?" Garak asked irritably.

"Regrouping," Nog replied shortly.

"But you're losing," Garak pointed out.

"That's why I have to protect my assets," the young Ferengi responded,
studying the game board intently.

Garak huffed in annoyance. "This isn't a financial transaction.
Protecting your 'assets' is what got you into trouble in the first
place. You have to go on the offensive -- you have to attack."

Nog grimaced. "Your move."

Garak shook his head. "This is maddening. Asking a Ferengi to play a
Cardassian game is like asking a Klingon to chew with his mouth
closed," he said in exasperation. He picked up the dice and rolled,
then advanced his game pieces boldly across the board.

"Kotra isn't about 'regrouping' and hoarding 'assets,'" he said, "It's
about bold strategy and decisive action." His maneuver pinned two of
Nog's pieces in an untenable position. Garak smiled slightly as he
removed the captured tokens and stored them with their fellows in the
tray beside him. As he turned his attention back to the board, a
slight motion by Chief O'Brien caught his eye. "Chief, care to take on
the winner? I'd love to play Kotra against the hero of Setlik Three,"
Garak offered.

O'Brien turned to look at him, his face shadowed at the mention of
Setlik. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked

Garak cocked his head slightly, pleased to have gotten a rise out of
the stolid engineer so easily. "Everyone knows your distinguished war
record," he said with a light touch of sarcasm. "-- how you led two
dozen men against the Barrica encampment and drove out an entire
regiment of Cardassians. If you play Kotra with half that brazenness,
I think we'd have quite a match." He grinned at O'Brien's obvious
discomfort.

The Chief grunted. "That was a long time ago," he said.

"But you're still the same man," Garak pointed out.

"I'm not a soldier anymore. I'm an engineer," O'Brien said with a note
of finality.

Garak nodded. "I see," he said. "So when you and Doctor Bashir
disappear into the holosuites for hours at a time...you're just
repairing them," he added blandly.

"What's your point, Garak?" O'Brien asked in growing annoyance.

"I'm just curious," Garak said innocently. "Why do you and Doctor
Bashir spend hours in the holosuites dressed up as fighter pilots,
reliving ancient battles?"

"We do it for fun -- it's just a game," O'Brien asserted.

"So's Kotra," Garak said with a slight smile. "And I'd love nothing
more than to play against a man like you."

"Maybe some other time," O'Brien said, turning back to his console.

Garak just smiled. He turned back to Nog, who watched him with a
puzzled expression. "Well, cadet?" Garak asked. "You've lost two more
tokens from your carefully protected assets. Your move," he said
sweetly.

Nog looked at his dwindling forces on the board, then resolutely
picked up the dice and rolled.

---

Several hours later, Garak sat calmly working on a new tunic as Nog
concentrated on piloting the runabout. Chief O'Brien lifted a steaming
cup of coffee from the replicator and sniffed appreciatively as he
took the first sip.

"Approaching Empok Nor, Sir," Nog announced.

"Take us out of warp," O'Brien ordered.

Nog reset the controls and the ship dropped out of warp. As he was
verifying their position, the Chief took the seat beside him and
entered a new series of codes.

"Run a full scan," O'Brien told him. "I'll take the helm."

Nog quickly scanned the drifting station before them. "The station's
main power supply and life support systems are off-line. No
lifesigns," he reported.

O'Brien nodded. "I'm taking us into transporter range," he said.

Garak looked up from his sewing at that remark. "I don't think we can
risk beaming aboard. There are probably pattern scramblers rigged to
go off if they detect a non-Cardassian transporter signal," he warned.

The Chief grimaced at the thought. "That could be messy... we'll have
to dock. The landing pads are sealed. Let's try an Upper Pylon," he
suggested.

Nog looked up at him in concern. "Won't the airlock have booby-traps?"
he asked.

Garak nodded pleasantly. "You can count on it. Someone's going to have
to disarm them before we dock."

Nog squared his shoulders and said stoutly, "I volunteer, sir."

Garak smiled. "The scanner in the airlock might mistake your
enthusiasm as Cardassian," he agreed, "but not your DNA...I'm afraid
I'm the only one who has a chance of getting through," he added
seriously, turning to O'Brien.

The Chief nodded. "You're probably right, Garak. Get yourself a suit
and you'd better take a toolkit, just in case."

Garak folded up his sewing carefully and stowed it in a small
compartment, then walked back to find an environmental suit. "Woefully
unfashionable," he said to himself as he put it on, "but a necessary
evil." He sealed the helmet and clipped a small toolkit to his belt,
then headed for the airlock.

---

Moments later the runabout gave a sudden, slight jolt. Chief O'Brien's
voice came through Garak's suit speaker. "Garak, we've docked. Ready
when you are."

"Thank you, Chief. Engaging airlock interface." Garak peered through
the viewport, trying to see if the docking clamps were engaging. He
opened the ship's inner door, stepped in and sealed it behind him.
Readouts on the outer door indicated the clamps had engaged. A
tell-tale on the runabout's airlock control was blinking; the station
was demanding an access code. He entered a low-level Cardassian
authorization code and smiled to see the station's outer door slowly
opening. He keyed in another series of commands and the ship's outer
door opened as well. He stepped through the open doors and floated
into the dark airlock of Empok Nor.

A soft hum and a pale green light told him he was being scanned. The
security measures, apparently satisfied by his Cardassian DNA, were
not activated. Garak made his way to the control panel and opened the
station's inner airlock door.

It was eerie, peering into the silent darkness of this station that so
closely resembled the one he lived on. Garak shook himself and
continued searching for the environmental control panel. It wasn't far
away. In a few moments, he had it open and had disarmed two obvious
booby traps, the usual station security protocols, and one very
clever, subtle and deadly trap. He nodded in satisfaction at the
read-out and entered a final set of codes. His knees bent as they
suddenly took up his usual weight, and he heard several clanging
sounds as floating debris dropped to the floor. Lights came on down
the corridor and a faint hum told him that life support had been
reestablished.

Garak let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He
pressed the communicator on the front of his suit. "Chief? I believe
you may come aboard, now," he said.

"Good job, Garak. We'll be over right away," O'Brien's voice said.

Garak reached up and slowly unfastened his helmet. The air that met
his nostrils was breathable, but held the indefinable essence of
abandonment. He drew a slow breath, then removed the rest of the suit,
piling it in a corner. He sat on a packing crate to await the rest of
the team.

O'Brien was as good as his word. In a few moments he emerged from the
airlock, burdened with a large toolbox and an armload of miscellaneous
equipment. Nog, Pechetti, Amaro, Stolzoff, and Boq'ta were right
behind him, similarly laden.

Garak watched them as each reacted to the shadowy, deserted station.
"Welcome to Empok Nor," he said ironically.

O'Brien grinned. "Thanks for having us..."

Garak waved his arms expansively. "Take whatever you need...my house
is your house."

After grinning slyly at Boq'ta, Pechetti motioned to Amaro. "Why don't
you call for the turbolift?" he suggested.

Amaro hit the keypad beside the door and waited for the familiar hum
of the turbolift.

O'Brien looked about and heaved a gusty sigh. "All right, listen up,"
he said. "We're going to break up into three teams. Nog and Stolzoff
are with me. We're going after the 'Must-Haves.' Pechetti and Amaro,
you'll do 'Could-Use.' Boq'ta and Garak – 'Would-be-Nice.'"

Still waiting for the lift, Amaro pressed the keypad again.

O'Brien looked at each of his team members, making sure he had their
full attention. "Garak disabled the central security net, but there
could be booby-traps anywhere..." he reminded them. "Don't move into
an area until you've scanned it... if something doesn't seem right --
don't touch it. Call for help. Clear?"

The crew nodded solemnly.

O'Brien squared his shoulders. "Let's go."

Amaro frowned at the lift doors. "I think there's something wrong with
the turbolift, Sir," he said.

O'Brien curled his lip in a half-grin. "We're on emergency power,
Amaro. We have to take the stairs."

Amaro glared at Pechetti and Boq'ta, who merely smiled in return.

Nog said seriously, "Seventy-two decks. It's good exercise, Sir. On
DS9, I run the Pylon stairs twice every morning."

Garak rolled his eyes at the Ferengi's enthusiasm as they all headed
for the stairs.

---

Garak and Boq'ta walked down the Promenade, which was eerily silent
and dark. Their footsteps were swallowed up by the blackness and the
whisper of the ventilation system. The Bolian's obvious apprehension
had eased slightly, but Garak could still see him twitch every time a
flickering light met their eyes around a new corner.

As for himself, Garak was on alert. It had been a long time since he
had been "on patrol," though his training never permitted him to let
his guard down fully, even in the safety of his own quarters on DS9.
As they rounded another corner, he noted a peculiar blue glow
emanating from what should be the Infirmary. He waited for the
Bolian's twitch and smiled inwardly as Boq'ta unconsciously
accommodated him. He caught the Bolian's eye and gave him a cautious
nod, then carefully approached the source of the light.

Garak paused, one hand on the arched doorway, and peered into the
blue-shadowed space beyond. Detecting no apparent threats, he stepped
forward, letting his hand slid along the arch. A sudden cool, slimy
sensation on his hand startled him. He looked at his hand and found a
patch of slick...something glistening there.

Boq'ta had come up to stand beside him, watching curiously as Garak
rubbed the slippery stuff between his fingers. The Bolian held out his
tricorder and took a reading on the gel.

"It's a biogenic compound," he said, studying his readings.

Garak's brow ridge quirked in puzzlement. "I wonder where it came
from?" he mused.

Boq'ta had no answer to give him, but Garak proceeded into the
Infirmary to investigate. After an anxious look around, Boq'ta
followed him.

In Surgery, they found three long, cylindrical chambers. Two had been
opened; the third lay shut and dark.

Garak carefully approached the nearest open chamber and looked within,
finding nothing but a layer of strange blue gel. He frowned slightly
and rubbed his fingers together, remembering the patch of gel he had
touched on the doorway.

Boq'ta watched in silence as the Cardassian moved to the closed, dark
chamber, finding a broken piece of bulkhead lying atop its shattered
window panel. The Bolian studied the two empty chambers and remarked
to Garak, "These look like stasis tubes..."

Garak barely nodded. He lifted the broken bulkhead away and felt the
side of the last chamber for its latch. He pressed it and slowly
opened the lid.

Boq'ta recoiled slightly at the withered remains exposed to their
view. He swallowed hard and took another tricorder reading.
"Cardassian," he said. "He's been dead for about a year."

As they studied the dead man, something caught Boq'ta's eye. Gingerly,
he reached in and plucked forth something shiny, showing it to Garak.

"Interesting..." Garak said, mildly intrigued.

The Bolian studied his find curiously. "A regimental badge?" he asked.

Garak nodded. "Third Battalion, First Order... if I'm not mistaken,"
he elaborated.

Boq'ta forced a grin. "This'll make Pechetti's day," he remarked.

Garak ignored him, turning back to the two empty chambers, his brow
ridges furrowed in concern. "Both these tubes have been activated
recently," he said grimly.

Boq'ta gave him a worried look. "Do you think...?" the question
trailed off as he took in Garak's expression.

The Cardassian cocked his head slightly. "One thing's certain," he
said calmly, "Chief O'Brien isn't going to be pleased by this news."
He tapped his comm badge. "Garak to O'Brien," he said.

The Chief's voice came back through the comm, "Go ahead."

"Can you come down to the Infirmary?" Garak asked. "There's something
you should see," he said, glancing back at the empty chambers.

There was a short pause, then O'Brien's voice came again, utterly
serious, "On my way."

Garak looked back at Boq'ta and forced down the sudden surge of
annoyance he felt at the sight of the Bolian's fidgeting. "Well, now
we wait," he said with false cheerfulness. He righted a fallen stool
and sat down.

Boq'ta nodded nervously, pulled another stool from behind a console,
and sat down to wait.

---

It may have seemed like hours, but it was actually only a few minutes
before O'Brien and Stolzoff arrived at the Infirmary.

Garak waved them in with the air of a gracious host, and ushered them
into Surgery to show them the stasis chambers.

"As you can see, Chief, these two chambers have been activated and
opened quite recently. No doubt our friend here," he said, gesturing
at the inhabitant of the third tube, "Would also have been missing,
but for his unfortunate accident, about a year ago, according to
Boq'ta."

O'Brien stepped up to study the chambers, but had just begun his
examination when a breathless Nog dashed into the Infirmary.

"Chief! Chief! Chief!" he cried, panting for breath.

"What is it, Nog?" the burly engineer asked in annoyance.

"The runabout! It's gone - exploded!" Nog gasped out, his eyes wide
with fright.

O'Brien closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, Nog was
still standing in front of him, winded and shocked. "All right," the
Chief said, "hold on." He tapped his comm badge. "Pechetti? Amaro?
Where are you?"

"Deck Five, Chief," Amaro's voice replied. "We've nearly got the
secondary EPS matrix converter disconnected."

"Leave it for now," O'Brien ordered. "Get up here to the Infirmary, on
the double."

There was a short pause. "On the way, Chief," Amaro finally replied.

"It'll take them a few minutes," O'Brien told the rest of his crew.
"Nog, catch your breath. You're going to have a lot of talking to do.

---

The crew sat in silence as O'Brien paced, running over the recent
revelations. "A runabout doesn't disengage from its docking clamps and
blow up all on its own," he said.

Garak nodded briefly, then gestured at the stasis tubes. "Which leads
me to believe that the former occupants of these chambers are up and
about," he added.

Pechetti had been studying Boq'ta's salvaged Cardassian insignia with
a grim expression on his face. He looked up at Garak's comment and
frowned. "If you're telling me that there are two Cardassian soldiers
from the Third Battalion loose on this station... we're in trouble,"
he said. "'Death to All.' That was their motto," he explained.

Garak nodded again. "Three simple words, but they certainly sum up
their credo nicely," he confirmed.

Nog looked at the stasis tubes in puzzlement. "Why would the
Cardassians abandon this station and leave behind a few soldiers in
stasis tubes?" he asked.

"Why do you think?" Stolzoff asked sarcastically. "To guard it. The
tubes were probably rigged to wake them up as soon as someone came
aboard," she said.

O'Brien frowned slightly. "It's possible," he said, "But one thing's
for sure, they're out there somewhere. And considering what they did
to the runabout, I don't think they're very friendly."

Stolzoff hefted her phaser with a grim smile. "Maybe they're upset
because we haven't introduced ourselves," she suggested.

Amaro pulled out his tricorder. "We should find them and say 'hello,'"
he suggested. Glancing down at his tricorder, he frowned in surprise.
"This thing's not working," he protested, shooting a suspicious glance
at Pechetti.

The engineer spread his hands in protest. "Don't look at me!" he said.

O'Brien pulled his own tricorder and checked it. "Mine's not working
either," he commented. "They must've set up a dampening field."

Boq'ta had been growing increasingly agitated. He gulped and tried to
control his voice as he spoke, "We've got to get out of here. Let's
call for help."

Pechetti scowled at him. "How? The station's subspace transceiver was
ripped out when the Cardassians evacuated."

"We could always try sending smoke signals," Amaro suggested
sarcastically.

O'Brien's eyebrows shot up at the comment, as an idea occurred to him.
"That's not a bad idea," he said. He glanced around at his crew, who
were staring at him as if he had just lost his mind. "The deflector
grid is still relatively intact. If we could modify the field coils to
emit a series of covariant pulses..."

Pechetti grasped his intent quickly. "We could use the station like an
old-fashioned telegraph, and tap out an S-O-S!" he exclaimed.

O'Brien nodded thoughtfully as he pondered the difficulties. "For the
pulses to be strong enough to reach Deep Space Nine...we'd have to
boost power to the induction grid." He considered it another moment,
then spoke decisively. "Pechetti, get down to the Habitat Ring and
bring the microfusion reactor back on-line. Stolzoff -- go with him.
Boq'ta -- realign the magnetic flow field in conduit G-four. Amaro
will watch your back. Nog and Garak are with me. We'll set up the
signal generator in Cargo Bay Four. Stay off the communicators as much
as possible we don't want to give away our positions. Any questions?"

Grim silence met his question. O'Brien gave a short, satisfied nod.
"Let's go."

The crew readied their weapons and headed out.

---

By the time they made their way through the dim, deserted corridors to
Cargo Bay Four, the silent darkness was starting to make them all
edgy. The hairs on the back of O'Brien's neck were bristling; Nog was
jumping at every ventilation whisper, and Garak felt himself growing
increasingly irritated at their situation.

O'Brien popped open an access panel and huffed a sigh of relief as he
set to work. Garak watched him for a while, both amused and mildly
contemptuous of the obvious reassurance the human derived from the
familiarity of his work. Nog, he noted, was pacing about the perimeter
of the cargo bay, pretending to be a soldier. Ridiculous, really.

Garak idly scratched at his hand and considered their predicament.
O'Brien might find comfort in make-work, but Garak was far less
optimistic. Station guards in stasis had to have been left behind for
a reason... a reason that boded no good for trespassers.

"I'm not convinced Stolzoff was right about our Cardassian friends,"
he said finally. "Why would anyone voluntarily seal themselves into a
stasis tube -- possibly for years -- just to guard an abandoned
station? Even the Third Battalion isn't that fanatical," he pointed
out. "Something else is going on."

O'Brien looked up from his work for a moment. "Maybe so...but I don't
intend to be here long enough to find out what it is."

Garak frowned slightly in disappointment. "That's the trouble with
humans...you don't know how to appreciate a good mystery," he
complained.

O'Brien huffed. "I love a good mystery -- the kind I can read in bed.
Not the kind that's trying to kill me," he objected.

How typically human, Garak thought, forever indulging in fantasy lives
of high adventure and eternally dreading the real adventures
encountered in the course of one's actual life. He smiled indulgently
at the engineer. "Don't get me wrong, Chief. I want to get off this
station as much as you do," he assured him, "But I just know that if I
don't figure this out, it's going to nag at me for days." He frowned
and peered off into the shadows, feeling a nameless unease.

O'Brien grunted slightly. "Right now, let's concentrate on finishing
this signal modulator so we can get out of here," he suggested. "You
have the whole trip home to sort out the mystery."

Garak shifted irritably and absently rubbed his fingers.

O'Brien straightened and looked around for his assistant. "Nog! I need
your help with the phase discriminator," he called.

The Ferengi, startled out of his role-playing, turned toward them
immediately. "On my way, Chief," he said, heading back to join O'Brien
at the access panel.

Garak rose from his packing crate and stretched slightly, then began
slowly pacing about the workspace. Something wasn't right. O'Brien
might dismiss it – what could one expect from a human? – but it was
important. One had to be alert, to consider the whole situation, to
know how the enemy would think, and react...when and how he would
strike...

A sudden, breathless voice made them all jump. "Stolzoff to O'Brien. A
Cardass—"

It cut off as suddenly as it had started. O'Brien cursed, then slapped
his comm badge. "Stolzoff! Stolzoff! Damn it!" He drew his phaser and
headed out at a run, Nog and Garak on his heels.

He hit his badge again, "O'Brien to Amaro!"

"Amaro here, Chief!" came the quick response.

"Both of you meet us at the microfusion reactor; something's
happened."

The corridors seemed endless, as they ran for the Promenade. Garak
felt an unaccustomed surge of excitement as he ran, his eyes
flickering from side to side, scanning for the enemy. They rounded the
final corner and O'Brien drew up short with a sound that might have
been either a choked-off gasp or a muffled curse. Another step brought
Garak and Nog close enough to see what had stopped him.

Stolzoff lay dead on the deck ahead of them.

O'Brien stepped over the discarded tools and bent toward the ground.
Garak walked over to find him staring down at Pechetti's lifeless
form.

"It would seem our friends from the Infirmary have been busy," Garak
said softly.

O'Brien whipped around with a look of utter rage on his face. He
opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat.

Garak raised one eyeridge quizzically.

O'Brien visibly gathered himself, then said shortly, "Nog. Take your
phaser; stand guard until Amaro and Boq'ta get here."

"Yes, Sir!" the Ferengi said confidently, though his eyes were wide
with fear.

Garak looked past the burly engineer at the two bodies, then drew his
phaser. "I think I'll have a look around," he told O'Brien mildly.
"Just in case."

O'Brien nodded curtly, then turned away and began hunting through the
litter of packing cases for something to put over the bodies. He had
just pulled an old tarp from beneath some broken crates when he heard
Nog challenge someone.

"Who goes there?"

"It's Amaro, Nog," came the security officer's reply.

"How do I know--" Nog began.

O'Brien cut him off. "Amaro! You and Boq'ta get over here."

The two came trotting forward, then stopped, aghast at the sight of
their crewmates lying dead before them.

Amaro swore. Boq'ta bit back a scream and looked about them, eyes
rolling wildly.

"Amaro. Give me a hand, would you?" O'Brien asked, as he stooped to
lift Pechetti.

Amaro nodded silently and helped the Chief lay the engineer alongside
Stolzoff. He ran one hand over Pechetti's hair as they settled his
body, then patted Stolzoff's shoulder, tears glinting in his eyes.

"Amaro, take a phaser rifle and get up on the Upper Level; keep an eye
out," O'Brien said, his own voice rough with emotion.

Amaro nodded and left. Garak watched him climb the stairs, then
returned to find O'Brien pulling the salvaged tarp over the bodies.

Boq'ta was breathing hard, shaking and drenched with sweat. "The
Cardassians must've surprised them... they're probably using the
internal sensors to track us," he said, his voice shaking.

Garak's lip curled in disgust as O'Brien tried to calm the agitated
Bolian.

"Take it easy," the engineer, soothed. "We're going to get out of
here, you can count on that. But we have to stay focused." He turned
to the rest of them. "Looks like Pechetti was almost done getting the
microfusion reactor on-line. I'll finish it, then head back down to
the cargo bay." He looked back to Boq'ta. "How are you doing with the
conduits?" he asked.

"I'm done," the Bolian said, trying to bring his fear under control.

O'Brien nodded in satisfaction. "Good," he said. "Now, you and Amaro
get down to auxiliary control and reconfigure the pulse generator," he
instructed.

This news made Boq'ta's eyes widen even further. "We're going to split
up?" he asked, in rising panic.

"We've got to," O'Brien told them. "If we don't send out a signal,
we'll never get off this station." He watched the Bolian carefully, as
Boq'ta again tried to regain his calm. "I need you, Boq'ta," he said
seriously. "You can do this."

Amaro called down from the catwalk above, "Don't worry. I'll watch
your back."

Such bravado, Garak thought with a suppressed grimace. It was
difficult to say what was the most annoying: the rogue Cardassian
soldiers hunting them, the babbling Bolian, the deluded Ferengi, or
the eternal posturing of the humans. He rubbed his fingers again,
frowning.

Boq'ta was not reassured. "Stolzoff was supposed to be watching
Pechetti's back," he gibbered, "look what happened to them!"

O'Brien was trying to find a way to calm the engineer down. "What if I
send Garak with you, too?" he offered, "Would that make you feel
better?"

Oh, please! Garak thought in disgust. The perfect solution! Send the
Cardassian along to hold the Bolian's hand! What idiocy!

Boq'ta shot a quick look at Garak, then actually managed to slow his
breathing a bit. He nodded agreement at O'Brien.

Garak had had enough. "I'm flattered," he said smoothly, "But I'm
afraid I have other plans."

O'Brien's eyes narrowed. The others stared at him in shock. "What the
hell are you talking about?" the Chief demanded.

"I don't intend to stand around waiting to be killed," Garak said
calmly.

"Meaning what?" O'Brien asked.

"Meaning, I'm going to find those two Cardassian soldiers," he said,
drawing his phaser, "and neutralize them," he explained
matter-of-factly. He checked the phaser settings carefully, then
looked around at the rest of them. "Besides, all this whining is
giving me a headache," he added pettishly. He turned to leave, but
found Amaro pointing a phaser rifle at him.

"You're going to have more than a headache if you don't do what the
chief wants," Amaro growled.

More posturing, Garak thought irritably. Idiot!

The Chief spoke up, "Amaro --"

There was silence for a moment, then Garak smiled sweetly at the
Security officer. "You'd like to shoot me, wouldn't you?" he asked.
"You're just dying to kill a Cardassian. Any Cardassian," he said,
with a dangerous light in his eyes.

"Let him go," O'Brien ordered.

Amaro looked at the Chief in surprise.

O'Brien explained, "If he thinks he can 'neutralize' the Cardassians
-- let him try. He'd be doing us all a favor."

Garak beamed. "That's the spirit," he said approvingly. He felt the
excitement rushing through his veins and ran one hand over his phaser,
caressing the smooth metal.

O'Brien stared at him.

"Why don't you come with me, Chief?" Garak wheedled, "Kill a few
Cardies. It'd be like old times!" He gestured at the covered bodies
lying behind them. "Wouldn't you like to avenge their deaths?"

"No, I just want to get everyone home," O'Brien said stolidly.

Garak shook his head skeptically. "You're fighting your instincts, I
can see it. The hero of Setlik Three is still inside there somewhere."

"If you're going to go, go," O'Brien told him.

Garak looked around at the rest of them, then smiled and headed off
into the shadows.

---

He already knew where he needed to go. The Infirmary computer should
have some *quite* interesting information on their unanticipated
hosts. He slunk through the shadows and reached the Infirmary without
incident.

He sat down at the main console and tried an access code. It didn't
work. He tried another...

"Access denied. Access denied. Don't you know how to say anything
else?" he grumbled. He frowned at the display and absently scratched
his fingers, then the back of his neck. He huffed a bit, then tried a
more obscure code. "Apparently not," he observed, as the console again
refused him access.

It might have been the merest whisper of sound, a change in the
pattern of the air currents, possibly even the barely-perceptible
change in temperature of the room...after so many years, Garak no
longer bothered to break down the specific tell-tales that set off his
internal warnings. His sensors, already on alert, suddenly became
hyper-aware of everything around him. Someone was out
there...listening...waiting...

His pulse quickened and he felt the scales along his neck ridge
beginning to flare, atavistic remnant of his reptilian heritage. He
could hear the subtle whisper of the airflow over every piece of
equipment in the room, feel the faint heat radiating from each
computer display, smell every faint trace of chemical and organic
residue present in the Infirmary. He smiled slightly.

"Access denied...access denied. How monotonous," he complained.
Soundlessly, he slipped from his seat and slid into the nearest stasis
tube, pulling its cover closed over him. The clear panel above him did
little to offset the long-familiar claustrophobic feelings that seized
him, but his attention was quickly captured by the shadowy figure of a
Cardassian soldier moving about the Infirmary. His pulse pounded
faster and harder, and a surge of adrenaline rushed through him, as he
held his phaser against his chest and waited...

It seemed forever, until the soldier came back past his stasis tube
and paused, his back toward Garak's hiding place. Garak swung the
panel open.

"Looking for me?" he inquired sweetly, then fired, dropping the
soldier in his tracks.

He looked down on the fallen Cardassian, wondering why he didn't feel
relief, or regret...or pity. A small smile crept over his face.

"That felt...good," he said to himself, wonderingly. He studied the
dead Cardassian a moment more, then stepped from the tube.

---

It took him a little while to get back to the cargo bay where O'Brien
and Nog were working, mostly because he had more work to do the
Infirmary, then took several detours on the way back, searching for
the remaining Cardassian guard. He finally stood before the entrance
to the bay and smiled as he noted the blinking tell-tale that informed
him the door was locked.

It was a very simple security code, he noted contemptuously. How
foolish. It was probably the Ferengi. Nog fancied himself a great
soldier and a first-rate Starfleet officer. Ha! Starfleet. He shook
his head over the Federation's notion of security. Starfleet indeed.
Why, their situation on this station was a perfect example of the
Federation's ridiculously naive attitudes regarding _security_. A
Cardassian away team would have mobilized instantly and hunted down
the enemy, rather than waste valuable time and effort trying to call
for help. Garak tapped the logical security sequence into the door's
lock panel and smiled bitterly as the door slid open. Foolish. Naive
and foolish. It was a wonder the Federation had lasted as long as
this, if they couldn't even come up with a decent door lock.

As he slipped through the entrance and made his way past abandoned
packing cases, he heard the clicks and rattles of someone working up
ahead. There were murmured voices, then what sounded like a muffled
curse; O'Brien must not have been making satisfactory progress on his
signaling device.

He could hear the Ferengi breathing in short and rapid breaths. The
young idiot must be nearly out of his mind with terror. As he drew
nearer, he heard Nog ask, "But you were a hero, weren't you?"

The Chief answered in terse tones, "That doesn't mean I like thinking
about what happened there." He sighed, then continued quietly. "I was
a soldier, Nog, and sometimes soldiers have to kill."

Garak rounded the last corner and spoke up, "Come now, Chief, don't be
so modest."

Nog spun around in alarm, pointing his weapon at the intruder.

Garak raised one eyeridge sardonically at the threat, then turned his
attention to the Chief. "You did a lot of killing," he corrected.

Nog's eyes were wild and startled. "How'd you get in here?" he
demanded. "Both doors are secure."

"'Secure' is such a relative term," Garak observed, "wouldn't you
agree?" He gently pushed the tip of Nog's phaser rifle away from him.
"If you don't mind," he said with exaggerated politeness, as he
stepped past the Ferengi.

"I've brought you something," he told the Chief, tossing him another
insignia. "I'm sure Pechetti would've appreciated it more, but..." he
shrugged eloquently.

O'Brien studied the Third Battalion insignia carefully. "Where'd you
get this?" he asked.

Garak gave an enigmatic smile. "From its former owner."

Nog gulped, not sure whether to be excited or relieved. "You killed
one of the soldiers?" he asked anxiously.

Garak gave a slight nod. "One down, one to go." He turned back to the
Chief, "By the way, I took a tissue sample from the soldier's body...
the analysis was rather fascinating, in a grim sort of way. It would
seem that the unfortunate soul had been given a massive dose of a
psychotropic drug --"

O'Brien looked intently at him. "Why?" he asked.

Garak tilted his head. "I'm not sure, but I can tell you one thing, it
wasn't to make him amicable. The drug's protein structure seems
designed to amplify my people's xenophobic tendencies... my guess is
that the soldiers that were left here, were part of some sort of
Cardassian military experiment. The High Command may have been looking
for a way to further 'motivate' their troops..."

O'Brien nodded slowly. "So they gave them a drug to make them hate
anyone who wasn't Cardassian..."

Nog frowned in puzzlement. "Then why'd they attack you?"

"That's a good question," Garak replied.

O'Brien looked grim. "Something must have gone wrong with the
experiment. Maybe that's why the soldiers were left in stasis...
because they were uncontrollable."

Garak shrugged. "I'd love to stay and hypothesize with you all
afternoon," he said, checking the power level on his phaser, "but once
I set my mind to a task, I hate to leave it unfinished."

O'Brien watched him in concern, then walked up to Garak and stared
intently at him.

"What is it, Chief?" Garak asked quizzically.

"You look different," O'Brien said slowly and uncertainly.

Garak cocked his head to one side. "How so?" he asked.

"That's not the face of a tailor," O'Brien said.

"I'm not a tailor," Garak replied. "Not for the moment anyway," he
added with a smile. He tilted his head in salute, then turned and
headed for the door.

---

He'd been hunting the remaining Cardassian soldier for more than an
hour. Sometimes he felt he was only a few meters away, sometimes he
was following only the man's peculiarly distinctive spoor, like a
gheir hunter on a cold trail. He thought he saw a shadow slide past
the entrance to the auxiliary control room. Silent as space, he
followed.

He waited in the deep shadows behind the columns, listening for his
prey. The man was clever, he noted, but not as clever as he was. He
stood still as he heard Boq'ta and Amaro chattering up ahead. Let the
idiots babble, he thought; it would make his prey less wary.

The Bolian's voice quavered slightly, "You think he'll get the other
Cardassian?" he asked Amaro.

Garak smiled in his shadowed retreat. Oh, you may be quite certain of
that, he thought.

"I hope not," the human shot back. "I want to get him myself," he said
viciously.

Garak smiled sardonically. As if you were a match for him, my fine
young fool, or for any Cardassian, for that matter!

Amaro went on "Stolzoff was my friend," he said bitterly.

Garak smiled. Ah, yes. Vengeance. A wonderful motivator, vengeance.
But one must be able to...rise to the occasion, he thought. There was
a flicker of motion off to the side. Garak cradled his phaser
carefully and slipped into the darkness, following it.

The two innocents were still at work, unaware they were being stalked.
Garak moved cautiously, watching the shadowy figure lurking by a
column. He had to find a way to get behind him. Garak fell back
against the wall and slid along it, but when he looked back toward the
Cardassian's hiding place, it was empty.

Crafty, crafty, my stealthy friend, he thought, as he moved from
shadow to shadow, trying to find the man again.

Boq'ta, blissfully unconscious of the other occupants of the room,
cursed as he struggled with an access plate. "I can't get this loose,"
he told Amaro. "Get me the coil spanner, would you?"

Amaro stepped over to the toolbox behind them and stared at its
bewildering contents. "What does it look like?" he asked, fishing
through the tools.

"It's got two pointy things on the end," Boq'ta told him.

Amaro grimaced, then set his rifle down and hunted through the tools,
coming up with one he hoped matched the Bolian's description. He was
about to turn back to Boq'ta when he heard a hideous crunching,
crackling sound and a strangled gargle that cut off almost instantly.

He whirled around and found himself staring at the business end of a
disrupter, in the hand of a grim Cardassian soldier, who held Boq'ta's
lifeless body against him with his other hand. The Cardassian let
Boq'ta slip to the ground and tightened his grip on the disrupter.

Amaro started to throw up his hands, when a phaser blast hit the
Cardassian in the side, and he fell to the floor, dead.

Garak stepped out of the shadows, phaser in hand. Amaro let out a
breath of relief, bewildered by the suddenness of events. "He had me,"
he said shakily, as Garak came toward him. He stepped over to where
Boq'ta had fallen and had to pause to control his voice. "He asked me
to get a coil spanner for him," he told Garak, "I turned my back for a
second..." he said thickly, blaming himself.

Garak came up to stand beside him and looked down at the tool Amaro
still held. "It's a shame," he said, as he took it from the stunned
man's hand. "And you know what the worst part is?" he asked.

Amaro looked at him blankly.

"This isn't a coil spanner," Garak told him pityingly.

Amaro started in outrage, but before he had a chance to speak, Garak
plunged the tool into his midriff. Amaro gasped in pain and disbelief,
his hands groping feebly at the wound as he slipped to the floor.

"It's a flux coupler," Garak said gently. Poor fool, he thought, as he
turned away and slipped back into the shadows.

---

It was dark in the Station Commander's office, but Garak could see
into the farthest corners. He slipped forward soundlessly, scanning
every possible place of concealment.

"I know you're hiding somewhere," he called softly, as he eeled around
a chair. "Ah, there you are!" he exclaimed in satisfaction, as he
plucked a discarded Kotra piece from the floor. He rose to his feet
and tenderly placed the piece on the Kotra board that lay on the
Commander's desk. He stepped back to admire the display, smiling. What
a pity there was no one to play the game...no one to provide a proper
challenge...

He tapped his comm badge, "Garak to Chief O'Brien. You'll never guess
what I found..." he began, "a Kotra board! The Station Commander left
one in his office... the pieces were scattered all over... but I found
the last one, hiding under his desk." He smiled fondly at the waiting
game, then reached over to straighten the pieces a bit.

"I can't help thinking what a perfect metaphor this game is for our
present situation. Two players. Two minds. Two strategies... each
trying to outmaneuver the other... testing the enemy's defenses...
advancing... retreating..." He paused for a moment, waiting, but there
was no response. He heard the faint drumming of footsteps in the
corridors outside. He tapped a series of commands into the main
console.

With a slight shrug, he continued, "The only difference is that in the
game we're playing, the stakes are life and death... which makes it
much more interesting." Oh, much, much more interesting, Chief, he
thought to himself. Are you up to the challenge? He could feel his
pulse quickening as he heard them racing toward him, panting with
exertion and fear.

The console bleeped softly, showing his six targets as tiny green dots
in the Infirmary and Auxiliary Control. He entered the destination
coordinates and activated the transporter, smiling as the dots
vanished and reappeared on the Promenade.

"I haven't had this much fun in years," he said, nearly laughing. "My
heart's pounding...the blood is racing through my veins... I feel so
alive!" A feral grin crossed his face, lighting up his pale blue eyes.
"And I bet you do, too," he added, pointedly.

He could hear them, smell them, almost _feel_ them, waiting outside.
Yes, come in, he thought. Come in and play!

He smiled as he slipped away.

The door slid open, and O'Brien burst in, phaser in hand. He looked
around wildly, but could find no sign of Garak. He turned back to Nog,
who had found no trace of Garak in Ops, either. The cadet looked up
bleakly at O'Brien, who could offer no suggestions.

Nog turned back to Ops, hopelessly scanning about for a trace of the
Cardassian. Suddenly, he noticed a Kotra board sitting on a table. It
hadn't been there a moment before...

Before he could turn back to O'Brien, there was a hand squeezing off
his breath and he heard the doors to the Commander's office slide
shut.

Garak grinned as the Ferengi squirmed in his grasp, while he watched
O'Brien rush the door and be thrown back by the forcefield activated
when the door closed. The Irishman was on his feet again in a
heartbeat, glaring at Garak through the plasglas window in the door.

Garak tapped his commbadge. "Looks like I captured your last piece,
Chief," he said. "If you want it back, you're going to have to take it
from me," he said with a grin, then turned and left, dragging the
struggling Ferengi with him.

---

Garak ran lightly through the maze of dim corridors, dragging the
Ferengi along as though he weighed nothing at all. Nog thrashed for
the first hundred meters or so, until Garak irritably cuffed him
across the ear. With a stifled yelp, he subsided instantly, hanging
submissively from the Cardassian's grasp.

After uncounted twists and turns through uncharted passages, they
arrived at a narrow door. Garak smiled slightly and keyed a command
into the lock. The door slid open, emitting a breath of
long-imprisoned air. Garak stepped in, pulling Nog after him, and
keyed the door shut behind them. He dropped Nog to the floor and
studied the room about them.

"Well, well, well..." he said, "Isn't this nice? Apparently my shop
makes a...charming...repair facility." He fastidiously pushed a pile
of discarded electronic components from a countertop and sat on it,
regarding his prisoner. "Don't you think so?" he inquired.

Nog, huddled on the floor in terror, could only stare wide-eyed at his
captor. He swallowed hard and risked a glance around the room, hoping
against hope that there was an exit or a weapon at hand.

Garak smiled indulgently. "Don't think you're going to withdraw and
regroup your forces, my fine young Cadet! I told you before, Kotra is
a game for bold strategy and decisive action. I have no intention of
losing any of my advantages." He rose and rummaged through the nearest
cabinet. "Ah. Perfect. Now, to ready my trophy..." He turned and
cocked his head slightly as Nog edged backward on the floor.

"Still trying to retreat? Tsk, tsk!" he chided. He bent down and
seized the Ferengi's left ear in a cruel grip, twisting slightly as he
pulled Nog up onto his feet. He regarded the terrified cadet with mild
curiosity. He could hear the hammering beat of his heart, see the
glistening beads of sweat forming and rolling down his face, smell the
tang of the Ferengi's fear...and the faint musk of something else. He
eased his pincer grasp and slowly rubbed his thumb in small circles
along the top curve of Nog's lobe. "Shhh...are you afraid, Cadet?" he
asked softly.

Nog gave a small whimper.

Garak leaned close and whispered, "You should be. You should
be...terrified." He drew back and smiled. "Terror lets you know you're
alive," he said with a low chuckle. "Are you sure you're alive,
Cadet?" he asked, running a fingertip all along the outer edge of
Nog's ear.

Nog shivered.

Garak trailed his finger down Nog's neck, across his shoulder, and on
down his arm. "I can hear your pulse...beating...beating...beating..."
he said softly, as he wrapped his fingers lightly about the Ferengi's
wrist. With a sudden jerk, he pulled Nog's arm behind his back and
twisted it sharply.

Nog yelped in pain.

"I can...smell...you," Garak said, drawing in a slow, deep breath. "I
smell...your fear...your pain...your sweat...your...musk." He wrapped
several loops of heavy cable about Nog's trembling wrist, then pulled
the Ferengi's other arm back and secured his wrists together. He
grasped Nog's elbows and pulled him back against him, murmuring in his
ear, "Yes...pain...fear... arousal..." he took another long, slow
breath and let it sigh out of his mouth, fluttering against Nog's ear.

Nog's eyes went wild and he struggled briefly in Garak's tight grip.

The Cardassian shook him absently, then went on, dreamily, "It's a
natural reaction in some species, so I'm told. Another way for the
body to remind the intellect that it's alive." He turned his captive
slightly and took Nog's chin in his hand. "Curious, isn't it?" he
asked, gently caressing the cadet.

"Alive...breathing...fearing...hurting...wanting," he crooned, sliding
his hand down over Nog's chest. "Needing," he breathed. He could hear
the Ferengi's pulse speed up and felt the pounding of Nog's heart
beneath his hand. His own pulse quickened as his nostrils caught a
fresh wave of musk from the cadet. He slid his hand down, over the
Ferengi's taut belly to his groin, curling his hand over the hot, hard
bulge he found there. He squeezed slightly, making Nog gasp, then
tremble and whimper. "Needing," he whispered again, "Needing to know
you're alive..."

"Ga...Ga-rak..." Nog gasped, "Wha--?"

"The ultimate truths, my young cadet," Garak said softly, "life...and
death. And we are... *alive*...for now." He brought his other hand
around and lightly traced the curves of Nog's ear with one fingertip,
watching the Ferengi gulp and shiver at the touch, even as the
swelling at his groin grew harder and hotter under Garak's hand.

Garak chuckled softly. The cadet's terror inundated his heightened
senses, fueling his own excitement. He caressed Nog again, then
slipped his hand back up to the closure of the cadet's uniform. He ran
his thumb over the pressure strip and pulled Nog's trousers down.

The Ferengi jumped at the abrupt act and gave a shriek that was choked
off as Garak's free hand suddenly grasped him by the throat.

"Shhh!" Garak commanded. He grabbed Nog's bound wrists in the other
hand and pulled him, staggering, across the room, flinging him down
across a workbench. Nog yelped as the hard edge of the bench caught
him across the midriff, then squirmed, trying to get away from Garak.

The Cardassian reached up under Nog's head-veil and took him by the
scruff of the neck. "You may not have much longer to live," he said
warningly, "You'd better be certain you're _alive_ now!" He pushed the
cadet face down across the bench, then pulled his shorts down in a
swift motion. He used one foot to push the shorts and trousers down to
their owner's ankles and trap them there, effectively hobbling the
struggling Ferengi. Keeping a firm grasp on Nog's wrists, he swiftly
immobilized him with short lengths of cable anchored to the bench's
convenient tie-downs.

Garak stepped back to admire his handiwork for a moment. Nog was
securely bound to the bench, his wrists strapped together behind his
back, and naked from the waist down to his ankles. The cadet was
alternately keening and cursing as he fought the bonds, quite an
amusing sight!

And a rather enticing one, too, Garak noted absently, as he watched
the cadet's trim ass swaying back and forth while Nog struggled.
Tempting, tempting, little pawn, he thought idly. He glanced at the
chronometer display on a side console. The forcefield holding O'Brien
in the Station Commander's office would stay up for quite a while yet,
he mused. He reached out and ran one hand lightly over Nog's bare ass,
making the Ferengi jerk in surprise.

"Still alive, I see," he said softly. "How nice." He rubbed the smooth
skin slowly, feeling his own flesh heat and begin to throb.

"Ga...Garak, you're...there's some...something wrong," Nog babbled.
"It's like those soldiers...remember? You said...you said..."

"Shhhh..." Garak hissed. "They'll hear you!" He draped himself over
the Ferengi and whispered in his ear, "You don't want them to know
you're alive; they wouldn't like that!" He ran one finger along the
outer edge of the oversized lobe, feeling Nog's shivers with his whole
body. "We don't want them to find you, do we? They wouldn't like you
at all." He chuckled softly, slipping one hand down between his own
groin and Nog's firm buttocks. He kneaded the taut globes of the
Ferengi's ass for a moment, then opened his own trousers and rubbed
his stiffening shaft.

"No, my little pawn, they wouldn't like you at all," he crooned,
slipping his cock free of the restricting cloth. He rested it on the
cleft between Nog's buttocks and slowly rubbed it back and forth.
"They're dead...dead, dead, dead, you know...they wouldn't care for a
live little Ferengi like you at all..."

He reached around Nog's hip and grasped the cadet's own shaft where it
bobbled against the edge of the workbench. "You see? Your body knows
it's alive...knows it's in danger..." he stroked the Ferengi's long,
slim cock in rhythm with his own gliding motion over Nog's ass. "It
has more sense than you do, young cadet," he purred. "It's not trying
to escape, or regroup...or protect its assets..." he squeezed the base
firmly, then continued stroking.

Nog let out a strangled sob.

Garak caressed his own cock lightly, then parted Nog's nether cheeks
and probed him with two fingers. He found the tightly puckered opening
and tickled it, then wormed his fingers in.

"Ah...I see we're no stranger to *some* games, " he said with a
chuckle, as Nog bucked beneath him and whimpered. He pressed in, clear
to the knuckles and worked his fingers back and forth, stretching the
surprisingly flexible sphincter. He withdrew his fingers and slid his
cock between Nog's buttocks, ignoring the Ferengi's thrashing against
the restraints. He paused with his cock head against Nog's anus and
reached down to caress the Ferengi's balls. "It's very much like
Kotra, you know," he said, squeezing them gently, "Bold strategy,
decisive action..." He gave a powerful thrust, shoving his cock past
Nog's sphincter and deep inside.

The Ferengi howled and began keening in the manner peculiar to his
species.

"Two players... each trying to outmaneuver the other..." he gripped
the squirming Ferengi's shoulder and forced it down to the workbench
as he thrust into him. "Testing the enemy's defenses..." he went on,
punctuating each phrase with another thrust, "advancing...
retreating...attacking..."

"Not that you'll--be quiet!--ever comprehend the artistry of it,"
Garak continued, swatting Nog along the side of his head, "but one
mustn't expect too much of the tokens in the game." He pumped his hand
up and down on the Ferengi's stiff shaft, feeling it start to pulse.
"Only that they play their parts, according to their nature," he
added, as Nog came, spurting semen all over the floor.

Garak released Nog's softened organ and grasped the Ferengi by both
elbows as he thrust harder and faster. The air was filled with the
scents of fear and sex; he could feel tremors running through Nog's
back and legs and hear his muted whimpers beneath the roaring of his
own surging pulse. He pounded into the Ferengi, sensations swirling as
exhilaration, lust, and rage all mounted together. His nails digging
into Nog's arms, he gave a final, powerful thrust and spent himself.

Nog slumped to the surface of the workbench, moaning softly, all
resistance gone.

Garak sighed in release, then pulled back from him, tidily tucking his
penis away and straightening his clothes. He stooped and pulled Nog's
clothes back up to the cadet's waist. "Now then," he said briskly, "we
must prepare for the game!" He pulled more cable from the nearest reel
and began trussing Nog tightly, removing the restraints that held him
to the bench as he wound the new cable about him.

When he had finished, Nog stood before him on his own two feet,
utterly unable to move. There was a glazed look of despair in the
Ferengi's eyes.

Garak patted him affectionately on the head. "You see? All you need to
do is play your part." He glanced at the chronometer again, then
tapped his comm badge. "It's your move, Chief. What are you going to
do? Attack? Retreat? Surrender?"

The Chief's voice came back over the comm link. "Garak, listen to
me... the drug's affecting you. You have to fight it."

Garak laughed. "Fight it? But I'm enjoying myself. This is the most
exciting game I've played in years."

"It's not a game!" the Chief protested angrily.

"Oh, but it is!" Garak told him. "And the best thing about it is that
it brings out the player's true nature." He smiled sweetly at Nog, who
stared vacantly back at him.

"Where are you, Garak?" O'Brien demanded.

Garak ignored the question. "I saw the look in your eyes when I took
the Ferengi from you," he said, lifting Nog's chin with a finger. "You
wanted to kill me... you wanted to squeeze the life out of me with
your bare hands."

"I just want my crewman back - that's all." O'Brien said.

Garak grinned. "Admit it -- you're a killer. We both are. Behind your
Federation mask of decency and benevolence, you're a predator -- just
like me." Excitement and rage began mounting again.

There was a pause, then O'Brien's voice came back, vehemently. "I'm
nothing like you," he said.

"Oh, but you are -- you proved that at Setlik Three," Garak informed
him. "How many Cardassians did you kill? Ten? Twenty? A hundred?" The
anger was winning.

"I don't remember..." O'Brien said.

"But you remember how it felt," Garak persisted. "The Cardassians were
killing your men, and you had to stop them -- you had to make them
pay." He could feel the rage rising within him. "Blood for blood. You
enjoyed killing them, didn't you?" He pulled Nog closer and ran his
thumb over the Ferengi's brow-ridge and around his eyes. "You enjoyed
watching the life drain from their eyes," he said.

O'Brien's furious voice came back over the comm. "You want to finish
this game, Garak? Fine. Let's finish it. You and me. Face to face."

Garak grinned. "I'd like nothing better," he replied. "We'll meet on
the Promenade."

"No weapons," O'Brien stipulated.

Garak smiled secretively. "No weapons," he agreed. He patted Nog's
cheek gently.

"Come along, my little token," he said. "The game's about to begin!"
He picked Nog up effortlessly and carried him out.

---

When they reached the Promenade, Garak set Nog down against a pillar
and regarded the other "observers." The bodies of Pechetti, Stolzoff,
Amaro, Boq'ta, and the two Cardassians leaned against the wall in
various spots along the Promenade, where he had transported them. He
strolled over and rearranged each of them slightly, settling the
bodies so they all faced the same section of the Promenade.

Standing before the silent gallery, he nodded politely to them. "I
hope you're all comfortable? Do let me know if there's anything you
need. I'm sure you'll enjoy the game!" He bowed slightly and headed
back to where Nog lay. Pulling the Ferengi to his feet, he tied him to
a stanchion near a large doorway, then picked up his phaser rifle. He
held it up to Nog's head, watching curiously as terror replaced the
glazed look in the cadet's eyes.

"You have no idea how hard it is to keep myself from pulling the
trigger," Garak told him "But I need you alive." He smiled sweetly at
Nog and stepped back into the shadows beyond the doorway.

He didn't have long to wait before O'Brien entered the Promenade,
phaser rifle at the ready.

The engineer pulled up short as he caught sight of the silent
onlookers resting against the walls.

"They've come to cheer you on, Chief," Garak called pleasantly. He
stepped out into view, holding his rifle to Nog's head as O'Brien
turned toward them.

"Your loyal team... apparently they've forgiven you for getting them
killed," Garak said mockingly, as he gestured at the bodies. "My
supporters may be fewer in number," he added, indicating the
Cardassians, "but they're no less loyal," he said with a smile. "I
thought we agreed -- no weapons," he said, looking pointedly at
O'Brien's rifle.

"What's that in your hand?" the Chief retorted.

Garak looked at his own rifle in wonderment. "How did this get here?"
He smiled at O'Brien. "We won't need these. Put yours down," he
ordered.

"You first."

Garak raised an eyeridge. "Put it down, or say good-bye to the
Ferengi."

O'Brien hesitated, watching Garak and Nog.

The Ferengi gathered his courage and called out, "Don't do it, Chief!"

Garak turned to the cadet, "He has nothing to worry about --I'm not
going to shoot an unarmed man. What fun would that be?"

Watching Garak carefully, O'Brien placed his rifle on the ground.

Garak tilted his head with a smile. "You wouldn't happen to have
another one, would you?"

O'Brien reluctantly reached behind his back and brought out a hand
phaser and a tricorder.

Garak shook his head. "Naughty, naughty," he chided.

O'Brien placed the hand phaser and tricorder atop the phaser rifle,
then straightened up. "Your turn," he told Garak.

Garak looked at his rifle for a moment. "I admit I'm tempted to finish
this right now," he said, then tossed the rifle aside and continued,
"But I'd be depriving myself of too much enjoyment." He stepped
forward to meet O'Brien.

The two men circled each other cautiously for a moment, then Garak
lunged at O'Brien, who ducked and turned, barely in time. He swung at
Garak, nearly connecting. In seconds, they were grappling together,
each struggling for the upper hand. Garak's natural strength and
heightened senses gave him an edge on the human, and he began
viciously beating the Irishman.

O'Brien broke the Cardassian's hold and slugged him with both hands,
then tried to trip him. Garak darted aside and swung hard, catching
O'Brien in the back of the head and sending him sprawling. Garak stood
above the fallen engineer, shaking his head.

"I'm disappointed, Chief," he said. "I was hoping to see bloodlust in
your eyes, but all I see is fear." He approached O'Brien, who tried to
get away, but Garak slammed him viciously in the back, then kicked him
in the ribs when he fell, sending him sliding into the wall. Garak
regarded him almost pityingly. "Maybe it's true," he said
contemptuously, "maybe you're not a soldier anymore."

He moved in to finish it, but O'Brien looked up at him and said,
"You're right. I'm an engineer." He tapped his commbadge and leapt
over a packing crate with astonishing ease.

Garak barely had time to note the blinking light on O'Brien's
abandoned tricorder when there was a blinding flash and a deafening
roar. He was flying through the air and never saw the bulkhead that he
slammed into. There was a burst of pain, then darkness.

---

When he came to, Garak found himself lying in bed, in a brightly-lit
room that smelled strongly of disinfectants and a variety of
medicines. There was something on his head. He blinked a few times,
trying to focus, then reached up to feel what was resting on his
forehead.

"Ah-ah," a familiar voice scolded. "Don't touch that!" Dr. Bashir
appeared in his field of vision, the stern medical frown on his face
offset by a slight smile. "How are you feeling, Garak?" he asked, as
he passed a medical tricorder over Garak from head to foot.

"I feel...extremely sore and fatigued, Doctor," Garak began
hesitantly. "And I've been experiencing some very...alarming
dreams...nightmares, I suppose you would call them..." his voice
trailed off as Bashir's expression changed to one of concern and pity.
Garak closed his eyes for a moment and tried to remember the dreams.
"Was there...an accident? Did we manage to salvage...?" He opened his
eyes and stared into Bashir's, shaking his head in denial of the truth
he read there. "It was all...real?" he asked quietly.

Bashir nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so, Garak. The biogenic compound you
touched transmitted an extremely powerful psychotropic drug into your
system. It affected your nervous system...your senses, your emotions,
your perceptions..."

Garak closed his eyes again. "Amaro...I actually...killed him?"

Bashir placed one hand on the Cardassian's shoulder. "You weren't
yourself, Garak. It was a terrible experience for all of you." He
turned away to pick up a hypospray. "You have three broken ribs, some
minor burns, and residual exhaustion from the effects of the
psychotropic drug. I'm giving you some supplements to offset the
damage the drug did to your system and help heal the injuries you
sustained in the phaser explosion. With these and plenty of peace and
quiet, you should be fine in a week or so." He checked the neural
stabilizer and patted Garak's shoulder again. "Get some rest, Garak."

Garak closed his eyes and hoped sleep could bring forgetfulness.

---

When he next woke, he heard voices beyond the doorway.

"... hard to believe he's the same man who attacked us," O'Brien said
in a low voice.

"In a way, he's not," Bashir explained quietly. "The drug brought out
the worst parts of him and allowed them to take over. He wasn't in
control of his actions."

There was a short pause, then O'Brien asked, "Can I talk to him?"

"For a minute," Bashir agreed.

There were footsteps, and Garak felt someone standing beside his
biobed. He opened his eyes and looked up at O'Brien.

"I thought you might want to know that we salvaged the plasma
manifold," O'Brien told him. "It's being installed right now."

"Mission accomplished," Garak said bitterly.

O'Brien nodded sadly. "I guess it didn't exactly go the way any of us
expected."

There was really nothing to say to that. They were silent for a few
moments, then O'Brien said awkwardly, "You know there's going to be an
inquest."

"So I've been told," Garak replied. He couldn't bring himself to be
concerned about an inquiry that might find him guilty of murder. There
was something far heavier weighing on his mind. "Chief, I was hoping I
could ask a favor," he began hesitantly.

"Don't worry," O'Brien hastened to assure him. "Once they hear the
facts--"

Garak shook his head. "It's not about that," he said. "I'd like you to
express my deepest regrets...to Amaro's wife. I'd talk to her myself,
but I'm not sure...she'd welcome that," he said sadly.

O'Brien nodded in understanding. "I'll tell her," he said.

"I'd appreciate that," Garak told him.

There was another long pause, stretching out to awkwardness.

O'Brien struggled to find some way to change the subject. "Julian says
the blast broke a few of your ribs."

Garak smiled feebly. "It could've been worse. If I'd been any closer
to that phaser, I would've been killed," he pointed out.

'Brien gave a sheepish grin, "Don't take this the wrong way...but that
was the plan."

Garak nodded slightly. "I understand," he said.

They studied each other for a moment, then O'Brien shook himself and
prepared to leave. "I'll see you around," he said casually.

Garak merely nodded as the engineer left.

He hadn't been gone more than a few moments when Dr. Bashir came in.
"Well, how did it go?" he asked.

Garak sighed. "Better than I deserve," he said. "Was Chief
O'Brien...badly hurt, Doctor?"

Bashir smiled. "He's been through worse, Garak. I treated him for a
variety of contusions, a couple of sprains, and one cracked rib. He's
fine."

Garak closed his eyes a moment in silent thanks. "I'm pleased to hear
that," he said quietly. The question he had feared to ask ever since
he'd learned the truth hovered on his lips.

"Garak? Is something wrong?"

"Doctor...how...how is Nog?"

"Nog?" Bashir seemed puzzled. "He's fine, Garak. He was far away from
the blast; he wasn't even singed."

Garak stared at the young doctor in confusion. "But, I...he..."

Bashir frowned. "He had a bit of chafing from the cables, but he
didn't even require dermal regeneration."

"He didn't require..._any_ treatment?" Garak asked.

Bashir shook his head. "No, none to speak of. Is something wrong?"

Garak stared off into space for a few moments, running the horrendous
memories through his mind. "Doctor," he asked finally, "is it possible
that the psychotropic compound might have caused...
hallucinations...or false memories?"

Bashir considered it for a moment. "It's certainly within the
possibilities. I've analyzed the bodies of the Cardassian soldiers,
and from the damage done to their neural pathways, I'd say it's
entirely possible they were seeing and hearing things that were never
there. That could account for their instability and explain why they
attacked you, even though you are Cardassian."

Garak frowned. "I'm remembering things...quite unpleasant things, at
that...but you're telling me that it's possible they didn't happen?"

Bashir patted his shoulder. "Garak, I told you, it was a terrible
experience for all of you. Yes, it's quite possible you're remembering
things that never happened; I don't think you should be concerned. The
drug has been flushed from your system, but it will take your neural
pathways some time to fully recover. In the meantime, perhaps you
should read Chief O'Brien's official report; it might help you sort
out what really happened."

"Yes, Doctor...I'll do that..." Garak said absently. The memory of
Nog, whimpering and bound to the workbench, was horribly real.
"Doctor, do you think Cadet Nog would consent to see me?" he asked.

Bashir nodded sympathetically. "I'll ask him. For now, get some more
sleep, Garak."

He turned and left Garak staring at the ceiling.

---

Nog came to see him the following morning. "I'm glad you're feeling
better," he said cautiously, standing a good two meters from the
biobed.

Garak studied the young Ferengi carefully. He was nervy and exhibiting
commendable caution around someone known to be dangerous, but he
didn't seem otherwise upset or injured.

"Thank you for coming to see me, Cadet," Garak said quietly. "I wanted
to apologize for my actions."

Nog nodded briskly. "Apology accepted, Mr. Garak. Dr. Bashir explained
that the same drug those Cardassian soldiers had taken was affecting
you as well."

Garak tilted his head slightly. "I hope you've completely recovered?"
he asked carefully.

"Recovered?" Nog frowned, then looked down at his wrists. "Oh! Yes, no
damage done," he said, holding out his arms. "Dr. Bashir recommended a
course of whirlpool baths if I felt any discomfort," he added, then
grinned. "Commander Dax offered to lend me one of her whirlpool bath
holosuite programs."

Garak smiled to cover his confusion. "Well, that's quite generous of
the lovely Commander," he said. "I presume you plan to take advantage
of her offer?"

Nog's grin widened to show a mouthful of pointed teeth. "My uncle
reserved a holosuite for me, twice a week. Commander Dax even
convinced him to give me a family discount." He straightened is tunic
slightly. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better, Mr. Garak. I have to
report for duty in five minutes."

"Thank you again for coming by, Cadet," Garak said.

Nog nodded again, turned with military precision, and marched out.

Garak watched him go. Was he walking a bit awkwardly, as if he had
bruises in tender places? He didn't seem to be, but it had been
several days, and almost anyone could use a dermal regenerator. Were
there marks on his legs, where cables had chafed bare flesh? Perhaps
there had been, but a dermal regenerator would have healed those, as
well.

Garak sighed heavily. There was no evidence either to condemn him or
acquit him. No one accused him but himself, and he had nowhere else to
appeal.

---

The End