This story is a work of colorful and slashy fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents have been long-standing slaves of Paramount Pictures. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is probably because the author has written too many of these already. Forgive her. STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE is a Registered Trademark r of Paramount Pictures. Copyright (c) 1996 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved. No infringement was meant. Well, not consciously anyway. TITLE: FUTURE DESPAIR AUTHOR: BGM RATING: R PAIRING: Garak/Bashir WARNING: Since there have been some people anxious about the contents of a story, let me be extra clear with my own little coding: CONTAINED THEREIN: LUST (Ergo: Not Romantic) SLASH (Ergo: M/M) S-VIOLENCE (Ergo: Small roughing up) M-NON-CONS (Ergo: Medium non-conscentual) ----------------------------------------------------------- 5 Years Into the Alternate Future ... The heat was torrid. Julian Bashir winced against the unsavory feel of Cardassia's sun on his flesh, and hurried into the garden tent as he precariously balanced the silver tray of foods. Behind him, another Terran followed bearing drinks and delicate utensils which clattered against one another with a gentle ting. There was laughter inside; the laughter of noblemen and noblewomen as they enjoyed a sunny afternoon in the gardens discussing politics and news. Julian had learnt to filter out those types of conversation. It was never a good thing to simply 'know' certain types of information in the presence of Cardassians. "--ew Bajor is not satisfied with the Alliance's way of conducting things now, then perhaps they simply have no place in the Alliance at all!" someone was saying as Julian placed the tray in front of the host. The woman nodded half-mindedly before she quickly turned to the speaker. "Oh now my dear, you're simply being harsh. New Bajor has provided us with many resources from which we've strived upon ..." "Yes yes yes ... resources we could have easily obtained by force. The Bajora was never known to be a particularly savage force before it was inducted into the Alliance, don't forget that, dear Ocett." Another speaker moved forward, his lips curled in a somwhat cruel show of mockery. "Not as savage as the Rebels, anyhow ..." This was met with a wave of laughter, which didn't die because of the presence of two former Rebel captains themselves ... only because the same Cardassian smiled sharply and added, "Though we certainly taught them whom their masters were." The hostess blinked imperiously as she leaned back in her chair, cooling herself with an intricate hand-held fan. "As always Dukat, you demonstrate an acute show of manners." Julian didn't think about that comment as he placed a plate of regova eggs at one end of the lavishly set table. He straightened and sauntered over to the other end to empty his plater. Dukat, in the meantime, bowed his head to the side. "Only for your pleasure, ma'am," he cooed huskily. Ocett turned sharply away, focusing on the other end of the table. "And you, dear man ... you've been thoroughly quiet during this delightful afternoon. Surely you must have some thoughts ... since you were so closely tied to New Bajor and all ..." she suggested with a sharp, cunning smile. The Cardassian looked up at the beckon, wrested from an interested examination of Julian's backside. "Hmm? Oh now," he purred. "... Perhaps I _once_ was in such a position, but no more. What with the Regent back to control New Bajor's Sector Command, it's just not ... fun anymore," he smiled sharply. This comment caused Julian's eyes to shift slightly over to the man who had spoken. Fun. Yes, he supposed this man of ill-repute _would_ have considered the slaving and tormenting of thousands of Terrans amusing. He looked away before he could be noticed and nodded at the other servant to retreat with him. The man, though, had not failed to notice. Bowing his head graciously to Ocett, the Cardassian lifted himself from his seat and dropped his napkin to the plate. "If you'll excuse me all ... gentlemen, ladies," he smiled. They all nodded at him, and he ignored the giggles and whispers from the less mannered courtisans as he left the tent. He followed the Terran up until they were about to cross the gates into the courtyard. He called after him, and Julian froze. The other Terran, relieved he was not pointed, flew from the scene with as much dignity and grace he was expected to show. Julian held onto his plater as the Cardassian moved closer. When he knew he would be heard at this distance, Julian spoke up, "Yes Sir? Was everything not to your pleasing, Sir?" he asked politely; the result of months of beating and torturing injected into a severe training. "Oh everything was lovely," the man said, and Julian suddenly felt a touch on his backside, trailing smoothly up to the small of his back. "So lovely in fact I simply had to taste ... more." "Gul--" he began, but the man silenced him from behind, pressing his hand over his mouth and pulling him violently against the Cardassian's chest. "I am not Gul anymore my dear," the voice, soft and warm, tickled at his ear. Julian struggled faintly, the slick curls of his hair loosening and tumbling over his shoulders. "Such a little spitfire ... I still remember you, you know. Captain Bashir. The devilishly handsome Rebel who thought he could outwit the Alliance." Some various avian creatures chirped angrily at them for ruining their sanctuary as the man dragged Bashir into a small clearing behind the statues lining the main path. The tray fell to the grass, unheard and soon Bashir followed its path. He sank gracelessly to his knees, an arm twisted back though not with much force. The hand was still over his lips, but thick gray fingers now penetrated his mouth to explore its depths more closely. Somewhere inside Julian Bashir grew an intense hatred he thought he'd lost. Yet it still burnt. And as he was lowered to the ground by strong arms ... as mad laughter battered his ears, and as steel hands spread his legs with no thought to his comfort ... Julian Bashir remembered his hatred for Gul Elim Garak. THE END