The Showdown [PG-13]
CopyRighted by
Sophie Masse 1996 - soma@johnabbott.qc.ca          

*Sigh* All right, standart disclaimer time;

  STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE is a Registered Trademark of 
  Paramount Pictures. In other words, they own everything except 
  what I extracted from my own fecund imagination.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and 
  incidents are either a product of the author's imagination 
  <GRIN> or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual 
  events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirily 
  coincidental.

Note - This story is set after "Our Man Bashir" 

For those who are major G/B fans, this story contains NO sex (yes 
I can hear the sighs of disapointement) but it focuses rather on 
their blooming friendship (and it’s pitfalls)

Now on to the fun stuff! 


Chapter One
===========

It was afternoon aboard station Deep Space Nine. Of course, this 
time of day -- like any -- was simply due to a set of regulations 
and finely tuned variations in the lighting systems. It was 
certainly not according to the light and dark play of a sun's 
reflection.     
  
Yet the 'impression' of afternoon could be nonetheless felt. After 
a while, Elim Garak had become used to tell time without glancing at 
a chronometer. He had developed the feel of the station, and in 
spite of a stubborn and loyal affixing to his natal Cardassia, the 
elegant tailor was now a fully entrenched citizen of DS9.

*How tedious,* he remarked with a mental sigh. 

And no one in the small replimat would have denied that as they 
watched the Cardassian trade friendly arguments with DS9's human 
doctor over a traditional afternoon lunch. No one would have denied 
that in his face, anyway.

"But Doctor," Garak protested, aiming his fork at Dr Bashir. "At 
the very least, isn't it reasonable to consider incarceration 
psychologically unhealthy?"

The handsome doctor swallowed on a bite and nodded. "It is, 
usually," he replied, wiping his mouth of wayward oil. He considered 
it for a moment more before adding, "From a medical standpoint, I 
can certainly see how a person wouldn't benefit from physical 
isolation. For a deeper definition, you'd have to ask a 
psychologist," he smiled, his lips still glistening despite his 
previous wipe. 

Garak shook his head, shrugging off the doctor's explanation. "But 
as a medical practitioner -- and a human -- you can certainly see 
the irrationality of it, correct?" 

A serious nod. "I can."
        
Garak seemed content. "Then tell me this Doctor;" he said with an 
air of triumph. "Why does the Federation incarcerate convicted 
felons inside Correctional Facilities?"

Despite the intelligent rebuttal, Julian frowned as his Starfleet 
haughtiness took over. "Garak, there's a difference between the 
archaic penitentiary of yestercenturies and today's reform system. 
That's why human civilization banished corporal imprisonment a long 
time ago."

The Cardassian looked insulted. "Isn't your people's system the 
same? Criminals *are* secured within boundaries, are they not? Is 
that not the same as these presumed penitentiaries of 
yestercenturies?"
        
Bashir sighed, and impaled a piece of food with a resolved hand. 
"Garak, you're comparing an orange with an apple," he stated, 
promptly pushing the unctuous morsel in his mouth.
        
Garak leaned back with a startled look on his gray features. "I 
was not aware the subject had turned to fruits, Doctor. What I'm 
trying to say is simple, and well phrased by one of your people's 
novelists I believe; that which we call a rose, by any other name, 
would smell as sweet. I believe humans merely changed the name to 
accommodate their conscience. Many races are known to condone their 
actions by sweetening them to the public."
        
Julian was caught with a mouthful. Thus when he spoke, Garak asked 
that he repeat again. Julian waved his hand, swallowed, then said, 
"I said that's taking it to the extreme, Garak."

The tailor's eyes were bright. "Is it?"
  
"Well, look at it this way," Bashir said, holding his hands in 
parallel. "When you're imprisoned, there's little or no chance at 
all for recovery. At least in institutions which specializes in 
that, the chance is greater."

Garak had listened to Julian with an intent ear, yet he remained 
single-minded. "I must say..." he sighed. "I still prefer Cardassian 
Legislature over the Federation's."

Julian reddened with sudden irritation. "What?!" he exclaimed, 
drawing a few stares. He settled down, and leaned forward. "How can 
you even think that?" he whispered harshly. "Cardassian trials are 
little more than a hanging." 
        
Garak swayed his hand dismissively. "Even if I did understand the 
meaning behind that remark, I still maintain my belief. Need I 
remind you, Doctor, that I was born and raised a Cardassian. To me, 
death is a much greater relief than a lifetime isolated within a 
small cubicle. Cardassian trials such as you know them might have 
their faults, and may even appear barbaric to outsiders, but they 
have not remained in our society for so long without having brought 
some good to our people." Garak paused, and frowned. "Of course, 
that particular argument is sensitive. Different race, different 
views," he adjourned, tugging off his napkin from his collar.

Despite his earlier outburst, Julian curved his lips in a slight 
smile. "Well...that never stopped us before."

"Perhaps," Garak agreed, pushing himself up. "But work certainly 
has to intercede at this time. I do have alterations to complete 
before the evening is over," he explained abruptly. With a sudden 
look of mock alarm, he added, "I shudder to think what would happen 
if Major Kira's ensemble was not ready at the appointed time." 

Julian matched the anxious expression. "And shudder you should," 
he said seriously. And just as Garak moved to leave, Julian stood 
and droped his napkin on the table. "I'll accompany you," he stated.

Garak looked pleasantly surprised. "How generous of you, Doctor. 
Thank you."

Chapter Two
===========

The two friends continued their discussions as they walked down 
the Promenade toward Garak's shop, the tone having subdued; Julian 
came to accept Garak's view on the subject. After all, who was he to 
deny him of his heritage? And Garak had, on the same token, mildly 
agreed on Federation logic. And as Julian was delivering a 
particularly interesting point, his sentence was abruptly 
interrupted as a Lethean slammed brutally into him. 

Garak frowned and stopped, looking back at the assailant.

"Sorry..." Julian muttered to the Lethean, who now looking 
specially piqued.

"Perhaps if you watched where you were going," the Lethean 
retorted, "You would not run the risk of insulting the people around 
you."

Garak felt driven to intervene. "I'm certain Doctor Bashir meant 
no offense," he said with a personable tone. The creature turned 
sharply toward the tailor, the natural snarl in his lips enhanced by 
annoyance. "I did not address you, Cardassian," he spat. Then, 
turning toward Bashir, he took a step up to the Doctor and looked 
down at him with narrowed crimson eyes. "I have decided that I do 
not like your face," he stated matter-of-factly.

Julian adopted his best sneer. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. 
Would you prefer I wear a hood over it to accommodate you?"

Clearly, the Lethean did not appreciate the remark. "I am not 
amused by your attempts at humor," he decided, pressing his body 
intimidately against the doctor's. His face leered cruelly at him. 
"Perhaps if I rearranged your face myself, I would be more content."

Garak's face appeared between the two and his features fought to 
settle on an amicable expression. "Now now, there is no need for 
that. We are all mature individuals here." 

The Lethean broke his attention away from Julian and focused on 
Garak. "Funny," he remarked, "It seems I have earlier warned you 
that I did not wish to speak with you. Perhaps you misunderstood me. 
My fault. I had not realized Cardassians were so feeble-witted."

Garak's pleasant expression finally dwindled into one of pure 
contempt, "Ooh, and I take it you're the sharp kind," he scoffed. 
"Perhaps if I have you taken to Constable Odo's office, your tongue 
would think twice before relating such insidious comments."

The Lethean mockingly considered the option with exaggerated care. 
Then, he said, "No, I have another idea. What if I rearranged your 
face instead?" And before Garak could derive any course of action, 
the Lethean drew back his fist and gave a good hard blow across the 
Cardassian's jaw.

"Garak!" Julian exclaimed, wanting to interfere, but knowing full 
well he was no match for an adversary of the Lethean's size. Thus he 
placed a hurried call to Odo and returned his attention back to the 
fight, again wishing he could help.

Yet it did not appear as if Garak needed any interference. As the 
Lethean prepared to insert another stroke, the tailor gracefully 
slithered sideways and drove both his fists unto the Lethean's back. 
When the creature lurched forward, the Cardassian sent his knee 
hurtling inside the assailant's chest, propelling him a step 
backward. Yet the Lethean stubborningly entered a punch in the pit 
of Garak's stomach, and the tailor swayed backward with the breath 
knocked out of him. He vaguely heard Julian's cry of protest, and 
indeed, those of several other people. Yet he was faintly disturbed 
to find that Julian was the only one shouting for his benefit. 
Filing the interesting observation for further consideration, he 
concentrated on the fight at hand. 

Letheans were as persistent as any Cardassian, and he could not 
let himself be dominated so easily. Recovered only slightly from the 
blow to his stomach, Garak straightened up and managed to halt the 
Lethean's next punch with his hand. Then, with a final burst of 
energy taken from sole purpose, Garak drew back his tight fists and 
swung them savagely against the creature's temples. The sound of 
something shattering was heard, and that was it. The Lethean stood 
there for a brief moment, staring wide-eyed at Garak, possibly not 
believing that he had actually done what he did. His head then 
swayed to a side, and he dropped heavily to the floor.

Garak equally fell to the ground, exhaustion finally permitted to 
set in. He sat there, gasping and swallowing much needed air. His 
jaw was bruised severely, and he was certain the Lethean had broken 
some of his ribs; he still could not take a full intake of air. 

Julian was promptly at his side, hovering a tricorder over his 
body. "Garak, are you all right?" he asked worriedly. 

The taste of blood touched his tongue, and the tailor brought his 
hand to his jaw, painfully reminded that it had been the second time 
in a short instance of time it had been knocked out of sync. He 
pulled at it dryly, then nodded, "I believe so Doctor, but I think 
you should attend to him instead. It seems I went a speck 
overboard," he remarked, staring at the Lethean's unmoving form.

Satisfied that Garak had no immediate need of his ministrations, 
Julian moved to the Lethean, aiming his tricorder at his immobile 
form. He widened his eyes, then glanced back at Garak. The tailor 
frowned, wondering what it was which had startled the usually 
unimpressionable Doctor. 

Julian then checked the readouts again to be certain and closed the
device, worry and revelation warring across his features. "He's 
dead!" he exclaimed incredulously, looking at Garak with an 
unbelievable look plastered on his face. 

Heavy footfalls broke the tailor's paralyzed stance, and he looked 
up to see Odo taking in the scene. To Julian he asked, "All right, 
what happened?"

Just as the Doctor opened his mouth to reply, someone shouted, 
"The Cardassian killed that Lethean!"

Julian shot a disapproving stare at the small crowd and bellowed, 
"Garak did no such thing. He was defending himself." 

"The traitor!" someone else cried out. "We let him walk among us 
without a word, and look at what he does....he kills at will."

Odo looked flustered. "That's enough!" he warned gruffly. 
Softening his gaze, he looked down at the tailor. "M. Garak, are you 
responsible for this Lethean's death?" he asked, pointing at the
deceased.

Garak managed to push himself on one knee, then stand up to a more 
dignified position as he nodded civily. "Yes, I'm afraid I am," he 
answered, pulling at his jacket to straighten it.  

Julian couldn't help but protest. "It was in self-defense. For 
Heaven's sake, I was there!" he barked, leaving the Lethean's side 
to accompany both men.

Odo waved a hand. "Depositions will be taken later, Doctor. For 
now, you'll have to come with me, M. Garak," he said apologetically.

The Cardassian sighed, then purposely moved to his side. "I 
understand," he nodded. Then, as an afterthought, he turned to 
Julian and placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "Doctor, 
pray send my apologies to Major Kira. It seems her ensemble won't 
be ready this evening after all." And without another word, he 
followed Odo and his entourage toward the Security office.
 
An hour later, the Lethean's body had been disposed of and his 
family alerted. 

Meanwhile, Garak mopped miserably within the confines of Odo's 
brig, his only company that of the mute Morn who had -- evidently -- 
been thrown in a cell in an inebriated state. Yet he found it in 
himself to muster a look of amusement as he recalled Julian sitting 
down beside "Anasthasia Komonanof", claiming it's just been one of 
those days. 

*Indeed . . .* he thought wryly. *What a day it's been.* Who would 
have thought that when he woke up this morning, that he would kill 
someone and find himself in more trouble than the act was worth? There 
was a time when Garak would kill without a second thought. Now, he 
wasn't so sure that the Lethean's death didn't press on his 
conscience.   

Chapter Three
=============

Julian spared no time before visiting his friend at the brig. 
Sadly, the Cardassian tailor looked very much out of place, and very 
much uncomfortable sitting there on the bare rack. Nevertheless, 
when Julian appeared, his dusky face brightened to his old cheerful 
self. 

"Greetings Doctor," he said expansively, making no move to get up. 
It was painfully evident that the fight had not left the tailor 
unscarred, or in no agony. Julian motioned to the security guard; 
the field was droped, then briskly reestablished when Julian had 
crossed the threshold.  

"How are you feeling?" he inquired, kneeling down in front of him 
with a medical tricorder humming over his body. 

"Quite amused, actually," the tailor replied with a revealing 
smile.

Julian paused his examination and frowned up at his friend, "Oh? 
And why is that?"

Garak tilted his head with a grimace, "Well, you must admit, I 
have given new meaning to irony, wouldn't you agree? That I should,
mere minutes before, talk about how I would scorn at being 
imprisoned in a cell..." he looked around. "And here I am now. I'm 
beginning to wonder if there is an omnipotent being is at work 
here."

Julian waved him off as he closed the tricorder. "Oh please don't 
bring religion into this. We have enough dealings with the present 
*mortal* legislature." He reached into his medkit and produced a 
hypospray. As it hissed against the leathery skin of Garak's neck, 
the tailor expressed a verbal nod. "Mmh, yes, I suppose. So tell me 
Doctor...what is the word?"

Julian replaced the instrument in his case, deliberately avoiding 
the Cardassian's intent stare. "Well, I haven't really talked with 
anyone yet..." he mumbled. 

Ignoring the Doctor's discomfort, Garak scowled at himself. 
"Neither have I. You'd be startled to discover how little company I 
get here. It seems I am not as missed as I would have thought. And 
to think I always believed a good tailor was indispensable," he said 
with a bright smile.
  
Surprisingly, the remark did not draw the answering smile Garak
had hoped to incite. Instead, Julian looked even more discomfited. 
"Well to me you are, and I'm furious at how this turned out," he 
said.

The statement drew a fond smile from the Cardassian. "Your 
concerns are appreciated, Doctor. But I'm afraid there is not much 
any of us can do, so best not get ourselves worked out for nothing."

Julian pulled himself up and deposited his slender frame next to 
Garak. "You?" he scoffed. "Getting worked up? Heaven forbids if you
should even raise your voice. Does nothing in all that's happen 
upset you?" 

Garak turned his body toward his friend with difficulty. The 
painkiller Julian had administered had evidently not been powerful. 
Most likely it had been a very weak dose, a result no doubt of Dr. 
Bashir's concern over Garak's prior dependence of sedative drugs. He 
brought a hand over his side and nodded with unveiled disquiet. 
"Well...I must admit...I do feel somewhat perturbed by the whole 
situation."
 
Julian had a distinct look of aversion on his face. "Perturbed? 
I'd be downright angry!"

Garak retrieved a tired smile. "Yes...I know you would. But life 
is short Doctor. Why get incensed? It merely heightens your physical 
responses to ill elevations, encourages similar rebuttals by those 
of your entourage, and what does it bring you in the end? Mere 
embarrassment at having lost your temper for nothing."

"But this isn't nothing, Garak," Julian insisted. "This could be 
serious trouble. It's a murder charge; you killed someone, even if 
it was only in self-defense."

Garak waved a hand and briskly turned away, drawing a sharp pain 
in his body. He surpressed a groan and maintained a prim affectation.
"Then so be it," he said stately. "I always knew the life of a tailor 
had it's pitfalls."

Julian flushed with anger. "You're not making it easy for me, 
Garak. How can you stand there and hide behind that convenient 
disguise of yours?" 

Garak glanced back with an evidently troubled look. "Disguise?" he 
echoed, looking down at himself. "Could it be that I am not the 
Cardassian I thought I was all these years?"

Julian considered his friend with a narrowed eye. Then, he took a 
breath and said, "You know, I noticed something..."

"Oh? And what might that be Doctor?" The tailor looked genuiningly 
interested.

"That when things gets mildly rough for you, you tend to retreat 
more behind your smart comments. Well, you know what I think? I 
think you're just afraid to face up to the truth."

"And this...er...truth, what would it be Doctor?"
  
Julian stood and went toward the force field. When he had gestured 
to the officer that he wished to leave, he turned back and said, 
"That you're in deep trouble, and that you may not have the 
*friends* you once had to get you out of it. Think about that while 
*I* try and figure a way to salvage your case." 

He stepped through the entrance, and left him alone with his 
musings. Garak sighed, and lay back with difficulty. He stifled a 
cry of pain as his back touched the hard surface of the bench. *How 
tedious,* he thought again. *Why, oh why did I 'have' to choose 
exile? I bluster about how death would be more merciful than a life 
of imprisonment.* He looked around the cell. *What more clear a 
contradiction can I possibly come up with? I chose to be imprisoned 
in a space station rather than execution.* He clucked his tongue and 
closed his eyes. As he drifted to sleep, his mind delivered one last 
thought; *You've grown weak with these Humans, Elim.*

Chapter Four
============

Sisko was anything but tactful when the news of Garak's 
imprisonment reached him. "Then we have a problem," he said 
squarely, addressing Julian in particular.

Kira snorted. "A big problem, as it seems," she said ruefully.

Julian stood his ground. "He didn't do it," he stated simply.

Odo folded his arms. "Really? Even Garak himself seems to think 
the contrary, along with several witnesses who viewed the whole 
incident."

"They're all lying!" Bashir exploded. "They hate Garak because 
he's Cardassian. That much should be obvious. But he didn't murder 
that Lethean. It was a case of self-defense, I was there."

Sisko's voice was soothing. "The word of one is not as strong when 
pitted against the word of a dozen, Doctor."

Julian turned to him with a feint desperation in his wide eyes. 
"But Captain, don't you believe me?"

"We all do, Mr Bashir," Sisko nodded. "But the Bajoran court 
doesn't know you as we do. They'll take all testimonies objectively. 
That could signify trouble if your attestation is the only one which 
differs from the rest. Specially when your friendship with Garak 
will be brought in the open."

"It's a conspiracy," Julian flamed. "It's as if they were waiting 
for this; an opportunity to ship him back to Cardassia."

Kira was less sympathetic. "And would that be so terrible?" she 
spat. "Frankly, I've never felt secured with him around."

"That's a terrible thing to say," Julian retorted. "Garak's been a 
friend and a good tailor to everyone. If nothing, he's the most 
affable person I know," he added, glaring significantly at the fiery 
Bajoran. What was wrong with them? Garak had helped them a number of 
times. Why did they insist on thinking he was some sort of malignant 
individual sent by secret operatives? He quickly concealed an ironic
smile, recognizing that he hadn't been any less dense in the early 
years of his friendship with Garak. 

Kira sounded Julian's thoughts. "He's also a former high ranking 
official of the Obsidian Order, an organization I daresay was the 
most corrupt  anything I ever saw in my life, and that's to say 
much. He has a sharp tongue, and I wouldn't be surprised if his 
heart still belongs to that terrible Order. Even if it *is* gone. 
Although I'm not too sure it is."

Julian grimaced. "Well...I see you all have made up your minds 
about how this will turn out. Your convictions about his guilt is 
almost as certain as any Cardassian trial."

Dax lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and smiled faintly. "We 
didn't say that, Julian. We believe you. I don't think Garak is 
foolish enough to compromise his present refuge with such a blatant
act. What we're trying to tell you is that a trial, *any* trial, 
won't be as partial as we are."

Odo acknowledged gruffly. "What we need is evidence, Doctor. 
Something we do not have. All we *do* have is the word of eleven 
Bajoran civilians, all saying they saw Garak insult, then purposely 
provoke the Lethean. The only attestation I have which differs from 
that is yours."  

I can't imagine that all those people would come together against
Garak like that," Julian said with a sad shake of the head.

"What's more," Odo added, "I think they believe what they're 
saying."

"Hate blinds even the wisest of men," Dax said pensively. 

Julian looked at her sharply. "That's all well and good, but I
don't think philosophical musings will help Garak."

Sisko sighed harshly. "I think what we need to do right now is 
relax, Doctor. Nothing will be accomplished if we throw ourselves 
at--"

"Captain, there is an incoming subspace transmission for you from 
Cardassia Prime. It's Gul Dukat."

Sisko looked up at the ensign who had relayed the information and 
his features darkened. "News travel fast..." he said grimly. "Put it
on the view screen, ensign Callahan."

The oval transmission screen lit up with Dukat's upper body. As 
usual, the Cardassian official wore his customary smug smile and his 
eyes were darkened with a new purpose. He leaned back in his chair,
mustering the seeming of a friendly grin.

Sisko gave him an answering smile. "Gul Dukat," he acknowledged 
evenly. "Always a pleasure."

"Yes, I'm sure it is," Dukat purred, enlacing his hands in a 
prayer of patience. "Tell me Captain, word arrived a moment ago from 
DS9...is it true that Garak committed a murder?" His features 
betrayed a light of interest, yet he fought to keep his tone 
neutral. 

Julian began to protest, "He didn--"

"He has been charged with murder, yes," Sisko nodded, throwing a 
severe glance at Bashir. "But we believe otherwise."

"I see," Dukat nodded with consideration. He brought his hands to 
his mouth and said, "What is your evidence?"

"The eyes of twelve witnesses."

"And what is the balance?"

Sisko took a breath. "Eleven says he is guilty of murder, while 
one believes it to be self-defense."

Dukat could not bear the indifferent affectation any further. A 
sharp grin crossed his face, and he nodded approvingly. "Well, I 
must say," he mused. "I like those odds."
  
Again, Julian could not restrain himself. "What gives you the 
right--"

"Doctor," Sisko warned. "Please. Now Dukat, may I inquire what is 
the reason of this call?"

Dukat had been caught in thought, so was startled by the sudden 
inquiry. He waved his hand and said, "By having committed this 
crime, Garak has lost his privilege as protégé, of the Federation 
and Bajoran Government. I will not waste your time by making up 
excuses. I am dispatching a ship to the station. There, I shall 
officially take him under my charge and bring him back to Cardassia 
Prime so he can stand trial." Evidently, the thought of it brought 
another grin on his ashen face.

"But he'll be found guilty!" Julian blared. This time, Sisko 
allowed the outburst. He would have said the same thing, although 
with considerable less emotion.

"Exactly," Dukat nodded. "And Captain Sisko, if you attempt to
find some form of loophole in this transfer, you may refrain from 
wasting your time. It will be quite futile I assure you. However, if 
it will appease your mind, feel free to do so. I shall arrive at the 
Station in two hours. Dukat out."

His image flickered out of existence as sharply as his tongue at 
been. Sisko was appalled, yet not as much as Julian was. "Well," he 
breathed. "I guess that blows everything out of the water, doesn't 
it? If he didn't stand a chance with a Bajoran trial, he'll have 
even less in a Cardassian one."

"So...who wants to break the news to him?" Dax asked. 

"I know I don't," Kira muttered.

Chapter Five
============

Garak frowned at Julian, regaining a seated position. "Oh dear 
me," he said, reflecting on his friend's words. "I didn't think the 
irony of it all would go this far."

Julian paced the area in front of the brig. "Garak, I'm going to 
try and appeal to--"

Garak held up his hand. "As much as I appreciate what you are 
trying to do for me, you may refrain from going any further. My days 
are numbered, I'm afraid. That is the saying, isn't it? In any case, 
I cannot get out of this situation, any more than you can with your 
standings." *Not politically anyway,* he thought.

Julian looked flustered. "Garak, how can you sit there and be so 
calm about it, knowing you're going to..." he briskly cut off, 
struggling for the right word.

"Die, Doctor?" Garak completed, the slightest hint of amusement 
dancing in his bright blue eyes. "We all die, at some point or 
another. I shall die sooner. If Dukat said he would be here in two
hours, then soon is, of course, an understatement." 

Julian moved away from the tailor's cell, intended to leave. "I'm 
going to see Sisko again," he explained. "Maybe I can--"

"Doctor!" Garak called. "Please. Don't leave."
 
Julian retraced his steps, looking hesitant. "Garak?"
  
Garak was uncertain himself. He shrugged lightly. "In the face of 
this sudden...revelation, I find myself not wanting to be alone with 
myself right now. If you don't mind, that is," he added to Julian.

A profound look of sympathy washed over the Doctor's cinnamon 
features. "Oh Garak...I don't. But this is so...unnecessary. I mean, 
I'm trying to tell them it was self-defense...dammit it's not fair!" 
he cried at the injustice of it all.

A tragic smile crossed Garak's pale lips. "Life is hardly fair, 
Doctor. As a medical officer, you of all people should know that."

Julian shook his head. "Yes, but dealing with people I don't know 
is...different. When it comes to people I know...people I care 
for..."

"How thoughtful of you." 

Julian's expression changed. "And when I saw that smug face of 
his--"

"Whose face are you speaking of?" Garak inquired.

"Dukat's!" his friend exploded. "Who does he think he is, waving 
jurisprudence in our faces as if we were imbeciles? He doesn't know 
the first thing about constitution, all he cares about is revenge."

*Revenge . . .* Distant words crept up in Garak's mind, words from 
a long time ago, *I promise you Gul Garak, one day I shall extract 
my revenge on you, and believe me, it won't be a compassionate
death.* 

"Now why would you think that Doctor?" Garak said loudly. "I've 
never said anything that suggested such things." *Did I?* He
remembered recounting stories to Julian while withdrawing from his 
implant. The event was still murky . . . had he inadvertently told 
the truth?

Julian's look of insult was enough to answer his question. "Oh
come on, I'm not naive Garak. Any person with a speck of 
intelligence can see you both hate eachother like hell. All this 
charade he puts up, it's all an excuse for carrying out a personal 
vendetta. Why else would he come so soon, so quickly after he's been 
informed? No offense to you, Garak, but you're not an important 
cadre in the Central Command, not enough for Dukat to be 
professionally concerned at any rate."


Garak was suddenly thoughtful. "Uh, no offense taken Doctor, but 
tell me; did Dukat seem that eager?" 

"Yes, and damn happy about it too."
 
This apparently disturbed the Cardassian. "Mmh," he mused. "Then 
he must have something other than a trial in mind. Other than a 
customary trial anyway. Er . . . Doctor, I know I am contradicting
myself here, but may I be left alone for a moment? I believe I need 
to...consider the great scheme of things before my death," he 
improvised. 

The lie sounded insincere, and Dr. Bashir frowned. "But..."
  
"Please, Doctor," Garak interrupted. "As much as you grace my 
company with your presence, I *do* need to be by myself, if not for
a moment."

Bashir finally nodded. "All right. But I'll be back," he warned.

Garak gave him a sincere grin. "I can always count on that, 
Doctor."

Chapter Six
===========
                         
Odo left his station and found himself in front of the tailor's 
holding cell at his request. "What is it, Garak?" he asked.

Garak was now standing, his posture barely exposing the fact his 
ribs had suffered several concussions in recent events. "I need to 
see Captain Sisko," he said matter-of-factly. "Can you take me to 
him, please?" he requested, more pleasantly. 
  
Odo regarded him with a suspicious look. Something was amiss about 
the tailor, though Odo could not place his finger on it. He stared 
at him intently, then finally said, "Is this really important? You 
can talk to him via communicator. I can issue you one if you'd li--"

"Please, Constable," Garak interjected. "Don't insult me by 
thinking I am a threat to you. You know full well I am not guilty, 
so why would I attempt anything foolish?"

"You tell me," Odo replied silkily.

Garak stifled an annoyed sigh. "Oh very well. You may restrain my 
hands and feet if it suits you. I need to talk to him face to face, 
it's very important."

Odo considered it for a second, then nodded. He trusted Garak. 
Although every fiber of his being screamed not to permit the force 
field to drop, Odo nonetheless pressed his palm against the security 
panel. "Very well," he said.
 
Garak smiled lightly and came up to the Constable, quickly making 
a  mental survey of the room. Another guard was present, he was 
aware of that much. Fortunately, that would not pose a problem. 

Clutching the covert weapon in his suddenly moist hand, he 
swallowed and looked up at Odo. "I'm so desolated Constable."

Odo tilted his head in surprise. "For what?"

"For this," he demonstrated, training the compact disrupter on the 
shapeshifter. The guard promptly stood and moved to hit something on 
the console.

"Make no move or this man dies!" Garak shouted, stiffening his
weaponed arm in emphasis. The officer froze and gave Odo a desperate 
look. The Constable merely gazed at the tailor with a disgusted 
snarl in his thin lips. "Kira was right," he said. "You can't be 
trusted at all."

Garak responded with a bright smile. "But Constable, is that not 
what I have been trying to tell you all these years? Never trust an 
Obsidian Agent, even an exiled one." And as those words cut clearly 
across the room, arising new meaning and ancient regrets, Garak 
pressed the trigger and Odo went flying across the brig, hitting the 
opposing wall with fierce brutality. A very short while later, the 
other guard joined him. 

Garak clipped the small weapon at his belt and went over to Odo's 
unmoving form. "Computer," he beckonned. "Scan for Chief Odo's life 
signs if you please."  

"Chief of Security Odo is located inside the brig," the computer 
replied with it's pleasant voice.

"Is he alive?" Garak admonished impatiently.

"Affirmative."

With a sigh of relief, the Cardassian straightened up and 
unholstered his weapon. Sleek as a feline, he sauntered across the 
brig and exited the room as quietly as a breeze passing through an 
open window.

Chapter Seven
=============
  
Sisko had the urge to scream. This was precisely the sort of thing 
he really didn't need right now. He leaned back in his chair, 
massaging his bare scalp with an annoyed sigh. "How did he escape 
exactly?"

From the brig, Odo was trying to pry himself free from Julian's
persisting probings. He had insisted that he was all right, yet the 
Doctor persevered relentlessly, trying to get an accurate reading 
with his tricorder. "I'm afraid that was because of me, Captain. A 
foolish mistake. I should have guessed he had a concealed weapon. I 
simply didn't anticipate Garak would use it against me."

This brought about a new concern in Sisko. "Weapon? Don't you 
search convicts before putting them in the brig?"

"I do, but he had the weapon disassembled, and the various parts 
were, I assume, part of his costume. I should have realized it was 
that which I found amiss. Various buckles on his garment which had 
been present earlier were missing when he requested to speak with 
you." At this, Julian broke away from the information pouring on his 
tricorder, his eyes betraying revelation. 

"Ingenious," Sisko was saying.
 
"And partly my fault," Bashir said over Odo's comm link. "I think 
I know where he got that idea from..." He was, of course, referring 
to the adventure he had shared with Garak in Hong Kong. He had seen 
the look on the tailor's face when Julian had assembled a pistol 
from diverse ornamental jewelry scattered over his suit. He should 
have realized that Garak had, pushed no doubt by habit, taken note 
of the practical method. That, or it was an old intelligence 
technique which would have prompted a simply interested reaction 
at seeing Julian doing it as well.

Odo folded his arms. "Directing accusations won't bring us very 
far. The fact remains, Garak is now free on the Station, and there's 
no way I can track him down with the computer. Perhaps you can do 
more at Ops, but he's managed to conceal his location."

"Cloaking device?" Sisko suggested.
  
"Perhaps," Odo agreed. "A small and compatible one, it's possible. 
It's also possible that he never was detectable by the computer 
since the beginning. We never had an excuse, it seems, to use the 
computer to locate him."
  
"Is there any other way we can track him down?" Bashir inquired.
  
Odo thought of this, then gave a one-shoulder shrug solely for the 
Doctor's benefit. "Well, he *is* the only Cardassian on the Station. 
If he's not using a cloaking device, we could modify the computer to 
scan for Cardassian lifesigns. Although if he is using a cloak,
there's no way we can locate him."

Sisko clutched his head, feeling a headache nagging him at the 
back of his skull. "I want you to assign security teams all over the 
Station, Constable. And alert civilians. I'm sure you'll find a 
couple of them more than happy to look out for him."

"Acknowledged. Odo out."
 
Bashir looked at the Changeling with a serious look. "Someone 
should tell Dukat."

Odo snorted and turned to leave. "You tell him," he muttered.

Chapter Eight
=============

Garak moved like a ghost through the Station. His spirit had been 
ignited once again, and he truly felt as if he was in the Order anew.
Of course, it's destruction had brought a tinge of sorrow in his 
soul. The Obsidian Order had always been a refuge, a place he could 
always call home. He had experienced everything in there. And by 
everything, he meant absolutely everything. There were few things in 
life which still surprised the tailor, and those few things usually 
came in the form of Doctor Julian Bashir. Whilst finding him a 
little enthusiastic for Garak's taste at first, he had quickly 
dismissed the stereotype as he got to know the dear Doctor. And it 
was with a tinge of regret that he thought of his luncheon companion,
now probably giving what little help he could offer in locating 
him. 

Muffling a scornful chuckle, he ducked low into an alcove, waiting 
for the people he had spotted to pass. What an idiotic thought...that 
Sisko would actually waste his time trying to undermine a former 
Obsidian Agent. He knew this Station better than Sisko and his crew 
put together. He lamented the fact he had to resort to such drastic 
measures, but there was no way he would simply give himself to Dukat 
without a fight. And if Sisko, or even Julian for that matter, did 
not understand that, then so be it.
     
It was a good thing he had gained some limited trust from the 
crew. Had it not been for that, he would have never gotten away so 
easily. Passing that weapon under Odo's nose for example...had he 
been anyone else, he was certain it wouldn't have passed so 
inconspicuously. He hated to think what would have happened if Garak 
had been left with no alternatives. Just the thought of being handed 
over to Dukat...to be handled without mercy by a being of so base 
standing. He shuddered. 

In fact, as Garak thought of it further, he became enraged. To 
think that Dukat would leave everything, his post, his affairs, 
simply to come running to DS9 and take advantage of Garak's 
situation...the Cardassian's hate for the official became 
increasingly ablaze, and a new intent formed within the tailor's 
soul. 

His convictions strengthened, Garak slithered away from his 
temporary retreat and headed for a computer access way. If his 
memories could be trusted, he was fairly certain one was just behind 
that corner...

Chapter Nine
============

Dukat repressed an annoyed sound from escaping his throat. In fact, 
it would have been more of a scream of anger if he had giving free 
reign of his emotions. Yet composure had always been one of Dukat's 
notability. He adopted a tight smile as he regarded Dr. Julian 
Bashir across the channel. 

"What do you mean, exactly? He has escaped the Station, or simply 
the prison in which he was being held?"

Bashir took a deep breath as he willed his pounding heart to a 
more leisure rhythm. Talking with Dukat had never been one of his 
passions. "He escaped from the brig, but we believe he might be 
trying to get off the Station."

"Did anyone tell him *I* was coming?" Dukat inquired, again making 
a prayer with his hands.

"Yes," Julian swallowed. Why did he feel so damn intimidated by 
this Cardassian? It's not as if he didn't know how to handle the 
kind, he'd shared lunch with one practically everyday for the past 
three years. But of course, Garak and Dukat weren't exactly of the 
same stock.

Meanwhile, Dukat was smothering an arrogant grin. "So there is a 
limit to what Garak is willing to endure. It seems my impending 
arrival scared your resident tailor away. What a pity. My ships are 
an hour away from DS9, Doctor. If he manages to escape the Station, 
do not worry. He shall not go very far. Dukat out."

                   ================

Sisko narrowed his eyes as some portion of the station's familiar 
hum of energy dwindled to a mere whisper. He frowned and turned to 
Dax, who was furiously working at her station. She looked up and 
shook her head. "He's somehow accessed the computer from an access 
panel. Our tractor beam and weapon's array are disabled and I can't 
decrypt the codes."

"Can you locate the source of the--"
  
"Captain," Kira interrupted. "The docking clamps on the Rio Grande 
have just been incapacitated as well. We can't manipulate them by 
computer."

"Then it's a safe assumption that Garak is planning on taking the 
runabout. Computer, secure all functioning airlocks in upper Pylon 
three. Sisko to Odo. Constable, focus your security teams at airlock 
twelve, upper Pylon three. It seems our fugitive has decided on 
taking a cruise."

Odo's gruff voice acknowledged over the Comm. "Understood, Odo 
out."

Bashir, who had thought his services could be best rendered at 
Ops, shook his head as he considered the situation. "No," he 
murmured, "it's too easy."

Ben turned sharply toward him. "What's that Doctor?"

"I said it's too easy. Garak isn't stupid. Why would he make 
himself so visible? No no, he's got to have another destination in 
mind."  

"Why would he disable the docking clamps of the Rio Grande if he 
wasn't planning on using it?" Kira asked. "He must know that any 
other ship he uses can still be controlled by us."
  
"Because he's probably counting on the fact we're monitoring such 
things. He's most likely tricking us into thinking off track."

"Then where *would* he be going," Sisko pondered.

Julian considered. "If I were Garak," he said slowely, "I'd take 
the only thing which I'd consider suitable for my needs. The best..."

Sisko got the point, and it wasn't a particularly entertaining 
one. "The Defiant," he replied harshly.

"Captain," a voice said over the communication link. It was 
Eddington. "I just intercepted Mr. Garak. He was working on a 
computer console in upper Pylon three. He was trying to access the 
airlock to the Rio Grande."

"We're on our way, Commander," Sisko nodded, terminating the 
link. "Still think he was planning on using the Defiant?" Sisko 
asked Bashir as they headed toward the turbolift.

"With Garak, I can never be sure," Julian admitted with 
exasperation.

Chapter Ten
===========

Commander Eddington nervously trained a disrupter unto the 
Cardassian runaway. The officer knew full well he had been pitted 
against a powerful adversary, yet the tailor had made no move to 
escape since he had been discovered. Quite the contrary in fact. He 
had obeyed Eddington when he had been ordered to discard his weapon,
and he now stood motionless in front of him, a pleasant smile etched 
on his features. He had uttered no word, until Odo, Sisko and Julian 
arrived on the scene. Following them closely was a dispatch of three
security guards, their weapons on the ready. 

Garak waited patiently, no trace of regret or animosity behind his 
smile.
  
"Mr. Garak," Sisko nodded. "Glad we could stop you before you did 
something foolish."

Garak didn't answer. He simply remained there, looking at all of 
them with a puppet smile. Julian frowned. "Garak?"

The Cardassian turned to Bashir, yet still made no move to talk. 
The disturbing smile never faded.

The shapeshifter, finally annoyed at where this was going, took a 
step up to the tailor and reached to grab his arm. "All right, come
with m--" His hand passed through nothing, and Garak shimmered 
slightly as the reality of it all finally dawned on the Changeling. 
"A holograph!" he exclaimed, looking back at Sisko incredulously. "I 
should have know it couldn't be this easy."

"You know what?" Julian said to Sisko. "I think I'm going to stick 
with my previous hunch."

"Agreed," Ben nodded as they quickly hurried off.

Chapter Eleven 
==============

The fools, Garak chuckled as he moved toward the airlock. His 
Cardassian ego had flourished greatly ever since he had placed that
holographic emitter near the Rio Grande's ingress. He was certain 
the ruse would misle Sisko for a moment, before he and his followers 
retreated to Ops to figure out another solution. By then, Garak 
would be long gone, flying smoothly and safely within the confines 
of the Defiant. 

No one had seemed to notice he had equally disengaged the docking 
clamps on it as well, yet he had made it as though only the Rio had
been freed. How could they? No one could have seen through the
subterfuge. No one knew him that well. No one except...

"Garak!" Julian beckonned. *Oh damn that!* Garak cursed, swiveling 
on his heels. Cluttering the corridor which had brought him this far 
was Sisko, Odo and Dr. Bashir, all surrounded by five or six 
disrupters and phasers aimed at his head.
 
"Doctor," Garak acknowledged meekly. He straightened up, leaving 
the side of the open access way. So close...another connection and 
the airlock would have smoothly rolled open, making way for Garak's 
escape. He sighed as the end of his plan crumbled to nothing. He 
should have realized the good Doctor would have guessed his course 
of action. Only he had the knowledge and the cunning of knowing what 
was going through the tailor's head.

"Quite a chase you put us through, Mr. Garak," Sisko said.

"Drop the weapon," Odo said huskily.

"I'm afraid not," Garak apologized, aiming the weapon at his head. 
Julian widened his eyes in shock. "Garak! Don't!"

*The bait is laid. Let's see if the fish is willing enough to
refuse it,* Garak thought. This was playing on his friend's emotions, 
but he had no other resort. It was a desperate act of a desperate 
condemned. He closed his eyes.

"Garak, please don't do this," Julian pleaded, taking a step 
forward. Despite Odo's warning, Julian shrugged him off and 
stretched his hands to Garak. "Please, you still have a chance, 
we can still appeal. Don't end your life like this..."

"Like what?" Garak said with a desperate tone. "One way or another, 
my life is over. Why should I not end it quickly and avoid the 
embarrassment my people and Dukat will put me through?" It was not a 
kind lie.

"But this way you're simply giving up without a fight. I know you 
once told me that giving up is sometimes the best course of action, 
but not in this case. Please, listen to me...give me the disrupter."

Julian had moved even closer to him. *I guess the bait was too 
delicious to turn down,* Garak noted with amusement. *Carefull...
careful...keep calm... NOW!* his mind screamed, and his body lurched 
forward. 

His arms reached for the startled doctor, grasped him by the arm
and swung him toward him. He pressed his weapon under his chin and 
whispered in his ear, "I'm terribly sorry to do this Doctor, but I 
have no choice."

Julian struggled weakly under the strong grab Garak had. "You have 
a choice," he spat. "And you know it."

Garak considered. "Yes, I do," he agreed. "But I find myself not 
liking your choice of options."  

When Odo moved, Garak stabbed the weapon deeper in Julian throat, 
making the poor doctor gasp in pain. Evidently, the tailor was 
skillful in avoiding personal feelings to overwhelm his survival 
instincts. "That's far enough, Constable," Garak warned. Odo stopped 
in his track and regarded the Cardassian incredulously. "Garak, 
don't do this," he said gruffly. "You're in enough trouble as it is. 
Hostage takeover can only double your sentence."

"Oh I disagree, Constable," Garak said, backing up with Julian. 
"You see, I don't intend on being sentenced at all. So if you would 
kindly alarm your guards and order them away, I shall consider not 
inflicting too much pain in this man." 

Despite his predicament, Julian still flushed in anger. How can 
his friend talk of him this way? He recalled, not without disgust, 
that it was precisely the way of the tormentor; distance yourself 
from your victims as far as possible. And that was precisely what 
Garak was doing. He wondered with horror if Garak would actually 
harm him if capture was inevitable. Suddenly frightened, he held up 
his hand at Odo, "Do as he says, Odo. I'll be okay."

The shapeshifter looked evidently conflicted. Tight lipped, he 
nodded at his men to move away.

"Good," Garak nodded. "Good. I see the good Doctor has some reason 
in him after all. Now," he said, ducking backward to the access 
panel. "I shall, regrettably, take my leave of you." He managed to 
fuse the last connection, and the airlock door heavily rolled to a 
side, while it's opposite did the same, revealing the inside of the 
Defiant as it did so. "And Captain," he said before moving inside 
the airlock. "I do hope you won't be foolish and attempt to stop the 
Defiant. If I am so much as fired upon, you dear Doctor won't be 
around to suture the injuries that will result from my attack. And 
make no mistake about it, I will kill him, and anyone who attempts 
to stand in my way." With what, he dragged Julian's body inside the 
vessel, and closed the access way with a determined slap of the 
palm. 

When he was gone, Sisko breathed again, and quickly hurried to 
Ops. "We have to find a way to stop that ship!" he said.

"How?" Odo inquired, falling in step.

"I don't know...yet."

Chapter Twelve
==============

"Garak, why the Hell are you doing this?" Julian bellowed, rubbing 
a hand on his sore throat.

The Cardassian had settled in the command chair and regarded the 
bridge with a quizzical gaze. "I trust this vessel is voice 
activated..." he pondered. "Computer, voice control, if you please." 
The computer beeped it's reply.

"Garak, are you even listening to me?"

"Doctor," Garak sighed, turning to him. "If you please...refrain 
from talking so I may concentrate on what I'm doing. If you are 
wondering why you are standing here at my side as a hostage, perhaps 
you should consider your recent actions. Approaching me while you 
knew I was so strongly motivated was a foolish mistake," he snapped. 
"You, of all people, should know I would not let personal feelings 
steer my actions."

"Oh, so now I'm a simple hostage?" Julian cried. "A convenient 
idiot who was foolish enough to care?"

The tailor betrayed a light of regret. "Doctor...Julian," he 
admonished softly as he stood up to join him. "I apologize if I seem 
unpleasant, but you must understand the position I'm forced into. Do 
you have any idea what Dukat will do to me if I surrender?"

"Do you have any idea what he'll do to you when he learns of 
this?" Bashir retaliated. "Garak, before there was a chance of 
appeal. Now...you've given him the perfect excuse to execute you 
without so much as a chance to speak."

"That is, if he succeeds in capturing me," Garak pointed out. 

Julian considered his friend for a silent second. Then he shook 
his head and went to sit at a console. "If you think you can get 
away with this, then you're far from being the brilliant 
Intelligence agent you made yourself out to be."

Garak recoiled in indignation. "I must say," he remarked. "I 
didn't think *you* would question my actions. An hour ago, you 
seemed quite comfortable waving around dramatic protests for my 
benefit while you were conveniently placed outside my cell. Odd that 
you should reconsider your feelings in light of the eminent danger 
to yourself. What naive hypocrisy we bear, dear Doctor," he said 
menacingly soft.

Julian couldn't surpress a cry of resentment. "Why you arrogant 
bastard!" he exclaimed, looking back at the tailor with a challenging 
stare. "Do you know what I went through simply to sit down at lunch 
everyday with you? While everybody scolded me for caring about an 
exile Cardassian tailor, I bit down the insults and tried to ignore 
the looks people were giving us while eating, all because I thought 
it would be extremely idiotic to end our friendship simply on 
account of other people's feelings. Well, just goes to show how 
stupid I've been...how stupid I've been to think you were different. 
I should have listened to them. To think I believed all this time 
that you felt the same way. I suppose spending the time with me was
simply a means to amuse yourself. Reflect on the entertaining 
notions the human doctor has to offer. And while I maintained 
serious affection for you, you were plotting on the best way to earn 
my trust, so that if something like this ever occurred, I'd always 
be your ace in the hole...your ticket out of anything you knew Dukat 
would throw at you. Well indeed...I *have* been a fool to care," he 
decided. His wide hazel eyes were glittering with a film of tears, 
but the Doctor's convictions were strong enough to hold them at bay. 
Still furious, he swiveled back to face the viewscreen, clearly 
intent on ignoring anything the Cardassian would offer in reply.

For his part, the tailor had slowly erased all emotions from his 
features as his friend's passionate speech was being rendered. By 
the time Julian had finished, similar tears burned at the 
Cardassian's eyes, but they were tears of regret...of guilt mostly, 
because Julian had indeed touched a nerve. His friendship with the 
good doctor had initially been a way to earn trust among the Station 
occupants. But since Bashir had been the only one to respond to his 
courteous overtures, he had maintained a steady relationship with 
the doctor throughout the years of his exile. And while his initial 
approach to Julian had been one of selfishness, his continued 
company had been due to simple friendship. *Sincere* friendship with
someone of equal mind and spirit. While the good doctor lacked in 
what Garak constituted as a Cardassian soul, he made up in 
intelligence and cunning the tailor had come to appreciate and 
admire. To hear that from Julian now tore at his heart, and he was 
struck with a sudden urge to get up and tightly hug his friend in 
reassurance. 

But his instincts were tugging at his mind, reminding him that 
other matters had to be dealt with first. So, pushing aside the 
violent guilt, Garak cleared his throat and looked up at the 
ceiling. "Computer, scan for any ships nearing our location."
 
"One ship has been detected," the voice answered.

"Configuration?" he demanded, even though he knew the response.

"It is a Cardassian Galor class warship."

"Hail them."

Dukat's face appeared, and with it the sneer of a predator. "What
do you think you'll accomplish, tailor?"

"Audio off," he said abruptly. "Computer, record image and voice 
patterns from the individual on screen. Resume audio." Garak smiled 
calmly. "I take it you've discovered my little escapade?" he asked 
politely.

Dukat sighed with exasperation. "Garak, cease this foolishness and 
prepare to transport to my ship. There's no way out, and if you want 
to save yourself some pride, hand yourself over to me. I'm certain 
the Doctor will know his way back," Dukat leered at Julian. 

"Oh I haven't undocked yet," Garak mentioned. "You may take a 
moment to relish this temporary peace, because as soon as I clear 
the Station, I'm coming for you. Be prepared," Garak warned, cutting
off the transmission.

Julian muttered something to himself, yet Garak couldn't make it
out. In fear of provoking the doctor any further, he restrained 
himself from asking what it was he had said. Instead, he addressed 
the one thing that he was certain would at least provide a response. 
"Computer, configure the transporter to detect the individual which 
matches the description and voice patterns of Gul Dukat."

"Acknowledged."

"Disengage from DS9, and input an intercept course with the 
Cardassian vessel, half impulse."

The computer beeped in response, and the ship was rocked with a 
brief seizure as it unlocked from the Station. From then on, it was 
smooth sailing all the way toward Dukat's ship.

Chapter Thirteen
================
  
"Battle condition," Garak called, and the bridge was bathed with 
flickering crimson lights. The tailor stood and watched the screen 
with a content stare, following the Cardassian ship as it grew in 
proportion. "Raise shields," he ordered. "Now, we shall see if what 
my Cardassian friends told me about this ship was true. Computer, 
arm photon torpedoes and prepare phaser arrays for my mark." 

He gazed at Dukat's ship with equanimity, waiting patiently for 
the Defiant to come in weapons' range. Satisfied, he noted that the 
Station had made no move to halt his actions insofar. 
  
Working solely on ancient instincts, he thus wasted no time to ask 
the computer if they were in range as he cried, "Mark!" 

Sound of harnessed energy boomed from under their feet as an array
of blue photon torpedoes shot out from under the screen's view 
simultaneous to a rapid fire of pulse phasers. Dukat's ship rocked 
violently at the sudden assault, unprepared it seemed, for the 
attack.  

"Damage report to the Cardassian ship?" Garak inquired.

"Alien ship has sustained a direct hit on the port wing. 30% of 
their propulsion and navigational systems has been damaged."

Garak widened his eyes. He hadn't anticipated to slip such a good 
attack on his adversary. Then the reality of it struck the tailor. 
Dukat was no  longer in charge of Central Command, but part of the 
Civilian Council. Evidently, they issued much older ships than those 
he had steered in CC. Adopting a suddenly assuming expression, Garak 
sat down and smothered a smile of deep contentment. "Computer, cease 
attack and hail the vessel."

Dukat's image shimmered to solidity on the viewscreen. Behind his 
sharp form, electricity fizzles out of torn conduits, and Garak 
perceived the vague contours of fallen officers. "I see they don't 
give you a wide variety of choice vessels, Dukat," he sneered. 
"What's the matter? Cardassia is afraid to issue you one of it's 
finer vessels? Oh but then I forget...you are no longer part of 
Central Command, are you? A pity that the Civilian Council has 
little influence over Cardassian military."

"We're not through yet, tailor," Dukat spat. "I still have my 
weapons fully charged, and the only reason why your ship isn't 
floating dead in space is my concern over the Federation Doctor."

A laugh evaded the tailor's throat. "Oh my dear Dukat, your lies 
are even more weak than your ship. Please don't insult my 
intelligence, we both know this is a battle you cannot win. Even if 
the Civilian Council had allowed three or even four vessels to 
accompany you, I still would have the upper hand. Now, shall we 
discuss my terms, or do you really want me to cripple your ship to a 
state of embarrassment? I know your pride overrides any other 
concern you might have, you see."

Dukat fought to keep a nauseous expression from washing over his 
ashen face. No matter how much he squabbled over it, the tailor 
spoke the truth. "I suppose you want me to annul your trial?"  

"No, I want you to drop your shields."

"What?!" Dukat looked evidently troubled.

Garak leaned back, his hands in a prayer as he parodied his 
enemy. "You  heard me. Drop your shields."

"I will do no such thing," Dukat spat. He promptly moved to cut 
the transmission when Garak said unctuously, "Your vessel is the
Kempassa, is it not?"

Dukat froze his movement, startled that Garak knew that particular 
piece of information. "What is it to you?"

"I believe your father served aboard that ship, a long time ago. 
Yees, I remember now, it was a fine vessel at the time. Pity we had 
to haul it back to Cardassia. I believe it was your father who broke 
first when I interrogated the crew. In fact, the memory is quite 
clear now, and I seem to recall something else..." Garak mused 
mockingly. "The code which would permit me to drop your shields 
myself." He nodded decisively. "Very well, I shall see you in a 
short while, Dukat. Cut transmission," Garak smiled, taking a small 
measure of satisfaction as the channel was cut on Dukat's furious 
face.

"Computer," he called, deliberately avoiding Julian's inquisitive 
stare. "Transmit the following code to the Cardassian Vessel on a 
band width of 3000 megahertz; 17352 alpha."

"Transmission complete." There was a pause, then, "There is an 
incoming hail from the alien vessel."

"Patch it through," Garak smiled silkily.

"I will not stand by while you defy everything our people has 
achieved, Tailor!" Dukat roared. "Using your Obsidian background on 
your own people will not look good in a trial, Garak, and you know 
it!"

"I trust your shields are unoperative," the tailor said smoothly, 
inspecting the nail of his forefinger with indifference.

"Garak, cease this raillery and surrender yourself." Even though 
the command carried authority and anger, a feint tint of desperation 
could be detected underlying Dukat's husky voice.

The tailor stood and locked his hands behind his rectilinear back. 
"My my, such eloquent words for someone as insidious as you Dukat. 
But I have to admit, even in the face of certain defeat, you still 
manage to keep a dignified facade. A shame that it will not prevent 
our transporter from whisking you off your own bridge," he chuckled. 
"Computer, cut transmission."

"Garak," A new voice. Garak turned to see Julian, and his 
convictions almost crumbled at seeing his friend's delicately 
anguished face. 

Almost.

"What?" he asked incredulously, as if he had done nothing wrong.

"Don't do this," Bashir said softly. "You know it will accomplish 
nothing."

For the second time in his life, Julian saw Garak muster a look of
pure anger and hatred. The last time, it had been at his side, while 
the tailor fought to remain alive without his implant. Now, it was 
something else, and somehow, this time was more frightening. The 
last incident found Garak delirious and fighting for personal 
independence and Julian had understood his friend's emotional
outbursts. Now, Garak was in control of all his responses, and 
adopting such a look when the tailor looked reasonable enough made 
Julian shudder in fear. Perhaps he had misjudged the plain and 
simple tailor. Perhaps when he had pointed out that Garak had merely 
put up a gentle facade to trick everyone, he hadn't been so far from 
the truth after all.

"Dukat has been hounding me for years," Garak was growling, his 
fist clenched. "He'd be more than perfectly content to see me in the 
interrogation chair for a couple of days before he executes me. I 
won't allow him the satisfaction, nor will I deny him the punishment
he deserves."

Julian recoiled in shock. "P-punishment?"

"Nothing less than death. He deserves more, but I'll be satisfied 
with the notion that his soiled self will no longer be head of *any* 
council whatsoever on Cardassia. He dares tell me I shame our people.
He should talk. Well...no matter...that's about to change," Garak 
snarled. "And I will have the pleasure of fulfilling that prophecy 
myself. Computer, lock unto Gul Dukat and transport him to the brig."
He stood and prepared to leave the bridge. 

As an afterthought, he aimed his disrupter at Julian and waved it 
toward the turbolift. "Come on," he ordered, gesturing Julian to 
follow him. "I can't risk having you try to regain control of the 
ship."

Meekly, too emotionally drained to even consider protesting, 
Julian pushed himself to his feet with a deep sigh, and quickly 
scurried to Garak's side in fear of instilling further impatience in 
his friend.

A friend? Could he still be called that? After all that Garak had 
done today, Julian wasn't even sure the tailor would survive the 
week. Oh sure, Dukat was a prisoner, and until the time where Dukat 
would carry no more importance to Cardassia, Garak was safe. But 
from what the tailor had recounted, Julian wasn't sure if Cardassia 
would consider Dukat an enough important figure to save. If so, 
Garak's days were indeed numbered, as he had so calmly stated the 
preceding morning. Cardassia would contact DS9 and  allow them to 
proceed with any actions the Station had intended to do to stop 
Garak. If Dukat were a casualty, then so be it, and if Julian were 
too... well, that was the price a Starfleet officer paid when
enrolling. 

Julian sighed again as the turbolift brought them to the brig at a 
leisure pace. He glanced at Garak, who appeared lost in thought, 
looking down at his disrupter with not so guilt-free eyes. He looked 
miserable, yet Julian found the word not descriptive enough. There 
was more behind the contriteness behind Garak's features. There was 
shame perhaps, regret. If so, then Julian might not have been so 
wrong about his friend after all. 

The turbolift came to a smooth stop, and the doors opened up on an
empty corridor. *Funny,* Julian pondered, *to find yourself in an 
empty ship. There's only Garak and me...and now Dukat.* Of course, a 
ship like this was equipped enough to carry on without them. But as 
Julian stepped forward inside the phantom corridor, he found the 
thought disturbing. Finally, when the door to the brig swished open, 
they were both greeted by a very ireful Cardassian. 

Chapter Fourteen
================

Chief Miles O'Brien painfully pulled himself away from a 
transmission Keiko had sent him to answer Sisko's beckon. Of course, 
duty called, but he resented the fact it had to call *now*.

He emerged at Ops with a vividly annoyed look on his features. 
"You called me, Captain?" he asked Sisko, trying hard not to let his 
impatience show.

"Yes, Chief," Sisko said calmly. "I want you to help Commander Dax 
in reestablishing the weapon's array and the tractor beam. The 
Defiant has made no move to leave the sector, and I fully intend on 
not letting it."

Dax felt her heart tear. "What about Julian?" she asked in a soft, 
professional tone.

Sisko sighed and pushed himself to answer. "We'll worry about that
when it comes to that, Commander. For now, I want those systems back 
on-line," he said. "I can't allow the Defiant to fall into Garak's 
hands," he insisted at Dax's saddened look, trying desperately to 
convince himself of it as well.

The Irishman nodded and moved to Dax's console. She was avoiding 
his look, falling back on the familiar routine to ignore Julian's 
image in her mind. Her expression must have betrayed something, for 
O'Brien placed a reassuring hand on hers. "I'm sure he'll be all 
right, Commander. Garak was only throwing empty threats." At least, 
he hoped so. He had come to like the Station's local doctor.

Dax looked up gratefully at the chief and managed her slight 
smile. "Thank you Chief. I appreciate it." 

Meanwhile, Kira was talking in confidential tones with Sisko. "The 
Cardassian Civilian Council contacted me a few minutes ago. They 
told us to go ahead with whatever rescue plan we had in mind, as 
long as Garak is handed over Cardassian Legislature in case he 
survives."

Sisko considered. "What about Dukat?"

Kira shrugged. "They're grateful for his services. But if he has 
to be killed, they'll understand."

Sisko repressed a grimace. "It seems political favors don't mean 
much to Cardassians. Dukat risked a lot to save the Detepa council. 
A shame they don't appreciate it that much."

Kira motioned to the screen, where the Cardassian warship hovered 
thinly before the Defiant. "Dukat might have done a last service to 
the Cardassians by beaming aboard the Defiant as well. His ship 
wouldn't have survived another blast; it's shields were down."

Sisko brought a fist to his mouth. "I'm not sure Garak had any say 
in this. Quite surprising that Dukat's shields were disabled a few 
minutes *after* the attack. It's as if he lowered them himself."

Kira shrugged again. "Perhaps he fell prey to Garak's sharp 
tongue. It happens."

Of course, she didn't have to mention that by *it happens*, she 
had meant how the DS9 crew themselves had been fooled by the "plain 
and simple" tailor's charisma.

Sisko brushed the thought away and said, "Have you been able to 
establish contact with the Kempassa?"

"Not since Dukat was beamed aboard the Defiant. I don't know if 
they just don't want to respond, or if a malfunction prevents them 
to."

"Well keep trying," Sisko recommended. "I hate being left in the 
dark. I want to know what the Hell is happening over there."

Chapter fifteen
===============

"Garak, if you don't release me immediatly, I'll make sure that 
smug grin of yours be whipped out of your face!"

The tailor gently pushed Julian to a seat, then swiveled on his
heels to watch his captive. "You should be happy, Dukat. This way, 
I'm at least giving the impression you died with pride, saving your 
vessel from certain destruction by handing yourself to me. I'm 
fairly certain your crew will omit the details of how you were 
sheepishly undermined by a Cardassian exile."

"SHUT UP!" Dukat screamed, for once letting emotion to break free 
instead of using words as retaliation.

Garak seemed pleasantly surprised. "Well, how the all mighty have 
fallen. Why Dukat, whatever happened to that notable dignity I came 
to admire?"

"I will kill you," Dukat stated, slight composure having been 
regained.

Garak paced leisurely in front of him, a movement he had come to
enjoy during his activity in the Obsidian Order. While his victims 
writhed helplessly in a futile attempt to escape their overhung 
cuffs, Garak had paced in front of them, offering them no more than 
a pleasant, courteous smile while repeating his endless questions. 
The gallant torturer . . . that's what he had been called.
 
"I don't think you're in a position to make such a bold prophecy,
my dear Dukat. Rather, it is who should be rendering such a 
statement. And yet, why should I? You already know it."

"Garak," Julian began. The tailor's severe glance was enough to 
kill his following words in his throat.

"Now," Garak said, looking back at his prisoner. "I want to know 
one thing, before I kill you."

Dukat curled his lips. "What makes you think I would be foolish 
enough to answer anything you ask me? You wish to kill me, then go 
right ahead. I won't give you the satisfaction of begging, or 
dealing. But if you think I will volunteer information just to 
satisfy your curiosity, you must have fallen on your head."

Garak took a menacing step toward the cell when the ship was 
suddenly rocked violently on it's side. Julian was thrown out of his 
seat, and Garak staggered to the floor. Dukat grabbed on to his 
bench.

"What in blazes--"

"Warning," the computer said. "Damage to port bow. Sensor systems 
disabled."

"What?!" Garak shouted. "What happened? What is the cause?"

"The Defiant has suffered a direct attack to port bow." It said 
pleasantly.

"If you want my advice," Julian said grimly. "You can be sure that 
was DS9."

"It could have been the Kempassa," Garak growled. 
  
Dukat pulled himself up, leaning on the bench for support. "The 
Kempassa has no weapons. Not since it was given to the Depata 
Council anyway."

Garak would have normally been amused by this sudden fact, but he 
had other concerns at the moment. "Computer, prepare pulse phasers 
and arrange the most efficient attack pattern." Bashir abruptly 
stood up. "NO!" he exclaimed. "You will stop this at once, Garak! 
Going for Dukat is one thing, but you don't stand a chance against 
the Station!"

Garak grasped Julian's arm as they exited the brig. "I don't 
intend on destroying the Station, Doctor. Just on buying me some 
time."

Chapter Sixteen
===============

"The Defiant has lost her sensors, Captain. That blast was a 
little too close, if you ask me."

Sisko acknowledged Dax with a nod, then turned to Kira. "Hail 
them, Major."

Garak's placid face appeared on the viewer. "Ah, ah," he said, 
waving a warning finger. "That was a very naughty thing you did 
there Captain. I thought my instructions were clear concerning 
Doctor Bashir. But perhaps you need a demonstration." Julian's face
appeared and Garak pressed a disrupter to his temple. "I will kill 
him if you do not cease your attack. This battle is between Dukat
and I. There is no need to risk the Doctor's life with ill decisions,
Captain."

Sisko looked straight into Julian's eyes, and saw there a mute 
permission. The Doctor understood.

"I'm afraid killing Dr. Bashir won't steer my decisions away, 
Garak. Whether you're foolish enough to dispose of your friend or
not, I will do everything in my power to retrieve the Defiant." It 
wasn't a threat. It was a fact.

The transmission cut and Dax screamed in her mind. She couldn't 
live long without the knowledge of whether Julian had been murdered 
in a violent show of anger, or spared on account of his friendship 
with the tailor. Had it been that? She hoped Garak felt the same way 
Julian did for the Cardassian. If not, he might have indeed felt the need to eradicate the human doctor.
  
On the bridge of the Defiant, Garak pushed Julian away with an 
acrimonious show of teeth. "I suppose I wasn't clever," he sighed 
finally. "They knew I would not kill you," he stated, looking up at 
Julian.
  
"Would you really have done it?"

"If it were anyone but you, I would have probably done so." 

Somehow, that didn't comfort the Doctor. "But best not think about
it too much," Garak warned. He turned to the viewscreen, and his 
snarl resurfaced. "But if they think they can outwit me, they are 
seriously mistaken. Computer, on my mark, engage pattern of 
attack....Mark!"

Pulse phasers tickled the Station like a rifle. Yet DS9 looked 
none the worst. "Reverse thrusters," Garak called. "Head for the 
wormhole."

Julian stared at the tailor. "Garak, Please..."

"Hush," he ordered sternly. Behind them, a familiar hum sounded, 
and the vessel buckled to a halt. "Tractor beam!" Garak spat. 
"Computer, arm photon torpedoes. Target the location from where that 
beam is being emitted. Fire!"
  
"He's disabled the tractor beam...Again!" Kira cried, slamming her 
fist down on the console.

"He's heading for the wormhole," Dax informed Sisko.

"Hold fire," the Captain ordered. "We can't risk damaging the 
wormhole. Major, Constable, please join me at airlock twelve. We're 
going after the Defiant."

"In a runnabout?" Kira asked incredulously. "He'll destroy us like
a pin! We're no match for the Defiant."

"Well at least I'll have a better idea of what's going on!" Sisko 
shouted. "Now please, Major, follow my orders!"

She nodded reluctantly, and headed for the turbolift, Constable 
Odo following wordlessly.

Chapter Seventeen
=================

The Runnabout glided smoothly toward the wormhole. Within it's 
confines, Constable Odo and Major Kira both manned the frontal 
consoles while Captain Sisko and Commander Dax spoke in the back of 
the compartment. 

"I still don't see how we'll gain any advantage by confronting 
them with the Rio Grande, Ben," Dax said softly, gazing at the stars 
outside.

Sisko brought a fist to his chin, looking more pensive than usual.
"I don't really know, Old man. Garak has the upperhand right now,
but I'd feel  more confident if I were near enough to monitor his 
actions."

Dax nodded slowly, still caught in her thoughts. Benjamin scowled
and pulled gently at her shoulder. "Are you all right?"  

"I can't stop thinking of Julian," she admitted. "I can't shake 
the feeling that Garak may have hurt him. I...I couldn't live with 
the fact we let him die like that...it's such a useless death, when 
you're killed as a hostage. And Garak, what with his background..." 
she trailed off but Sisko knew exactly what she was talking about.

"I don't think Garak is cruel enough to torture Julian, Old man," 
Sisko said soothingly. "And all things considered, he wouldn't kill 
him either. Garak may have his faults, but one thing is for sure," 
Sisko paused and looked  outside his own viewport, "For someone like 
Garak, Julian has become the closest thing to a friend."

***

"A vessel has open fire," The computer announced placidly.

"I think that's an understatement," Garak bawled amidst the 
rocking and swaying of the Defiant. Clutching at a console to steady 
himself, Julian looked up at the screen in time to see a Jem H'Adar 
vessel throw another volley of weapon fire.

"Shields!" Garak shouted. "Return fire, blast those sons of voles
out of the quadrant!"

The Defiant's computer obeyed diligitantly, steering the ship to 
the side as it avoided an array of bluish beams. It's phasers pulsed 
quickly and hit the hull of the Jem H'adar with all it's might, 
sending the ship rocketing sideways.

"Hail them," Julian shrieked at Garak. 

The Cardassian ignored the plea and closed his fist. "Target their
plasma core...fire!"

In an attempt at offense, the Jem H'Adar yawed to the side toward 
the Defiant and it's weapon's turrets glowed with power. But the 
energy never had time to transmute into an attack as the Defiant 
launched a volley of torpedoes on their rear side. Defeated, it 
meekly swayed around and escaped the grip of the Defiant.

"Warning," the computer interjected. "Life support failing."

Garak looked suddenly stunned. 

"Relocate power to life support," Julian said, stepping over 
Garak's momentary lapse.

"Energy relocation acknowledged," the computer agreed, and life
support was restored. Across the bridge, Garak narrowed his eyes, 
cursing his fleeting hesitation.
  
***

Dukat had no idea what the hell was going on. He had been 
patiently waiting for Garak's return, having taken a seat on the 
hard brig bench when the whole room had rocketed violently under his
feet. He had braced himself as best he could, vowing to kill Garak 
for having put him through this, when the energy field imprisoning
him shimmered to then completely vanish.

Sending his thanks to whatever God was on his side, Dukat
straightened up and, fist clenched, grasped a phaser and stalked out 
of the brig...

...to march toward the bridge.

***

The Rio Grande watched the end of the battle just as it emerged 
from the wormhole. Sisko had begun to issue orders to return fire to
the Jem H'Adar, but the Defiant had done well without help. Cursing, 
Sisko slammed his palm down on the console and ordered hailing 
frequencies to be opened to Garak. All  attempts had failed.

"Damn!" Sisko shouted. "Dax, get through to that ship, I need to 
speak with Garak. This has to end now!"

Chapter Eighteen
================

Garak was caught momentarily paralyzed at the sight which greeted him at
the turbolift. In the back of him, Julian mustered a very similar reaction.

"Well well well, how the tables are reversed," Dukat sneered, staring
intently at his former captor.

Garak remembered his disrupter and trained the weapon on the other
Cardassian. Dukat leered and pointed his phaser. "I had the presence of mind
to acquire the same." He raised a bony eyeridge. "If you shoot me, I will
kill you. Do you really want to risk that?"

Garak's finguer tightened fractionally over the trigger. "If it means
disposing of you, I would be so inclined as to risk my own life, yes."

Deadpan enough. It caught his nemesis off guard. Yet he quickly settled on
an arrogant smile. "If that's the way you think, then you're a bigger fool
than I had taken you for. Very well," Dukat tempted, throwing the disrupter
aside. "If we are to fight to the death, then let it be worth our efforts. I
have not been dragged into this without taking some measure of satisfaction.
And believe me," he snarled. "Wiping the deck floor with your lovely face
will give me ample pleasure." He shifted his balance and watched Garak's
face as it morphed into several subtle expressions. Yet Dukat knew him well
enough to label them as they passed.

Surprise . . . Anger . . . and finally, Determination. Dukat nodded
faintly. "Now," he said. *Time to fuel the fire* "Are you coward enough to
hide safely behind your weapon, or do you retain some of that old Cardassian
fire which you once harbored in the Obsidian Order?"

Surprisingly, Garak caught fire much more quickly than Dukat anticipated.
He hurled the weapon aside and lunched himself onto Dukat with such a
fierceness, it nearly paralyzed the Cardassian in place.

Nearly.
 
As if startled out of a dream, Dukat flailed his hands up in time to catch
Garak's fists, moving them aside startlingly easy for a being of such
lankiness. The Cardassian Official then closed claw-like fists over Garak's
neck ridges, evidently the seeming of a strangulation for a human. 

Struggling to get in a breath, Garak stared directly into Dukat's eyes,
pain and desperation finally surfacing as he felt unconsciousness tickle his
mind.

But he fought against it, clenching his teeth with hard core
determination. With a loud grunt, he managed to close his hands on Dukat in
the same fashion.

"You will die," Dukat managed breathlessly.
  
"And you as well," Garak said through his teeth, gasping at the end of the
sentence. 

"I have never forgave you," Dukat whispered huskily. "For my father . . ."

Despite the increasing pressure on his ridges, making him feel suddenly
nauseous and lightheaded, Garak managed a pale smile. "Your father . . . was
weak. He deserved . . . the punishment I . . . gave . . . him."

"You bastard," Dukat cursed, squeezing his grip.

In the meantime, Julian had managed to reach Garak's disrupter. He
clutched it nervously, looking at the unfamiliar settings, trying to figure
out which position would only stun both men. Working on instinct, he aimed
it at the two intermingled figure, and shot.

Caught with a bewildered look, Dukat fell limply to the floor, sliding
from under Garak's loose grip. Gasping loudly at the sudden capability of
intaking some much needed air, Garak hunched over and leaned on his knees.
When he was sufficiently ventilated, he looked up at Julian and grinned.
"Thank . . . you Doctor. I knew you would not fail--"

"Shut up," Julian sneered, pulling the trigger at his friend as well.
Caught with a similarly shocked look on his features, Garak slumped over
Dukat's body, unconscious.

"Computer, head for the wormhole," Julian said breathlessly. His hands
were quivering terribly, yet he didn't know why. Relief? 

"There is incoming hail from the Rio Grande," the computer interjected. 

Julian brightened up. "Patch it through."
 
"--rak, this has to end right now," Sisko's voice was saying, clearly
distraught.

"Captain, everything's under control," Julian answered with a smile of
relief. "Both Garak and Dukat has been subdued."

"Dukat was--"

"It's a long story, Captain. And if you don't mind, I'd rather tell it
later. Right now, I just want to head back to DS9."

A smile could be detected in Sisko's voice. "I understand. We'll be right
behind you Doctor. And for your sake, keep whatever weapon you have on Garak."

Julian glanced back at the tailor with a sad expression. "Acknowledged."

Chapter Nineteen
================

The following events passed in front of Julian's eyes in a haze. He was
aware of political squabbles being fired through the channels -- most of it
being produced by Dukat -- and the news of Garak's impending trial
eventually found itself broadcast to his attention.

And before the Doctor had time to settle down and relax, he found himself
in a Cardassian warship, heading toward Cardassia to witness his friend's
sentence being delivered. Sisko, Kira and Odo accompanied him, after having
protested against Julian's presence. He needed rest, not another
stress-inducing event to break him down even further. Yet Julian refused to
miss the tailor's trial. He needed to be there . . . his friend deserved
that much, even after the events of the last few days. 

As he sat quietly in the guest quarters, gazing outside at the passing
stars, he realized that no longer would he sit down with the tailor for
another one of their discussions. Never again would he enjoy the company of
a good friend, his best friend actually, over a meal. He had never given it
much thought amidst the action of past days, but now, relieved from the
burden of survival, alone with only his thoughts -- not even permitted to
confer with "the exile" as the guards deemed the tailor -- Julian felt his
stomach churn. And it was alone that he wept, warm tears filling his wide
eyes; tears which hadn't been shed in a long time.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
  
  "It's time to face reality Doctor. You're a man who dreams 
of being a hero because deep down . . . you know that you're not. 
I'm no hero either, but I do know how to make a choice; and I'm 
choosing . . . to save myself."

                                    -- Garak [Our Man Bashir] 


Chapter Twenty
==============

The High Court was gloomy and Julian couldn't surpress the shudder
he felt rising up his spine as he stepped foot inside. Sisko was 
close behind, resting a lax hand on his shoulder in support. They 
all filed before the seats which were assigned to them, and waited 
standing for the Court to be in session.

Julian fidgeted uncomfortably, letting his gaze wander over the 
Court's harsh architecture. Perhaps he could find an odd beauty in 
the symmetry of it all, but to him this room could only be 
associated with death, and Julian again felt his stomach churn at 
the thought of what was to come. Would he be permitted to view the 
execution? He wasn't sure he could stand it, but for the sake of his 
friend he would attempt it. And how would Garak be killed? With the 
violence of a disrupter or the mercy of an injection? All these 
thoughts whirled within Julian's head, mingling with the already 
present light-headedness of past events. Taking in a deep breath, he 
sat down prematurely, unable to stand on his shaking legs. 

Dax glanced at him and a questioning frown crumpled her forehead. 
He waved off her concern, and promptly straightened up; the Chief 
Arkon had just entered.

But where was Garak?

In another corner of the room, Julian glanced at Dukat, sitting 
smugly and making no attempt to stand in respect. His gaze locked 
with the Doctor's for a brief second, and Julian felt the conceited 
triumph being broadcast through the Cardassian's dark eyes. The 
Doctor averted his stare just in time to watch Garak, handcuffed, 
being brought in. 

Julian held his breath, and followed the wake of his friend. *The 
march of the condemned* he thought suddenly, and pushed down the 
urge to cry. Across his shoulder, he vaguely felt the touch of a 
hand resting there, and when he looked up, Odo was looking down at 
him with sympathetic eyes. He answered with a hollow thankful smile, 
and stared back at the proceedings. Garak had sat in the accused 
chair, and looked more miserable than Julian had ever seen him. The 
tailor didn't even seem to care that he was giving Dukat a private
satisfaction.

"The High Court is now in session," the Chief Arkon announced. 
Everyone sat in silence. The woman glanced at Garak sullenly. 
"Please state your name."

The Cardassian's eyes fell on Julian for a brief moment before he 
stood up and delivered his answer. "Elim Garak, Your Excellency."

"Very well," she nodded, turning her attention back to the 
audience. Yet Garak had not taken his seat, nor did he seem to 
quiet. He stared at the judge with conflicted eyes, as though he 
fought privately with himself. Finally, he said, "Your Excellency, 
before you proceed, may I request private conference with you?"

Dukat stomped his feet, blinking calmly. "The accused will not 
request *anything* from the  High Court," he said gruffly.

The judge threw her head toward the official, and her mouth curled
ever so slightly. "Gul Dukat, you will be silent. Your voice has no 
jurisdiction in this Court." She turned back to Garak and nodded. 
"We may confer privately, Mr. Garak." She rose and waved at the 
audience. "The Court will take a recess of ten minutes." With what, 
she left with Garak for her private chambers.

A uniform blanket of whispers rose from the audience, all 
wondering about the reason for this halt.

Major Kira frowned and leaned over to Julian. "I wonder what he 
wants."

Sisko smiled privately. "If my understanding of Cardassians is of 
any validity, I have a pretty good idea of what's going on in there."

Julian scowled and wondered what that was, yet Sisko offered no 
more. Instead, they sat back in silence, each pondering the 
significance Garak's absence would make on them. 

Kira was perhaps the least affected. She had come to harbor an odd 
admiration for the tailor, not because of his past or his fast 
talking but perhaps because anyone who did not bode well with 
Cardassians had her respect. And Garak certainly did not have a 
harmonious relationship with them, that was sure. But other than 
that, the Bajoran would not miss the tailor's company all that much. 
Even if he *had* been relegated, he was still Cardassian, and she 
had a hard time seeing past the ridges of his face. She would, 
however, hurt for Julian's loss.

Dax was more sympathetic. She genuiningly liked Garak, had even 
shared a glass of kanar with him at Quark's on some occasions. She 
appreciated the tailor's perspective on things, and she presently 
understood Julian's conflicting emotions.   

Odo was unsure how he would take the tailor's departure. Ever 
since the incident with Tain, he had allowed his friendship with 
Garak to advance, and they had partaken in a few breakfasts together, 
trading views on these humans both found so intriguing. Perhaps he 
would miss the tailor even more than he cared to admit.

Sisko, on the other hand, had never shared anything more than 
professional conversation with the tailor. Perhaps that one time 
when Garak had sauntered over to him to convey his admiration upon 
the Captain's command on DS9, but that hadn't been Garak; merely a 
figment of some Founder's program's imagination. Yet he understood 
the importance the tailor made to his medical officer, and couldn't 
help but feel saddened at the loss.

Each of their different thoughts were interrupted by a sound. All 
turned to the entrance and a Lethan strode in. He looked at the 
empty podium and took on a relaxed stance, hands locked behind his 
back and waiting patiently for . . . well, for something. Julian 
frowned at what that might be. Seeing the Lethean reminded him that 
all this had been the result of an encounter with one.

Finally, both Garak and the Chief Arkon strolled back inside. 
Julian's confusion was doubled upon seeing Garak's face. He was 
unusually calm now, no traces of his misery visible. He sat down and 
heaved a sigh, looking at Julian as if to convey his assurances. 
Julian narrowed his eyes. What was he so damned relaxed about? 
Didn't he know he was about to die? With a vague interest, he 
noticed the Cardassian was no longer handcuffed.

When the judge sat down and was about to say something, the 
Lethean made his move, and went to stand in front of the podium. All 
held their breaths as they waited for him to speak.
  
"I am Dagovar," the Lethean introduced himself. He turned his 
intricate face toward Garak and made a once-over of him. With the 
subtlety of a snarl, he said, "You are the one who killed my 
brother?"

"If your brother was the insidious person who intended to kill me 
on the Promenade..." he bowed slightly. "Then yes, I am."

The Lethean turned toward the Cardassian judge and held out his
chin. "Your Excellency, you are aware of my people's telepathic 
abilities?"

The woman imperiously nodded. "Yes."
 
"I suggest I put those capabilities to use here. Would my word be 
enough to convince you of this man's innocence if I find such cause 
in his thoughts?"

The Cardassian pondered the matter for a brief moment. She leaned 
sideways to consult with her aid, then nodded to Dagovar. "You may 
proceed."

Dagovar swiveled to Garak and uncharacteristically smiled. "M. 
Garak, you may or may not be familiar with the procedure involved 
with my people's telepathic probing, but let me warn you; it will 
not be pleasant."

Garak glanced briefly at Julian, then turned back, mustering a 
dignified look. "My dear fellow, whatever pain I may be subjected 
to, it is already better than my demise, is it not?" He stepped down 
the accused chair and stood in front of the Lethean.

Dagovar nodded. "As you wish." He took a breath, then placed both 
his hands over Garak's sides. Garak narrowed his eyes, as if 
anticipating the worst pain possible. 

Finally, it came.
  
It was as though a million volts of electricity had been fed into 
his body. Garak hunched over, and lost notion of everything that 
happened around him.
 
He was forced to submit to his mind, his conscious, his 
unconscious, everything that was not physically him. Images blazed 
across his mind, depiction of horror he had desperately tried to 
repress over the course of his life. Torture . . . torture that had 
been instilled on him. He flinched as other pictures that 
constituted his life flashed in his mind, as though every one of 
them had to be recalled, viewed, then cast away in a furious attempt
to find the appropriate ones. The Cardassian felt everything; the 
pain of his exile, the regret of his actions, the torture at being 
left behind by his own people. The fight with Dukat was briefly 
relived, but quickly disposed of. Childhood memories resurfaced, his
mother, a gentle woman forced into insanity by a cruel uncaring 
husband. His father, a strict and imposing Cardassian . . . the one 
who had molded his son into a Tormentor, a sadistic puppet to be 
used by the Obsidian Order on a whim. Tain made an appearance, 
displaying a distinctly disappointed look . . . the look he had
given Garak before sending him into exile. Mila was not far behind, 
the gentle loving housekeeper who had been the only one to believe 
in his loyalty to Cardassia. And above all these, Julian Bashir, his
one and true friend. It was with violent guilt he reviewed his 
recent actions toward the caring young man, treating him little more 
like a pawn in a much more serious game. On the outside, no one 
guessed the true reason why Garak sobbed uncontrollably. All would 
attribute it to the physical pain he felt, but none suspected it was 
because of the blue and black uniformed young Doctor, sitting
nervously in the front seats, staying there not because of choice 
but of protocol. Were he permitted, he would have lurched forward to 
protest the assault, to comfort his friend...to do anything else 
than to stand by and watch his companion in so much pain.

Yet the assault finally withered...leaving the Cardassian tailor 
on his knees, still shedding warm tears. He had unconsciously 
clutched his sides, and he looked little more than a small child as 
he sat back on his heels, feeling no shame in letting his regret 
roll down his smooth gray cheeks.

The Lethean looked up at the Cardassian judge. "He spoke the 
truth," he stated, his voice slightly eroded. By what, no one knew. 
"My brother was at fault, it was not he. He should not be trialed, 
nor sentenced. He has committed no crime."

Dukat made an annoyed sound and stood up abruptly. "Committed *no* 
crimes? What of his assault on my person? What of his abduction of 
the Federation Doctor, or the Federation vessel? Should he not pay 
for that?"

The woman leaned forward and glared at Dukat. "I believe the words
of Dagovar, Dukat. You must be aware that Mr. Garak's standing was 
much higher than yours ever achieved. You'll understand when I say 
that I am more inclined in ignoring your protests."

Dukat flushed in anger. "And the Federation--"
  
"Is not of our concern. If Doctor Bashir wishes to press charges, 
that will be up to a Federation court. Likewise for Captain Sisko
for the accusations you earlier mentioned. And Mr. Dukat," she said 
with an irritable tone. "If you do not understand why I am so 
lenient on Mr Garak, do understand this; you had no valid political 
reason for bringing him back to Cardassia for trial. His criminal 
charge was an internal Federation affair, one that should have been 
dealt with by them or the Bajoran Government. If you so much as 
waste the High Court's time again, it will be you in the accused 
chair, Dukat, be assured. This trial is officially over." She rose 
and swiftly exited the room. 

All uninterested parties filed through the door, while Dukat 
paused at Garak's feet. "This is not over traitor," Dukat vowed. He 
spat at the floor, and left with an acrimonious swing in his walk.

Before Sisko left, he turned to Bashir. "Will you be pressing 
charge, Doctor?"

Julian did not hesitate. "Absolutely not. And far be it for me to 
dictate your decisions, but I don't think pressing charges for the 
Defiant incident will accomplish much either."

Sisko had the faintest of smiles. "I didn't plan too anyway. When 
you're ready, we'll beam you up. But be quick. The Delakar won't 
wait long."

With what he left with Kira, Dax and Odo, while Julian stayed 
behind. Still sitting on his heels, Garak looked up, a particularly 
doleful expression on his face. "I should have been executed," he 
said hoarsely. "It would have been better for everyone."

Julian snooped down and lay a friendly hand on the Cardassian's 
broad shoulder. "But Garak, that would be giving up. And besides,"
he smiled lightly, "I don't like the prospect of sharing another 
lunch with O'Brien. He's a good friend, but no match for your 
argumentative nature."

Garak helped himself up, and regarded his friend with bright 
shimmering eyes. "I hardly deserve someone like you as a friend, 
Julian."

"I know. But hell, you don't have much of a choice, now do you? 
Let's go, Sisko's waiting."

Chapter Twenty-One
==================  

It had taken them a week before Julian and Garak resumed their 
traditional lunch. Sitting in the replimat, both did not feel quite 
at ease with the other, yet they attempted valiantly to make the 
best of it. They felt  relieved that the other had not been harmed. 
However, a mutual resentment was present. Julian's was for Garak, 
and Garak's was for himself.

Inevitably, the conversation finally turned to the ugly events of 
recent time. "I must say," Garak stated. "I am surprised Dagovar 
concurred with my testimony. I was certain he would have lied to 
protect his brother."

Julian shrugged. "Odo looked into it, and the Lethean you killed 
wasn't much of a good citizen. He was a renowned criminal, and had 
taken refuge on the station. Dagovar was probably ashamed at the 
incident and decided not to punish you for his brother's conduct. 
But it was pure luck that the Chief Arkon was so lenient."
 
"She was not," Garak admitted. "I know her reputation quite well, 
and she is not one to change a sentence around very often. Even when
testimonies such as Dagovar's are offered."

Julian frowned. "Then--"

Garak held up a hand. "When one has been employed in the Obsidian 
Order, one knows certain...methods of persuasion," he explained.

"You threatened her?" Julian was clearly shocked.

"No no no. I did no such things. But a being of my stature has had 
the opportunity to amass a certain large amount of...currency. You'd
be surprised  how little Chief Arkons receive in salary these days."

"If you knew you weren't being sentenced to death...then why 
subject yourself to Dagovar's probing?"

"He warned me that it was not a pleasant feeling. Of course, he 
was being generous. I know of Lethean probings. They are quite 
excruciating in fact."

Julian looked suddenly confused. Garak smiled tragically. "My dear 
Doctor, I have done many things in my life which warrants regrets. 
But none of them will ever surpass the guilt over my actions toward 
you. At first, I gladly invited death, because I thought it would be 
suitable. Then, I thought about it further; if I died, I would never
have the chance to repay you for your kindness and tolerance. It 
would be like giving up...something I learned is often too easy a 
way out. But I could not get away without undertaking some measure 
of punishment for what I did to you. I only hope you will not be 
incensed by my staying around a little more."

"Garak," Julian said after a moment. "I believe that's truly the 
first time you think of someone else than yourself. And that's 
enough to repay me a thousand times, believe me. Now..." he said, 
leaning back and stuffing a napkin in his collar. "Shall we eat?"


The End


  Send me your comments and suggestions at soma@johnabbott.qc.ca
  I welcome all, from praise to flames :)

  Regards, Sophie