live laugh lizard

I Capture the Castle

Starbase 375, 2372

The first thing Garak registered on arrival at Starbase 375 was that this was the most incontrovertibly Starfleet place he’d ever set foot in. The second thing he registered was the two yellow-shirted officers bearing down on him. His arms went up – straight out, palms flat, as if to push them away – and he took a step back. He’d had nightmares that started like this, and they never ended well.

“Julian—” he hissed, regretting the slip as soon as the word was out and, seeing Sisko move to intercept the two men, covered quickly (and loudly) with, “Captain Sisko,” (yes, better), “am I being detained? This was not what we discussed—”

He heard Bashir say, “What?” and O’Brien, of all people, say, “They’re arresting Garak? That’s not on—” before Sisko cut in. “Nobody is arresting anybody.” He moved himself between Garak and the – well, what were they? Security? Military police? Some hitherto unmentioned clandestine outfit? “Garak,” said Sisko, in the kind of voice you might use to persuade someone to step back from a significant drop, “it’s all right. Just… relax, will you? Put your hands down.”

Garak did no such thing. If anything, his stance hardened. Both feet planted firmly on the ground. He was absolutely ready for this, whatever this was, and while he mightn’t get far, he wasn’t going down without a fight. In between scanning for exits and anything that might work as a weapon, he was aware of Bashir, arms folded, moving to stand beside Sisko, and O’Brien (of all people), arms akimbo, moving to stand next to Bashir. It all gave the vague impression of a defensive wall, but Garak dismissed that thought before it had time to take hold and persuade him into doing something rash. Like relaxing. Bashir, turning his head to look back at him, said, “It’s okay. We’ll sort this out.”

One of the yellow-clad officers, a clean-cut dark-haired man whom, by the end of his time on Starbase 375, Garak would rather like, was speaking to Sisko. “I think our intentions here might have been misconstrued—”

“You think?”

“We were just—”

“Whatever it was, you got it wrong.”

“So it seems.” The officer took a step back. Everyone relaxed except Garak. “How about you all find your quarters,” he said, “and we introduce ourselves properly later?”

“How about we do that?” murmured Sisko.

The officer nodded. He looked past the human fortification and nodded. “Mr Garak,” he said. “My name’s Blok. Welcome to Starbase 375. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Welcome indeed. “It’s just Garak,” muttered Garak, not taking his eyes off the man until he and his companion moved away.

Everyone in uniform breathed out. Garak lowered his arms and clenched his fists. O’Brien, eying him, said, “Never a dull moment with you, is there?”

~~~

Sisko, heading off for a ‘quick word’ with Blok, handed management of the other half of this situation over to his chief medical officer. Whether this made Bashir his doctor, his handler, or his custodian, Garak wasn’t sure. This was uncharted territory.

“Let’s find your quarters,” said Bashir, and led him off further into this alien stronghold. Everything was unfamiliar, with the occasional connection to a previous reality, like the voice of the computer that kept piping up at intervals. Fancy meeting you here… Caught up in how cold DS9 had been, how bright, Garak had not until now appreciated the extent to which the simple fact of the architecture had kept him from becoming completely detached. This went beyond disconcerting. This was a plunge into the unknown. Perhaps I’ve finally gone mad, he thought, as they stepped into a turbolift and went down a few levels. The idea was rather appealing. Presumably because it was better than the alternative, which was that he lived here now.

“Here we are,” said Bashir. “Level 5.” The turbolift doors opened to reveal a wall upon which was embossed a big circle overlaid with a delta, just in case he’d forgotten where he was.

“Right,” muttered Bashir, “what are we looking for…?

Garak didn’t reply. Bashir would start gabbling soon, to fill the gap, which would save him from making any further effort.

“Thirty-seven, thirty-eight…” Here it came. “Oh here we are, thirty-nine… I’m four along from here, by the way, that’s handy… I mean, in case of emergencies… Or whatever…” He unlocked the door and they went inside. “Oh, it’s not too bad in here… Not too small… Er, what have we got... Bed looks comfortable…”

It didn’t. Also, the air was freezing.

“Better than usual, actually… There’s the replicator… Mm, though, I doubt there’ll be much in there you’ll like… Oh, I know, I’ll get the patterns from the Defiant, fix you up with some rokassa juice… Er, clothes, how do we go about sorting out clothes—”

“Doctor,” said Garak. “I’m a tailor.”

“Oh! Of course… I’m banging on again, aren’t I—?”

“Also, I know how a replicator works.”

“These are Federation—”

“I came here on the Defiant.”

Bashir stopped flapping. They stood looking at each other.

“Are you all right?” said Bashir, voice low.

“Yes.”

“Have you got your—”

“Yes.”

“All right. Good.” Bashir chewed his bottom lip. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t think—”

No, thought Garak. 

“I forget sometimes, you know, that you’re not…”

“Not what?”

“Not…” Bashir suddenly saw the drop opening up in front of him. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Not one of you?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Not at all, doctor,” said Garak, turning away. “On the contrary. Very wise.”

“All right,” said Bashir, after a moment. He moved back towards the door. “How about I swing by in an hour?” he said. “We’ll find the mess and get something to eat. Yes?”

Garak, rubbing his right thumb around his left palm, nodded his consent.

“You’re perfectly safe here, you know,” said Bashir. “Nobody’s going to do anything to you.”

That, thought Garak, remained to be seen. Bashir, realizing that he wasn’t going to get a response, sighed and went out. When the door closed behind him, Garak locked it, changed the passcode, and put a chair in front for good measure. Then he lowered the lights, and went in search of the temperature controls.

~~~

True to his word as ever, Bashir reappeared an hour later and together they located the mess. O’Brien was there already, drinking raktajino.

“Not locked up then,” observed O’Brien, as Garak sat down next to him.

“So it seems,” agreed Garak, pleasantly.

“Well,” said O’Brien, “I suppose they haven’t talked to you yet.”

~~~

Fortunate Son

Starbase 375, 2372

From the observation deck on Starbase 375, Sisko watched the Defiant leave with a soft pang of loss. His very own tough little ship, heading off without him. Nothing to be done. There was a war on, and Sisko would do whatever was needed to win. Even take a desk job.

“Just the two of us now, captain.”

Sisko turned to see Garak, standing a few feet away, a mug clasped in his hand. Some way distant, discreet but present, was a particularly hatchet-faced Vulcan lieutenant, keeping close watch. Sensible. Garak was endlessly inventive. Unpredictable. You never quite knew what he’d do next.

“Looks that way,” said Sisko.

“It’s nice to have company up here for once.”

“Company?”

Garak raised his mug, half-covering a smile. “I’ve come up here to see you off every time you’ve left without me.”

A sentimental streak? Sisko would never have guessed. “Huh.” There was a familiar scent coming from the mug. Was that camomile? Surely not… “Enjoying your stay?”

Garak, who had been staring out into the dark, started. “Excuse me?”

“Are you enjoying your stay here on Starbase 375?” Sounded ridiculous, said again. This place was hardly Risa.

Garak gave him a look that most likely meant, Are you out of your mind? Fair enough. He said, “What’s not to enjoy? Free bed and board. Scintillating conversation. A chance to catch up on my reading. It’s proving quite the holiday.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re thriving.”

“Lieutenant Tunok,” Garak raised his mug at his handler, cheers… “takes his responsibility to look after me very seriously. I can’t blink without him worrying.”

“Good,” said Sisko. “Is that camomile tea?”

“It is, yes.”

“You drink camomile tea?”

“Not ordinarily, no. And not to sound ungrateful for Starfleet’s generous hospitality, but whatever it is the replicators supply when asked for red leaf, I wouldn’t use to clean the floor.”

Sisko smiled, nodded, and made to move away. He should get back to his office. Back to his desk. Back to winning the war…

“Before you go, captain, I have a favour to ask.”

“A favour?”

“Yes. When you do finally decide to take back the station, I’d like to come along.”

“Take back—?” Where the hell had he got that? Sisko hadn’t even discussed the idea with Bill Ross… Lowering his voice, he said, “Have you been poking around where you shouldn’t?”

“Captain, please, let’s not insult each other. You and I both know morale is plunging. You need a fast and meaningful success, one that will rouse the sagging Starfleet spirit. What else are you going to do? Liberate Cardassia?”

“Well, you keep that to yourself—”

“I am the very soul of discretion. But I still want to come.”

“Missing the shop, huh?”

Garak gave a mirthless smile. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I’m certainly ready for a change of scenery.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you,” said Garak, polite but dry. Sisko made another bid to get away, but it seemed Garak still wasn’t finished with him. Didn’t he realise Sisko had a war to win? “Those two men who came to see me,” said Garak. “I was grateful for your intervention.”

“You’re welcome. I guess.”

“Who were they, captain?”

That, thought Sisko, was a very good question, and one a small part of his overtaxed brain had been worrying at ever since he’d sent them packing. “You know, I wasn’t sure.”

Garak looked down into his mug, nodding as if some suspicion had been confirmed. “Yes, I thought so. In which case, to answer to your question, let’s say that if it’s a choice between the shop and whatever those gentlemen were offering, I’ll pick the shop every time.”

Sisko faced him straight on. Garak was on the paranoid side, true, but sometimes he turned out to have good reason. Hadn’t his own father sent someone to kill him? But that was how they did things, in the Obsidian Order. How they’d done things. “What exactly do you think they planned to do? They were Starfleet officers—”

Garak laughed. Straight up laughed, in Sisko’s face. And this man wanted a favour? “Oh, captain, really? This late in the game?”

“Whatever’s going through your head, Garak, it’s a product of your own imagination.” 

“You don’t think they’d lock me up?”

“Lock you up?”

“You locked me up—“

“I had damn good reason!” And he’d let the man get away with murder. Attempted murder. Worse.

“Yes, captain, but the difference is – they’d throw away the key.”

“What?” Sisko gave a short, sharp, dismissive laugh. “That wouldn’t happen—”

“No?”

“Garak, we have this little thing called due process—”

“I know what that is, captain. And it’s not for people like me.”

Sisko stopped in his tracks. He looked at Garak – looked at him properly – and the thought flickered through his head, Is this what desperation looks like? For a brief moment, he imagined himself in Garak’s position. Stuck on an alien base, what passed for his friends light years away, in the hands of an enemy power. He couldn’t even get a decent cup of tea.

Garak seemed to have registered something happening on Sisko’s face. He smiled, slowly. “I’d simply disappear into some nameless facility, never to be seen again…”

It was long past time, Sisko thought, to get a grip on this conversation. “Garak, I don’t know how the Order went about its business in the good old days, but that kind of thing doesn’t happen here—”

“No? In which case, why didn’t you simply let them take me? One less complication. One less thing to worry about. I would have thought they were the ideal solution to a persistent problem. And yet you sent them packing. I wonder why.”

Sisko didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to answer that, captain.”

Damn right he didn’t have to answer… Or couldn’t. Whichever the hell it was.

“You don’t owe me answers. You don’t owe me anything at all.” Garak sighed and stretched. “If you really want to know what I’d do with me, I’d probably trade me.”

“Trade you?”

“Dukat would swap a good few high-ranking prisoners to get his hands on me. So would Weyoun, for that matter.” His lips twitched. “I really shouldn’t be putting these ideas in your head—”

“Nobody’s trading you, Garak. Nobody’s locking you up. And nobody’s gonna make you disappear.”

“Because that’s not the kind of thing done by a Starfleet officer?”

“No,” said Sisko, firmly. “It’s not.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” said Garak, “at what a Starfleet officer might do.”

“And I think you’re projecting.”

Garak gave him a look that seemed to be saying, Don’t you know there’s a war on? “When we do get back,” he said, “feel free to drop by the shop. Get yourself a new suit.”

And there it was, that swerve into unpredictability. You just never knew what he was going to throw at you next. “Seriously? You’re seriously standing there, right now, trying to sell me a new suit?” Trying to sell me something… “Garak, you are out of your mind!”

“Captain!” Garak looked wounded. “I thought you liked the suits I’ve made for you! I’d be sorry to think you didn’t.”

“I like the suits just fine. They’re great suits. You’re a great tailor—”

“Yes I am. Anyway, I was grateful for your intervention. Very grateful. So, like I say – drop by any time. Whatever you want, whenever you want.”

Hell, no. “I’m sure I won’t need to.”

Garak drained the rest of his tea, looked down into the mug, and sighed. Turning to go, he waved at Tunok, who took a step towards him. “And I’m sure you’ll find a use for me,” said Garak. “People generally do.”

~~~